I considered writing a whole month's worth about girls, but then I decided I needed liberty.

Cathy O'Connor.

We worked together at the Canadian Home Shopping Network. My God, she was so beautiful. She had a boyfriend, so hankypanky was not on my mind (mostly).

We went to the Royal Ontario Museum together. In the cafeteria she told me that her sister had told her she didn't trust her with her children. Cathy cried about that, got up, left. I caught up with her out on the street.

She was a girl I loved. She might be dead by now.

Groovy, man. Really groovy. Can I have some of that? Man, the chicks here are hot. And cool at the same time. I guess that makes then lukewarm overall. Get down! Anybody seen my comb? Yeah, shake it! Can't believe I'm really here. Just a minute ago I was sitting in my basement, now I'm here! Hey, she's taking off her clothes. Wow. Naked and beautiful. Oh man, she's coming over here! Touching me! Shamelessly! She's so wet I can't believe it. Wow! That feels really good! I'm coming! It true what they say about fiction being better than reality.

Self-fulfilling Prophesy

I'm terribly frightened of doors.

The natural method is to push through it.

But what if someone's on the other side? What if his hand is reaching for the knob at that exact moment? His hand would be hit, possibly broken and crushed. In any case, it would be quite a fright.

This afternoon I wrote in my little notebook, "Fear of opening doors, fear of door opening." About an hour later I was about to go out of the smoking room. I reached for the knob. Just then it swung open. I jumped and looked foolish. Women.

I am in bed, too awake, convulsing, looking for a spot in which I cannot hear my heart beat. I keep my eyes open, trying to hypnotize myself.

But maybe I am asleep, dreaming I'm awake. It's a strange dream.

I am in bed, asleep, dreaming I'm looking for a spot in which I can't hear the radiator convulse so I can fall asleep.

But maybe I'm only dreaming I'm dreaming I'm awake. Strange dream. Maybe I'm not in my bed at all. Maybe I'm in a park dreaming I'm in a hotel room dreaming I'm in my bed, awake.

Great, Jeff. Why didn't you post a warning somewhere, like, "Writing here could get you in lots of trouble?"

Today Sierra, one of my bosses, called me into her office. A man was there too. Word had got around, and one particular item I wrote (I'm not gonna say which one because there might be a lawsuit in the works) had been taken very badly by one of my co-workers. Even though it was on my own time, the collective agreement stated etc. etc.

"This gentleman will escort you out of the building," she said.

So thanks, Jeff! I'm fired!

Breeder Peeder

Played poker this night against this total PRICK named Peeder. He was constantly goading me. It's not like he took any money from me, he pretty much broke even, but he thought he was superior to me.

So is it that assholes breed children, or is it that children breed assholes? Cause Peeder's a breeder. Has some kids.

Just an observation: that people who have kids are generally nastier than those that don't.

Me violent me fuck you bitch me don't give fuck. Slap me hand over your mouth bitch 'cause I like fuck. Don't care no baby.

I have been very well trained, by many of the best. My mother taught me how to relieve myself in the correct places. My father taught me I should always go along with the pack. My many teachers taught me how to stand up straight, obey orders, and report to the proper authorities. Woof! Excuse me, that was improper. My first female taught me the importance of loyalty and love and sex. And my children? Well, they taught me the importance of proper training in its own turn. Now will you please turn around so I can sniff your asshole?

Dog Blog

The NYT has an article today about man's best friend. Sure, we're their friends; so why aren't they ours? Why no reciprocation? I mean, I like the water and the canned food, sometimes I like the kibble even, but does that mean he's my friend? Check out this article about working dogs. Slavery, it's nothing but slavery. But even worse, look at this PETA site. (If you can't read, just check out the pictures.) Such good friends, yeah. But we've got our revenge, though, haven't we? Because you and me both know we're actually woman's best friend. (NSFW.)

The King's Royal Diary

Why is everyone always trying to poison me? I've always tried to be a good, good King. He seemed like a good servant, and I trusted him with my wine and my hounds. I thought of him as a friend, almost like another son. We even played faro on several occasions. Then I caught him putting arsenic in my wine. Well, it hurt me more than it hurt him when he was drawn and quartered with his entrails thrown to my starving bears, let me tell you. So why is everyone always trying to poison me?

Warning

When your eyes get to wander where your hands do itch to go,
When your eyes get to wander where your hands do itch to go,
Don't never speak her name because then your pretty wife is sure to know.

(moan one verse)

Baby baby please give me that thing.
Baby baby please give me that thing.

Don't never trust a woman who tapes what you talk in your sleep.
Don't never trust a woman who tapes what you talk in your sleep.
You'll hear so much of it you'll be wishing you were more than six feet deep.

I was the first-born daughter of a very powerful King.

A powerful king had me. I will have power soon.

My father was very powerful and I'll be given things.

My father I knew for a time, 'til he died.

Hello, father. Father? He was once a somwhat great man.

A mansion. We were always on top of one another.

He was tall. He could reach the high filing cabinets.

I was a princess then. I must still be one?

Why does he stoop so? When did he get old?

My King disappeared sometime. I was left with a man.

I remember one of my first poems. Let me paraphrase.

It's about an astronomer shutting down his shop for the night. The log is closed. One last look through the telescope. He sees a glow. It's a supernova. A thousand planets destroyed. He jots down the co-ordinates on a scrap of paper, slips it into his pocket, and promptly forgets it.

His wife's doing laundry next day. "These pants?" "Yeah," he says, half-asleep. And the note is destroyed in the wash.

Inspired by a girl's phone number in some jeans that got washed.

Will you miss me when I'm gone?

I resent constantly that other people are more important than me. And I seek revenge!

Today I went into the smoking room. Suhana Meharchand was sitting at the nearest table. She's a personality. I plunked myself down at her table and opened my Lovecraft book. I didn't look up once. She has to know she's nothing to me. (When in fact I think she's probably really nice and I'd like to fuck her mulatto pussy.)

So I read, and she finishes her smoke and leaves.

End story.

I know my life is clownlishly directed.

Maybe next time I'll say hello.

I Remember Adolph

I took some books I'd never read and went down to Queen Street to sell them so I could buy cigarettes. Vanity Fair and others. Sold them for five dollars which was enough.

Out on the street a honk. A man was gesturing, like there was a fire somewhere. I opened the passenger side of his German car.

He said, with a German accent, "Come with me. I will pay you well."

"Oh, no, I'm meeting some friends. Sorry." I closed the door.

And I crossed the park. Kicking myself. I really could have used the money.

Music For Dancing and Sadness (I)

Whoo, I'm all out of breath!

Where did you learn to dance like that? Pretty cool!

Angelica. What's yours?

Nice, means Gift of God, did you know that?

Mississauga. And you?

It's so noisy in here, what?

Real downtowner, huh? Well, I want to move here soon.

Go to U of T.

I dunno, I guess an English degree. Are you a student?

Well, school isn't everything, right?

You're welcome, it was fun!

Um, do you come here often?

Cool.

Oh, c'mon, it's early.

Will you be here next Saturday?

Oh.

Okay.

Okay.

Bye.

I miss being able to burn my work.

I wish I could burn the internet.

Pile it in a great pyre, in a clean and open field, upon an autumn day; douse it with gasoline, and burn it down. Melt it to a plastic goo. Send all these words to the sky.

I know a painter who regularly goes down to the lake and burns her work. I've always admired her for that.

I know, I have burned relatively few things by comparison, but it's the ability to destroy myself that's the important part.

I would love to burn myself.

The Eternal Recurrence of the Same

I was down at King and Dufferin waiting for my connecting streetcar. A woman came up to me. She said, "Do you have a dollar so I can get coffee? I've only got enough for a muffin." I needed coffee too. I gave her 75¢. "Thanks," she said. "This is so embarrassing. I've never done this before."

The first streetcar was too full, so I wanted for another one. She came up to me again. She said, "Do you have a dollar so I can get coffee? I've only got enough for a muffin."

David Locke, don't you see? You may feel God is persecuting you, you and you alone; you may be stranded in the desert, and curse the created by cursing the creator; you may wish to trade your life with another less persecuted. Your illusion is that you believe that other life will be less cursed than yours. As far as arrogance goes, yours is undoubtedly the greatest. Why should God single you out in such a way? You'll just carry the curse of that other person. Your burden will be exactly the same, all being equally cursed.

Therefore, God exists.

I was arrested and they asked me my name and I said I am Jesus Christ. They tried to fingerprint me and I laughed. I am Jesus! I have no prints! And I had none! I am divine, I am the son of God! You hear me, I know! I will be mayor, I'll run for mayor, I know, they say, He's just some nigger, but I'm not just some nigger! I'm a Black man, I'm not just some nigger! I used to work in the placement office, Jesus can show us the way, 'cause Jesus, he was a nigger!

Suggoth!

A race with control of time is infecting our dimensions!

Tk-chthulu aagh!

When I bought smokes today the shopkeeper responded in another language!

IÃÆ'¤!

We are food for these Elder Things, and these mongroids are hungry!

You too will soon be victim to a shopkeeper's erlich desires!

Aagh!

The eternal thing slid across the counter the small shiny red box! I knew what he wanted in return! I put my hands to my chest and started digging through skin and bone! I ripped my heart out! Blood poured from the cavity!

IÃÆ'¤!

"Matches!" I cried. "I need matches too!"

The red plexiglass curio cabinet.

Top shelf:
A plaster statue of the Blessed Virgin decapitated.
A well-thumbed copy of Macbeth missing leaf sixteen.
A hollow and inaccurate glass phrenological skull.

Middle shelf:
An unusually small perfect cone of fine yellow dust.
A miniature violin with strings of light red hair.
A large metal thimble with its tip dented with age.

Bottom shelf:
A green silk stocking wrapped around a large spool.
A deck of red Bicycle playing cards used only twice.
A brown notebook mostly filled with shopping lists.

Underneath:
A pretty cat named Mexico MacDonell snoring the day away.

It's time for BookChat. Today a special full-length edition about a new imprint from HarperCollins. They're collections of essays. And in each collection you'll find something to your liking: it's an essay called "I'm Reading This Now" and that's precisely what it's about. Never feel like you're on the outside ever again. HarperCollins has put it precisely in the middle of each volume so you always look like you're halfway through. Excerpt: "I am now at the bottom of this page. Now I'm at the top of the next one." Okay, that's all the time we've got for BookChat today.

It's time for BookChat. Today a special full-length edition about a new imprint from HarperCollins. They are in languages you can't understand. How often have you envied someone reading something in another language? Now you can look like that person reading that foreign language. Furthermore we've I mean they've picked only the best books in strange languages. Thus, if someone looking over your shoulder in the subway knows the language, they'll be impressed. Excerpt: "Du bist allerdings ein Hauptthema unserer GesprÃÆ'¤che sie unseres Denkins seit jeher, aber wahrhaftig nicht" etc. Okay, that's all the time we've got for BookChat today.

It's time for BookChat. Today a special full-length edition about a new imprint from HarperCollins. Entitled Imaginary Conversations with the 6th Baron Byron, each volume consists of a made-up conversation between everyone's favourite romantic poet and a contemporary celebrity figure, suitably ghost-written. Excerpt: "Byron: 'The beauty of this world, I fear, is too much to bear! I seek a new republic, a new republic of beauty!' Pamela Anderson: 'Omigod, you're not, like, Republican, are you? Omigod. That's it. Okay, this interview is, like, over.' Byron: 'Ye Gods! Were those real?'" Okay, that's all the time we've got for BookChat today.

Creeping Connotations

If they say they're going for a walk, they're going for coffee.

If they say they're going for coffee, they're going for a drink.

If they say they're going for a drink, they're going for four or so.

If they say they're going to get drunk, they're going to have a nightcap.

If they say they're going for a nightcap, they're going to kiss.

If they say to themselves it's just a kiss, they're going to be touching.

If they say, "You feel nice," they're going to go to bed together.

So complicated! Happily, I'm in a wheelchair.

Love

Tabula rasa girl, no matter who
You are I'll make you (if I'm taking you)
Into a star of parts I've loved before;
Your sockets I will plug with eyes adored

A year, a month, a decade past; your si-
Lent voice to which some lost chords I'll apply
To make you high to reach my deepest soul;
Your eyes, your voice, your postured thoughts, your whole.

Tabula rasa girl, you won't be you,
Instead you'll be a thing more me than you.
And if you are agreed, a treat for you:
I'll be tabula rasa boy for you.

We're going to build things here. There's nothing here now, as you can see. But we'll erect our things. We've started already with this erection of things. You see?

Here we are in phase two. We had a lot of opposition, but we're here. What would you like made? I know what you'd like made. A pretty paradise.

Part three. The pretty paradise. You think there're things wrong with you. There aren't. Look at those trees. Their roots are as deep as their limbs. Pick a tree. Let's lie down here beneath this tree. Isn't this nice? Hear the birds?

Having a hard night tonight. I can't grasp my soul, let alone wrestle with it. Sometimes it's so close we're almost unified, but tonight it's over in the neighbour's house looking through the cupboards in seach of something salty or sweet. Meanwhile I'm here, materially here, going through the motions of writing. I wish my soul wasn't rummaging in the next door larder, but I don't know any spell that'll get it to return. It'll come back soon. Tomorrow, I hope. Maybe the day after. Until it returns I want you to know that a robot is writing these things.

Dorleam

I was doing a crossword and doing it well. The down answers made an across word I didn't know. I got the dictionary and tried to look it up but it wasn't in there. Went back to the puzzle, but couldn't find the strange word in the across answers anymore.

There were a cube on the table. I picked it up. It was a die. Cool to the touch. One of the sides was a seven. Found the numbers one through seven on its six sides.

"But that's impossible!" I said aloud.

That's when I knew I wasn't dreaming.

-Read the words within the starburst in the upper corner of this bag of Cheezblast Doodies.

-Made with real cheese.

-We've had several bags of Doodies examined, and we have found no traces of cheese. What's your explanation?

-They're 'made with,' not 'made from.'

-Cheese is used in the production, but doesn't end up in the Doodies?

-Precisely. Our workers are instructed to think of cheese when they're processing the sludge that becomes Doodies. Stole the idea from The Music Man.

-Here's an affadavit from one of your workteams. They swear they didn't think of cheese on June 9th!

-Communists!

Goodbye, January of 2006! Never to come again!

Goodbye, 31 January 2006! I've enjoyed it, really! Farewell! You'll be gone very soon, never to return!

Goodbye, 24th hour of the 31st of January 2006! It's been nice making things inside of you, and reading some blogs! What would I have done without you?!

Goodbye, last minute of January 2006! You have your place in things, minuscule you! Shake hands with the minutes behind and ahead! You were all swell!

Goodbye, last second of January 2006! Second to none! Absolutely unique!

Regretfully, it's time to put a stop to you

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