Saturday, December 17, 2005


My father makes pancakes with orange juice, yoghurt
They always come out lightly brown, criss-crossed
On an orange plate on Saturday morning

Perfume samples in magazines remind me of my mother's
thick Vogues stacked by the bathtub
Fashionable time, leisurely reading

I sleep in the room above the piano
In the night, its silent notes float through the spaces in the floorboard
and permeate my pillow, whispering to my ears

Friday, December 16, 2005

Stormy Weather

It's one of those depressing days. December 16th, and it's raining. "Don’t know why there’s no sun up in the sky. Stormy weather..." I can deal with days where it is windy and rainy but not aggressive, but today I am wet, I am cold and I don't want to deal with this. "Life is bare, gloom and mis’ry everywhere. Stormy weather..." I am used to a set pattern of weather, a routine of seasons, each month calls for a specific type of weather. It should not be raining in December. That much I know. "Just can’t get my poorself together, I’m weary all the time."

What a depressing post. Oh well, tomorrow is my birthday so things will be happy... and it will stop raining too.

Saturday, November 26, 2005


I've decided to adopt La Vie Boheme as my theme song. I'm going into a period of re-creation, purification. It's important to look at your life and ask yourself and no one else, if it's okay. There is something important about being self regulated, self confident, self reliant (see Ralph Waldo Emerson). To live a life without regrets, go out and fix those mistakes today. Write volumes about what torments you. Spill it.

Monday, November 07, 2005


People always ask me if there is something different about American culture in comparison to that of Canada. Even though you would think there couldn't possibly be a difference since we're on the same continent, I've discovered otherwise. There is a contrast between the Montreal I know and the United States I've come in contact with. Although at first I was really excited to come to the US because everyone spoke English, I now really cherish the bilingualism of Montreal. There is something to be said for not knowing which language to use when you meet a new person. Walking down the street and being bombarded by two languages really gets your mind going. There is a certain vibrancy that is excited when two cultures that are kind of different coexist. My experience at college has also shown me a thing or two about young people in the US. Although there are those awesome kids who dress in an unusual and artistic way, on the whole, most will slap on a polo shirt and call it fashion. That bothers me. There is a certain aesthetic in the United States that lets me know this isn't Montreal. It may be the lack of subtlety or the Coca-Cola but something indeed is different here.

This isn't to say I don't enjoy my American counterparts! I've cherished getting to know some truly wonderful people here. The US has given me educational opportunities I don't think I could have found in Canada. The US has employed me (I'll be filing taxes with the IRS this year, oi). People here are proactive, they care, they want to change things, they want to make a difference. (Well, that might just be the ivory tower bubble) But there is a work ethic here- a dedication to the job at hand that is honourable (note canadian spelling). Even though I don't think I'll be raising a family in the US, I will travel here, see what this country is all about and then launch myself to the rest of the world. When I come back and am sitting at home in Montreal, I'll let you know what I think then, when the world has been put into fuller perspective.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005


I never thought I would be one of those people. You know the ones with the umbrellas that are turned inside out? The ones that frantically try to get their umbrella to flip back to the right side and stop getting wet. The ones who bought an umbrella that was too cheap to actually work. I am one of those people. And it is rainy, windy and wet.
I sure hope that this doesn't set the tone for the day. I'm excited about today; I have a job interview which looks promising, I've only got 2 hours of class, and this is the day I can actually get ahead on some work. But Boston and Cambridge seem to really have it in for me, raining all the time. Welcome to Massachusetts. I'd enjoy rain if I didn't have a place to go, if I didn't have a schedule. I'd probably call up my friends and have them join me in a frolick in the sky sent wetness. Post rain warmth is always the best. Knee-down wetness is not.
Last time it rained, I went to a comedy show and, afterwards, went to the river to sing to the largest open space I knew. Under an umbrella, singing random tunes, I must have looked insane. But I felt great. Because when you sing properly, you feel like you can sing forever- pushing the air out of those abs and delicately manipulating the vocal chords to wavering sweetness. Then, rain doesn't really matter anymore.

Monday, October 17, 2005

And then I realized I, too, was human

I had a moment, typing furiously last night. I was writing up my automatic writings from the week, 70 pages worth (scribbles and stuff... 10 pgs a day). Anyhoo, a lot came out of it. A lot of frustration, a lot of tension, a lot wrestling with a void love life. But when I finished, I was refreshed, I felt alive again. Electric. I somehow realized that in looking for love (basically pining away while nothing happens... real passive) I was focusing on an invisible void and not on the loving friends that existed right under my nose. So laugh, smile, love, kiss... don't worry about what people think. You're friends are people you love they should know. You should be weird, wild. Go and sing to the river and life will sure be beautiful.
And this matter of love, it needs to be settled. If we all wait around doing nothing, no one will be asked out, no one will gain experience, no one will get any lovin'. So go make mistakes, big beautiful ones. I'm endorsing a new philosophy, I know it. Sing to the river, breathe in wide open spaces, tackle your dreams, have sex often (yes I said sex, and often). We're sexual animals, negotiating politics and putting yourself down will just make you frustrated. There's a big beautiful world out there and it all starts with hello, meeting new folks, blundering, stuttering. One big mistake after another. Some woman named Colette once said : You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm. Never been so true.

Friday, October 14, 2005

March 6 2005

I have imbibed too much and I have no sense of time. The world is tipsy, it isn’t quite stable. It has lost its equilibrium. I must gain control again and see where the time has gone, corral it back and gain the ability to type again. Then I can function on automatic, type beautiful words and steer quite far from the mark. I don’t want you to see me like this, seconds, minutes and hours hold not absolute mark. I am drifting. I think I should just go to sleep and see where my mind will settle. I may have a psychedelic dream and then my life will make sense. The police came and said not a word, they were strong, they just let the party disappear into the light. I told someone I wanted to sleep in the fridge, it was beautiful. I told them it was a very bright place. I don’t mind being drunk it’s a warm feeling where you can talk to anyone though you don’t quite have your balance. People just float in and out and songs keep playing, without ever knowing where they start and end, I won’t know went tomorrow begins or ends. I really want to capture the essence of drunkenness. Perhaps this won’t make sense, but I think I am doing pretty world to be a in a rotating planet in my own solar system. My mother would be confused to hear me talking about pretty boys who aren’t sure of themselves. She’d ask me question that I wouldn’t know how to answer because I am still drunk. But I am glad I home and grounded and flat and funny and now I will be able to sleep and heal. But first I need to drink plenty of water so that the world tomorrow does not beat me up and ruin my paintings. I just want to let things float a little while longer so I can be under the impression that I am wanted. People keep telling me that I am cute and this song never ends. But I haven’t found that genuine down to earth boy yet. I’ve had great conversations with people while I was full of alcohol… it was quite nice. I am worried friends will end up in strange corners. I have forgotten where I came from. I never want to change but I am too unsure of myself. Alcohol is a very nice feeling. Just not too much… or else I may be very very sick. My throat feels dry. I believe I have captured you, essence of drunkenness, my feet known not where they are going the word spins and I am still conscious. I just want it to settle, go to sleep, let the silence settle in and then let the world turn black and then I will find my lover. It will be nice there all warm and fuzzy. I want it to be so pleasant that I forget myself and stop questioning every move. He isn’t comfortable with himself, that is why he never came back for his watch. This is very trippy, I am not sure if this is fit for print, it should be banished and burned. I’d like to make poetry between sheets but people don’t speak. When I am drunk I am very approachable. Let me say hello and bid you farewell you are gay happy and a lover of men. Farewell.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Round midnight

the past two nights, around midnight
i've been called awake
no longer feeling aching or tired
my mind is called to think
as if somewhere i could be of use
my body is being called
divined upright, eyes searching
the darkness for some sign of light
and a little green light blinks outside
there is no movement in the room
but my searching eyes
so i fall back to rest straining my ears
for that distant call

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Some days...

Some days I really hate this place, I can't stand the work, the intellectualism, the pretentiousness of some of the people. It's a chaotic mess some days. Yet today was not one of those days. I was wandering the square during its annual oktoberfest (outdoor stands and music) and spent a good deal of time listening to Tommy and the Tigers ( . I was so awed that these graduated students from last year had so much talent- and it's true of many of Harvard's undergrads. I listen to them sing, speak, and play or watch them dance, act, and compete or read their writings. I see their passion. I am inspired; I want to go and do the things that I am passionate to mirror that passion I see.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

bare hearts, bare bodies, bare feet

My heart bleeds because it still wants revenge, dripping slowly onto the linoleum floor. The end of the story didn't exist and low down, in the dripping abyss of my stomach, there is a deep rumble, like the menacing snarl of the hounds. Don't feed me any more acid or else you may know the pulsating tremors of the earthquake that I will cause. The fissure in the earth will open and down you will fall, blackening. And the steady drip of my heart will stop, the knob on revenge having been shut tightly off.

For once, I would like to stand before you naked and feel like you approve. Through the hurried motions we forget ourselves, who we are, what we look like- caught running for pleasure, blinded by that spark of light. I want to hold you pensively and let my hands caress your body. Let's put roughness and wild passion on the shelf and just lie here, knowing just how it feels to be together.

Walking by the ocean, and seeing its far out infinity makes me feel at peace. That limitless infinity with sand beneath my feet. Waves of air. It all comes together to let me know that everything is alright no matter what torment or chaos I may have created for myself. That rhythm of the waves becomes one that I internalize and one that I can always count on.

Monday, September 19, 2005

Sleepless Night

Sometimes you just don't want to shut your eyes and let the world fall away before you've had a chance to make sense of it all. When lover's words fall short without a listening ear. When the moon is full and staring through your window. Your body just won't let you fall into the cushions of your bed, sinking always deeper into that land of sleep, of dreams, of forgetting, of losing reality.

I can't even begin to explain how useless it all feels. The structured minutes allow me to forget that I exist for only so long. I'd love for you to come and sit by me sucking the juices of the minutes we share, to really taste their essence. Before you really spend time with me your hugs feel empty, as if we've never really touched. And suddenly I feel like I don't even know you if our hands don't even feel each other's warmth, or know the feeling of being together and being united.

Down hallways dark and dank I wandered searching for a better meaning looking for more fulfilled contact; all i found was a smokey room where lazy eyes lay, darting. The wet sound of leather echoed through the room as I sat down and waited. Here, I thought, I would catch something truly great. Here I would see that it was all worth it. But soon enough I learned the ways of those with lazy eyes, I became the owner of those very eyes and I knew I had to escape.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

There aren't any constants

I've not done math in a long time, but it doesn't take a fool to realize that there are too many variables in my life. Too much to solve for and I am left staring at the board, mouth agape, not knowing where to start. Twirling the chalk in between my fingers. There is too much silence in the room, there is so much blackness. I pick up the phone and there isn't the expected dial tone. Hello? And it just echoes out into space. So this is the substance of loneliness, solid words with no heartbeats and echoing voices.

Staying on track is the important thing, remain on the rails, skate right along it before the train. Just glide.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Welcome Chaos

So I've arrived at Harvard for year two and, against my expectations, it's overwhelming. It may be the new room with the huge windows that makes me feel like I'm in a display case, or it may be the dramatic rise in the number of people aged 18-24 that I see on a daily basis. Yet it could just be that summer is over and the car I'm driving has left the seaside and gone straight for the mad break-neck traffic of the city. Just need to speed up.

While trying to get courses together, find a job, seek out fun extra-curriculars and stay in touch with friends, Cambridge burgeons with energy simply because of the sheer number of students around. Working in Cambridge this summer was fun but there was a select group of people that I saw every day and a set path to and from work. Within the first two days of arriving at Harvard for school, I've been all around town: shopping for little odds and ends, talking to professors, tracking down friends and trying to find some peace of mind. Throw in a little yoga and life should be just fine.

Friday, September 02, 2005


At least five times this summer, I have witnessed that primitive, below the belt exciting, vulgar act of males towards females. Whoa, hold on, hear me out. It's simply a woman walking down the street and a small group of men following her with their eyes, like a rotating tripodded camera, and linger while she walks away. Is it really that exciting? To gawk at another? To lust after someone else in vain?
Eyes have always been dangerous organs. When two pairs lock, wild things can happen. At the same time, when coupled with curiosity, eyes can show you the world in all its forms. It's because I was observant that I saw these tripod men (oh my, I just realized that has unintended meaning...) follow women with their heads. Does it assert their masculinity? Their heterosexuality?
I'd rather make meaningful contact with people, play the game of getting to know someone, or trying to pursue them. Not just stare at them while they walk away, both demeaning them and elevating them.
Maybe I am being to harsh. People are allowed to admire beauty and be knocked off guard by someone walking by. There simply was something routine in what I witnessed, the men who stopped their work and let their eyes scan up and down and follow... follow as she walks away.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Of Intimidation and Inspiration

As I look at all the shelves of books, I can't help but get intimidated. All the words that have been strung together, all the lives that have blossomed with phrases, all the paper and ink. I stop wanting to write when bombarded by all these books standing in silence, with the flipping of pages rhythmically filling the corner. But then I sit and observe people outside, see the way they move, the way they talk, letting my imagination write their story. I think it almost too wild the volume of living that happens on this planet. All the steps that are taken every day, the trees that bow in the wind, the heartbeats.

I enjoy people who, without saying a word, communicate to me their happiness, the bubbling of their mind and heart. Those who are stone-faced, slouched, curving the last few vertebrae as if peering into the eyes of a computer, evoke in me frustration. All I want to do to these people is ask them if they are happy and stand them up tall, pulling the imaginary string that pulls together all their vertebrae. Up, tall, look to the sky.

Under water

I've looked at the images online of the devastation Katrina has left in the south-east US. There was an article on CNN telling the story of one woman's endless attempts to get her husband's dead body to the hospital. No one would help her, everyone was focused on saving the living, not burrying the dead. The value of a human life breathing then is more than one without potential. The dead that lie among us will be left to fester while the living try to live. The world just continues to blacken as we try to save all those in New Orleans.

And with that, I don't feel much like writing any more. It's started to rain here and I want to go take a swim. Water sustains life but, as we all can see, can also destroy it. This isn't a good feeling, but life is full of these circular concepts that can dip into the blackness of ink while still remaining pristinely white on the other side.

Here's to coming out of the darkness.

Monday, August 29, 2005

In the deep

Into the night you will escape with my whole body leavin traces of me behind. Loose hairs. Shoes. A fully charged cell phone. You won't even stop to consider what you have left behind but you care not about being arrested for taking me away. After all it was voluntary. I wanted you to come and sweep me off my feet, although I never thought it would be you, dear stranger. You picked me up half naked and carried me off while I still slept. Somehow I did not wake up. I just slept quietly in your arms. Breathing deeply. While the rest of my apartment fell into its silent murmur of sink drops and fridge heartbeat.

Slowly I'll start to realize who I really am, set wandering around the earth with just myself, a home on two legs, the hermit crab inching his way across the oceanfloor. In the bubbling darkness of the vast ocean, life rocks to and fro in aquatic time. Seaweed sways. Fish dart, scavenging. In a realm so full of bubbles and their changing currents, little creatures should take breaths one step at a time, letting the sand sift underfoot.

Today I saw a big armed man with a tattoo of Thomas Jefferson. At first his body marking wasn't in focus, and that automatic part of me thought: thug. But then that currency-imagery portrait came into view. Jefferson?! Permanently emblazon yourself with such a patriotic symbol. I guess TJ was a cool dude. Why not? I'd never tattoo myself. What if I changed my mind? What if tomorrow I decided I didn't love my mother that much? TOO LATE! There is something about the permanence of a tattooo that requires a lot of commitment. But it also involves the less honorable. You're doing graffitti on your body, such a sacred thing (your body that is). A body should be tended with care, nursed to healthy, strengthened, caressed. When your body becomes a brick wall upon which you douse caustically coloured paints and hurl bullets at.... it's a wonder you can still be alive...

Sunday, August 14, 2005


I will remember the events that hold meaning to you, so that your face does not become shrowded and blurred. It is not your actual face that will remain in my memory, but your spirit allegro. When you go to the sea, when you finish writing a novel, when you perform for the people, I will remember to ask just how it went. And somehow in this mesh of living, we will connect for that moment and you will forget that you ever revealed to me that things would happen. And we touch.

Your face will remain clear and crisp, the jaw line defined as by fierce pencil strokes across the page. A oval mask on paper, that holds your eyes - pools of blue. I will not let your contours become blurry as when I've not my glasses. Somehow you do look more beautiful that way, yet I still appreciate the strength of your faults. Knowing that you too have scars to show and not to cover up, I feel like I can know you better.

Thursday, August 11, 2005


questioning-conscientious-adventurous- playful- shy-reserved-driven
being at the edge of the ocean-writing and letting it flow out- making people smile- noticing others when they are seeking attention but not getting it- reading an original construction of words- connecting to others through long conversations and long pauses- having my breath taken away unexpectedly by a work of art-smiling, laughing, dancing, random noises- dressing elegantly and feeling comfortable- accomplishing a task I've conscientiously planned out to complete- swimming- being in intense wind- seeing animals as people-witnessing the wonderment of small children and giving them a wave and smile...

Sunday, August 07, 2005

To Hell and Beyond

Traveling deep into the earth feels a little clastrophobic. A one-person elevator to the core. But that elevator soon loses its shape and so do you. Below hell is the earth's core, that boiling centre. Seed of life, creater of the soil we walk on. It spin and boils, a red hot mystery that somehow holds it all together.

And I travel further into the jungle, dark and humid. Slowly, I lose that whole thinking thing. Those thoughts. The logic. Gone. Clothes ripped, body exposed. I am focused on going deeper, finding out the truth that lies within. I want to slather it in reason but it doesn't stick. I have to trust my instincts somehow. I don't quite know what the fuck is going on. But somehow the rhythm of my steps keeps me company, with hard breaths. Sweat pouring down my face feels normal, comfortable in my body, letting it pour out. I don't care who you are, I'm going into this fierce jungle to discover the inside and find more of myself in the pattering rain on strong green leaves.

Saturday, August 06, 2005


Somehow when I've lost all energy, I still have the will to step forward once more. I can still garner the little strength needed to breathe. And time continues it march. Relentless. Pounding. Rhythmic. Until I can lie to sleep...

And still it pounds its steady beat blood coursing through my temples, doing everything that isn't holy, feeding a mind that should just stop and repent. I hurt, I want to sleep in these daylight hours. But I can't, I think of all the things that must be done and all the the hours that must be lived. Drifting away from shore, I grow worried and my eyes dart from side to side. How will I stay afloat?

Thursday, July 21, 2005

A taste for travel

I've become giddy reading about all these wonderful cities worldwide. Secretly, there are plans in the works to put together a European tour of some sort, hit up the major cities for a first taste of the continent. A British passport sure comes in handy.

There would be nothing more liberating than to backpack the continent, witnessing a continent so steeped in history, meshing with other travelers equally curious about those parts and creating ephemeral connections. Can't get to grounded.

The inner traveler wants to branch out and let the world teach him what it has to learn. Get lost on another continent, fall ill to diseases of foreign tongues, let loose. Writing a travel guide just seems dishonest when the only places I've been are two major cities, and with my parents at that. It may be lonely sure, but loneliness isn't necessarily a bad thing. It lets you reflect, discover, explore.

There is a world out there and I am just waiting to see what it can offer me.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Turn up the stress

Turn it up, until my head starts beating, until I feel like bleeding. You've gone and buried me, lil help? I'm not die-ing I assure you, a little stress from work can go a long way. I soon lose myself under the weight, the curses continue, the ache grows. Just a little spark ignites the fire, the crisps the landscape. And, without intention, you've lost yourself and the green path you walked thus far.

Those who tred lightly, who take care to caress the Earth with their feet, will, in the end, be redeemed. Those who listen to the beat of their heart and allow its dance to take over their body will shine. Those who breathe the air in delicate intakes will sing full songs to the wild. Those who smile without thinking will draw my attention. And I will smile back.

They came in droves. To sweat. To grind their bodies to the floor. To lose a little bit of themselves. They heard of this promised land, a land of cream and sweets, of milk and honey. And so they sought a connection to the Eternal. They came in droves, ripping their clothes and throwing dust on their heads in despair, in repentance. For they had fallen away and worshipped another. Idolized their own selves, lusted for divine attention. Only to fall away into the dark. And then they went in droves.

Friday, July 15, 2005

So it begins

And I am left standing here in the clearing, in the silence. Without music, I start hearing new sounds. Rustling in the trees, the breathing of leaves. The heavy sighs of the earth underfoot start to unstable my ground. It is in silence that I start to lose my self-confidence. When I am totally alone with the world, and its unheard rhythm.

Then people start to arrive, glances of desire blushed on their faces. As if ambushed, I am left not knowing what to do, how to react. I start scanning their faces, artificially covered, disguised. Who they are I am not quite sure, but I'll pierce their eyes, get through where it is most vulnerable. Let them know they are indeed wanted, sought after, if only to know who they truly are.

And thus the dance begins, a two person tango. Mirrored footsteps, locked eyes. The world beyond connected irises doesn't exist in this moment, focus is intent. I need to know what lies beyond that facade of carefully laid artistry. You need to stop, and want to lock into me. When you stop putting up that front you will be able to see further into me and sweat off the paint. And we walk around each other, closening. I can see the dripping paint, the single line of sweat dripping down your face. And all I can do is smile because you've started to fly towards the light, fogetting what is rational and what is life.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Western Europe

Today I write you as a snooty capitalist bourgeois from Western Europe. You see, it is pod decorating day in the office and our work area is usually Western and Eastern Europe. But, today, things are quite different. We've erected a Berlin wall and the East-West divide is up once more. The classy arrogant west has been ruling the office while the east has been reduced to messy communism. Quite fun... oh yeah, where has that work gotten to?

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


It seems like I may always be imminently homeless. The search continues to find bridge housing after I finish my time at the coop and before I head back home. At the beginning of the summer, the same situation happened (kicked out of housing before other housing began) yet I happily found a place with a co-worker. Thus, the quest begins again.

The thing is, I only really need a place to crash for a week. No ads for housing give you a week to rent. I can just imagine the upturned noses and wrinkled faces that may look at me in disbelief. I've looked on Craig's list (some people swear by this list that offers scores on housing, and, well, questionable scores in the bedroom as well) and at the local housing office. Nada. I will rely on friends and roommates for the time being. We shall see.

And, lo and behold, Stefan has a home. Once again a coworker offered me a place to stay. Yay.

But this whole housing thing got me thinking. We are just perpetually homeless, moving all the time- accompanied by nothing but our music, plugged in. It's kinda weird if you look at things a certain way.

We're all but androids, taking public transportation, white earbuds plugged in, talking on cellphones, rushing. Soon enough we'll stop thinking and observing. Narrow tunnels. Dead eyes.

I'll shut up tomorrow and just write

Tuesday, July 12, 2005


Lunch hour. I can never fill an hour. Thus, I have created a blog. That isn't really the reason why I created this thing- writing has lacked substance lately, so a 'diary' helps. Sorry, blog- that just sounds like some sort of glutinous mass.
Anyways, I think I'm a cross between a poet and a storyteller. I was in a fiction class last semester and struggled past 5 pages; I am more inspired by crisp distinct words than by complex plots (but don't get me wrong, I do admire people who can twist those elaborate things together). Since I have been working full time, the creative juices have lacked. Going home for a week excited ideas once again, but, now back in Cambridge, I've returned to my rut.
Last year it was easy, I was in a class at the Lawrenceville School (a secluded prep school in NJ near Princeton) and I sat down every day to write, and pour out thoughts, feelings, weird ideas and mental wanderings. Great poetry and images came of that stuff, I gave birth to new beings, and discovered myself in my children. It was only when my fingers raced along the key board, too fast for my mind to keep up, that I was able to let things out. Lewd, dark secrets, philosophical thoughts, wild images of purple monkeys (recurring).
This is good, I can feel things starting to bubble.

Today was one of those beautiful summer days that I've never experienced anywhere else but in Cambridge,MA; sunny and hot with a chilling breeze. Ideal. It was nice to walk home from work in such good weather. I find it quite amazing how I can just pick up and leave work behind when 5pm rolls around. It's as if 9 to 5 is some sort of solid block of time that doesn't secrete any liquid whatsoever, doesn't contaminate the rest of my hours.
The Internet has been down for 4 days here at the Coop (I am writing from the communal computer). This lapse in superhighway access has left me with more time for thinking, reading and TV. It truly is amazing how much we rely on electronics: lights, some appliances, TV, computer and on and on. Power failures will be devastating in the future- children reduced to absolute boredom, hydrogen cars sputtered to a halt, and people staring at each other speechless, blinking. I sent a letter to computer services asking them to fix things already, people are getting frustrated.
I've been going to the gym 5 days a week starting this summer and have seen some results. While I feel healthier and a bit more toned, my muscles still lack that bulk I see so often on other guys. You know, the quasi-heman toned body boy type. The fit-ness seems to come with a certain attitude too... a vain confidence that you've got it all. I've always had this theory that certain people have certain body structures. So, no matter how much they work out, their shape will always be a certain way. So I think I'll always be a bit of a slim guy, no ideal inverted triangle for this one. It's much the way how I'll always be 'cute' and not 'hot'... but I'm cool with that. It's nice to stay in shape but also important to stay within the realm of Stefan (aka you).
That's what it comes down to a lot of the time, just being you, confident and strong. Hoky I know. I think today will be hoky-day. But hell cliches are fine by me. They weren't always. Fall in that pit call love and cliches start to make sense, some sort of parallel universe. Even long distance relationships can survive for a little while (1.5months)- all you need is a few moments where two collide. Hear that, that's the orchestral music for my monologue, it's getting sappy. Truly, love is not describable when it happens- there are these moments that you can tell to other (5 hours felt like 5 minutes, he went swimming in the Delaware) that just won't make sense, but they'll make you smile and warm you in a way you haven't known before. There's also that feeling that your heart just expanded to the size of your chest and you've been launched into the air, balancing on a cloud. It's a nice feeling. Distance tears that apart after too long, you forget what your lover looks like, how he reacts, his body language etc. etc. I'm putting things on hold on the romantic level... emotional lay-away. I know things could ignite again.

There's a bucket full of my life
Drink up laddy,