the brown journal
the postcards taped to the left pages were a big deal at the time, england used them for advertising before canada, and everywhere we went we tiefed loads of them and could not believe they were free.
my dorm was right beside harrod’s.
my writer’s craft classes were at imperial college.
oh what a whimsical turd i was.
i think i added that part in after my teacher finished reading my journal and graded me. anyway, i was paralyzed for two whole minutes (terrifying, felt like forever) and fucked up my knees on that harsh british carpet, from ketamine + 30 thousand drinks the nite before.
i think this is an irish joke that i changed to canadian, basically if you are about to get in a bar fight say this line and raise your fist. my teacher told it to us and look he corrected me by crossing out the of, haha.
the guy who gave me K and tried to give me his apt. key too, i met him the next day for a big mac and then he stalked me until we left london, he even got into our dorm, luckily i was out that day.
i went out by myself to eat and get loaded and then sat with this guy from america for dinner and got him to pay my tab. lonely people are easy, myself included.
HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA! gear! madonna, remember what i said.
i want to punch the word whilst in the fucking head even though i still use it.
oh what an insight, friggin’ rocket scientist.
everytime i hear while my guitar gently weeps i think of this day, the mental picture hits me hard.
little kids are cuter in england.
was either hung or drunk or both when i wrote that.
that’s liane.
sound advice.
burn!
haha i am hugh grant.
oh good on comes the emo, i’m back in canada.
ew.
when you feel ordinary, the easiest way to change that is to colour yourself with issues until they come true.
the root of my problems are i cannot be alone, i always need a muse.
oh i am in brooklyn now.
i exiled myself for a little while.
french hamburger.
