i had the best dream. i was getting all these amazing clothes FOR FREE and i had awesome hair too and a rad bmx bike.

last nite fil and i watched back-to-back episodes of ready or not. you can be jealous of that.

we went to the cottage this weekend for martin’s birthday and i drank myself awesome and we pretty much burned everything on their property.

i had the spins and i made fil tell me a story so i wouldn’t be sick and he made some shit up about a family of settlers who do weird practises with animals and people disappear and i believed it and was trying to figure out why the people were disappearing and i was all THEY’RE CANNIBALS THEY FUCKING EAT THE PEOPLE and fil wasn’t responding to my shitty outbursts because he was covering his mouth from laughing and that made me think he couldn’t hear me so i screamed louder. the story went on for twenty minutes and i believed all of it because i am intelligent.

then i dreamt about scary shit.

neil

last nite i dreamt i was best friends with paris hilton and i drove her jeep all over town and was wearing her clothes and i backed into this asshole’s car cos he parked it right behind me and i had nowhere else to go so i slammed into it and i was screaming like that fat lady in fried green tomatoes when she smashes up those girls’ car in the supermarket parking lot, like MENTAL, and then the SWAT team was after us and other stupid crap happened like climbing in ceilings and walking on broken glass.

i’ve exceeded my bandwidth and it’s not even the end of the month yet though indiko is being nice and allowing me to exceed it more. i guess this means i have to post less photos. arg.

i always feel like shit after eating shwarma and that’s how i feel right now and i want to give a special shout out FUCK YOU to douche bags in my comments saying my writing is lousy.

we just watched the players club you shorts wearing trip ass bitches.

there was suppose to be a tornado today.

the end.

this is my new favourite blog.

ok here is a snippet of what i am working on:

This is the thing with sadness that I have learned in my twenty-two years:

It follows you everywhere you go. You cannot run from yourself as much as you think you can. You just can’t and so all the time you spent lying down on the couch upside down in your family room in xyz suburbia you will spend just as much time doing the same in xyz big city except it is ten times more pathetic in the city because then you get to see how much of a failure you are.

The shit is right outside your door and you are finally doing what you whined about doing all along but really what you did was go someplace out of reach, out of touch so your parents and loser old friends can’t see you watching shitty television and eating grilled cheese sandwiches with asshole roommates. Good for you. Clap, clap.

Eventually you get your shit together enough to do something about your sadness and you decide ok tonite I will go out and get fucked so you take your stupid journal/novel and go to some what is suppose to be hipster bar and get wasted and write about how neurotic you are. Pathetic.

This is suppose to be a book about all of that.

there should be a blog for mean people who comment on blogs and say nasty shit. they should start their own fucking blog and just be mean to eachother though it’s probably all the same person so whatever.

last nite i was bad at darts as usual and i got really drunk and cried and stormed off home.

i started writing another book that i will probably not finish and i think i am dyslexic because every word i type is backwards or maybe my fingers are stupid.

anyway if i don’t post as often it’s because there is magical magicalness happening elsewhere.