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Wednesday, November 12, 2003

A Day of Mixed Nuts and Feelings

No point in going on about it. I'm pretty unhappy. And I still feel as if something is about to happen, when in reality its pretty clear its not. Something is not going to happen.

Saw Jean Chretien today, he waved at me. I said "Hey" and went back to work.

I'm starting to notice that the people I work with are not the people I thought they were. Not to say that they're worse, some are, but thankfully, some are better. When it comes to showing how I feel, most people would say I let it all out. And yeah, I do. But for some reason there are certain people that make me think again, think maybe not. Then I start thinking about my friends and wondering if part of the reason I like them so much is that they'll listen, and maybe understand. Those people that make me think first aren't necessarily stupid, nor are they especially engaging, there is just something there that seals me up.

A guy at work thinks he knows me, thinks he has an idea, and its funny because the fact that I know he doesn't makes me feel powerful. I won't let him know me. Actually at work there are many different kinds of people, and much like the simple ass that thinks he knows me, I wish I knew more about them. Its amazing how much a corporate setting can take away your identity, and mask it with an idea of productivity. No time for feelings. The strangest thing is that I get the feeling that most of them don't even care about the money they're making. They just know to work, and to pretend that that's all there is. They compare lives at the water cooler like stories of the outside in prison. I was told by a drunken "boss" at the company party that wearing a hat at work would ruin my chances of corporate success. I told him maybe its not worth it. Later I found out that the "boss", who looked to be maybe 40 years old, was in fact, 28. He dyes his hair grey.

Its not worth it. I don't care how much he thinks he is doing.

I just want them to leave me alone. Another guy at work, who when he heard I was leaving at 6 o'clock, made a sarcastic snorting sound as if it was too early, has made it perfectly clear to everyone that I am too young to be working, and should be in school. But of course, I too, am part of that conference call regime, and I too, know the rules. I said nothing and smiled.

A wave of pain, knowing that you can't say anything, when its all you want to do.

Sunday, November 09, 2003

A waste

Today I wrote pages and pages, and ALL of which were erased in a massive, somewhat terrifying joke. I thought I was going to die.

I want to fill this thing with more than I can. If I could write, then I would. If I could sing, then I would. If I could only stop complaining.

That tearing, searing, awful feeling is back. And I'll I can think is WHY! Its not even a question any more, just a way of being. WHY. It makes me feel pathetic, totally useless, to think it over and over again. WHY! Powerless, like when I was 10 and couldn't understand my parents (no one could). The worst part is that I have no one to ask but myself, and I know for a fact, that I don't have the answers. I'm the only one who could, but I let myself down again.

When its all a big fight, its no wonder we get violent. Life is so annoying, you're bound to throw a few punches here and there. Life, as I see it at this point, is like that stupid joke an uncle would play on you. "Why are you hitting yourself? Stop hitting yourself Max" I want to hit life more than anything right now (and I don't mean like "I'd hit dat ass...life's ass"), but its holding my arms and slapping me in the face.

what's worse is knowing that I have everything I need, and wanting so much more.

So, here is a story of a man. A strange man.

"'How do you do it'? They ask me. I smile and begin. I love this part. 'So you really want to know?'
Of course they do, and I can see it on their faces. 'Yes, oh please, just a hint, we can't figure it out! We saw you last night! And we just can't understand it.' I have them now, like I had the others. 'Boys...' I look around me, their shiny foreheads glisten in the lamp light. I can see my silhouette, satisfyingly vague, reflecting in the glasses of those who have them. 'Boys, I'll start off with this. If you want to get the girl, you need to convince her that she needs you'.
They're captivated, silent. 'Now, of course, you can't just walk up to any Jane and ask her to come with you, because lets face it boys...We're not lookers' A self-conscious group snicker rises from the crowd. They don't know what to say, they don't know what to do. They no longer own themselves, I have them now. I take a sip of water, and swallow loudly. 'So, boys, exactly how do we find a woman who needs us?' A strong silence falls, a vacuum fills takes shape in the form of pure blackness around us, and in us, just outside the reach of the dancing lamp light. We are in amoeba of light. Not a breath. The silence is angry, you can feel it, see it, slowly sawing at their ears. I don't let it leave though, I let it cut on. They're getting dizzy, they're eyes are searching, they're paralyzed and they're mine. They're pleading for me to stop, to let them out, but I will not relent, I will not bend.

As they sway, on the brink of collapse I save them. 'Location boys, Location is the key. My personal favorite, or at least my very first, was in a subway. Dundas West. I was standing there, desperately trying to read the paper, but due to the low lighting, I was forced to move to a light further down the platform. Now, I've not always had this ability, this skill, but it was that day that I looked up and saw her. Standing under the light, the DWA, she was scared and felt the light might hel....'"


oh man, I've just gotta sleep, now that's a shitty story. I just wanted to write about a guy who picks up chicks under the designated waiting area lights. I couldn't get it to go. Oh well.

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