you are sleeping, you don't want to believe
i'm sleeping, I don't want to believe
***
Here i am, dressed in a black t-shirt I bought in China (circa 98), jeans that are not quite as long as I would like them to be, green flip-flops (made of rubber). An empty glass of apple juice to my right, my mobile phone (turned on). To my left, the green hard-covered agenda book my godmother gave me for Christmas. It has photos, poems, little thoughts spread through out its small pages. Today is:
the day of the motorcyclist
moon is rising
I have been writing in this green book thoughts, excerpts from books, lyrics, anything that catches my eyes. or that i remember. or that i want to forget. because, when you put things to paper, it helps kill their scent. just like my novel. dead born, hand-written, stale like a day-drinker bar in Montreal. just the way i want it.
I want to watch a werewolf movie.
But i'll stick to the Return of the Living Dead instead.
kevin is sick. he has to call melissa and cancel our mexican dinner night on saturday. he is working on animation for a music video. the band? White Buffalo. Heavy Metal. Never heard of them? Don't worry, you are not alone.
