“There’s something important about Quintin that I need to tell you,” I say to you. I take you over to where I’m writing this, in the university computer lab, and we watch me write for a minute. I tell you that I ate a banana and a bran muffin for breakfast and that any second I’m going to fart, and I’m going to make you and the people around me smell it. I’ve farted half-a-dozen times by now, and the people around me shift in thier chairs, too polite and uncomfortable to say anything. Soon, I say to you, they get annoyed. But I have other goals: I want someone to protest this. I want to fart so much that someone gets up, points a finger and accuses.
Again! Today, 4 am, woke up, penis sweat everywhere. I'm beginning to get restless.
Yesterday was a good day of school. Great marks back on my poems, although I know a grade on a poem is about as useful as a loose moose. I'm not really using grades to judge my own poetry either. So fuck that! But it's relieving to be decent at something.
Yesterday: A sunny afternoon with vodka tonics on the patio with my good poet buddies and Joy. A great time. I had this seafood pasta in a creamy dill sauce. And this morning, Joy and I stared as the sky turn orange with the new day.
And now I'm here, writing about writing. I think I'm getting free books of poetry in the mail.
Ah, woke up again early this morning, but no penis sweat. Appreciative of the smaller things, that's me. Although I don't mean "smaller" in the way that you'd expect. Although maybe I do.
At any rate, while I was awake, I was thinking of them; the stories. Got a fresh idea for my next fiction. It's going to be a sad depressing tale without humour and a down-play on Carl. Or maybe not so much of a downplay as a "mood arena." My god, I'm not making sense to myself.
So I finished my proposal (Thanks to Joy)! I'm such a guy who'd do that sort of thing! I'm going to research all of the different BINGO venues. There's a Drag Queen BINGO that I'm especially looking foreward to going to. Michael, if you can put me into contact with those folks, please do. You are the man.
Bingo is changing. Becoming automated. Younger generations are latching on to BINGO like fishsticks. Online BINGO. . . What does it all mean! Why is this happening to BINGO! Oh, and try finding a non-fiction book about BINGO. Go on, I dare you, and if you find one, let me know!
I bought a new jacket from Le Chateau. I feel like I've sold out, so I'm going to change the tag so it says Le Gateau. And that way, I'll ruin it's resale value! I also bought a black zip-up hoodie, and man do I feel good in my new clothes.
I manage Tom Foolery's Store.
I skipped class and work today. I feel pretty good about it all. Although I only allow myself to cancel twice a month, and usually save those moments for when I actually need them. But I didn't feel like being a city rat today; running around, staring at things.
So instead I played guitar and plagued myself for a CNF idea, and I finally got one thanks to Joy. Hopefully it'll be useful.
The nutgraph of the entry: I'm a character from my own future memoir. What does that make the shadow readers of this blog? You're probably third rate bit parts. It's being read as we speak.
I keep on waking up at four in the morning, covered in sweat. I think, "my God -- I've pissed myself!" I sniff and think, "That could be urine." Then I feel around and you know, get the message that it's only sweat. But still, why does this happen?
There this article that I have to write for a class and an idea I was excited about probably won't work, so now I'm moving on, keeping strong, even though the deadline for the proposal is today. I'll just hand it in on Wednesday and see what happens.
I'm also in this odd dilemma for school concerning graduation day. The soonest I can graduate is June 2005, but that's if I major in CNF and this would mean that I don't get a minor in PW. Or I can take an extra semester, graduate with fiction or poetry and get a PW minor.
Last night was fun. J. and P. came with S-L (a band I rehearse with) to jam and we played for them. My arms are sore today, but I can almost hear my shoulders growing more and more muscle tissue. I got drunk at the bowling alley lounge during rehearsal break.
I had paid off most of my tuition earlier this month and hoped that a bursary would float in and take care of the rest. But nothing took care of nothing, so today I went in to pay the rest of it off. I slid my debit card over to the secretary and said, "stick it all on there."
She said, "but you have credit. Would you like a check for seven-hundred and sixty dollars?"
"Sure," I said.
"Okay then it will be ready for you on Friday."
So I went and ate pizza. And now I feel like buying the bestest Sabian crash cymbal there is so I can bash it.
Also rehearsed with S.L. tonight. I've decided to keep names off the chart. The lead singer googled the band name and my blog popped up. Google is our enemy. We're all on it. It's an evidence book. But the jam went very well. I developed a beat that I'm rather pleased with, and there's more cohesion in what we do. Also rehearsed with the lights out. Very fun. We've decided to meet at the bowling alley's cocktail lounge and take it from there.
Next I have to research a website for this fun movie project I'm working on. Either that or re-work the rest of a poem about sex therapists. We'll see.
There's this one guy who hates me so much he actually insulted me in his literature, in a weird sort of way. Anyone ever heard of the Raliens? I haven't. I know of the Raeliens, but I've never heard of a Ralien.
I'm impressed. I made it into two people's stories this week. One in a positive light (if you call garbage collecting positive) and the other in a sort of "hey, I'm better than you, look at my spelling! we're still in high school!" way.
On top of that I've been dallying around people lately. It's time to just stone cold chill for a while.
Still though. It's sort of pushing the envelope to go as far as to let one's own literature suffer just to insult a peer.
We're all such pretty little creatures.
Writing retreat happened this weekend. Lotsa fun. Went out to Cowichan Lake and had fun. It snowed and the lake looked magical. All you could see of the landscape were different hints and echoes of grey. The snowflakes were big and fat, and you could see them falling down on you, and the upper-layers of snowfall drifting with the wind. Not to get into it, but the image stuck with me.
Saturday I started in on the wine at breakfast (11am) and passed out around 2am. Russ and I played guitar together and drank rye straight out of the bottle. It was the first time that straight rye tasted good. Joy and I went on a walk, and everywhere there were signs saying, "Absolutely No Dogs" in the middle of the wilderness. I tried to find a "No Irish" sign but couldn't.
Michael's potluck last night. I was tired, but the there was so much delicious food there. Everything on the table was magnificent. And that included the herd of wine bottle scattered about.
Then it was sleepy time.