Give Me Protection

Tim, Moi et Montreal:

Pa Drift, Kerouac Style



When Tim jumped over the turnstyle, I casually climbed over it with my gazelle legs.

i never said i'd like it

stability curse: when i have it i do everything i can to push it away, and when i dont it is all i long for and work for, just to completely unravel it again.

everybody cheats.

chapter 19: office job
chapter 22: out of touch with reality
chapter 23: somewhat steady relationship

fabulous

living in this fucking nightmare.

nothing good
nothing good

I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.

-LC

ughhh gotta stop drinking for a few days.


Cafe livin' is sweet. Don't miss the office AT ALL. Need to get up off my ass and look for a real job though, or at least get back to school. But more or less I have a huge urge to just live the kerouac big sur life and go into isolation in some cabin. That's not all that unreasonable, is it? One thing I never really got about Kerouac was his amazing ability to live off of canned food.

Maybe Mexico.

Im not over Nick yet, FYI.

vell. i am officially back to coffee slavery. it is good although still not used to being on my feet for like 9 hours but at least i dont feel like my muscles are becoming atrophied from sitting at a desk for 14 hours a day. FUCK . Lindsay to the rescue.

Been having lots of ridiculous nights with too much booze, too much tired, and not enough food. I am still psycho over this whole Nick ordeal and more or less feel like ripping my heart out and sending it to the nuns to take care of it or give it some kind of exorcism? I hate boys and I hate sleeping alone.

Summer is here now which means I'm back on the Sangria full time. I've also watched many 24s of pabst, red cap, bohemian come and go in a matter of 2 days. Our empty pile is huge and growing.

i have a bad hangover and ate too much jarlsberg cheese. i might as well just die now.

xoxo

ps. i am reading a bio on cat power and i am pretty much mesmerized by her. sometimes i think she is the only reason i am alive anyways.

i hate this fucking office.

2 more days!

still fighting with nick. guh.

on a good friday i discovered how to feel like the filthiest whore on the planet. i got totally insane and drank myself into an oblivion. i did not eat or sleep and i would randomly collapse falling to the floor in fits of rage. my loving lady sarah came from toronto wearing a teal toque that had a leaf stuck to the back of it (i thought: where the hell did that leaf come from? fall is over and winter is pretty much dead and there isn't a dry crusty leaf anywhere to be seen since the snow and the hail and the rain have come and gone) and did good things for my heart. i still feel like a dirty whore, however. BUT me and my lady smoked some drugs at the train bridge and looked over the dirty canal while trying to come up with some kind of meaning but could find none (as we never could) and continued with the drugs. in the same spot 7 years ago her and i sat with plastic dollar store toys and burned them onto a canvas. we burned little whales and little barbies and our fingers and talked about the same things as we were now standing there at easter smoking drugs. so we made plans to do homemade tattoos as some kind of way to deal with the confusing nothingness that never disappears or even fades in the slightest.

sarah came over one night and gave me this prison tattoo at my dining room table with a sewing needle tied to a freud pencil with thread. in and out and in and out a million little holes she made in my bleeding wrist as i screamed and then went mostly silent. drunk on wine, i convinced her to do the same. the best lady i have ever known tattoos her own wrist the exact same thing she just tattooed on mine.

i stole this tattoo idea from my swedish lover, j-dawg, who told me about it one time at a hostel in Krakow, Poland. he stood there in his black jeans and black coat and black boots and blonde hair and said "i've thought about gettng the russian tattoo for wine on my chest" and my brain went immediately into a dream where i saw this tattoo on frail frame and his heart was beating underneath it and his ribs were jutting out like every person in Krakow that day. he told me about this book of russian prison tattoos, and that the tattoo not only means wine but is also an acronym for "come back to me and stay forever." if nothing else, this had to be the perfect metaphor for him and for me and for Krakow and for everything else in my life that i let slip away.

i let everything slip away.




feel like a ghost:


lush:

this shit will make your lips quiver

monday to friday workaholic
friday to monday alcoholic






"The futility of what was happening here seemed to take me by the throat, I felt like vomiting, and I had only one idea: to get it over, to go back to my cell, and sleep . . . and sleep." -Camus

" i spent my hatred every place
on every work on every face
someone gave me wishes
and i wished for an embrace"
-LC

last night got drunk with jenners and teej. drank whiskey and smoked lots of that sweet black tar.



today drove around the country side. smoked a j with j and teej and went to the perth flea market.
a very unflattering foto


still reading the unbearable lightness of being
been feeling the unbearable urge to just drift
gonna try to get out of this darkness

tip: dont ever let your phone sit in a pool of your own vomit overnight. it will fuck it up.

what is it to spend 4 years pining for someone, sleeping with him, crying over him, calling him my man? planning my future with him: only to find out that the whole thing was one big fucking lie? an illusion, a fantasy, betrayal. I wonder if his FUCKING WIFE knows about me. she will soon.

how could i have been so blind? now i am blind with rage.