fiction - aug 19 2006

"Tomorrow never fucking comes, does it?!"
Ben and I were shaking the shit out of someone who was falling behind on our easy-to-follow payment schedule.
"It's not that hard! Pay us and we stop beating the shit out of you!"
The pleading and then trying to scream for help when we loosen up a little. Like anyone comes to the rescue anymore.
"Shh... shhh... SHUT UP. Shhh... Are we cool? Are we going to yell again?"
Ben had him in a one-hander choke, and I was petting his hair watching his eyes push out from the skin seams of his sockets. it's a facinating thing really.
"Piggy! I need you to shut up and listen. OK?"
He nodded and tears burst out from the sides. Probably more from the lack of oxygen than remorse. Ben was squeezing the shit out of this guys neck, but what's the point in telling him to ease off? What? Like we want to avoid hurting him?
"Phhlll... phhllleee...."
"Ready to talk?"
Wide eyes pooling with tears and filling up with terror. Yes yes I'll talk.
Ben loosened his hand and drew it away slowly... One deep breath in.
"Aagghghhhhh! help meeeee!" Only it came out in a strangled pile of noise. Nothing that actually was auidable beyond a 5 foot radius... But that's besides the point. I'm not mad. I'm disappointed in you, Piggy. Really disappointed.
Ben snapped him up again and charged him into the brick wall.
"Piggy! You motherfucker! Why aren't you doing this the nice way?"
Bang bang thump! Piggy wasn't doing so hot.
"Ben, hold him." I started rifling through Piggy's pockets. Bill clip. Empty. Wallet? $180 dollars? What the hell.. He had no intentions on paying us back at this meeting. Digging around some more. Hello? What's this? A fucking awesome flip head knife! Click. It came open and I admired the beautiful blade. This was the type of jabber you have to take in to get professionally sharpened. Real nice nice like. You could gut a fucking grizzly bear with this...
Piggy was really scared now.
"Were you going to show up and flay us with this shank, Piggy? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you don't go around with this sort of blade every day. Fine. Fine. I'm sick of this."
I fished around for car keys and put a hand on Ben's shoulder. Let's get back to his place and rob him. We're wasting our time."
He collapsed in a weezy little pile of wrinkled suit and coughs.
Ben called Boss Lady and brought her up to speed. He grunted a few times and hung up.
"What's the news?"
"Go back to his place and take as much as we can and then if he doesn't call the police we're all even-steven."
"Even-Steven?"
"That's what mom said."
"Pfft. Hardly worth the trouble. You better have some good shit at the house Piggy!"
His hand was wavering up. No? No? No... No? No, oh lord! he's trying to pull out another knife from his sock. You've got to be kidding me. He was dizzy and couldn't even stand up without leaning on the wall.
"Gabby, my hand's tired... Come on. You always get to be the one who screams and I choke.."
"Alright you big suck."
This knife was definately less intimidatingly cool... but with jagged edges... this thing would rip the shit out of things if they were weilded properly. Sadly Piggy was in no shape to be any threat.
"Drop it OK? You loose. You owed money from being a degenerate gambling fuck and we're calling it in. Your fault. So let's put down Mr. Stabby Stabby and call it a day eh?"
He made a sad wobbly lunge but I caught hold of his hand and yanked the knife out. Please. This is just sad.
"Give Piggy the Drywaller."
"Oh that's been done before."
"Come on! Drywaller!!"
"Wha? The what?"
"I guess you deserve to know what it is before I do this. See, drywalling contractors have a rather dangerous job you know? Everyone just thinks they prop up sheets of wall and that's it. Let me tell you, that actual drywall shit is sharp as all hell and it can really do some damage. Not to mention all the tools you need to cut it down to size. I got the idea watching someone at work and then, ya know, have a little accident. The guy sliced along his hand. Right along the side where your pinkie is, right in the middle. He cut it down to the bone and ka-pwing! it snapps all these muscles. the doctors can sometimes get up in your arm and look for them, but most of the time they're gone for good like some elastic you launch into the air."
"Huh?"
I twisted his arm roughly to flash the side of his hand towards my face. in my free hand i whisked the blade through Piggy's hand with a swift gesture. Sometimes I like to think of the muscles fraying and pulling away from each other. Snap and then all that blood... the hand instantly curls on the one side and it'll probably stay that way for a long time. I dropped the kinfe beside him. He wasn't even making a noise. Rolling on the ground stunned and clutching at blood and the open flap that won't stop until someone puts stitches in.
"Piggy, my advice is to take this $10 and cab it to the hospital. Here buddy, I'll even leave you your Health Card so it's nice and easy."
Ben and I left to go look for the car.
"He drives a Saab."
"Oh gross! You take it I'll take your car up to the house."
"Hey, Gabs, wipe up or you're fucked if a cop pulls you over."
"Gotcha. See you in 10."

mix-o august 8 2006

kc accidental - broken social scene
black milk - massive attack
bad luck -royal city
hotcha girls - ugly cassanova
run - air
blight takes all - ...and you will know us by the trail of dead
wow - snow patrol
what does it feel like? - felix da housecat
me and madonna - black strobe
positive tension - bloc party
we never change - coldplay
enjoy - bjork
too much love - lcd soundsystem
can i please have an order of girl with a side of confused - despistado
sunspots - nine inch nails
morning bell - radiohead
reservations - wilco
i'm still your fag - broken social scene

fiction - august 4 2006

I was leaning against brick and finishing up the dregs of a cigarette. Looking around the parking lot was still. No new cars and no one leaving the restaurant.
Fuck!
I kicked the brick pillar to burn off some fury and searched for another smoke. Good! Fucking good and great! I have two left and I can't even run across the road to get more.
I had been in front of Jiao Zi for what felt like the better part of a day. Or more importantly the majority of the time that I was awake and hungry. Anthony was sitting in his car parked across the street glaring at me. I couldn't take this! I started walking to the street to cross and Anthony honked the horn. Through the traffic he shrieked in a terrifyingly angry voice, "GET BACK THERE AND GET THAT EGG PLANT!"
"FUCK YOU! NO ONE IS GOING TO GET IT FOR US! I NEED SMOKES SO LET'S SWI..." He rolled up the window and ignored me. Prick piece of shit mother fucking gym bunny stuck up miserable whiny bitch pseudo fag goddamnhellass FUCK! I steamed with clenched fists thinking about every nasty thing I could think of...
Ding-da-ding.
The doorchimes... Someone was leaving! I quickly walked over to them but stopped when the husband made eye contact. I had already asked them on their way into the restaurant and the mad had pushed me around a little. Which is understandable... I guess. I put my hands up and backed off as he shook his head and quickly escorted the woman to a car.
Damn it.
Comming around the corner was a mass of voices. Students! Oh glory be...
A pack of university students with knap sacks came around the corner... Glory be to the gods of irony! One of them comes to the porn store. Praise! Glory! Eggplant!!!
He saw me and froze as the group kept walking. Way to give me the upper hand.
"Hey... Hey! Hey guys... Can I ask you a favour?"
The group stopped and eyed me up suspiciously. The guy who rented from the porn store still held back and looked sick with worry that I would tell all his little friends he liked tranny on tranny porn the best.
"Could I give you $20 to get me a take out order of eggplant and chili?"
One girl spoke for the gaggle of boys. "What? Go in and get it yourself! What? You're too high and mighty to sit in a Chinese restaurant?"
That's it. I'm burned out to all hell. I'm hungry beyond all compairisons and Anthony had dragged me here to try and solicit people to buy food. Ping! There's that little noise! The little noise in my head when I'm about to flip out.
I moved forward in an agressive pounce and stood over her. I looked down and widened my eyes.
"Do you not think that if I could WALK ON IN THERE that I would have done that? Do you think that I'm just standing out here because I won't talk to Chinese people?! You know what? I fucking love everyone! I love 'em. LOVE EM SO MUCH THAT I WILL DO STUPID THINGS LIKE THIS!"
The students looked scared. This won't help.
Breathe. "Kids, I'm sorry. I would go in, but they won't serve me."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing... It's just they get it in their mind that you can't handle the food... and it changes."
Still a pack of confused faces.
"Look, unless I get someone who's Asian or East Indian to go in and order this, they'll make it without the chilis and they won't make it as good."
"That's bullshit!"
"You know what's bullshit? You telling me I'm making this up! Do you think I like hanging out in fucking plazas in a the heat on a Sunday asking people to buy me fuckingeggplantandchili?!"
"Come on guys, I have a fierce craving for eggplant now..." She led the pack past me and left me there with a $20 in hand. Denied. Not for long.
"Hey... Hey HEY!"
The group turned around.
"Be kind... Please rewind will you?"
The tranny fanatic froze. I never want to get between a man and his smutty desires, but I'm desparate.
The Tits 'n Dick guy suddenly spoke up. "Come on guys, you know they give the run around to white people... Let's just get it for him OK?"
Another guy spoke up. "Hey fuck man, you have to realize that they don't want people to treat this place like a fucking buffet for seniors."
"I know! I respect that! And this is why my roomate is so hooked on this stuff. It's SO GOOD but it never tastes the same as when the right person orders it. Please, please i'm sorry I was psycho. I just want an order and I'm out of here."
Tranny Boy nodded and walked back to take the $20. With my lips shut I threw my voice softly as he came up to me. "Im so sorry... i'm desparate. free rentals this week?"
"Make that this month."
I yanked the $20 out of his fingers.
"Don't get greedy." I hissed.
"I don't think you want me to walk away right now."
"I don't think you want your little friends to know what we're negotiating about."
"Three weeks and I'll bring it out to you as soon as it's done."
"Deal. Keep the change."
I relaxed and turned away from the group. Fuck, that's shameful. Negotiating over free rentals to feed my roomate."
I slumped down to the sidewalk and waited. I'll faint if I have another cigarette. 10 minutes... 20 minutes. They're not coming back.
Ding-da-ding. I looked up... I half expected them to keep the $20, but out came Tranny Boy with a take out bag. He set it down beside me and stuck out a hand full of change.
"Honey, keep it. I'm an ass for trying to embarass you. That's not me... that's the hunger talking."
"No no... take it... My friends are looking through the window. Just take it."
"Thanks."
"No problem."
"See you tomorrow then? Er, ah... Sorry. That's tacky."
He sighed and walked away. Suddenly Anthony was there in the parking lot waiting for me to get in.
"The bag feels heavy. Fuck! I bet they just chucked rocks covered in red sauce in there!"
We rooted through the bag. TWO orders of eggplant and chili, TWO containers with broccoli and cashews and... and... And one order of ginger duck? This was way more than I had asked for.
"What the hell is all this?"
"Hey... Hey, look. It's your little friend."
The busboy was looking out the window at us. With a small grin. He was the same guy that the waitresses had sent out to my table the last time I dared to eat in. They pushed him towards us with poking fingers and made him try to run around and clear tables and serve my friend Kel. Poor thing was lost and unsure since, you know, he's the motherfucking busboy not a waiter. Kel and I had walked over to the area where the waitresses were congregated and pointed at the busboy to come over. In a touching ceremony I presented him money for the bill and Kel and I each gave him a snappy $20 for being nice enough to try. The waitresses looked gob-smacked and we walked out... I never thought that he'd still be here five years later.
"Wave to the boy, he made sure we got fed today."
We waved and he looked swelled up with a good deed.
"Let's get this shit home to eat. I'm sick of doing your dirty work today."

fiction - july 30 2006

it was frighteningly hot out on the patio. stupid fucking natural sunlight and all that rot. i wiped the top of my lip again and tried to mop up the sweat beading around my sunglasses. i looked over my shoulder at the restaurant and sighed. 7 feet away from airconditioning and i'm stuck out in the heat watching my beer go piss warm from the sun and smog.
"Nate... Nate! Isn't that your ex?"
I scanned the sidewalk for him until i was cast in a shadow. he had gotten the drop on me and strode towards me. bastard was probably sitting inside where it's nice and cool. in tow there was a boy with a shaved head... a proper little mini me that looked over his shoulder from behind and focused a nasty glare on me.
I, I was a glorious mess, but wasn't too concerned. I was butting out one cigarette as an unlit one bounced around in my lips. my lighter was hot to the touch but I cooly lit up and feigned suprise. "Oh! You. I know you."
"Hi Nate."
Too happy looking. Too polite and not enough threatening to kill me. I was unsure what the fuck was happening. A show for the boy? Please.

My forearm was bandaged up to the elbow and snaked with blood that had peaked out from the gauze. I was dazed from trying to party hard after putting my fist through a window. Not enough blood to carry the booze around.
A few friends had caught me in a net of moral obligation to try and look after friends who are drunk and on the edge of collapse. it hadn't been too inspiring don't worry. they had simply kept me propt up in a cushioned booth to hold their coats and bags while they danced all night. gradually i found the balance of one shooter to every bottle of water. my skin was warm purple under the black lights. i don't recall sleeping on the fouton with my pants off and shirt over my head. Some how those moments were bridged together... with shit, well shit that I totally couldn't remember. But I could go for some food... and hence how i was duped into sitting outside in the patio... food yes, beer yes, sitting like peasants in the sun? Ew.

I kind of recall breaking the window... i remember knocking on Adelle's door... knocking and knocking... screaming at her to come out and pay me. what a scary mess. i banged my fist against the door for her to come out. i was expecting the panes of glass around the door to be treated... you know... the institution grade that you can dent at best? my hand flew through the section of glass and snared a fair bit of skin with it. i'm sure i did more damage yanking it out to examine it. Adelle burst out the door crying and pouding her hands on me to leave. I hoisted a gory arm up.
"Adelle, I broke your window. I... I didn't mean to do that. I just wanted you to come out."
She was stunned by the rivers of wet lines falling down my forearm and darted back inside.
"Adelle! Holy shit! Adelle!! I didn't mean to break the glass.... Please let me in... Call a fucking ambulance if you won't let me in."
She cried inside and I tried not to get enraged. Crying? Crying? I'll give you something to cry about. Leave me out here bleeding all over the fucking deck and all you can do is cry? I could have easily reached back through the hole to undo the deadbolt but that might be crossing a line.
I started down the porch steps and felt as though i was being slowly set into water. fully aware but slipping into something that was holding me inclosed. walking walking walking to the back yard. I yanked off some shirts from her laundry line and tied a tshirt around my arm. i secured it with a long sleeve shirt that I knotted the sleeves around to hold it all together. it was pushing through the material quickly. i better go to the hospital. yes, you can show up drunk and high at someone's place and not know what brought you there, but you have enough sense to get to a hospital? I guess i'll always be a little hypochondriac until I die so i cant resist the thought of a hospital inturn working on me and pretty much trying to ruin someone else's day.
ding-a-ling! i hear the streetcar. what luck! i think i can make this one. i was keeping it pretty straight looking until the driver looked down at my homemade bandage.
"Holy my god... Are you ok?"
"You know what would make me better?"
He shook his head and looked completely shit-scared.
"I'd feel a fucking lot better if you let me on so I can get to the hospital."
His face went hard and looked forward. I'm sure he was just concerned that i was going to bleed to death in the back.
I walked down the middle isle and people pulled back like waves of disgust. all silently saying the transit riders prayer of "don't let this whacko sit beside me..."
Finally I found a good little spot to stand and try not to faint. wow, i'm cut good. my whole arm feels icy cool yet i'm feeling a bit warm. don't forget to yank the cord to tell the man to let me off.
ding ding! ha ha... baby feels dizzy. i'm smiling at the noises around me.
and uh... wow. it just fades back into my mind like a little shiver. here and gone and there's just a small physical reminder... with stiches... and man do i need a drink.
I do remember making a rather forward trip through the gay ghetto to see if i could find someone who owed me money. someone had to cough up a drink.
Plowing through groups flitting around and chatting i cut through a group of semi friends and well wishers.
"Nate? Nate! Fuck man, did you try and slit your little wrists princess?"
Turning around to see who was talking to me I felt like wilting. I twiddled some fingers in the air to say hello and pop! down down down oh fuck the sidewalk looks dirty....
Gracious. There I am, looking up at a halo of men around me staring, concerned and asking me if I need an ambulance. cell phones already in hand. the fuckers will call for the ambulance but'll never stick around when the cops show up. no no no... no ambulance!
Seth cut in with some random friend and hoisted me up.
"It's OK! No ambulance... We got him."
Backs turned away and back to their original conversations. fuck, someone could have just claimed they knew me and dragged me to god knows where while i was passed out.
"God damn... could have taken me away... bastards... you..."
"What's he saying?"
Seth huffed trying to drag me up and away to press me up against a solid surface. "I have no clue what he's saying. Just hold him up for a minte."
I got a shot of heat inside of me. Awake! Pull yourself together! Seth owes you money! You can hit him up and get a drink!
"SETH! YOU MONEY ME FUCKING YOU KNOW WHAT TO DRINK!"
They looked back stunned. Seth pinched my cheeks in his hand. "I choose my words carefully: Get you and your shit together now before I leave you standing here."
Poof. Jerk. Dick. I'm clearly lacking a few quarts of blood and he's mad at mefor being embarassing? but... it IS rather tough to extract money from someone when they're hostile.
"Seth... sorry... I just got out of the hospital. I cut myself on glass and needed stiches. Just feeling a little MESSY. Am I right?"
He looked disgusted.
"Give me that $50 you owe me."
"You COCK! Ben, we're leaving."
I walked out after them swaying a little each step.
"Oh sure I'm a cock when you owe me money! For GOD SAKES SETH LISTEN TO ME!" I cut loose a yell that was a two-pronged approach of unecessary and hysterical. Seth stopped dead and charged at me with arms out to herd me back. I thumped into the wall again and his boy toy looked over his shoulder worried.
"You want a drink? Fine. I'll get you a fucking drink."
"What?! He can't come with us! You said it was just my friends tonight!"
"Shut it! I owe him this at least..." He grabbed hold of my wrist and dragged me into a steady pace of walking. "God I hope you can get in."
"Why the change of heart Sethy?"
"You can sit with our coats so we don't have to pay for coatcheck."
"Cheap fucking bastard... This is my night!"
I laughed but Seth ignored the boytoy comment.
I'm a coat rack. I'm a coat rack for a bottle of beer and the dull knowledge that I should probably stay awake in case i pop a stich and start bleeding to death. I plugged back beer in the corner and tempered them with water inbetween bottles. So sad... The doctor didn't even give me painkillers. I guess I did look a little cracked out to warrant giving me any opiates.
Then what? Then sitting listen to that terrible music and Seth with his little party posse. I was deemed the leper and there were clear scuffles to avoid sitting beside me when they took a break to sit down.
Come to think of it... Why the hell would Seth have even bothered to take me home... Probably trying to rope me into some threesome. One can only speculate based on prior evidence...
I should...
"Uh?"
Shit! Shit I'm wandering off and Ex is there. Another boy. Another leering little hairless dick who's disturbed to be around me. The Ex must love him. He's obediant and at attention.
"Sorry... sorry... there was a broken glass incident. I got stiches! Do you want to see?"
There was a collective gasp at my table and from the boy toy. The Ex strode up closer to take a look. Always a brave soul!
I let him take my wrist and turn the arm around.
"Quite the little mess there..."
"Can you believe that the fucking doctor didn't even give me pain killers?"
He quickly dropped my arm in disgust. What? Just because he was addicted to pain killers I can't have any? Jerk.

note to self...

summer list


words

fiction

another shift on the ward... hot as steamy piss. no wait, that's just what it smelled like in the back. no matter how often i emptied the trash, wiped things down, wiped the clients down... it always hung in the air. trapped in the humidity that wafted in during the summer.
i would be green in the mornings. literally on the verge of throwing up because i was upright at 6am. the auto pilot would click on and away I'd shuffle to start to wake up the apartment. who am i kidding? most of them were up already. some in bed waiting, others slinking around the back halls which always unsettled me. i had a back pocket full of medium gloves... and flipped on the tub room lights to turn on the beast of tub. the lights always casting an annoying tint to the room, an assault on my eyes.
bath time... always interesting, always different depending on what apartment i was in. i stared off into nothing shampooing hair and becoming more aware at the dampness that got into the gloves... pockets of water that always got in... always created red ruts on my fingers that sometimes split open and I would end up making it worse from wearing gloves more often because you don't need weeping sores working with hepatitis positive patients.
the supervisor i had the first summer worked as a nurse in some tough psych hospitals in England... eventually becoming a nursing teacher and somehow ending up in the Hospital as my bosses boss. She offended some of the sow staff who didn't get her chilly sarcasm or appreciated how skilled she was. everything was a learning moment... but more importantly just some hard skills behind what she was showing me. she talked to me about how i was eerily calm in Big Freakouts and just had made a decent name as a summer student who wasn't too terribly stupid.
her emphasis was on how your actions could make things better or make things worse... jean was keen on getting me aware of what i was actually putting a patient through when i tried to confront someone raging or someone who was having literally a psychotic episode. terrifying for the patient to be sure and made worse by a bad decision. jean was talking to me about how rare it is to use a 4 point restraint in the Hospital now... and only if the patient is ripping the apartment down or practically killing someone. still, it had happened after we had all gotten clobbered by a patient who was so good... except it was like he turned into a different guy for 3 weeks. just like someone had replaced his sweet little personality. regardless it was a hairy situation where we had all been rushed to stop him from tearing into guys who were in that apartment. the force of screaming, the clawing and punching made worse by the fact that he's blind and in tune with anything getting up close to him.
it was difficult to try and help the full timers get him to calm down... he would be still and boom! someone would get hit again... all dramatic recreations aside we finally got the go ahead to put him in a restraint... i wasn't able to do it personally but i had to sit in the room and try to hold down his legs then arms. the final moment before i left i asked him if he was going to be calm... he relaxed his hands and nodded... and as I got up from the bed he dug his nails into my arm and curled them up. Holy mother of god... there's one lesson learned...
so that was over and i was clearly affected by it. it's something where I can't imagine being in that bed, but conflicted because i had a puffy face and a scratched up arm that stung from his nails. i had fallen back when he slapped me and took his hand with me... i was despondant thinking that i had seriously hurt him... or as jean had been trying to teach me, make things worse by my actions.
We sat in the apartment livingroom and chilled out for a moment to try and figure out what caused this outburst. 5 people could hardly get him to stand up and walk without lashing out. what was wrong? why did he do it? did we do the right thing? should be have put the restraints on sooner before he kicked the shit out of everyone? Perry, a roomate of the patient who got thumped as well screamed in his downs syndrome drawl and cut into my thoughts, "he hit mwee!" clearly he was happy at the situation being dealt with.
Jean chatted for a bit and plopped the set papers i had to fill out... any time i got smacked and a supervisor saw it we had to fill something out. the union felt that this would prevent us from filing a claim because the forms would take so stupidly long. or at least that was my conspiracy theory.
i was filling out the forms with an icepack on the side of my face. getting too warm to be of much comfort but had done nothing to sooth the throb of my face. i was getting sweat in my eyes because the a/c was broken and i was depending on a breeze to come through the side patio door. i was awash in thoughts, worry, feeling perplexed as to why this usually calm guy was going ballistic.... and in the background a bigger debate was unfolding.
Perry was defending himself from Mikey's criticisms. "no-ah... you wee-taded" and Mikey with a stutter, "N n n no no NO you're retarded!" Seriously. They were trash talking each other on who was more retarded and it was heating up rapidly until the apartment was filled up with them squalling the r word over and over and over until i stood bolt up right. "you're both retarded stop it!!"
[pause]
"S... s .. s ssee? I told y y y ya you were."
i chucked the forms into the trash and got juice and some cookies for the three of us since it was the universal food and drink of snack time and calm the fuck down time. I appologized but all i got was big goofy smiles caked in oreo cookie brown-black and obliged them in a toast... and then another toast 5 minutes later because, well, Perry forgot that we had already done it. Dah well.

fiction july 3 2006

my hand was going sweaty pressed up against the hood of the car. i was woofing up a searing mouthful of breakfast that had been layered on top of an ocean of beer i had drank the night before.
"That, sir, is why you shouldn't have had the drinks with brunch."
I really wasn't happy with the idea of throwing up a $30 meal in the hotel parking lot. Paul kept watch as best he could while trying to call his evening fling on his cell.
"What the fuck! I told him I was going to call back right at noon today!" He paced off down the garage to leave me trying to plug up my mouth and keep something down. I slid down to lean against the car and avoid the small puddle I had made. my upper lip was thick with sweat and i wondered if i would feel better in the car with the airconditioner on. Paul paced back to the car and steamed past chewing on his thumb nail. Still being psycho and still repeatedly calling the boy he had gone home with. I tried to get his attention for the keys but he was lost in repeated button stabs and didn't pay mind to me meakly waving a hand.
Finally I popped open my bag to fish around for a joint. i found one pathetic half-smoked bit and yanked out a bottle of wine. lit up and pulling on what remained I steadied my will for a drink. this will make the day or break it. Ahhhh... still kinda cold. wine never turns its back on me.
"I can't believe you're drinking!"
"Want some?"
Paul tore the bottle away from me and plugged a mouthful back. "Why isn't he here? We need to get going!"
"What exactly are you waiting for again?"
"Fuck it. Pull yourself together we're leaving." But he walked away again for one more burst of calls. I took the time to finish the wine off and feel steady again. I shut my eyes and felt around in my pants for a piece of paper. Paul had lost a heated draw for the hotel room last night and went back to the no-show boy's apartment. Resigned to the idea of figuring out how I could order in porn without it getting charged to Paul's credit card I had stood outside having one last smoke.
The Ex was a meathead cop in the northside of town. Big slab of dark eyes and a terrifying calm that would intensify the more enraged he got. He and I had a thing that had been dragging like an aching hardon for months since we had ended things officially, but lately i was in the mood to avoid him completely. The last bit of whining I had heard from him was in regards to his partner asking to be reassinged after getting up to his arsehole in stealing possessed goods. Needless to say it would be a little terrifying to have a racket be jeapordized by someone having a spat of guilt.
The partner had been a closet case so all The Ex had on him was a long list of dick that would certainly call into question the reasons why he was married with some kids. I turned to the side of the bar hoping to see some people fucking or better still someone selling weed for a night cap.
"Nate?"
I jumped backwards ready for a fight but only saw The Ex's ex partner. "Hey... Hi." He looked down and stuck a hand in his pocket. Probably the one he stuck his wedding band into.
He looked down and walked over to me. Like I was supposed to do something but he was painfully scared of it.
"Hey, Scott... right?"
"Yeah! So," He exhaled a stream of smoke and sized up to me and looked straight a head at my chest.
"Look...." He moved forward some more. "I dont know what you heard..."
"I don't give a shit. the more i know the worse i feel about it."
"Are you in town for something?"
"Just for my friend to get some tail tonight." I looked over my shoulder at the back of Paul's head and arms wrapping around him from the front. By the time I looked back Scott was even closer and our chests grazed closely. I eyed him up as he kept avoiding look up at me. Classic fuck me fuck me until i forget the bitch wife and kids syndrome. I had indeed won the hotel room for the night.... I pulled at his wrist and avoided Paul catching us wave down a cab.
"The Imperial on Jans St. please."
Scott stayed far to the side of the cab in dark shadows with his hand moving to find the top of mine and gingerly graze my fingers for a second. What a trip... this is grade 8 all over again! hopefully this boy won't break my collarbone when trying to reject me. what can i say? i went to a tough school.
We waked into the hotel lobby which was still save for the night staff behind the desk. i walked straight for the elevators with my little closet case in tow. Finally in the elevator he looked up at me as he pressed up against the mirrored wall. He was trying to think of some bullshit small talk I'm sure, but the doors pulled open again. I didn't say anything and let him trail after me. When we got to the suite he suprised me with arms enveloping me from behind. He came in the door linked to me and i tugged him to my bed to fall backwards on him.
"Hey, yo, lighten up. I'd like to consider this something fun for the both of us instead of me ruining your life."
He shook a head. "I can see why you made him crazy. You don't suffer bullshit very well."
"He was a great guy when he wasn't in a manic episode. So... are you ok with fucking or what?"
Clearly he was shocked. "I, uh..."
"Cause I'm fine with just drinking and hanging out. I dont want you to feel like you have to do this."
He warmed to the response and didn't overtly notice that I was only saying it to increase my chances of getting his pants off. We stripped down to obligatory tshirts and shorts and nestled into each other. for once I wasn't fiddling around trying to fan the passion in order to speed things up. Maybe it was all the beer or maybe it was from the massive quantity of weed Paul and I had smoked that day.
I find I'm a beacon for people to pour their little hearts out to, but we enjoyed the time to kiss and avoid having to let it all fall apart into a 15 minute burst of energy.
We passed out with hands under boxer waistband elastics and the airconditioner fanning us into a deep sleep. Paul came in after 8AM and noisily passed out on the floor after leaving all his luggage on the bed and was too wasted to clear it off. The Ex's ex partner shook me awake after Paul had settled to leave and silently left me his cell and email number.
"Nate! Get up. We're going. I'm not going to sit around in a parking garage all fucking morning."
I tossed my bags into the backseat and jammed the piece of paper into my wallet.

meeting minute doodles

pictures from meeting minutes. holy shit, do i even hear anything in these meetings? no. not at all.




misc pics

fiction/hospital thoughts...

Finally, the morning routine was over.

Shitty asses have been wiped, washed and clothed for the morning. Mouths stuffed full of food in their required consistency pureed for the toothless yobs who long since lost their teeth falling down from seizures or worse still, the ones old enough who got their teeth yanked for being a bit too nippy. Thicker food for those clients up for the challenge but even then, statistically speaking youd have to leap across a table and fish out a hank of egg at least once a month.
Those were the worst. The "smarter ones", but they would sit silently as they choked on something. You would be in a frantic state trying to set down food and accost others who were trying to steal more never really feeling as though you were keeping up with things and in a pissed off mood because no doubt your apartment partner was picking their nose in front of the tv.
"Oh I put my time in little one. Time for the new staff to work a little."
I could have stomached it if they actually did something occasionally.
You would be supervising the whole mess Thinking in the back of your mind, Thank fuck [insert consistent asshole name here] isnt acting up. What a relief.
And thats when panic sets in and you look at the asshole and realize thats not normal or am I just paranoid? Asshole sitting there, calm and looking at you with wide eyes, fork in hand and no trouble on the horizon.
You get back to work and try to read a little in the log book to see what trouble everyone had been in on your days off. Still, that persistent little twinge, somethings not right here kemosabe. Aunt Wendy called it Indian sense, I just looked at it as common sense, Indian shit be damned.
You turn back and theres six clients at the table. Then the other 3 in wheelchairs looking at you with bovine eyes as their feeding tubes filled up their bellies and eventually into a slick shit pile in their diapers that smells no different than when I poured it out of the can.
Petey is still sitting like a good boy, not trying to steal from anyone, not even attempting to make a scene. Something is terribly wrong.
As I walk towards him Petey's head makes a thwack noise as it hits the plate in front of him. Hes been chocking this entire time and hes been too stupid to let you know. His silence was from a piece of stolen toast turned in his throat and more food stuffed in to try and push it down. Never a good solution, but they're all living in a mental institution, so what do I expect?
Petey slid to the floor and I caught his shoulders to ease him down. I looked up to see the other clients reaching for his plate and yanking food off to eat.
"Fucking vultures! Back! GREG! Get the nurse! Petes chocking."
"Oh gosh darn. Not Pete."
He wasnt even running. he didnt even notice my hands in Petes hepatitis infested mouth trying to keep it open and not biting my non-gloved hand. Got it!
Gahk! Gahk! Gahk!
Phew I sat back and let Petey catch his breath. The nurse can take over from here. Dopey faces peered over the table to look at Pete, most of them still chewing the food they took off his plate and a few bold ones leaned over to dunk bits into the ketchup cup given to him specially.
The nurse clopped in at an alarmingly slow pace and didnt even bend down.
"Well for the love of god Can you please get this patient off the floor?"
No one offered to help me, and Petey, full of life and oxygen had reverted back to his normal dickish ways went limp and turned into a 160 pound lump for me to lift and put into a recliner.
"Aw poor Petey." Damn you, you obese cow with a stethascope! You can't even check his blood pressure because your gel nails are too long to actually manipulate medical equipment. "Must have had quite the scare!" Petey nodded and pointed at me.
"I no supposed to have toasts I almost die from toasts!"
Tisk tisk tisk from the nurse and I grabbed the accident report sheets from the desk and went out to the deck before I killed someone.
My heart beat fast and I tried to talk myself down enough to stop shaking. I turned over my hands to look for bite marks and felt a little surge of calm when there was nothing there. I fumbled around in my pockets for a small bottle of sanitizer to slather my hands. In the process I got a dollop of it on the accident report sheets. Fuck!
The faint sound of synchronized foot steps approached. Bliss. After all this I could at least take the time to watch the police cadets do some laps around the grounds the hospital rented out to the school. It was summer and their shirts were gone by the second lap. Bliss.
My hands quivered still as I parked a cigarette in my lips. The accident report could wait as hard bodies galloped past.
"Haaaaaaaaaaaay beeeeeh-beeeeeee!"
Anthony ran with them every day out of spite. He could out-run any of them, but mostly that was because hes too stupid to know what exhaustion is. I waved to him and yelled back, "Hi behhbee!"
"Woo wooo!! Cahm on behbees! Wun wun wun!"
The cadets looked stunned at Anthonys surge of energy and sprinting past the group. I pulled my sunglasses down over my eyes and gawked at sweaty men. Shit, I deserve something nice after all that bullshit. At least the mornings over.

mix-o down with succubis mix and another one

rich - yeah yeah yeahs
forgot myself again - doves
train in vain - the clash
ape dos mil - glassjaw
selfless, cold & composed - ben folds five
spies - coldplay
hey joe - jimi hendrix
i wouldn't believe your radio - stereophonics
dreaming of you - the coral
day we caught the train - ocean colour scene
buttons & zips - elbow
keep close - south
thirteen shells from a thirty ought six - tom waits
down in the park - foo fighters
red right hand - nick cave
loved - cranes
possibly maybe - bjork

"mark on the bus" - beastie boys
"chocolate lovely" - amon tobin
"jerk it out" - the caesars
"date with the night" - yeah yeah yeahs
"sissyneck" - beck
"autobiography" - sloan
"black history month" - death from above 1979
"styles"- the herbaliser
"only you" - portishead
"scapegoat" - microbunny
"when the sun took the day off and the moon stood still" freestyle fellowship
"trigger hippie" - morcheeba
"bloodstain" - unkle
"i am trying to break your heart" - wilco
"astral" - calla
"animals + insects" - the stills
"he thought of cars" - blur
"namaste" beastie boys

heuther hotel - apartment rooms - may 2006

the doorway to the shared kitchen that connects to the door where the strippers come in and out.

fiction may 2006

this is fantastic. brilliant. exactly what i needed.
i melted under hands massaging my scalp. the gentle scratchy sound of hair being twisted and bent. The white noise of the salon fading into a hum and me buzzed out of my mind getting a head rub before a haircut.
eyes still shut i heard paws skitter across the hardwood floor... probably the dogs chasing a broom around.
and it was over. i shot a look at my watch on the sly and noted that it pays to tip your hairdresser well to get additional perks like a 10 minute scalp manipulation when they normally just flit around your hair for a minute and stick you under the hose for a shampoo. i felt my ankles pop and snap as i stretched them and stiffled a yawn.
"Oh damn you don't do that."
Xuan looked tired and turned his face to yawn.
"Sorry sorry, long day. It's not my fault you kill me with the head rub."
"Yeah I wish I got one sometimes."
"Tell you what, I'll skip tipping you if you want me to give you one after."
He thought about it as he checked the length at the back of my head. "No, I want the money more than a massage. You're nice to offer though."
"I try."
"Come on to the back for a wash. What's new with you?"
I never know what to talk about with the hairdresser. I'm horrified listening to people in salons going on and on about personal crap... shit i wouldn't bring up with a priest. Or even more terrifying getting shacked up beside someone who wants to run down the best Oprah and Dr. Phil episodes since they were last in for a trim. Me, i never thought that i did anything interesting enough to justify inflicting it on a hairdresser.
"Oh... Nothing much."
"It's always nothing much with you! Paul and Sandro say they spotted you at Dulcies on Saturday with a mob of boys up to no good. you have to do something with your time!"
Agh! I thought I had noticed them in a drunken haze. I had been out with the old crew from school and was a mess. I can't believe they saw me... wait... I can't believe they talked about it.
Xuan had me back in the chair and got the hint that I didn't want to talk about it. I'm not sure if it was because I was red or if I was completely silent. I don't know what the hell happens to me sometimes. under normal circumstances you can't get me to shut up, but i shit it with some people and turn into a shy fool.
Never being able to hear well in the best circumstances I was lost under the water. my eyes opened a little only to see Xuan's utility belt of sorts. Scissors, comb and other miscellanious sharp things. He attempted to say something else and I pointed at my ear. His face looming over me looked embarassed and turned off the water to later up my hair.
"Shit I'm sorry I forget you can't hear me that well."
"No worries... When you're done tell me about your weekend."
The foamy lather smelled like mint and beyond my vision dogs ran around again. I snapped my fingers and found a winkled boxer snout in my hand.
"Zooey, I'll kill you if you get into Nate's bag again."
"Aw baby, it's not your fault you're a troubled child."
Xuan smiled at me. "You're so lovey with them. You treat them like they're little kids."
"My kind of kids. Obese, cute and stupid... Look at him. He's not going to university and wasting your money or coming home gay and disappointing the family at Thanksgiving after grandma died."
Xuan fortunately got my sarcasm and laughed. "Shut up for a minute and let me rinse you off."
The water snapped off finally and I sat up to wipe a slobbery hand on my jeans.
"Your eyeliner is amazing. What do you have on?"
"Oh, I don't... wait... it's still on from last night I guess."
A towel wrapped around my head and hands jostled around to dry me off.
"See? See! You do more than you let on. You're still in yesterdays makeup!"
"It's MAC's Burried Treasure. No man looks bad in it and as you can see, it's waterproof."
"Well it looks really nice. Makes the blue pop you know?"
"Thanks Xu... HEY! GET OUT OF MY BAG!"
"Zooey! You asshole! Paul get your dog out of my station please."
From the front counter, Paul wheeled out. "What are you whining about now?"
"You asshole dog is sniffing a clients bag."
"Well just tell him to get down!"
"NO! A bag! Book bag... gah forget it."
Paul winked at me as Xuan pushed me back to his work station and sent the dog running. No harm done, just some puppy nose snot that didn't phase me.
I hopped into the chair and positioned myself as it was raised from foot pumps. "Now, finally, how was your weekend?"
"Wait, I said I'd ask you first. you must get sick of listening to people go on and on about their day."
"Yeah but I want to hear about yours first..." He pulled strips of hair down to test their length and shot me a small look before turning away.
"Well it was Orphan Easter this year...A bunch of friends all found out that our immediate family wasn't going to be around for Easter so we all got together and made dinner."
"That's awful that you couldn't spend time with family though."
"Are you kidding? Instead of sitting at a table with family members who barely tolerate me I got to spend a night with friends drinking and listening to music. We all made something and it ended up being this whack-job potluck with liquor. Cigars after dinner and just talking talking talking. I mean, i love the family and all, but it was great just to have a "holiday" meal that didn't involve my family asking if the whole gay thing is over."
"That... that sounds really nice actually." His face cast a sad look and he went into cutting my hair.
"Dare I ask about yours?"
"It was... well it was nice to see family..."
"But...?"
"But... it was terrible. Church and trying to make my way through a room of people who either won't talk to me, kinda tolerate me or the few younger cousins who will talk to me. My one stupid cousin tried to make this plot to get my mom and I in the same room... ugh!"
"Oh so real fun stuff then?"
"I wish I had been at your dinner instead truth be told."
Xuan, from what I had picked up over the year of going to see him, had been married at some retardedly young age. He's always said 20, but if he was correct on the year, it was more like 17. There was a kid involved, hence the urgency for a wedding. He described it as being in a dream. Every auntie and female relative removed him from the decsion making process. He said it was daze of being lead up to one day when he woke up, was dressed in a suit and got married. The details from that point on became sketchy other than being divorced, very gay and 3/4 disowned. Pictures of his son were stuck along the lip his mirror and 3 cats who were responsible for the steady smattering of hair on everything he owned.
Paul wandered through to talk to clients and banter with the staff. He put a chin on Xuan's shoulder.
"Did you show Nate what your dads bought you for Easter?"
He got giddy and turned out a thin hand to the mirror for me to look at the reflection. A thick silver band on his middle finger.
"Do you think it's advisable to give him a reason to show off his middle finger?"
"Why do you think me and Sandro bought them?" He squeezed Xuan's shoulders and walked to the next station. It seemed to bolster his spirits and he looked down at the ring before going back to the cut.
"Any special occasion for the cut?"
"Oh well, not as such, but..."
"See, you're so secretive! I would love to sit you down and pick your brains sometime...."
Shit. Shit? Shit... Shit I never knew when people were hitting on me. You might as well just grab my cock and let me know because I was oblivious. Or was this just small talk? Small talk. Yes. I had let too much time pass, I should have finished my original sentance...
"You, ah... you don't mind if I ask that?"
"No there's nothing wrong with that, I..."
"Good... I don't want to sound like a creep or something."
"Aw, Xuan, you don't sound like a creep. You're always so down on how people percieve you." I couldn't talk before and now I can't shut up and stop digging a hole.
"I've just..." He finished up the cut and started the hairdryer. I couldn't hear what he said and pointed at my ear again. He mouthed sorry and kept drying. He looked pained and serious.
Shit! you tit, you spent more time trying to make him feel better instead of being honest with him. Danger! Danger! I hoped the dryer would stay on longer... forever. Let the salon catch on fire and end this conversation neatly!
Click.
We had spent a year talking for an hour a month. An hour where I'm "on" and not how I am the majority of the time: A boring old crank. And I didn't like where this vibe was going....
He started styling my hair. Still not making eyecontact and leaving me to look at him in the mirror.
"I just wanted to know if we could go out... sometime... if, you'd like."
"Ah, Xuan, I have a boyfriend. I'm sorry I was just about to say and then you got all sad and I wanted to address that first before I told you I had a boyfriend and it's nothing personal and i think it's really sweet that you would even be interested in me because i'm like,"
Clunk! He jammed a foot in the back of the chair raise bar and I came down to the floor level with a jolt.
"No. No it was too personal to be asking a client I'm really sorry."
Damn it. Way to go. Wait, it's not my fault I have a boyfriend. Tough luck for you baby, I'm taken. Right. I'm so full of guilt that I will always assume I'm the asshole and take the blame.
We finished up in silence and I thanked him. He said bye and tried to turn away but I caught his shoulder. "Hey, stop being so hard on yourself. I sound like a fool when I'm trying to appologize. I'll book for another appointment?"
"Oh god! Of course, don't not come in... I mean, sorry. You make me feel so silly talking sometimes with my crappy grammar."
Good. You reject him and also make him feel like a retard. You're the feel-good gay man of the fucking year.
He followed me out to the front counter where Paul was filling in an appointment in a book. He shot us a look and must have figured out it didn't go well. My boyfriend James stood up when I came in, still in hospital scrubs. He normally would have been sitting in the car honking the horn, but had come in to buy some of the foot cream stuff for runners they sold. i, of course, had told him to come in and get it and had forgotten about it up until now.
James was incredibly tall and was shocking to see coming at you if you weren't expecting a lumberjack in ER scrubs. Xuan looked horrified as James came up to us and only addressed me. "Aw hon you look great. Let's get home and get changed."
Xuan put on a brave face. "You two heading out tonight?"
"Yep, I've been working night shifts like crazy and I miss Nate. I got us tickets to the orchestra tonight. Russian composers - something we can agree on classically at least."
"That sounds... so nice. I wouldn't know anyting about it though."
James ignored him and looked down at his watch. "Doll, get a wiggle on. Reservations are in 50 minutes at Zachary's."
A collective woo went out in the waiting room. I turned to thank Xuan but he had turned back to walk to his station. I watched another stylist look at his face as he walked past and could gather that he didn't look good. A hand went up to his face. Gah!
"Babe! Back to reality! Let's gooooo."
"All right all right."
"Book me in for next month please Paulie. Um..." I lowered my voice. "tell Xuan I'm sorry. Of all the nights.. the one night when James comes in. I didn't like, lead him..."
"Noooo noo honey... he just you know, thought you were..." He looked over my shoulder. James was probably distracted by his blackberry.
"He thinks you're really smart and just has been dying to get to know you. Not your fault ya know?"
A weak smile tried to wrap things up and I left a huge tip. James ran a hand through my hair on the way out the door. "Looks fab. You're going to look good tonight."
A good looking asshole....

the shoes/and the blues/got me arrested once - elbow

growing up in a small town comes with baggage... i mean, yeah, you can get caught up in a lot of shit in big towns, but it goes the other way too. Wow, we're going deep into the void tonight folks. Shut up. I've been sober for, ughghghhhh, two days. You hear me?! TWO FUCKING DAYS. No weed. No wine. No ether. Since I'm a firm believer that being sober can only lead to annoying statements such as, "you can be creative without drugs" i'm going to try and write something out... we'll see if it makes more sense than the other shit that's on the blog.

ok, from the top.... coming from a small town has a lot of baggage. To make matters more complicated that I can't even be from a small town, i have to be from the farming area 10 minutes outside of said small town. I realize now that there's far smaller towns with far more depressing facets, but at the time I was devastated to be growing up here. i love the nature, trees and silence of my parents place, but within my queer psyche i needed some more distractions. I appreciated what we had, but it all came back to the pressing need to get out and never come back save for holidays and funerals.
Perhaps one of the most fantastic stories that I heard stem from the term "dump weed".... Even my father laughs telling the story and thinks that it's a sin that this didn't get national attention.
Let's go back a bit to make a foundation.
My intense fear and loathing of the police is directly linked to my youth. Any po' po' north of Barrie seem to morph into moustache-faced pricks who'd rather freak the shit out of you than do things like, ya know, stop crack heads from robbing people or prevent people from getting swarmed in the park. Small town doesn't always equal no crime. So anyways, i entered into my teen years filled with a predisposed animosity for police after hearing stories of friends older brothers getting pinched and even better, someones' dad who was a naughty drunk indian and got beat up by cops using phone books.
The coffee shop/lounge that we loitered in was a top balcony that looked down to the counters and main seating area below. We were constantly chased out on a rail by cops who thought we were assholes for buying over-priced coffee and drinking it quietly while chatting. yes, we were quite the ribald pack of monsters in goodwill sweaters nodding stoned and laughing at the cops storming in with their big ol' smokey the bear-style hats.
fuckers.
If there's anything I appreciate about my teen years was the complete innocence i had to drugs. mushrooms and weed seem so tame compared to crystal meth and coke that other people I knew were doing... since my passion laid within smoking i was always on the look out for new outdoor strains. it was rare that we ever got a hold of hydro stuff and often we had to try and be careful of shit that people would douse in coke or more realistically, meth.
ANYWAYS.
I had been away at university and was back for a summer job. my dad came back from work and told me that the big story for tomorrow's paper was that the OPP had busted up an outdoor field of marijuana... 8 u-haul cube vans to be more accurate.
There were triumphant brown moustached cops infront of the garbage bags full of pot and other obligatory photos of plants stacked up high.
you might as well have told me that christmas was cancelled... this clearly was going to have a major impact on me getting high and my friends blossoming pot dealing venture. I should have known that capitalism will always triumph.
the cops were blown away at the volume they found and didn't know what to do with all of it. i mean, that is what you can only describe as a shit load of pot. Normally they have a pig roast and burn all of it, but the sheer volume would have made the entire town stoned for a week if they had lit it all up. Now what?
Dad said that they had been a little too cocky with the reporter and had been tooting their horns over the bust. The reported said that the cops were planning on burying it all out in the dump.
Dad: "Uh, they told you that?"
Reporter: "Yeah? So?"
Dad: "Don't you think it's a little, ya know, retarded to release that information?"
Reporter: "Not my problem. I'm just writiing what he told me."
Sure as shit I get the paper the next day and there's the weed bust story on the front page. It's pretty impressive since most of the time it's just some lame ass story about city council voting on a new parking meter or a fluff piece on The Stephen Leacock Home. And there it was, the quote from the cop saying that they were going to bury the whole thing out in the city dump. I shook my head and thanked the gods I had bought a criminal ammount of weed before I moved back for the summer. I figured I would be able to turn out hydro-grown shit for a premium and have enough to buy whatever inflated-priced weed I could get my hands on. Good. Good and great. Great and good.
I made some phone calls to see if anyone was flipping out about the bust and my usuall contacts seemed unphased and pretty much told me to stick my yuppie hydro up my ass.
odd. i had predicted that this would have been a sweet offer.
the next day my dad returned home clearly elated at something funny...
Turns out that the one cop who had been interviewed before had a follow up to the first story.
He had been doing a patrol the previous night and decided to do a drive by past the dump to make sure no one was dumping illegally. I can only descibe things how I would imagine them...
The cop saw something out of the corner of his eye as the cruiser drove past... He backed up and turned the car around to shine the spot light around and scanned past what must have been a dozen mullets and random assholes with garbage bags and shovels. I can see the scene unfolding... like a bad episode of COPS. Everyone froze like raccoons in headlights. Eyes wide open, mouths agape, hands clenched tightly around wooden handles.
Cop: "HEY! HEY! What the fuck are you all doing?!"
Everyone bolted like wild animals and all the cop could do was dart around trying to grab at everyone as they skittered away... which was pretty much all of them... and they all had minimum 3 bags each of the dump weed... running into the night hooting and hollering like heroes.
there's no need to mention that the cops were freaking about this. This incident would totally cross out any positive PR from the original bust and instead it devolved into an embarassing follow up story about skids with shovels making the fairly long trek out to the dump... and then finding all these other mullets out there doing the same thing. Did they all try and help each other? Were they chatting a little before they started? "Oh yeah fuckin' right mahn, dis is fuckin' killer! free fuckin' weed! dis is my cousin Gary and Willy.." and other miscellaneous small talk before digging into the earth and finding the bags.
i was thrilled that it had turned into a total fiasco and still patted my weed tin knowing that my shit hadn't been burried treasure at the local dump. Still, weed is weed right?
Well yeah... but....
go forward 2 weeks. my friend had met up with an old weekend party aquaintance when she was downtown and got invited over for a tea and smoke.
O: [hack! hack! hack!]
Mandy: "Sheee-it girl, are you new to smoking weed or what?"
o: [chahhhk! hock...bleh] "what in the hell is this?"
[passing on the left]
Mandy: "Smoke up! I've got tons of it."
O: "Mandy, it tastes fucking wierd."
Mandy: "Shut up.... you're just used to Toronto shit that's all."
O: "can you sell me some?"
Mandy: "Buddy, I can do you one better. You can fucking have some for free!"
Now this really aroused O's suspicions. None of our party friends were this generous, especially when it comes to drugs.
o: "For real? What's wrong with it?"
Mandy: "ok, you can't tell anyone..."
She reached under the couch and pulled out a Zellers bag that was knotted at the top. O could clearly see what was in it... namely a whole lot of weed.
Later on
O:"Dude come see this shit. It was like fucking halloween... she must have given me 2 handfuls."
j: "man, it smells off don't you think?"
O: "The leaves are kinda curling outwards. it's like outdoor but not ya dig?"
j: "Um... Dude..."
I realized that O didn't get the paper, nor did she give a shit about anything local going on beyond the next open mic nite.
yeah. You guess it. DUMP WEED. Holy shit it was terrible... I didn't even smoke it... because, wait for it... turns out that the cops were flipping the fuck out over the weed being stolen because it had all been sprayed with a herbicide to make it breakdown faster. GOO!! So everyone in town for months on end was seen smoking this shit and many many many of them weren't swayed by people begging them to throw it out since they might as well have been sucking on a toilet puck.
For 2 months I had to pretend I was trying to stop smoking weed in preparation for a urine test, when in reality I was terrified of being offered dump weed at a party and having to inform the host that they probably shouldn't have paid what they did for the weed.
the moral of the story is beware of cheap weed.

fiction - how near how far?

Marc and I had formed our alt-rock country band about a year ago. so far all we had accomplished was renting a loft and recording ourselves screwing around with a slide guitar when we were melting on e. It served as a useful place to crash when our various significant others had chucked us out of apartments and short term relationships. we diddled around with expensive instruments we bought at auctions... we fucked up the vintage 8 track recorder we stole from a drug dealer who went to jail. instead of boxing up his stuff we ended up jacking most of it to sell for the actual storage space and even then we heavily pilfered his budding recording studio.
i stabbed a finger into one of the record buttons. occasionally the red light would sparkle and you could hack something out. today it wasn't working, no matter how many times i jammed the red button in. what was i expecting? it's not like I paid for it or anything. what a fucking idiot. i can't believe he had all this gear. i'm sure i never saw him turn it on, save for when some bitch fingered around the knobs and paid attention to it. like that makes up for robbing the guy, but... well, there wasn't much remorse available for the situation. he had gotten fucked up in jail and he mysteriously hadn't needed it in the group home. i saw him out on a fucking day trip a few months ago and he was clearly dumbed down a few bars. poor fucks' brain had swelled out of the holes bashed out of his skull... and i'm assuming that cleaves quite a few iq points out of a man.
why am I hung up on that? marcus had fallen on the floor laughing when i told him i saw the guy hobbling around like a drooping puppet. he didn't know that i had still been paying for the storage unit long since he had ignored the letters from the bill collection agency. he didn't know I wanted to throw up after seeing him and thinking about how we had totally fucked him over... and the fact that i immediately felt relieved seeing that he wasn't going to come kill us for stealing it. not anything about him being, well, fucked up retarded...just that I could scratch one thing off the list to feel guilty about.
i let my guitar slide off my lap and my head bopped off the couch arm. i think i'm allergic to the stupid shag rug Marcus dragged in from a garage sale. i think my lips are tingling from the joint that's been burned out for god knows how long. where's my coffee? fuck. all the way over by the door. and it's come to this. too stoned and old and fucking lazy to go get another addiction mere seconds away.
my cell whirred on the table again. "fuck you. i don't know who you are, but fuck you." I stretched out and hoisted myself from the disgusing rug. the phone buzzed again and i threw my hands up to try and will it to fuck off. I walked past the circular window and popped my head through the curtains. disgusting sunlight. i blinked and lolled the dead joint around my lips. i leaned forward to bring a lighter up to my face when there was a plink up against the glass.
"jesus! what the fuck was that?"
I could hear a muffled scream. hands pressed up against the window I strained to look straight down into the alley. Marcus was down there with a stack of equipment. he was screaming and holding a phone up to his ear. clearly the source of the cell calls.
step lively before he throws the phone through the window. that thing is a bitch to get repaired let me tell you. and it was a selling feature you know. i wanted this place for the window. no matter that I never opened the curtains, but it looked so swanky from outside. i thought about what i could get to put up against the window but Marcus was at the door glaring.
"Fucking hell! you cock sucking paranoid freak... i've been calling you for the past 20 minutes trying to get in before someone fucking ROBS me out here."
"Oh eat shit Marcus Wellby. A) get a fucking key and chain it around your neck and b) when was the last time you actually saw me answer the phone?"
"Let me in. Get those lights out there before we get stabbed for them."
I scoffed, but still took a good look around before I picked the stuff up. we may be retarded spend thrifts and rent this place as a retreat from reality but it was still cheap and in a bad neighbourhood. i missed having a dog around to keep people at bay.
"Ok why are you bringing this shit here if you're going to be uptight about people stealing them?"
"Just for tonight. I have to sleep here..."
"Ya, well I'm sleeping here too cock so get used to it.?" I plopped the lights down on the fouton and tried to ignore the waft of dust that came off the cover.
Marcus slid onto the floor and let the camera bag slip off his shoulder.
"Give me that thing."
"It made my lips tingle."
"You're high, breathing is going to make you tingle."
"That fucking 8 track recorder never works for me."
Sigh. "Here." He jammed a finger in and did a little shake of the recorder. The light blipped on but he was already plugging in a guitar to play. I laid on the couch behind him and reached for an old Playboy from the 60's that was wedged behind a pillow. I settled into an interesting story how to hook up my hi-fi record turn tables before I would enivitably get bored and flip to the pictures. I don't think either of us were in the mood to talk about why we were spending the night here.

fiction - feb 2006

One plink noise and a final splattering of glass. "Ah shit...."
I had my hands clamped down an unwieldly copy of "Ham on Rye" and winced hearing the smash in the kitchen.
"Anthony?"
He was barely awake but knew where the conversation was headed. "Hmm... Yes Darren?"
"I broke one of your wine glasses, I'm sorry!"
"Oh... that's fine, don't worry about it."
"Well, it's one of your blue ones... You know, the ones you told me not to wash?"
"You mean the ones my mom got for me? You know, my dead mother."
A long pause and Darren came out of the kitchen holding the stem and a hunk of blue glass. "I'm SO sorry!" The loveseat was turned away from him so he couldn't bask in the full sour glare of Anthony wrapped up in all the blankets available within reaching distance.
"It's FINE Darren. Just throw it out." He turned over and pulled the covers over his head as he faced the cushions. I gave Darren a shrug and turned back to Bukowski. He slunk back to the kitchen to finish the dishes in silence save for the running water and tepid clanks of plates on cutlery.
i was finally settling back into the chapter when my cell hummed on the table. Anthony twisted his head around thinking it was his but went back to sulking when I snatched mine up. "Hallo? Hey you... What's up? No nothing at all..."
Anthony was frozen and clearly listening. I got up to have a cigarette and further fan his agression. I listened to the innane chatter on the other end and checked my usual hiding spots for a lighter. I fanned out my seach to the kitchen and fished around in Darren's jeans until I grabbed his zippo. He was sad and wounded from smashing the wine glass. Worse than a goddamed woman. I lit a cigarette in the house and gave the obligatory, "Oh yeah? Yeah? That's interesting..." on the phone and gently massaged Darren's shoulders. I popped smoke out the side of my mouth and dug my thumbs into tense muscles and gave a little pat on his shoulder when I went outside. I better get outside before Anthony panicked over the cigarette.
Out on the porch I hopped into a muskoka chair throne and pulled back a proper drag. Darren came out soon after and dragged one of my meditation pillows over to my feet and sat down for me to play with his hair. He was always horny and hard up for attention when he was trying to cut back on his meds. A not-so-negative side effect since I wasn't going to bitch about a good looking man having his head in my lap. My only responsibilities to him was to fidget with his thick waves of hair and not get a boner. Man, you only do that once and you really get a clear idea of what your curious guy friends can and can't take.
I had spaced out for almost five minutes. Why did Beth call me after going out with her ex? It was the same old tired story and I was feeling more drawn to a clearly devastated man leaning against my leg. Every impulse in me wanted to hang up the phone and play therapist, but I knew the game. It became homo-esque when I wasn't distracted or if it was too one on one.
"Yes yes Beth... I know Jane is a cunt. Yes we know this. You're right and she's the cunt."
The screen door popped open and Anthony strode out in his running gear. He pulled a hat down tight and walked right out the second door. The cold woosh of fresh air came in right on cue and he was off to pound the sidewalks until his knees ached and he would tremble up the stairs to take a shower.
Anthony hooked his left arm around my calf and picked at the frayed ends of my jeans. He reached up for the hand that was skimming over his hair and looked at my watch. Deep sigh and he pulled himself up and left. He was off to start applying the game face to do the evening news and left me to adjust my balls and little and then thank my libido for behaving and not shoving his face in my crotch.What? I respect my friends but it doesn't mean that I can just stop finding them attractive.
Beth was still nattering away, going from triumphant and hopeful to weepy and insecure. I grew weary of it, even though I had ignored the vast portion of the conversation. A little goes a long way with this chick.
"Hey, did you ever get any action from that friend of Anthony? Hello? NATE?"
"Huh? Oh! Oh yeah.. the trainer. No, nothing to speak of. Get a grip Bet, the man is an adonis.We're just hanging out a bit. He's taking some english classes at Cambell during the evenings so I'm just giving him a hand on the essays."
"Is this the one Anthony gets all strange over?"
"Yeah yeah... It's nothing crazy, he just wants to look like him that's all."
I got distracted as Beth kept talking. I saw someone come around the side and cast a shadow into the porch. "Bet, I gotta go... Dan's here."
Dan came in the door and stomped snow off his boots just as I hung up on Beth making the "ooooooooooh!" sound after hearing that Dan had shown up unexpectedly.
"Dan, how're you? I didn't know you were coming over."
"Sorry about that Nate... I was just around and... Yeah. Yeah! Here I am! Do you mind?"
Do I mind? Do I fucking mind some hunk of tasty meat sitting in front of me? Let me think. No. No problem on my end.
He was sweetly grinning and poked a finger up into his tight beanie touque. Dan pulled out a long and serious joint that was rolled by a professional.
"My brother mailed me a baggie of these from BC... Aren't they insane?!"
"Give me that." Perfect baseball bats. Long, thick and I'm very aware that I could be making a sexual comment here.
"Go on, light it. I didn't want to try and have that monster by myself. None of my other friends smoke anyways."
Friend? What the hell... I edit your horribly trite essays and listen to you talk about the number of kilometre's you logged on the treadmill and we're friends? Friends with a gooey and glorious joint that is. The drug fiend in me won out over the wary pessimist and I lit it up in a showy cloud of exhaled smoke.
"Not bad..." Not bad? I can't feel my finger tips and i only just started on it.
"Oh yeah? Well keep going. I only want a little." He pulled out my worn copy of a portable Leonard Cohen poetry collection and began flipping around. "I love this. I've never read anything that felt so... um... like something I can feel and get into."
Exhale. "Accessable?"
"Yes! Yes that's it... I feel as though I can understand all of this."
I tried to hold back a smirk. Gawd! This is such bullshit scratching the surface talk, but to him this was probably the most comprehensive dialogue he's had other than, "Did you wipe down the dumbells after you used them?"
Dan turned to a poem that I had dog-eared the page and read it silently. I toked steadily and thought about offering to get him some coffee when I realized I had the last cup an hour ago. Besides, these gym bunny types don't injest caffine anyways do they?
"Pass it over..."
He pulled on the joint and exhaled. Dan was perpetually smiling in that wholly sweet way and closed his eyes as he inhaled again. And again. The closed in porch was getting the fine haze of smoke effect and I graciously took the joint back. Dan puffed out two lung fulls of smoke into the open pages of the book and studied it intently.
I checked him out as he got lost in another poem and made himself comfortable in the castaway chair from Darren's parents cottage. Dan had kicked off his wet boots and pulled off his socks with them. Truly daring since no one knew what was lingering in the old carpet beneath us. He rubbed the top of his foot with the other in a very innocent and quiet gesture, totally oblivious to me sucking back the majority of the joint.
We kept up the silent exchange of him asking for a drag every few minutes and keeping his eyes trained on the poems, only stopping to put his hand out to recieve the joint or brush ashses off the pages.
I was in mid-pass when Anthony came around the corner. Huh, what a quitter, couldn't have been out for more than a half hour.
Anthony looked so happy to see Dan but immediately went back to sullen when he cast me a smile and took the smouldering joint.
"What about this one? I love the one where he talks about how to..." Inhale. Exhale and rapid speech. "...How to read poetry. Oh! Hey Anthony."
Anthony pulled the door open and stepped in from the chilly air, bringing in a wall of freezing winter wind.
"Dan! What are you doing...here?" He paused as Dan took another drag. He looked like he had nothing left to believe in. His hunk a' hunk of burning exercise addiction was smoking drugs and sitting outrageously close to me.
"Just trying out the stuff my brother mailed to me. Would you like some?"
Ha. Good luck buddy, I've been barking up that tree for years and...
"Yeah sure!"
Fresh from running on a late Sunday afternoon in the middle of winter... Still sweating and trembling slightly on his right leg since he had bolted out before putting his knee brace on. Sweaty and breathless and reaching for the joint as though this is was what we did all the time: exercise and smoke weed.
"This is the same stuff we had last weekend."
LAST WEEKEND? As in this had happened before? Anthony didn't even look at me and just schucked back heartily.
"Let me go change..."
He made a hurried reach for the door to the house and bolted inside. I could hear him bark out wretched coughs and had a private laugh with Dan.
"That's a better reaction than what he had before..."
"Ah, I wouldn't know. He never smokes with me."
Dan looked at me puzzled and turned back to Leonard to pick another dog-eared page to open.
Anthony was back much faster than expected and looked irritatingly happy when i had been used to nothing but miserable and pouty all weekend. He sat at Dan's feet and did some light stretches, something else he never did, even when I yelled at him to do them so he wouldn't seize up with cramps.
Dan didn't seem to notice him sitting there and kept turning pages to show me and declare that it was, in fact, his favorite poem as opposed to the other dozen he had already turned to. What the hell is happening here?