19 March 2002

My Dad is writing poetry again. He was a great writer but he never acted upon it and slowly his brain went out. But there are still a few rattling synapses sparking and humming, and I'm very proud of him for it. My brother is still missing in inaction, either a modern day Keroac or a modern day loser who walked out on his family. I hope he knows what he's doing. Sometimes you have to take big chances, but I hope he knows what he's doing.
I went to Canada (London, Ontario) with the cute girl who works in the Language Lab. London's the type of place that doesn't make the news, and that suited me just fine. I was burned to a crisp, burned to a crisp, lights out in the bunker. I haven't really written in awhile, but I've seen the flashing lights which means that soon I will write. Sarah needed to get away too, and she had fun shuffling through the streets and eating in nice restaurants and playing the mosquitoe game. At least I think she did. We talked about big things in a coffee shop with art on the walls that sold embroidered sweaters, we saw a gentleman in the throes of PCP induction arrested at our feet, we saw big gauzy clouds hang over route 402, we spent coloured money in places with lights on the ceiling, and took pictures of nothing and squirrels, flapping flags. Excellent. The life. The life of travellers. I'd trade it for nothing.

And, let's see...

I went con Michelle and Matt to Kat's b-day party in Champagne (Cham-pa-nya). We e-mailed Captain D himself and I played guitar. I hope he writes back. That'd be cool. Of course I doubt it would actually be the Captain because he is old and only a cartoon, but still. Still we hope.
And to cute girl who works at the Language Lab - I updated. Happy?
If only I had a little bit of humility I'd be absolutely perfect.

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