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no one of consequence

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my razor is closer to me than my friends [Mar. 9th, 2006|02:16 pm]
no one of consequence
To: sunopinion@png.canwest.com
Subject: TransLink Solution

Did you know that the public transportation system for the entire Greater Vancouver Regional District is run by men no smarter than you or I? In 1999, when TransLink was founded by naïve student Marxists and fat union bosses who had promised to do 'the best they could', it was never imagined that the board of directors, made up of publicly elected 'officials,' who are supposed to represent all the municipalities of Vancouver, would have control over the vast sums of money they are currently 'responsible' for; but like a slum town encircling our beautiful city, they have slowly grown, becoming simultaneously more powerful and less able to do their duty.

I, for one am glad that Kevin Falcon, Minister of Transportation, has the courage to speak out against these democratic institutions that threaten to strangle our economy and turn our once-proud country into an economic backwater; these archaic forms of leadership and decision making have no place in the highly competitive, high-tech, information-driven global market. It is time that we, as citizens of both Vancouver and Canada, demand that our social institutions open their eyes to the changing economic realities of a globalising world and hand the reigns of power over to more capable hands.

We have all seen TransLink fail before: they blindly approved the RAV line too slowly, they complain about inadequate funding every other week, and one time I accidentally paid for a two zone fair after 6pm and they wouldn't give me my money back. Why do we allow people with such an abysmal track record to continue to be responsible for our transportation needs? Is it because they were elected by popular vote? Please remind me, what qualifications does that actually give someone? We can't base our transit choices on the results of some popularity contest; they need to be based on cold, hard, impartial economic facts.

Kevin Falcon's assertion that the current democratic selection process for the TransLink board of directors allows for "no ability to develop the skill-set or the understanding of major multi-billion projects," and that this "is what undercuts the public confidence in these decisions being made" must be self evident to anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of the way in which a democracy works. How can we expect our leaders to get anything right if we only give them a few years? We can't. The only feasible solution to the problem is the privatisation of leadership—how else can we assure accountability but by turning it into a real, permanent job?

The TransLink problem might be a local phenomenon, but I assure you that it is only a small scale, local example of the incompetence and inefficiency of our public institutions. Take, for example, the federal government: home to some of the most notorious wastrels and least efficient leaders in world history. Why, again, do we trust our elected leaders? What qualifications do they have to lead us? It is quite obvious that they were selected not by a board of experts because of their managerial experience in the business world, but instead, were chosen, nearly at random, by an uninformed and equally incompetent public; is that reason enough to allow someone or someones to control an entire nation? What rational being could accept the premise that these people are fit to lead the nation because people as unqualified as themselves said that they were? For the reasons stated above, I propose that after we have opened up the leadership positions of TransLink to bidding on the open market, we do the same for all other elected positions in Canada, from municipal to provincial to federal. Sound economic principles of privatisation dictate that if Canada wants to remain competitive, we cannot allow this sheltering of certain occupations from market forces. Private corporations must be able to bid on the position of Prime Minister.

Transit and Government are far too important to be left in the hands of the common people, as they will never be able to understand the complex economic forces at work in the global market economy.

much love,
Craig Ferguson
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i was at that party and it fucking sucked [Feb. 26th, 2006|01:45 am]
no one of consequence
[Current Mood |jealousjealous]
[Current Music |the ideal weight - gogogo airheart]


To such meanness, pettiness, baseness, could this man descend, to such an extent could he change! Does this resemble the truth, the reader may ask? Well, it is very likely the truth: it may very well happen with a man. The fiery youth of to-day would start back in horror if he were shown the portrait of himself in his old age. So take with you on your road, as you leave behind you the soft years of youth and emerge into manhood, which renders one hard and surly—take with you all your human impulses, don’t leave them on the way: you can never find them again later on if they are once relinquished. Stern and terrible old age, as it advances, will return you nothing, give you nothing back!

"oh wait, i know you, you're just like my friend, *****," she paused and looked me up and down, "yes, that is who you are; justlikemysomeguyiknow, and you shall be treated as such."
"er...are you sure?"
"o yes, most certainly. you act the same, tell the same jokes, your voices sound the same, you're both blonde. it would be a waste of time to try to find out anything else about you that might differentiate you from him, so i'll just remember that you're the exact same to save me the trouble of thinking." boy, getting to know me sure was easy.

strike. pull back. release. repeat. i stopped to wipe the sweat from my brow and rested on my pick for a minute, looking up to the top of my pit and shielding my eyes from the cold rays of the winter sun. the ground was hard with frost and it was likely to remain that way into the foreseeable future. to my right and left there were people performing similar tasks, but no two went about it the same; one raised his pick high enough to catch the rays of the warmthless sun and sparkle for a second before it was swung at the earth, another exerted himself as little as possible, a third has already collapsed and was staring at the others, looking for help. "hullo down there!" shouted a voice from above. i turned around quickly to catch a glimpse of the speaker, he was a young man, similar to us, but where we wore rags that the frost clung to, he wore a warm jacket. "how are things?" why should he ask? what could he hope to gain? denisovic was right, a warm man can never hope to understand a freezing man, just as i can't hope to understand why the man to my left raises his pick high and the man to my right barely lifts his. empty question- how are things. "not too talkative today? well, i'm sure that'll change soon if we keep getting this beautiful sunshine. take care, my friends!" and with that the warm, cheerful figure returned to his own pit and set about working in his own way.


"do you remember that day at the beach, craig?" she said while looking right into my eyes. i hoped she couldn't see deep enough to understand that i didn't.
"of course i do, how could i forget?" i lied. she moved to take my hand and i pretended that it was busy searching for something in my pocket.
"it is probably the best memory i have," thank goodness, she hadn't noticed, "everytime i think of heaven, all i can think of is that day and you." she smiled at me even more intensely. think craig, think. how could you not remember? it sounds important, but i don't think that i even have a memory i'd consider my best, it all just turns to sludge as time passes. she was waiting for me to say something so i had to remember fast. why is this so important to her? i looked at the paintings of ancient politicians and civil servants on e.m. forster's wall, all were probably mediocre or worse, only made venerable by their antiquity. perhaps that was it? perhaps age had elevated that memory to her, but not to me? but surely it happened at the same time for both of us? and even if time doesn't affect us the same, shouldn't i have similar memories that only matter to me? maybe i do?
"yeah, the best part was how good i looked." i said in a desperate attempt to say something that might be true. how could something i don't even remember have been so important to her?

well, i don't think that anyone can help me so you shouldn't feel so bad. after all, what can a desirous man be but jealous? i begrudge you the things that i have sworn abstinance from or am simply unable to attain, just like any other man would, and i'm not ashamed in the least. it was very kind of you to come all this way to talk to me, but i've already made up my mind.

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this year, surprise your valentine by finally showing her whats under the floor boards. [Feb. 14th, 2006|01:22 am]
no one of consequence
[Current Mood |jealousjealous]
[Current Music |samuari fight song - arab on radar]

for valentines day i am going to eat chocolate, masturbate, and cry. in that order. i am such a cheap date.

there is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies - which is exactly what i hate and detest in the world - what i want to forget.

"four out of the five people i want to meet in heaven are professional wrestlers and i'm not going to tell you who the fifth is." i waited for a response to my bold statement, but the jurassic park poster (the one where the t-rex has his mouth open and is roaring at the jeep) on my wall remained silent. it was 1994 and i was 16 and wanted to be an emo kid but i just didn't know where to begin. i knew grunge was totally lame and emo would be around forever, jawbreaker was the music of my dreams; instead of songs about parents not understanding you, its about girls not liking you. the musical revolution is here!

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"look, i didn't want to say anything before because it was a long walk and i didn't think you'd want to come all this way with me if you had known," i began, "but there isn't really a party- i just brought you here to rape you. i'll understand if you're a little upset with me." and like that she was gone, out of my life forever. not that she had been in my life for very long, i'd only met her that evening at the mall bus loop, but i was willing to throw myself down with anyone who would have me and pretend that they loved me. like a soldier crawling through the desert and being willing to believe that the mirage infront of him is real and not care too much if the water tastes suspiciously like sand.

i wonder if the band knows that they, and every other band on their label, make indie4kidz. one would think that they would notice the 16 year old boys wearing blazers, t-shirts and converse shoes, as if to say, "hey, look at me, i am reprefuckingsentative of irony!" but perhaps not, it seems like there is a contest to be the person dressed most like a member of the band. shows like that are so disorienting; i can never be certain what year it is because no two people in the room could agree on one. the bizarre mixture of dozens of antiquated scenes in the same room reminded me of that part in bill and ted's most excellent adventure where they have all the historical figures arrayed on their school auditorium each attired from a different era. socrates with a bandana around his neck, billy the kid with a green mohawk, and sigmund freud wearing girl's pants.

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"so do you like her or what?"
"i dont know, she seems ok, i guess..."
"what the fuck do you mean, 'i guess?'what are you? some kind of faggot?" he stared right into my eyes until i had to look away. "C, please make him stop."
"no, i'm quite enjoying this. why dont you just tell him why you don't like her?"
"now you're just being ridiculous. this is a little like the neverending story except instead of not ending, it never gets any less sad."

and then there was silence. i had tried talking to him about how an america desperate to fill it's ipods was listening to shittier music than ever before, i had even tried making that stupid joke about how hardcore songs were limited to two minutes by law, but i could tell he was losing interest in me fast. i was desperate. "so, i came up with a justification for being shallow," he perked up at this, "yeah, well, it seems to me that no person can ever be all good or all bad, everyone is a mix of the two, see?" i think he saw, "so if you go out with an attractive person or an ugly person there are going to be things that you like and things that you dont like, no matter what. and, anybody can hide their personality and expose a completely new side when you think you have some idea of who they are, but their looks cannot be hidden, the face is the only guaranteed truth you can get from a person." i could see he thought i was just hitting on him, so i shut up and we rode the rest of the way in silence.

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"hey, aren't you that guy from that band that had that guy from quicksand and that guy that drummed in that emo band named after that misfits song?" he panted and blinked, sweat burning his eyes.
"no, i'm not him...anymore." i shoved my hands deep into my pockets and kept walking, leaving him standing there staring at me. he'd come so close.

i'm actually going to spend valentine's day making a time machine so i can go back in time and write something better.
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take that, science! [Jan. 3rd, 2006|11:32 pm]
no one of consequence
[Current Mood |jealousjealous]
[Current Music |quarantined - at the drive in]

"what are you going to change about yourself in the next year?" asked C.
"next year? but...but i only just finished this one! when may i finally rest?” was my reply. C made it quite clear that if i intended to make anything of myself this year (i had recieved a similar warning last year) i would have to change something about myself. "look at yourself, you're a mess. little better than an emo kid, your week is just a series of dramatic tragedies that you expect your friends to care about."
"but...i'm quite happy with myself the way i am, and no one else has complained yet..." before i could put the final dot at the end of my sentence, C was used by a baseball bat to hit me squarely in the face. ah, the dangers of surrealism.

obviously the worst way of finding something is to look for it. all you get for your trouble is more trouble. except this trouble is worse. finding trouble without fail is very similar to how every time i look for a new wallpaper i come across a few of those 3D mirror spheres hovering over checkerboard planes. unnavoidable.


the mechanical man strained his eyes staring into the setting sun, surrounded by a throng of admirers who had come from far and wide to witness his acts of superhuman ability. he was beautiful to behold, crafted by some aesthete of unparalled skill, his generosity had never been equalled, and the world had never seen a personality so gentlemanly before. the crowd, all of whom were just seeing him for the first time, all remarked what an impossible gift upon the world he was and how fortunate they were to have known him, even in the limited capacity that they did.

his most recent victory now forgotten, the mechanical man turned to his audience and shyly smiled. they urged him closer, "come, we must meet you!" cried the crowd. the mechanical man stood up to his full, impressive, height and began to move towards them, the ghost of a smile still haunting his face, but rapidly fading into something much more serious and befitting the mechanical saviour of man. his graceful movement drew admiring murmurs from the people, "my goodness how he moves..." swooned the crowd.


while he was on his graceful stroll, he and the crowd had failed to notice the clouds gathering overhead. with a silent burst they released all they had upon him, mercifully sparing the audience who had come dressed in their best clothing to honour the mechanical man. the crowd hardly noticed, having seen him shoulder far worse burdens without trouble, without even trepidation of his fantastic metal body.

when the rain finished, the metal man's skin rusted and fell from his body in chunks. one here, another there, and a final one revealing his face. "my god, he's just a...man." voiced each member of the crowd to the member of the crowd nearest them simultaneously. the formerly mechanical man stood still, his serious face replaced with an unsure smile.

he held his smile until the last of the crowd had turned away in disgust and returned to their cars, prepared to forget him on the long drive home.


for anyone going to university next year or ever, i highly recommend staying away from the girls or the guys who live in residence. universities, it has become apparent, are just pools of kids who were way too lame to attend parties and have girlfriends in highschool, so they have come to university expecting to catch up on all of these things and then some. if you dont live in the dorm with the person you are trying to woo, you dont have a chance; there is no way you can compete with some guy who just has to go down a flight of stairs to be at her door and has his own place. donald rumsfeld said, "arguments of convenience lack integrity and inevitably trip you up. " but most of the kids i've met at university are convinced that bush = hitler, so that line of reasoning is a poor one to take and i haven't been able to come up with another in between rounds of call of duty 2.

o, and 2005 really sucked. not just for the obvious reasons. it seems to have spelled the end of 2pacsploitation. in a shocking lapse in his once-remarkable posthumous work ethic, tupac shakur somehow failed to put out an album this year. it looks like 1995 is finally starting to catch up with him.
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it's not irony and it's not rock and roll [Dec. 13th, 2005|03:01 am]
no one of consequence
[Current Mood |jealousjealous (schadenfreude)]
[Current Music |the falls - the french kicks]

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them of Eros and Dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negations and despair
Show an affirming flame.

--- W. H Auden, September, 1939

i've always loved the cremation of sam mcgee. i can't think of a more awesome way to fake a cultural heritage than with beautiful water colour paintings. there probably isn't a better way to lie about something than to put it down on paper. it saves you from having to repeat it over and over again; you can just point to something that has already been written down and use its permanence as authority.

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if i write your name down on my list, does that mean that we're friends forever? or atleast, until i take you off the list? we can talk about the mad trapper and the lost patrol all we want, we can write stories and paint paintings about them, but that doesn't make our claim that we have a history in the north true.

there are some people who keep me in constant fear. i'm afraid that one day i will find that our nexopia friend status is no longer mutual. but maybe, just maybe, if i keep them all on my list, they wont notice that i'm there and that means that they'll have to stay my friend. sort of like when a girl is screening her calls to avoid me and i keep calling her, knowing this full well, just hoping that if i call using a different phone she'll pick up and we can talk. forgetting that she isn't being forced to avoid me or that her screening her calls like a drug dealer isn't an accident. maybe if i call her one more time and i get through i'll finally get an answer and know whether or not i should take her off my list.

i like long bus rides, i always have. there is just something about travelling somewhere by yourself as part of something as unstoppable as a scheduled bus that is so appealing. i read on the bus now, except when it is too cold to take my gloves off, then i just listen to music. before i met C there was a time when i did neither, i could make the trip to B without having to occupy my mind with anything because i wasn't afraid to be alone with my thoughts for an extended period of time.

on top of that, i like suburban busses much better than city busses. there is so much more order in the public transit of the suburbs: the front is for grownups who compete in different games, and the back is for kids who have no other games to compete in but these. i always think these thoughts when i get on to the bus that goes by my house. i step on, flash the driver my upass with no small measure of pride, then i survey the back seat for kids who might be cooler than me. if i saw that i was the coolest kid on the bus, i sat in the back, if not, i pretended that i was far too mature for such stupid games and sat near the front. this order and structure is a far cry from the savagery of city busses. every man for himself, sit where you please. there isn't even any back seat of note. you just get on, pray you can find a seat, then pray that the mumbling meth head beside you doesn't want company.

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i haven't been eating or sleeping much lately. all i can think of is harry haller and the fight of man against wolf. i'd say that man is winning, much to my detriment. some days i wish the wolf would gain the upper hand, finish the job, and let me live like all of the people i envy. other days i hate myself for thinking that. sweet things help the man.

"how could you not know the difference between synecdoche and metonymy? you really are a fucking idiot." and with that my boss threw the manuscript back in my face, shook his head, and walked away. as he passed the rows and rows of desks on the way back to his office, the other faceless typists who had been listening in to my admonishment resumed their mindless typing, sending a wave of noise in my boss's wake. the noise of the typewriters is so loud, i cant think of any reason we still use those old pieces of shit except for dramatic effect. i hate my job so much. some days i fear that i may lose it to a machine, but then i remember that no machine could do this job as resentfully as i can. it isn't the fault of society that i'm here, i had no shortage of choices when i was growing up, but none of them were ever good enough for me. i had in my mind pictured the perfect woman. i still picture her. if you ask me, i'll tell you in such vivid detail that you'll disgrace your body to thoughts of her yourself. but all that time, deep down inside i knew that i was saving myself for some life sucking bitch who would make me want to leave for work an hour early so i could spend as little time with her as possible.

"Elvira, you is a bitch."
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i just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by fleeing the scene of the accident [Dec. 2nd, 2005|02:08 am]
no one of consequence
[Current Mood |jealousjealous]
[Current Music |paul simon - the russian futurists]

i know far too many people who have defined themselves by laying down some ridiculously rigid statment and attempting to draw the rest of themselves in relation to it. how quickly it can become that a girl who avoids drugs of all sorts can come to believe that should she ever choose to experience such things, she would no longer be the same girl as before. or, slightly less mormon, when someone has decided that they are going to be "wierd" or at least, make sure to let people know that they are, indeed, "wierd" whenever possible. the type of girl, because it is usually a girl, who does this is always the least wierd, most judgemental person in school. if i were cynical i would say that the bitch just watched donny darko once and decided that it was ttly hawt to be wierd and has tried to incorporate it into their personality, usually forcefully and with little success.

as i tanned my milky skin infront of the blue-white glow of late night television, my mind suddenly lost traction and began to spin, unable to get a firm hold on the insultingly vapid plot and dialogue of whatever godawful crap i was watching. when i finally did find a firm path for my mind to travel upon, i found myself wondering about horror movies. specifically, do movie studios expect me to believe that the intellectually deficient morons who populate those movies have never watched other, similar, movies filled with characters who are very similar in nature and disposition to said morons? when i'm watching the attractive girl wander into the haunted house in which a murderer was tortured to death 100 years ago this day, there is a nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me that i should not be the only person who thinks that that is an unwise decision. honestly, how could they not stop and say, "hey, i saw a movie in which similar events happened to similar people. perhaps we should evaluate their performance and learn from their mistakes?"

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seriously, i could make a much better movie than any of that crap designed for semi literate retards.



WIDE ANGLE POV of wide open desert, flat grey sky.

THE CAMERA is running forward, toward a big sand berm in the
distance. There are O.S. sounds: SOLDIER'S EQUIPMENT

The back of his helmeted head and his uniformed shoulders
APPEAR in the BOTTOM of the FRAME, running. This is TROY
BARLOW, Sargeant, U.S. Army, 25 years old. On his helmet is
a photo-button with a photo of a newborn baby.

Suddenly, on the sand berm 100 meters ahead, an IRAQI SOLDIER
stands. Troy stops in his tracks, out of breath, and stares
at the figure on the berm. The Iraqi flutters a white flag
over his head, then puts it down and picks up a gun. Troy
turns around, we see his face for the first time.

actually, that might just be the begining of three kings and not an original horror movie at all. o well, that was a way better movie than i know what you did last summer or any of that other trash.

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"he has betrayed us! we offered him friendship and he attempted to abandon us and steal our friends!" screamed the first pirate. all the others present nodded assent. i felt compelled to stand up and speak, although my voice was soft and often lost in crowds, "but he has made himself miserable without us and is living in a sort of self imposed exile. surely that must count for something?" when i took my seat i was greeted with cold stares all around. "he is a monster, just because he is sorry now doesn't negate his awful crimes. i lost a fine wench to his meddlesome ways." and before i could stand in opposition the crowd present at the meeting became a shouting mob and no words could sway them. their decision was final; the smiling traitor of my dreams would die tonight and the mob would be back in time to watch the thrilling conclusion of saved by the bell: the college years in which zack finally marries kelly. sorry for the spoiler.

if i could go back and remake the world, i would do it one of two ways. i would either make every girl on earth want me to love them all night, or i would make it so absolutely no girls wanted such a thing. sort of like a soldier going to war, it wouldn't be so bad if he knew there was an after life or just a void, because then he could stop worrying about it and get on with his life.

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the gravel crunched against itself like the grinding of hungry teeth as i manouvered my travel stained carriage down the bumpy lane. it was an unlikely town to even think of visiting, C would have called me a damned fool, but C was somewhere else when i decided that this place seemed nice. i quickly settled in and made this mysterious village my home. C had still not returned. while it had not been my intention to fall in love with this place, as that was my mistake last time, it could not be helped, and i soon found myself in the unfortunate situation of having grown so accustomed to this place that the thought of leaving was unbearable. i believed that, if i left i would have no hope of ever finding a place with such beautiful sunsets, such fresh water, or the availability of such an easy life. even as the town fell to pieces around me, cockroaches and criminals freely walking the streets, i found that i could no more see them than right the damage that had been done. it was at this moment that C returned to my thoughts. it was as a result of that meddling C that i decided to leave. all the while i feared that i would never see such sunsets or taste such water, or live so easily, but i went all the same. i readied my carriage and prepared for my departure, all the while believing that i was leaving a paradise for some unknown hell with no more villages to stop at. as my carriage was carried further away from town, such thoughts gradually faded from my mind to join the passive anxiety i feel when i lie silently waiting for sleep. some days later i was surprised and at the same time relieved to learn that C had left once again and i was in a new village with deep shadows filling all of its corners. this will be my home, i thought, as i began to fall in love.

i would certainly like to think happy thoughts, like a child righting a flipped turtle or a boyscout opening the door for a baby duck, but at the moment all i can think of is how little i want to reach the next town.

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i wish i were more urban. if i were, i would begin most sentences with something like, "it's like the Diceman used you say..." and then follow that up with the secret to drawing a squirrel, the simple way. my life would be carefree and never dull, like running through a tornado made of barbed wire. or maybe my life would be better if i were more suburban. i honestly have no idea, but it's like the Diceman used to say...

i love it when i open a myspace page and i already know what all of the person's friends are going to look like. i met tiffaney again, except this time she has a different name and doesn't think i'm gay. one more reason to choose urban over suburban.

sure, you may all be laughing at me now, but pretty soon you'll have to stop in order to catch your breath.
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my friends never have interesting problems [Nov. 22nd, 2005|12:41 am]
no one of consequence
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better hurry, the trolley is leaving for the land of make believe [Nov. 16th, 2005|12:58 am]
no one of consequence
[Current Mood |jealousjealous]
[Current Music |sufjan stevens - the seer's tower]

sitting here, infront of my computer, it suddenly strikes me that instead of doing something meaningful with my evening, i have squandered it by making fun of morons in the enternexusopia sex forums and thinking of her. how miserable.

not all of my realizations are unpleasant and depressing. i recently realized that xena and gabrielle are obviously lesbians. the truth was right infront of my eyes the entire time.

"write me a funny story." pressed C.
"but i cannot write a funny story, i am far too scared." was my reply
"fear is like comedy, except upside down. you should write a story set in space because there is no up or down there." C followed this with a sagely nod of the head
"dont you care why i'm scared?"
"not in the least, i just want to hear a funny story set in space."
"alas, i do not care for space. if you are trying to cheer me up it has failed miserably."
"fuck off." and with that, i was alone again. who needs people? or space. man, i really hate space, which is ironic because i want to be an astronaut more than anything.

i have wasted my time in every possible way on nearly every impossible thing and i have become numb to it. i only realize how foolish and wasteful i am after something particularly awful happens; unfortunately, it doesnt take long for me to forget and keep on doing what ever it was i was doing before. sort of like the nexus forums: you try so hard to make people laugh and like you, but by the time they've caught their breath they've already forgotten who you are.

the floor creaked and the ceiling let loose a cloud of dust as i paced the length of my small office with a limp. my name is alistair and i'm a private detective. or rather, i am one when there is any business. most of the time i'm a professional drinker and waiter (not the kind that waits on people, but the kind that waits for people and for things). right now i've got three slugs in me, one of 'em is lead and the other two are burbon. all three of them are burning right now, but they burn even worse when i remember why they're in me. after an hour and a half of pacing i threw myself back in my broken chair and waited for you. after some time my eyelids grew heavy. i was begining to give up hope of you coming today, after all, you didnt come yesterday so why should you come today? it was then that i saw you enter my dusty office without touching the door. this time i was sure it was real. last time when you didnt show up i had drawn my revolver with a steady hand, intent on making sure that you wouldn't be able to do that to me again, but for some reason i couldnt do it.


after broken social scene some guy offered to sell me "his" bike. when i asked him how much he said, "whatever you got." i began counting the money in my wallet, only having to start over once after mistaking a rather prime ministerial picture of my friend's cat for a 5 dollar bill. "I have no mo.." but he was already gone. before you call me a fool who missed the chance of a lifetime, you should know that the bike probably didn't even have shocks.

my waiting had finally been rewarded, she had come back to me, like she said she would. i stood up and limped over to her as quickly as i could. my heart was made light with the knowledge that i had not been waiting in vain. i reached her and a smile filled her face. a smile so serene and beautiful that it was almost impossible to tell apart from a real smile. without thinking i threw myself into her arms and crashed into the filthy ground once again. she laughed before disappearing. next time will be different, i told myself.

in highschool i knew a boy whos mom we all called "mapquest" because she had multicoloured veins all over her body. looked like downtown los angeles.

i spend a lot of time dreaming about los angeles. just once before i die, i would like to cruise with axl rose down some dusty california street and holler at women and crack dealers.

how come nobody talks about tae bo anymore? if billy bankrolls had kept at it i might have eventually loosened my purse strings to discover what all of the fuss was about. perhaps it is for the best he just faded from the public eye, like mcauley culkin.


my choices appear to be either: go out, take a stand, and do something about the mess that my life is, or just put on an american eagle polo, find a girlfriend and do my best to push the past from my mind. but i guess my inability to find a third option is what has put me in this mess in the first place.

i apologize for how lousy this entry was. my real one was eaten by a dog (not mine) so this one was banged out in 10 minutes.
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dont bother [Nov. 5th, 2005|12:44 am]
no one of consequence
trying to buy broken social scene tickets from zulu. i bought the last two. lololololo. end.
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another log on the fire [Oct. 27th, 2005|02:38 am]
no one of consequence
[Current Music |led zeppelin - achille's last stand]

so i know this girl and she is totally awesome and she told me that she loved me. ok, that is a lie, but it is a beautiful one. and truth is beauty, which means that beauty is truth. reality is at fault. not me. never me. ever.

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i've always wanted to be in a gang. i dont know why, there isn't anything about my personality that requires the support of a group, but it would just be nice to belong. especially if the gang had an awesome name. like...Life Of Leisure. LOL.

"CRAIG! we totally have to start a gang!" shouted a breathless d-mac. i dont know what it is about me, but when ever i run out of conversational material i always tell the other person that i'd like to start a gang. when will the lying end?
"i dont know..sounds kind of dangerous.." was my equally breathless response.
"why are you being such a dick? i heard you tell delicious d and crazy ray you were totally down.." his face drooped like a [fill this in later]. my drunken promises had cost me yet another friendship. they often say that the best things in life are free, but i've never demanded quality.

looking back, i notice that i say 'looking back' an awful lot, but i am also filled with regret and embarassment for the promises i've made and never intended to keep. this goes far beyond the ridiculous gangs i lead. but i dont think i'll ever stop. YOU CAN'T STOP ME! NO MEDICATION CAN STOP ME!

today was a pretty lousy day and i feel like concentrated awful. i was sitting on the toilet at home and was about to turn to talk to the two astronauts that i let crash at my place when i knocked my vintage mad magazine off of the counter. it nearly fell into the toilet. but it didnt. will to live regained.

it isn't that my lies have been as numerous as the leaves in the forest, after all, it is always autumn in my heart, but every once in a while i'll see something or talk to someone that reminds me of something awful i've done. it makes me feel worse than usual; like rocket boy. rocket boy, come home. on a completely unrelated note, i have been talking to someone on msn for the past 20 minutes and i have no idea who she is but she seems to know me. i am just thankful that no one has said, "i am be wanting for very much to become a citizen of her majesty the land of canada. can you be assisting me in this?" yet.

seperating her from me there was only the flimsy door that didnt quite fit into it's frame. i knew i couldn't stand staring at the dents in the door forever, the crowd behind me was screaming for blood, and if i didn't give them what they wanted they'd surely tear me to pieces. she knew that too, but i dont think she would have ever admitted it to herself. all the same, she knew i'd be coming. i had no other choice. i tried to hide my shaking left hand in my pocket, but that only reminded me that it was there. my fingers played over it, never the same twice, it's surface always changing. i had come across it by luck. i was doing a junk run with al-gomi, hitting a few shops in chinatown, looking for anything we could resell or put to some use. i didn't know what it was at the time, but i studied it for a while until i figured it out. i felt like a punk that had gone out to buy a switchblade but had returned with a nuclear warhead. screwed again, i thought. what good is a nuclear warhead in a street fight?

"but you must come out to my beach house!" followed by a smile. just stare at your feet and she'll go away. "it has been so long since i've seen you," maybe something heavy will fall on her? like the roof on an underground parking lot? "i really miss you." damn no explosions. that would have been really cool to see.

"see? you need to be here more often so i dont do such fucking stupid things." i said to c while we play fought high atop the howard stern tower.

i remember your hand in mine on the beach. you were scared, even then, had you already decided what you were going to do? we walked back to my apartment the long way, i kept telling myself that everything would go perfectly, we could finally leave this dome and get a nice place in the sprawl. they say you can travel from new york to detroit and never see the sky. in my dream it went right and we never had to work again. of course it didn't go right. i thought it was me until i read your letter. you wrote it on that stationary with the tacky hologram rose. i dont know how much they paid you, but i hope it was enough. you were right to leave, even if we had gotten away with it, they would have found us and killed us both for sure. i dont blame you. i tore your letter up as soon as i read it. but the strange thing about holograms is that the image is burned right into them so every individual piece projects the same image as the whole. i wish you'd come back, im waiting for you here, of course, i'm still waiting for them to come and finish me. i remembered that it isn't the same rose everytime, each fragment reveals the rose from a different angle. i passed out before i could ask myself what that might mean

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to myself, to someone else, it doesn't really matter. i want a shirt that says, "i am society's fault" or maybe one that says, "steely dan is one person" i guess it depends if they charge per letter at bang on.

what really bothers me about my room is that anyone could live in it. it is just a basic space filled with basic consumer goods in a basic arrangement. i'm not about to fill it up with cats or house plants or anything like that, its just disturbing that anyone could fill this spot and no one else would notice.

the eyes i see are always hers, but never the faces. i dont think she told me why she left. i still see her from time to time, at the edge of all this sprawl of night and city. she waves goodbye and i mouth a silent apology. i wish i could get a piggy back ride home.
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