oh boy, tony re-stirred the drama pot by posting something i had written over the summer then deleted and also put up an even older photo of me being stupid with the white devil and got away with it by saying i am the female best blogger.

psssh.

here are some pictures anyway.

stolenswan interviewed me.

today i fucked up my hair and tomorrow it will be rectified “professionally” because i am a stupid moron and the chicks at the pharmacy were like duh durr duh go for it.

and yes i was going for platinum.

so right now i am sitting with this hat on my head and my dad is trying to figure out the vcr and he doesn’t know that i have a skunky orange blond fat-ass stripe right in the centre-top of my head.

aimee called me back after i called her to tell her about the accident and she tells me a blond joke about what they say after giving a blow job and apparently they say “are you on the same team?”

and thom and mark were like what does that mean and i said well i think it means she is giving a blow job to a football player?

then we went back to playing the i am thinking of a < insert something like "fruit" or "fast food restaurant" or "letter of the alphabet" > and you have ten guesses to guess exactly what it is game.

and now i am learning about marketing and thinking about my crappy hair and the way i was treated today when i was trying to purchase a watch at a department store and how angry i was that i had to wait because i am a “youth” and so i walked over to the ole saleslady and said i know exactly what i want can you just go over to the showcase and open it so i can pay for it and she was like i am sorry ma’am but i cannot i have to wait on this lady here and you are obviously poor is what i thought so you can wait for a trillion years i don’t give a shit.

ok, she didn’t say that exactly but she did call me ma’am which both flattered and infuriated me so much so, that i had to go and buy two cds for myself after i paying for that watch and then, instead of a shirt for my identity-crisis i bought bleach and dye and COMPLETELY DESTROYED MY FUCKIN HAIR RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

i have a doing nothing all day headache and it is fucking fantastic i love having these headaches because that means i got to do nothing all day and it’s the greatest thing so great in fact that even I am jealous of me and i am not even worried about being a big lazy because i have a gameplan that allows me to be lazy and wander around with messy hair and worry about all the things i need/don’t need to be worrying about…

well this headache is from sitting in the same spot for hours and not eating and having fone conversations and thinking a lot

more to come.

unfortunately.

radmad

You seem like the kind of chick that I see at the Death From Above

1979 concert in two weeks. the vice piece was good shit and spiderman

doing theat gay tai chi-it’s uber something.consider me a newfound

cyber-subscriber.

the rock ‘n’ roll nigga

yeh i know/knew those guys when i lived in toronto and i use to work

at vice so i have the shit on everything and i invented cool and i

reminisce about stupid crap like i am from vietnam. thank u for

noticing.

so u were in brooklyn then toronto. so where are you now? because

wherever it is, you vice credibility deems that it is the apex of

cool. whoops I meant to say DECK, which is wack. vietnam was crazy, i

know because i’ve seen full metal jacket, platoon, jacob’s ladder,

apocalypse now and redux. now that’s a tour of duty.

one question…why does vice continue to be so god-damned popular when

the reality is that it hates itself?

because they expanded worldwide [broke foreign market] that is how they are popular. and i don’t live anywhere cool or uncool that’s the point, you have to make

your own scene happen anyplace, whatever you need to be happy. not

caring is what cool is suppose to be about i suppose. but u have to

care just a little bit. it’s tricky. i like your blog. you seem cool in my books which is the book of anti-cool which means nerds/geeks are better anyway and if they’re smart can hide their geekiness with cute clothes. yar!

ok i admit it world – i am cool-obsessed.

FUCK!

Dear Raymi, (this didn’t start as a letter to you but it is now),

One of my friends, Brownlee the elder, is a bit of a fucked up

prophet. I always wanted to be the man of whom he prophesies, but, he

walks his own path; and I am walking in a darkness into which his

sight does not reach.

Sometimes I think there must be a way to connect with all the peoples,

so mundane a phrase for such a grandiose notion. Now I write manic,

like Raymitheminx, and unfortunately for me she has done something to

my mind. The grip, the ever so tenuous grip I always exert on my

reality dissolves upon reading her blog. I wonder why I am

channelling something drunken and obese and horribly self-loathing and

sick and sad, a fat, bald alcoholic lusting after a perfectly rounded

ass and tit shots on a web page. Yet, I am a being stuck in a

relatively healthy, and may I say so myself, charming and attractive

body. Sometimes I wonder if I am just squandering this body because

it is pretty. At least a pretty that something decides is pretty. I

write letters to Raymi and I wonder whether she would think I am a

nutjob or a kindred spirit. Of course I hope, somewhere she would see

me as an avatar – a symbiotic individual sharing the same path of

madness. Sometimes I just know she would think of me as a wanker

wanting to see more tit shots because “I study art”.

Maybe this is the letter I will send to Raymi, but maybe not because I

(was) writing longhand in “The Only”. That is so cheesy (and

infinitely more so because now I am typing) too because then I am in

the act of becoming a chintzbot who writes: “I am not sure I am going

to send this letter to you because . . .” Capital “L” Loser.

So I write anyway because it is an excuse to drink by myself and be

absorbed in my thinking, which really is just wanking without having

the hassle and mess of having to wipe my belly later.

I met a girl the other day and she took me by the hand, took me home,

and fucked me. And she said she wanted to see me again – “I would

like that.” she said, and I said, “I would like that too.” I called

her but she hasn’t called back and I somehow doubt she will. The

funny thing is I called her into being; that is, the magic of the

ethers made her appear and I received exactly as I wished; but still,

I am like a puppy whining at my phone, checking my messages enough

times to know that I am being obsessive but not so many times that I

am being crazy.

I scanned an article that I thought Raymi would find amusing, it was

about quiffing, but it turned out poorly and “Arthur” is not online

properly so I can’t just download it and send it as a neat little

package, and that is the whole problem with my madness – it just

doesn’t like neat little packages. That brings me quite easily back

to Brownlee the elder who links to Raymi and who I blame unrepentantly

for leading me to her blog. He put her on his link list after I spoke

to him even with the London time drag and all that.

We believe in the synchronicity highway but I believe in a different

way than he does because he travels light and me, well I am looking at

a different picture of the world. And an empty page is all I have, a

trinity, the pen, the page and I. To quote him, quoting me?

So now, this is a letter to Raymi and it has gone on for way too long.

That is – to edit it into little bite size pieces that would make

good web-reading is a fruitless task that I couldn’t do and she won’t

bother.

that’s me in the middle on pajama day and as you can plainly see, i amthe only one with “school spirit” enough to wear pajamas. though i am wearing my regular clothes underneath them.

This is just another email (once in my head, now horrifyingly

real) that appeared on the lined page of a “Hilroy” red-margined, blue

stripped page that is so much a part of me, the perpetual student.

So, Raymi – I guess I want to say that I am always already knowing a

part of the person you put online. The little bit that you describe

when you talk about your drinking and the irony of “the diet starts

Monday” mentality that you often mention. The knowing that you are

capable of becoming but cannot (will not?) do. The “I will do sit-ups

tomorrow”. The one that promises a liberation of my idolatry of the

bottle, the messianic always forever now and always already future,

the promise of liberation (oh joyous freedom) if only I can figure out

how to get off my ass.

So I am going to go back to my office to type this – go and gmail you

a note, (Which, because I am now doing, is oddly temporally

disconcerting) to try to describe to you a feeling I have – that we

might know each other – even though I know you are just words on an

ethereal page and I am just another pretty boy who is probably stark

raving mad. To think that I could possibly connect with a woman who

just so happens to live relatively near to me (which makes it so much

more insidious) because she has decided to share the titillating or

routine parts of her existence with the world.

I guess what I am trying to say is thanks. Thanks for being alive,

because it makes me feel less lonely. Thanks for being such a

productive BITCH, because it gives me a small sparkle of hope. Thanks

for being a wide-awake drunkard because it jogs my memory, it makes me

remember me, even though you are, well, you, and I am just little old

me and really I can never know you.

That brings me full circle; back to Brownlee the elder, the prophet.

He didn’t say these words but this is what I decided to take. –

“Isn’t it interesting that I would find Raymi’s blog out of all the

blogs to find in the nearly infinite blogs to find? How did you find

a blog that speaks to you – because I know you are mad, but you are

not crazy.” – And that is what I took and I started thinking a bit

about it and started to wonder if my synchronicity highway had become

a lot more heavily travelled because of the internet. Some years ago,

I would never have even considered the possibility that a woman I

would never meet could speak my language. One who could quickly

mutter about the difficulties and exaltations of being manic and

wholly cognisant of self-medicating addictive personalities – even

though AA taught me that I wasn’t alone (and an awful lot more). Even

though I can materialize others and myself into being in the right

place at the right time – and knowing that small magic is a minor

aspect of the marvellous power of mania, depression, addiction and

yearning and art.

So I am waving at you – across from a parallel track and sending you a

great big HELLO! And a How’s the Battle? And “keep on trucking” and

every other meaningless (in this real instant) cliché I can think of.

And a small encouragement, a little power if you want to think of it

that way, even though I am absolutely sure it would be cheaper to

send you cash. I guess I just want to throw a token into the well for

you. A little “and get the next car behind me” on the toll bridge.

Only because if I am so stubbornly, optimistically correct, and, Oh

Raymi, I hope I am, then the highway is bringing us all together and

we might be living in interesting times. And the fruition of my (our,

THE?) odd empty that needs to be filled is coming closer to

gratification.

I remain, A rambling idiot, – pf.

> You got to give it up to the beach boys every now and again raymi…best to

> do it with the car windows rolled up and when no one is looking, though.

yeh but my dad has killed it for me it makes me mental

like RAHHHHHHH turn that SHIT OFF

i am even mad right now just thinking about it

i get the same way when i hear mariah carey albums…makes me want to

destroy something with my hands.

mariah carey has street cred for some of her songs kuz they are old

school and i like to get wasted to them and dance like a lunatic and

if u are lucky at a rollerskating place they will play that fantasy song for you

and u are like WICKED and start rollerskating-dancing like you

invented the shit

ok i almost killed mark because he is such a shit disturber and was all LETS LISTEN TO THE BEACH BOYS and i am like no fucking way and started screaming and then my dad walks in the room to tell me to shut up and mark on purpose goes HEY MAN DO YOU WANNA LISTEN TO THE BEACH BOYS and my dad is all YOU LIKE THE BEACH BOYS yeh put it on it’s my birthday right after he is saying to me “if you are not gonna calm down i want you to leave now but yer friends can stay” though he didn’t actually say the they could stay part but it was implied, you know and so i just sat thru 5 beach boys songs and finally snapped and turned the shit off and i was like don’t you understand i grew up on this shit and my dad plays it all the time in the car and nothing else so the beach boys’ novelty has totally worn off and then i told mark that i had never before killed anyone in my life but if he ever pulled that shit again i may do just that and gladly suffer the consequences.

sent from ian in the uk and he said that over there they switch the names around for some clever reason that i do not understand because i have less culture in me than that of a pitchfork at your uncle’s farm

and ps today i am a big jumbly mess of hang over city with a sprinkle of zero tolerance/that-time-of-the-monthness and a half pint of manic depression.

ME!

no one really says cool anymore. i remember when it was all about that word, even your gramma was saying it and when she would you’d be like “NICE ONE GRAMMA!” and she’d blush because she was planning on saying it all day long and finally found her window of opportunity to throw it in there but then your dad rolls his eyes and is like “oh brother, talk to the hand.”

but now, grammas are like huge rap stars and talk all street with their yo homies crap and you are thinking oh my, i hope she doesn’t have brass knux stashed in with the yarn in that knitting carrier.

i don’t know how to react when i see oldies acting like l’il bow wow.

i don’t even know how to react when i see l’il bow wow acting like l’il bow wow.

i am basically like, wow and he is SO cool and all grown up and he is sitting in a fancy car and all these hot babes are slamming their asses into other hot babes’ asses around him and i am thinking hey isn’t this kid 14 years old? what the fuck was i doing when i was 14 why in the hell didn’t i get a record deal like i was suppose to when kris kros came out, I HATE MY LIIIIIIIIIFE AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

and so on.

i never thought i would be one of those people who are all nostalgic for their childhood/time, when the world made sense and all you ever did was eat cotton candy and burn stuff with your magnifying glass and the sun. GO SUN!

but i am one of those people and i am ok with it because i have learned how to still sort of be cool or fake like i know what is going on really well.

hanging out with people in-the-know or who are in “the scene” helps too because they do all the work and then they always want someone to go party with them and you are like, always available for that so you put on your party pants and tag along.

and when i get “trapped” talking to someone who is in on “the scene” and they are like do you know this band do you know that band have you heard of < insert weird foreign hotgirl name > and i am like no i have not to all of these questions, after awhile you get a reputation that just baffles people like oh there goes the doesn’t know anything about anything girl, how strange, i really want her to listen to this band because they are SO hot right now and then i am like dude if you really want me to listen to that stuff, get me a cd or email me a website url or get me a ticket to their concert otherwise stop throwing out names of stuff like i am going to remember what you are talking about in three seconds anyway i am trying to dance on a chair, HELLO!

so yeh.

last nite i demanded to sing a beatles song with the band and so i sang i saw her standing there but the mic volume was crap and when i was done fil asked how it felt and i said it felt like i was standing in a horny moshpit and the singer of the band kept drinking my beer but it was great having people smile at you and scream along but it’s ok about the singerdude ‘cos aimee and i made him fall off his chair when we were dancing and he was singing a song and kane was like you morons and i said but it was funny at least, right?

and he said that it was.

i talked to two ladies in the bathroom who were like THIS BAND ROCKSSSSSSSSS and they were wearing fucking awesome sweaters that looked like they came from the circus ‘cos they were purple with gold sparkly crap weaved into them and all this color and i said hey i think i need to put my sunglasses on to talk to you and they got all giggly then started touching at my sweater because there is a plaid scottie dog on it and i am like ok that’s enough of THAT.