How small-town. I'm in line to vote, with the mayor.
I ask my mother who she voted for. "I never tell," she tells me. This has driven me mad since I wuz a (smaller) kid. Why not? It is not in my best interest to disown you for political reasons, I depend on you for this sketchy shelter of mine. Just fucking tell me. Come on. And why do I want to know? Likely simply cuz she won't tell me. Just tell me, bitch!
I'm happy that I got to vote. And I think that's only cuz I hate those fucking campaign signs that are everyfuckingwhere for the weeks before election day. In some way I feel I've got some power over those damn signs now that I'm on the other side. I demand a referendum on campaign signs!
No doubt there will then be this ugly flux of signs saying, "VOTE YES FOR CAMPAIGN SIGNS!"
Winnipeg's got a gay mayor. Why is it I like gay politicians? Like their taste in bedmates will make them better at their job? I don't get it, but I am inclined to like gay politicians just for being gay. I'll keep that quiet though or I'll end up with politicians on my doorstep shaking my hand and saying, "Hello Chaara, I'm gay, and I'm running for mayor. Vote for me."
(I never want to say who I'm quoting. I just hope people know anyway.)
The house to myself, on a Saturday night. And I realize I never really learned to type. Properly. My mother is out to dinner with yet another potential suitor. I don't keep track anymore. I don't like these guys, so I no longer offer my opinion, and she doesn't solicit my opinion. This afternoon she had a little at-home rendevous (sp) with some Egyptian drummer guy, and tonight she goes out with some painter guy. Ostensibly it sounds fun, and I guess, in a middle class, middle age way, it is.
I am hoping she brings me home some fucking FOOD, as this house is a barren African landscape when it comes to nourishment. Last night I found a can of beans, and I wuz excited about it. It seemed like luxury to me. It's that bad.
I'm taking donations. Please. Just leave some food for me on the porch. Write "FOR CHAARA" on the box, clearly. Please. Send food. My mother has probably got a mini-fridge in her room where she is keeping all the food... She and that drummer guy weren't gettin' it on today at all, they were eating. "Don't let Chaara find out I have food! Sshhhh! Come into my parlour.. I will feed you, my big bad drummer man."
I'm honestly hoping she is planning on giving me food for my birthday. I'm seriously clinging to that hope. In fact, I don't know how I will react if she doesn't get me food for my birthday. "It's all I want! Please! Just give me real food! I can't live on ground-up flax seeds and dandelion leaves, I don't know how you can, but I CANNOT. Please, please, please give me food. Real, name-brand food. Food that will allow me to continue living, standing upright. I'm begging you!"
"Wondering, Well, what could peace of mind be like?" Why do so few people these days even know who Morrissey is? How did that happen? People even just one year older than me, they know who he is, and love him. But why no one in my exact age bracket? Where were they/we?
I feel like getting all closet-alcoholic and getting drunk on my own, But since it's cold and dark out and the nearest liquor store is a 45 minute walk away I won' t be drinking tonight. Unless I want whiskey. I don't want whiskey. I have an old roach somewhere around here still. But I don't want any fucking pot either. Bleah. ("nothing seems to satisfy... ")
I think it would be best for me to stay as close to unconcious as possible at all times. These days anyway. But there is nothing more depressing to me than getting fucked up alone. Okay, there are things more depressing than that... But it's still up there. I don't wanna talk about it.
"When I get that feeling,
I gots to have sexual healing... "
You know how much I hate this fucking new batch of heavy rock bands? These Korny things, these Bizkits... Goddamnit, they suck. No artistic merit or point whatsoever. Make them your girlfriends, I don't want 'em.
What wuz my damn point? How wasted a house all to my own is? That I am here, home alone on a Saturday night, and nothing to do about it. Only a hockey game on our one TV channel. No net connection. No sweet coolers. No food. And no company to ...entertain.
I'm reading "Half Asleep In Frog Pajamas" though. Which is more fun than the human company I could have possibly mustered up for the evening. Unless it wuz... But that couldn't be arranged. May not ever be arranged. Though I would welcome it with open... arms. And heart. And-
Watched Alfred Hitchcock's "Rear Window" last night. I felt watched. And I felt like watching.
I need to find that Juliana Hatfield bootleg, "What have I done to you?"
... so we wait. Ah, here:
"Waking up... with a headache and a hard-on.
I can't control myself, I lose control, I lose it.
I know I need to get some help.
You say I'm crazy inconsistent and confused
and selfish too,
and I know that it's all true...
I wuz dumb, I didn't know that it would hurt.
I am young and I am stupid.
I will bite my tongue from now on
when I want to shut you up, when I have had
enough of you.
I will try harder to be nice, and I will hide from the light;
the disgust on my face...
What have I done to you?
Please believe I really didn't mean to.
I wuz drunk, I didn't know that it would hurt,
I am full of good excuses...
what have you done for me?"
Waking up, with a headache and a hard on.
Let's do a little quiz-ish thing here now.
I forget what magazine I cut these out of, some righteous head-fucking pop psychology test...
Answer yes or no. And tell someone who cares. Maybe that would be me. Ye SoRno
1. My daily life is full of things that keep me interested.
2. If I were an artist, I would like to draw flowers.
3. I am afraid of losing my mind.
4. I have never vomited blood or coughed up blood.
5. At times I feel like smashing things.
6. Evil spirits posess me at times.
7. I believe in God.
8. I have many friends.
9. The top of my head sometimes feels tender.
10. I like to go to parties/other loud affairs where there is lots of loud fun.
11. At times I feel followed.
(Doesn't question nine make the top of your head suddenly feel tender?
That would make you psychosomatic. )
This is going nowhere.