yeh i know/knew those guys when i lived in toronto and i use to work
at vice so i have the shit on everything and i invented cool and i
reminisce about stupid crap like i am from vietnam. thank u for
noticing.
so u were in brooklyn then toronto. so where are you now? because
wherever it is, you vice credibility deems that it is the apex of
cool. whoops I meant to say DECK, which is wack. vietnam was crazy, i
know because i’ve seen full metal jacket, platoon, jacob’s ladder,
apocalypse now and redux. now that’s a tour of duty.
one question…why does vice continue to be so god-damned popular when
the reality is that it hates itself?
because they expanded worldwide [broke foreign market] that is how they are popular. and i don’t live anywhere cool or uncool that’s the point, you have to make
your own scene happen anyplace, whatever you need to be happy. not
caring is what cool is suppose to be about i suppose. but u have to
care just a little bit. it’s tricky. i like your blog. you seem cool in my books which is the book of anti-cool which means nerds/geeks are better anyway and if they’re smart can hide their geekiness with cute clothes. yar!
Dear Raymi, (this didn’t start as a letter to you but it is now),
One of my friends, Brownlee the elder, is a bit of a fucked up
prophet. I always wanted to be the man of whom he prophesies, but, he
walks his own path; and I am walking in a darkness into which his
sight does not reach.
Sometimes I think there must be a way to connect with all the peoples,
so mundane a phrase for such a grandiose notion. Now I write manic,
like Raymitheminx, and unfortunately for me she has done something to
my mind. The grip, the ever so tenuous grip I always exert on my
reality dissolves upon reading her blog. I wonder why I am
channelling something drunken and obese and horribly self-loathing and
sick and sad, a fat, bald alcoholic lusting after a perfectly rounded
ass and tit shots on a web page. Yet, I am a being stuck in a
relatively healthy, and may I say so myself, charming and attractive
body. Sometimes I wonder if I am just squandering this body because
it is pretty. At least a pretty that something decides is pretty. I
write letters to Raymi and I wonder whether she would think I am a
nutjob or a kindred spirit. Of course I hope, somewhere she would see
me as an avatar – a symbiotic individual sharing the same path of
madness. Sometimes I just know she would think of me as a wanker
wanting to see more tit shots because “I study art”.
Maybe this is the letter I will send to Raymi, but maybe not because I
(was) writing longhand in “The Only”. That is so cheesy (and
infinitely more so because now I am typing) too because then I am in
the act of becoming a chintzbot who writes: “I am not sure I am going
to send this letter to you because . . .” Capital “L” Loser.
So I write anyway because it is an excuse to drink by myself and be
absorbed in my thinking, which really is just wanking without having
the hassle and mess of having to wipe my belly later.
I met a girl the other day and she took me by the hand, took me home,
and fucked me. And she said she wanted to see me again – “I would
like that.” she said, and I said, “I would like that too.” I called
her but she hasn’t called back and I somehow doubt she will. The
funny thing is I called her into being; that is, the magic of the
ethers made her appear and I received exactly as I wished; but still,
I am like a puppy whining at my phone, checking my messages enough
times to know that I am being obsessive but not so many times that I
am being crazy.
I scanned an article that I thought Raymi would find amusing, it was
about quiffing, but it turned out poorly and “Arthur” is not online
properly so I can’t just download it and send it as a neat little
package, and that is the whole problem with my madness – it just
doesn’t like neat little packages. That brings me quite easily back
to Brownlee the elder who links to Raymi and who I blame unrepentantly
for leading me to her blog. He put her on his link list after I spoke
to him even with the London time drag and all that.
We believe in the synchronicity highway but I believe in a different
way than he does because he travels light and me, well I am looking at
a different picture of the world. And an empty page is all I have, a
trinity, the pen, the page and I. To quote him, quoting me?
So now, this is a letter to Raymi and it has gone on for way too long.
That is – to edit it into little bite size pieces that would make
good web-reading is a fruitless task that I couldn’t do and she won’t
bother.
that’s me in the middle on pajama day and as you can plainly see, i amthe only one with “school spirit” enough to wear pajamas. though i am wearing my regular clothes underneath them.
This is just another email (once in my head, now horrifyingly
real) that appeared on the lined page of a “Hilroy” red-margined, blue
stripped page that is so much a part of me, the perpetual student.
So, Raymi – I guess I want to say that I am always already knowing a
part of the person you put online. The little bit that you describe
when you talk about your drinking and the irony of “the diet starts
Monday” mentality that you often mention. The knowing that you are
capable of becoming but cannot (will not?) do. The “I will do sit-ups
tomorrow”. The one that promises a liberation of my idolatry of the
bottle, the messianic always forever now and always already future,
the promise of liberation (oh joyous freedom) if only I can figure out
how to get off my ass.
So I am going to go back to my office to type this – go and gmail you
a note, (Which, because I am now doing, is oddly temporally
disconcerting) to try to describe to you a feeling I have – that we
might know each other – even though I know you are just words on an
ethereal page and I am just another pretty boy who is probably stark
raving mad. To think that I could possibly connect with a woman who
just so happens to live relatively near to me (which makes it so much
more insidious) because she has decided to share the titillating or
routine parts of her existence with the world.
I guess what I am trying to say is thanks. Thanks for being alive,
because it makes me feel less lonely. Thanks for being such a
productive BITCH, because it gives me a small sparkle of hope. Thanks
for being a wide-awake drunkard because it jogs my memory, it makes me
remember me, even though you are, well, you, and I am just little old
me and really I can never know you.
That brings me full circle; back to Brownlee the elder, the prophet.
He didn’t say these words but this is what I decided to take. –
“Isn’t it interesting that I would find Raymi’s blog out of all the
blogs to find in the nearly infinite blogs to find? How did you find
a blog that speaks to you – because I know you are mad, but you are
not crazy.” – And that is what I took and I started thinking a bit
about it and started to wonder if my synchronicity highway had become
a lot more heavily travelled because of the internet. Some years ago,
I would never have even considered the possibility that a woman I
would never meet could speak my language. One who could quickly
mutter about the difficulties and exaltations of being manic and
wholly cognisant of self-medicating addictive personalities – even
though AA taught me that I wasn’t alone (and an awful lot more). Even
though I can materialize others and myself into being in the right
place at the right time – and knowing that small magic is a minor
aspect of the marvellous power of mania, depression, addiction and
yearning and art.
So I am waving at you – across from a parallel track and sending you a
great big HELLO! And a How’s the Battle? And “keep on trucking” and
every other meaningless (in this real instant) cliché I can think of.
And a small encouragement, a little power if you want to think of it
that way, even though I am absolutely sure it would be cheaper to
send you cash. I guess I just want to throw a token into the well for
you. A little “and get the next car behind me” on the toll bridge.
Only because if I am so stubbornly, optimistically correct, and, Oh
Raymi, I hope I am, then the highway is bringing us all together and
we might be living in interesting times. And the fruition of my (our,
THE?) odd empty that needs to be filled is coming closer to
ok i almost killed mark because he is such a shit disturber and was all LETS LISTEN TO THE BEACH BOYS and i am like no fucking way and started screaming and then my dad walks in the room to tell me to shut up and mark on purpose goes HEY MAN DO YOU WANNA LISTEN TO THE BEACH BOYS and my dad is all YOU LIKE THE BEACH BOYS yeh put it on it’s my birthday right after he is saying to me “if you are not gonna calm down i want you to leave now but yer friends can stay” though he didn’t actually say the they could stay part but it was implied, you know and so i just sat thru 5 beach boys songs and finally snapped and turned the shit off and i was like don’t you understand i grew up on this shit and my dad plays it all the time in the car and nothing else so the beach boys’ novelty has totally worn off and then i told mark that i had never before killed anyone in my life but if he ever pulled that shit again i may do just that and gladly suffer the consequences.
sent from ian in the uk and he said that over there they switch the names around for some clever reason that i do not understand because i have less culture in me than that of a pitchfork at your uncle’s farm
and ps today i am a big jumbly mess of hang over city with a sprinkle of zero tolerance/that-time-of-the-monthness and a half pint of manic depression.
no one really says cool anymore. i remember when it was all about that word, even your gramma was saying it and when she would you’d be like “NICE ONE GRAMMA!” and she’d blush because she was planning on saying it all day long and finally found her window of opportunity to throw it in there but then your dad rolls his eyes and is like “oh brother, talk to the hand.”
but now, grammas are like huge rap stars and talk all street with their yo homies crap and you are thinking oh my, i hope she doesn’t have brass knux stashed in with the yarn in that knitting carrier.
i don’t know how to react when i see oldies acting like l’il bow wow.
i don’t even know how to react when i see l’il bow wow acting like l’il bow wow.
i am basically like, wow and he is SO cool and all grown up and he is sitting in a fancy car and all these hot babes are slamming their asses into other hot babes’ asses around him and i am thinking hey isn’t this kid 14 years old? what the fuck was i doing when i was 14 why in the hell didn’t i get a record deal like i was suppose to when kris kros came out, I HATE MY LIIIIIIIIIFE AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
and so on.
i never thought i would be one of those people who are all nostalgic for their childhood/time, when the world made sense and all you ever did was eat cotton candy and burn stuff with your magnifying glass and the sun. GO SUN!
but i am one of those people and i am ok with it because i have learned how to still sort of be cool or fake like i know what is going on really well.
hanging out with people in-the-know or who are in “the scene” helps too because they do all the work and then they always want someone to go party with them and you are like, always available for that so you put on your party pants and tag along.
and when i get “trapped” talking to someone who is in on “the scene” and they are like do you know this band do you know that band have you heard of < insert weird foreign hotgirl name > and i am like no i have not to all of these questions, after awhile you get a reputation that just baffles people like oh there goes the doesn’t know anything about anything girl, how strange, i really want her to listen to this band because they are SO hot right now and then i am like dude if you really want me to listen to that stuff, get me a cd or email me a website url or get me a ticket to their concert otherwise stop throwing out names of stuff like i am going to remember what you are talking about in three seconds anyway i am trying to dance on a chair, HELLO!
so yeh.
last nite i demanded to sing a beatles song with the band and so i sang i saw her standing there but the mic volume was crap and when i was done fil asked how it felt and i said it felt like i was standing in a horny moshpit and the singer of the band kept drinking my beer but it was great having people smile at you and scream along but it’s ok about the singerdude ‘cos aimee and i made him fall off his chair when we were dancing and he was singing a song and kane was like you morons and i said but it was funny at least, right?
and he said that it was.
i talked to two ladies in the bathroom who were like THIS BAND ROCKSSSSSSSSS and they were wearing fucking awesome sweaters that looked like they came from the circus ‘cos they were purple with gold sparkly crap weaved into them and all this color and i said hey i think i need to put my sunglasses on to talk to you and they got all giggly then started touching at my sweater because there is a plaid scottie dog on it and i am like ok that’s enough of THAT.
i find that when i am walking down the street and i have run out of things to think about this is when i watch how other people are walking and i copy them and time my steps to be in sync with their steps until i think of something to think about.
oh and i lost my mittens yesterday.
i think i left them at the liquor store in parkdale.
fil and i hung with parkdalemassive today and we showed up in kensington just as his boss was screaming at some lacky that tapes up boxes so we scooped up parkdalemassive and went to his pad and played burnout three for a bit then went to cadillac lounge and i regaled them with stories of how i got caught stealing a lipstick from a supermarket and some lady had the same cat hat as me ‘cept hers was grey and i didn’t make a big deal over it and confront her, though i should have.
maybe.
oh and yesterday i hung with parkdalemiddleton and we drew pictures and talked about how one day noel will finally get laid off and then jim showed up and told me about his music touring because he is in this fancy popular band or something and they toured with tea party and he said the guy who thinks he is jim morrison is all fat and wanted t-shirts sized medium.
ok so most of the laundry was completed yesterday and nextly i have to clear away all my little knick-knacks and paperclips and put them someplace and not forget where that someplace is.
i just went to get coffees, like a couple hours ago and me and natalie were discussing our periods and how we are screaming at people and then she turns to this lady and says poor lenny kravitz, what with the SUCKING and all and i was shocked into silence because at the time it was the funniest thing i had ever heard and the fact that she is telling it to some random ole lady who prolly has no idea who that lenny kravitz is and then natalie goes on about how his hair makes him look like an old lady and i was like are these coffees on the house and she is like yes and i said well let me buy something so i bought two packets of cider and i said something like if you are going to get mad at people just scream at them don’t throw hot coffee in their faces please although that would be funny but i think you would um, go to jail?
last nite was fun.
we went to al/sher/kane’s place and got shitty and smashed the drums and played with all the instruments at the same time and didn’t really try to sound like a band at all and sher and i were going thru her photo album of how she use to be all fat and so we talked about how we think we are fat for a whole hour and kane was in the background doing invoices or something and every other word coming out of my mouth is heffer and he is rolling his eyes ‘cos sher has made him look at this album before.
u dont know me. im from argentina just wanted to meet u
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
is it fine?
raymi am robot. says:
sure
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
u got any photo?
raymi am robot. says:
why did u want to meet me
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
saw ur blog
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
u seem cool. dunno
raymi am robot. says:
well all my pictures are on it there
raymi am robot. says:
how old are you
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
17 hhaa. small arent i?
raymi am robot. says:
are u a boy ?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
yes i am
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
u like young?
raymi am robot. says:
arent u suppose to be in school?
raymi am robot. says:
no i do not like young.
raymi am robot. says:
well i dont like to date young if that is what you mean
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
but maybe sometime mate?
raymi am robot. says:
what?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
have you got webcam?
raymi am robot. says:
no, why are you being so pushy?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
sorry i didnt mean to
raymi am robot. says:
aren’t you suppose to be in school right now
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
nono
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
i called absent
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
have you got more pictures of you topless?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
i like them i study art and they are artistic
raymi am robot. says:
that is total bullshit
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
no. seriously
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
it sounds like
raymi am robot. says:
well go search for some on google then i dont have time to send exclusive tit shots to people who “study art” and then call in absent. what is this world coming to?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
oh come on dont be mad
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
i started wrong..sorry
raymi am robot. says:
well start again
raymi am robot. says:
sorry for being a bitch
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
what do u mean by a bitch?
raymi am robot. says:
um, a mean scarey woman?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
well. u can be jaja
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
its fine
raymi am robot. says:
what is jaja?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
haha
raymi am robot. says:
oh
raymi am robot. says:
do u mean you are allowed to be a bitch or do you mean, you ARE a bitch?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
what went through your mind to publish a topless picture?
raymi am robot. says:
that i have every right to do that?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
sure! i know
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
but you like to pose. or show your body
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
‘?
raymi am robot. says:
what are you getting at, exactly?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
nothing. just wondering
raymi am robot. says:
well since you are 17 years old you are not suppose to be studying my naked body, according to the online pervert law
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
you mind?
raymi am robot. says:
yes i mind laws.
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
putting laws appart.. do you like me to look at you and say i appreciate what this woman does.. or you preffer me not to see your naked body
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
?
raymi am robot. says:
prefer has only one ‘f’ in it.
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
you didnt answer
raymi am robot. says:
what is this, an interview?
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
just asking..
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
you see. you like me or others to look at you
raymi am robot. says:
well look i dont care either way, how about that.
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
since we are 2000 miles away.. we could do things you dont usually do..
raymi am robot. says:
how about it’sa ploy to get traffic from intellectual people like you
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
remember argentinians are big cocked and cute
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
big big
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
answer raymi..
raymi am robot. says:
you’re fucking annoying is what you are
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
just as a game
raymi am robot. says:
and you are posing as a 17 yr old art student who is prolly homeless and a male prostitute
Morir De Cara Al Sol says:
dont you have curiosity of an argentinian cock?
raymi am robot. says:
NO I DO NOT LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE
raymi am robot. says:
what part of leave me the fuck alone do you not understand, i do not want to view your webcam
