Sunday, December 14, 2008
Bella
Her tiny head is leaned on her right shoulder as she half sits, tucked under the covers on the futon. One leg half peeps out of the ruffle of blanket, a cool pink drumstick. I pick her up and lay her down, head propped on a pillow. She breathes deeply and her mouth opens, squeeks something not understood by either of us. Her hands flutter to her face. She settles into the pillow and her expression reminds me of Munsch's "the Scream". Poor little bairne. She looks so much like her mother. Poor little bairne.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
You're the only one who doesn't know...
I love you.
I love the way you look at me with your thousand yard stare.
I love the way you ignore me when you're overwhelmed with emotion.
I love your smile as the sunlight cuts through motes of dust floating in the warmth
above my bed.
I love the morning that wakes me up to you.
When I'm lonely in the dark I think of you.
I dream loudly,
whimpering,
waking.
I reach over and grab your nothingness, pulling it to me.
I sleep on dirty sheets just to smell you.
I cry softly to myself.
I turn and smile,
hoping that you do not see.
I love the way you look at me with your thousand yard stare.
I love the way you ignore me when you're overwhelmed with emotion.
I love your smile as the sunlight cuts through motes of dust floating in the warmth
above my bed.
I love the morning that wakes me up to you.
When I'm lonely in the dark I think of you.
I dream loudly,
whimpering,
waking.
I reach over and grab your nothingness, pulling it to me.
I sleep on dirty sheets just to smell you.
I cry softly to myself.
I turn and smile,
hoping that you do not see.
Ottawa 2005- the great shark hunt
November 25
the great shark hunt
I'm flying in from flying. 9am feels like brutal backlash from the night before, which of course was just this morning. Coffee cup rolls up to reveal the same goose egg its been displaying for a decade. People say I've been going to this same party for 12 years and that is in no way depressing. But greasy eyes sitting in an airport contemplating families and businessmen aren't so sure. Scan the crowd. Slow left, 15 people, two of them toddler twins. Slow right, past 15, 12 more, looking at watches, checking tickets, brushing back hair from travel worn brows. I could disappear here. Or reappear. Chew through a concrete wall like a wild rhinocerous and emerge at the other end all covered in dust and chalk...and look good having done it. Instead I sit in half realized limbo, sipping creamy brown caffeine and listening to the left over buzzing in my head.
the great shark hunt
I'm flying in from flying. 9am feels like brutal backlash from the night before, which of course was just this morning. Coffee cup rolls up to reveal the same goose egg its been displaying for a decade. People say I've been going to this same party for 12 years and that is in no way depressing. But greasy eyes sitting in an airport contemplating families and businessmen aren't so sure. Scan the crowd. Slow left, 15 people, two of them toddler twins. Slow right, past 15, 12 more, looking at watches, checking tickets, brushing back hair from travel worn brows. I could disappear here. Or reappear. Chew through a concrete wall like a wild rhinocerous and emerge at the other end all covered in dust and chalk...and look good having done it. Instead I sit in half realized limbo, sipping creamy brown caffeine and listening to the left over buzzing in my head.
Another oldie. 2005
December 05
never trust a f***ing junkie
Saw junkie boy for the first time in six weeks this weekend. He spent the last month getting clean. But of course he's pissed as a billygoat when he shows up here. Fuckin junkies. Never trust em.
Still, he's good in the sack, so really...what can a girl do?
Cause fuck a good lay is few and far between. I meet a lot of guys around town. A lot of guys. There are a rare few who are at least articulate enough to peak my interest. And then you meet them and they smell of soup. They smell exactly like beef barley soup.
Or some shit like that.
It's ridiculous.
Ridiculous out there.
They show up in mustangs and rev the engine as i walk up to the passenger door. They wear bad shoes and cologne that makes me gag. They have chains around their necks and tattoos of panthers on their shoulders. Their ass hair is like a finely woven persian rug with a super high thread count. And they stick their tongues down my throat as if i were a mother bird and they were trying to encourage me to regurgitate my dinner and nourish them.
Why are so many people such horrible kissers? I mean, doesn't it feel awkeward to them?
But then there's someone that's just perfect. Someone that shudders when I lick their earlobe. Someone who knows when to use their tongue and when to softly press. Someone who smells like my favorite place, and who looks like that guy in the dream I had a couple years ago and I can still kinda half remember. And one night we take the dogs out to pee in the backyard and he's standing there in the glow of the light from the apartment next door in his too-small sweater with his hair all messed up at the back from laying in my bed and it just makes my heart smile.
And then the next day he's gone. For a month. And he shows up ten pounds lighter, shaking like a leaf and looking like hell. And he tells mr that he's not doing this to make me mad or to hurt me, he's just had a rough couple weeks.
And I smile and ruffle his hair. And then i fuck the shit out of him. Cause goddamn, i like it when he does that thing with his fingers....
And it's ridiculous out there, you know.
never trust a f***ing junkie
Saw junkie boy for the first time in six weeks this weekend. He spent the last month getting clean. But of course he's pissed as a billygoat when he shows up here. Fuckin junkies. Never trust em.
Still, he's good in the sack, so really...what can a girl do?
Cause fuck a good lay is few and far between. I meet a lot of guys around town. A lot of guys. There are a rare few who are at least articulate enough to peak my interest. And then you meet them and they smell of soup. They smell exactly like beef barley soup.
Or some shit like that.
It's ridiculous.
Ridiculous out there.
They show up in mustangs and rev the engine as i walk up to the passenger door. They wear bad shoes and cologne that makes me gag. They have chains around their necks and tattoos of panthers on their shoulders. Their ass hair is like a finely woven persian rug with a super high thread count. And they stick their tongues down my throat as if i were a mother bird and they were trying to encourage me to regurgitate my dinner and nourish them.
Why are so many people such horrible kissers? I mean, doesn't it feel awkeward to them?
But then there's someone that's just perfect. Someone that shudders when I lick their earlobe. Someone who knows when to use their tongue and when to softly press. Someone who smells like my favorite place, and who looks like that guy in the dream I had a couple years ago and I can still kinda half remember. And one night we take the dogs out to pee in the backyard and he's standing there in the glow of the light from the apartment next door in his too-small sweater with his hair all messed up at the back from laying in my bed and it just makes my heart smile.
And then the next day he's gone. For a month. And he shows up ten pounds lighter, shaking like a leaf and looking like hell. And he tells mr that he's not doing this to make me mad or to hurt me, he's just had a rough couple weeks.
And I smile and ruffle his hair. And then i fuck the shit out of him. Cause goddamn, i like it when he does that thing with his fingers....
And it's ridiculous out there, you know.
This is an oldie that I will finish someday...
that weekend pt1
The whole thing started with him being an hour late to pick me up from the ferry. We'd had this conversation the night before: I didnt' want to have to get up at 8 am to take the 11. I wanted to take the 1.
"No, it's better early, then we spend more time together", he says.
Well that's kinda cute.
"Okay, fine. Pick me up at 12:40 then".
And I woke up at 8am the next morning. Took the bus to the ferry terminal. The city bus, mind. Spent an hour and a half on the ferry, and got off on the other end to find nobody waiting for me. So I had a smoke. Maybe he's running a little late.
Now I'm done my smoke and he's still not here. But shit, I forgot my address book at home. So I call Ness and she looks for my book and gives me his number. I don't have a pen so I just listen and try to remember the 13 digits. I hang up quckly and dial.
The phone rings twice and he answers sounding groggy and distant.
"Hi, it's P. Where are you? I'm here."
"Ya, I'm coming. I'm going to be late."
"You're already late," I say, trying to sound less pissed off than I really am. "I'm here".
"Okay, see you," he says and hangs up.
So I go and sit in the sun and light another smoke, and watch all the other people hug their relatives and friends who have arrived to pick them up on time and having eaten.
And I sit there for like an hour. Smoking. Listening to that Who mix Kevin Boriel made me in high school. And stewing. Every dark coloured car that turns into the passenger pickup area has me braced and ready with the first viscious five words I'm going to spit at him on the tip of my tongue, my body tensed to pounce and slap the shit out of him.
I really fucking hate waiting.
Finally his car pulls up in front of me. He doesn't even get out to open the door for me either. He sits in the car with this sheepish smile on his face. He's worried.
"Ya, you have that look on your face asshole", I say as I crush out my cigarette and open my own car door. The two indian cabdrivers who've been watching me crane my neck and curse under my breath for the last hour laugh to each other. "Oh, he's in trouble", one of them shouts to me. Yer not kiddin. I raise my head in acknowledgment and slide into the passenger seat.
"So," I say, trying not to sound as pissed off as I am, "what happened?"
"I slept in", he says, like that's an excuse.
"uh huh. So set your fucking alarm. What the fuck? You don't just leave me standing here. I forgot my address book and i had to call my roommate to get your number."
And he says "oh, that's nice. You don't keep my number with you?"
Motherfucker.
"Dont' you fucking try and turn this around so it's something thats my fault, asshole. Who do you think I am? I'm not playing that game, buddy, I'm not that fucking stupid."
And he looks at me and bats his big brown eyelashes and smiles and leans over and kisses me. And that's it. He thinks he's gotten away with it. But of course I have to have the last word.
"This does not bode well for us having a fun weekend together." I turn and look out the window at the delta slipping by. I'm fuming but, fuck, I have to be here for two nights so I better calm down and try to enjoy myself. He wants to take me to Metrotown and go shopping. Maybe he'll buy me something to make it up to me. That'd be acceptable. I need some new pyjamas. And I wouldn't mind a new eyeshadow or lipstick.
But I forgot it's coming on christmas time, and every fucking idiot and his brother is at Metrotown. Thousands of them. Wandering around like Dawn of the Dead with their wallets in one hand and a Starbucks eggnog latte in the other. And suddenly our north american standard four feet of personal space in null and void. We're on the escalator and there's some snotty kid pressed up against the back of my jacket and and old indian fellow with the ass of his kameez in my face. And oh, fuck! I forgot the xanax.
I grab onto the foreigner and hide my face in his coat. "There's too many people here," I say, starting to panick, "I really don't like it."
And he just looks at me like I'm being cute and is like " this is nothing, you should see Istanbul."
All I wanna do is get the fuck outta there like now. I don't care how many people are in Istanbul. All I care about is that there are way too many people here right now and I need to get away from them. But he wants me to meet his dad's friend or some shit like that. I dont really understand why but I know it's important to him so I try real hard to keep it together. I buy some soap at The Body Shop and we eat a falafel in the food court. I say I'll share his greek salad with him so he eats it first before I get a chance. I'm not hungry anyway, and I pick my falafel apart and eat maybe half of it. It's all I've had to eat today but with all the people my head is reeling and I feel like I might puke anyway.
Then we're wandering accross the street to some hotel, up to the third floor lounge. It's this weird classy bar and I sit there in my dickies jacket and dreadlocks and order a crown and ginger, cause fuck if I'm gonna pay for this and fuck if I'm gonna drink cheap rye on his dime. I'm just gonna sit back in this big club chair and observe. I'm gonna drink my rye and disappear into the chair and watch the goings on like its my own personal movie. I have this ability to dissociate myself that is both borderline psychotic and extremely handy. I do it when I don't want to deal with reality for a period of time. Over the years I've kind of learned to manipulate my own psychosis to my advantage. Or so I tell myself when justifying the stupid shit I do sometimes.
So his dad's friend shows up and they start speaking in turkish. And it's like I'm not even there. They don't look at me, they both lean away from me. I'm thinking, hey, my plan has worked. I've disappeared. Then he looks at me with those big brown eyes and pats my lap like I'm a cute puppy sitting at his side, and goes back to his conversation.
Damn. Still here I guess.
I watch the hockey game. It's toronto vs montreal, so I can put myself in a place where i enjoy it. Somewhere else I notice ottawa is playing Detroit and I mumble that they should be showing that score. The boy looks over and asks if my team is winning.
"ya, les canadiens. Nous gagnon." He has no idea what i'm saying and obviously really doesn't care cause he just smiles laconically and turn and starts speaking turkish again.
He's a pretty good looking guy. He dresses really well he has those eyes. Through the language barrier i get a sense that he's not that stupid either. But sitting here while the menfolk talk business I see a preview of what he'd love our marriage to be. This same scene with a buncha hairy little ankle biters running around and me in the kitchen barefoot with my apron on and a gourmet meal on the stove. I've only spent one weekend with him before this and he mentioned something about wanting me to change my hair.
Jesus christ. How do I get myself into this shit.
Then the meeting is over and we're going home to his apartment. The alcohol has warmed and calmed me a little and the further we get away from the mall, the more my stomach settles down. By the time we pull into his garage twenty minutes later I've convinced myself there's something to be salvaged from this weekend. After all, I've got drugs in my bag and we're going to do them later on.
January 01
that weekend pt 2
On the ferry over here I checked in my handmirror again and they were still there. I saw them this morning in the mirror as I got ready to come over here. I tried smoothing them out with some spit and my finger but they stayed there. Then in the underside mirror on the passenger visor. Third time's the charm and they're still there. Two fine lines extending up from between my eyebrows about an inch and a half to the middle of my brow. Wrinkles. Two wrinkles that weren't there before i turned 30. Two wrinkles that are rapidly turning into crevasses on my forehead plain. I think this weekend has already added a millimetre or two to their length and has the potential to in fact crack my forehead right in half and reveal my gray matter pulsating like so much magma underneath.
I walk in the door and race to the bathroom before he can take off his shoes. I've had to pee for like an hour but kept forgetting about it. Now I can't hold it anymore. Sitting on the toilet i notice how filthy the sink is. The rubber seal around the porcelain is black. Last time I came here he told me he'd made sure there was no toothpaste on the bathroom mirror as per my instructions. I don't think he bothered about that detail this time, as I can see a few splashes of blue green film around head level.
He's already in his underwear and t-shirt when i come into his room from the bathroom. He's sitting on the mattress in the corner of the room with his laptop out, putting on some progressive house mix he found the other day. He listens exclusively to only two types of music: progressive house and black metal. How the two are connected I have no idea. He says they both evoke emotion when listened to. I show him Elliot Smith and Songs:Ohia and he has no reaction whatsoever. "Boring", he says. I want to tell him that house music is totally ten years ago and every file he's ever transferred to me reminded me of the shit I was listening to in 97.
"Did you bring Hex?" he asks, leaning back with one arm behind his head and his other hand scratching his belly.
"Ya, I brought two".
"Let's do it now."
"Oh, Okay," I say and grab my bag from the foyer. I dig around in it until i find my wallet. It's an Astroboy wallet my sister got me in Korea. It's enormous and i can keep everything i need in it and more. My roommate calls it my George Costanza wallet cause it's so thick it seems like at any moment it could burst open and spew its contents all over the sidewalk and into the street.
I dig my fingers into the secret compartment behind the change purse and pull out the tiny ziploc baggie. Inside are two white pills stamped with butterfly insignias. I reach in and pull one out, put it on a cd case on the table in his room and go fetch a spoon and a knife from the kitchen.
He's watching me set up, totally fascinated. Typical of single men he has shit utensils and the knife isn't sharp enough to cut butter let alone controlled substances. I manage to break off a chunk and the rest of the pill shatters and flies around the room. I gather together the pieces and pick out the biggest one to give to him. It's about half the pill. He looks at it and looks up at me.
"Maybe I only take half," he says. "I have to work tonight".
"What? You didnt' take the night off?" I can't believe it. He invited me over here. He wanted me to come on the early ferry so we could spend more time together. Then he's an hour late to pick me up and now he has to work? What the fuck is this all about?
"I couldn't get anyone to work".
"So you have to work tonight and you want to do exstacy for the first time like 4 hours before you have to work?"
"Yeah. How long does it last?" he says as if that's totally a normal thing for a guy who doesn't even smoke cigarettes to do.
"Well, christ, it could last 8 hours. It depends on your constitution and the type of E you get. And having done this drug at least twice a year for the past decade, I would advise against it."
"Maybe I'll just do half a half."
"Pfft. Okay fine, but you're not even gonna get high off that." I cut his piece in half again, give it to him, then take the rest of the pill and crush it into powder with the spoon. Then I take my credit card and tease it out into three short white lines. I take a twenty out of my Astroboy wallet and roll it into a tube.
"What're you doing?" he asks me. "Are you going to do it in the nose?"
"Ya," I say and explain to him how, back in the day, whem MDMA first became popular in Canada, it always came in caplet form. People would buy big tubs of it from crooked pharmacists in Germany and sell jell caps stuffed with the shit to stupid kids like us for twenty bucks a pop. So if you wanted to share a cap with your friend, you opened it up and snorted it. It was kind of a tradition for me. And somewhere not so deep down I just really love sticking things up my nose.
He watches me sniff two lines. His eyes are big and brown and kinda remind me of my mom's shih tzu when I look into them. He says "I think eating is better. Much less drug addict." And I throw my head back and cackle. Then he's horny and he wants to make out.
I oblige him cause this is what I came over here for. A weekend of sex and drugs, baby. A little away from the every day. I close my eyes and put myself into that place where I go when I'm having sex with someone I don't really care about. It's a right here, right now kinda place that lets me enjoy everything that's happening while remaining somewhat disconnected from it all. It's the same place that allows me to appear naked in front of other people during daylight hours and to have crazy orgasms with guys I would never actually be seen in public with. And although this guy looks great on my arm in public, with his swimmers build and his metrosexuality, it nevertheless takes a short period of adjustment to go from annoyance to attraction.
But then I'm there. I'm thinking about how great it's gonna feel to be riding him and having the E coursing through my veins and the combination of that deep E breathing and heavy sex breathing. But he doesn't even give me time to think about a second breath before he's pushing himself into me. It doesn't take me much to get wet but there's no one in humanity that could catch up with this guys advances. He thrusts a couple times and then backs off. He flops back on the bed and I notice his dick is soft. I was pretty sure it was hard like two seconds ago so I check to make sure but there's nothing sticky on me anywhere.
"I'm tired. I'm sore. My back."
I'm compliant as usual. Mostly cause I'm so confused about what's going on. "Do you want a back rub?" I ask him.
"Yes", he says without looking at me and turns around and lays on his stomach across the mattress. I grab a bottle of lavender lotion off the shelf in his room and pump a couple jets onto my hand. Then I turn and survey the terrain.
This is by far the hairiest guy I have ever seen naked in person. I've seen things like this on the internet before, but now it's laying before me expecting me to comfort it. He's got a shimmering brown pelt that is really extraordinary if one appreciates that kind of thing. The back of his neck has a hair arrow that points downward,almost as an indication of the joys which can be expected below the collar line, or perhaps as a warning. From there it branches into a kind of lotus pattern on his upper back, spreading into full epaulettes. Following the trail down the spinal column we catch up with the hair again at the lower back, where the dark, warm environment of the underwear has allowed an astoundingly thick forest to bloom. Mid ass cheek, his skin is almost invisible underneath the curly brown foliage. And this extends right down to the ankles with little or no break.
I take a deep breath, exhale slowly, rub the lotion between my hands and turn to my task. I like giving massages. I like making people feel good and warm and comfortable. It's all about feeling, I tell him. "You have to feel the muscles". And he misunderstands and says "yes, you do it with love." I start to say no, but decide to shut my mouth and use my hands instead. I can feel myself getting high.
I massage his back, blocking out the feeling of the hair on my fingers. He's ridiculously tense and I work his muscles out with hard, slow pressure. When I'm massaging a lover I generally like to do the whole body, particularly if I think it's going to lead to my getting laid. But I reach his forested ass and can go no further. I have a vivid image of the lotion caught in the hair, making a seaweedy swamp down there. I choke back my bile and slap his ass and tell him I'm done. It was an inferior job to be sure, but he's none the wiser.
I'm starting to get really high. I take deep breaths and feel the warm air deep in my lungs.
"I don't feel anything", he says, and then: "I'm tired, let's watch movie."
Okay.
I figured we'd be having more sex, but apparently not. At this point I don't really care. I'm high and I'm getting higher and I feel great and anything that happens is great. I'm always like that. I don't understand people who have freaky bad drug trips. I never do enough to make me out of control and I always go in with the attitude that whatever happens, it's an adventure.
So he puts on the movie we rented. It's the full length Family Guy flick. I've been looking foreward to it for months. And for the first ten minutes I'm laughing my ass off. It is SO funny. Seth McFarlane is an absolute genius. Then I realize that he's not laughing. He's laying back on his mattress with his eyes half lidded and a detached, semi-confused look on his face. I realize that satirical humour based entirely on North American pop culutre references and sub-references is probably not the best thing to watch with a guy who doesn't really speak english.
"You don't get this movie at all, do you?" I ask him.
"No, I'm going to sleep," he says, "come lay down with me."
"I can't lay down baby", I say with a half smile on my face. "I'm high over here."
"You're high?" he asks, because obviously he is not.
"Ya dude, I just snorted two lines, hello? I'm high as a kite."
"Don't you want to lay down though?"
"Not at all. I couldn't lay down right now if I wanted to anyway. You lay down, I'll play on the computer."
And he rolls over and puts his arm over his eyes and goes to sleep. Just like that. And I'm sitting in his room with the lights off and the TV on and his laptop in front of me. I can't believe I'm high and I'm in this situation. I like being high by myself, but I wasn't really planning a solo journey tonight. As I'm pondering this I reach into my cigarette pack and realize that I forgot to pick some up on the way here and I only have two smokes left.
Two smokes! Christ! That is not gonna be enough for tonight. I'm going to have to plan their consumption strategically. I'm going to have to occupy my time until I just can't not smoke and make them last as long as possible. I occupy the next five seconds by finishing off the last line of exstacy left on the cd case beside me.
So there's five seconds gone.
Hmmm....
I go out on the balcony and light my penultimate smoke of the evening. It's cool and crisp and the night feels clean and good on my skin and in my nose. I take in deep lungfulls of the night and lean against the damp wooden railing of the balcony. I can see Cyprus Bowl from here, all lit up against the black sky. There's some searchlinghts swirling in the dark distance above what I estimate to be downtown.
The whole thing started with him being an hour late to pick me up from the ferry. We'd had this conversation the night before: I didnt' want to have to get up at 8 am to take the 11. I wanted to take the 1.
"No, it's better early, then we spend more time together", he says.
Well that's kinda cute.
"Okay, fine. Pick me up at 12:40 then".
And I woke up at 8am the next morning. Took the bus to the ferry terminal. The city bus, mind. Spent an hour and a half on the ferry, and got off on the other end to find nobody waiting for me. So I had a smoke. Maybe he's running a little late.
Now I'm done my smoke and he's still not here. But shit, I forgot my address book at home. So I call Ness and she looks for my book and gives me his number. I don't have a pen so I just listen and try to remember the 13 digits. I hang up quckly and dial.
The phone rings twice and he answers sounding groggy and distant.
"Hi, it's P. Where are you? I'm here."
"Ya, I'm coming. I'm going to be late."
"You're already late," I say, trying to sound less pissed off than I really am. "I'm here".
"Okay, see you," he says and hangs up.
So I go and sit in the sun and light another smoke, and watch all the other people hug their relatives and friends who have arrived to pick them up on time and having eaten.
And I sit there for like an hour. Smoking. Listening to that Who mix Kevin Boriel made me in high school. And stewing. Every dark coloured car that turns into the passenger pickup area has me braced and ready with the first viscious five words I'm going to spit at him on the tip of my tongue, my body tensed to pounce and slap the shit out of him.
I really fucking hate waiting.
Finally his car pulls up in front of me. He doesn't even get out to open the door for me either. He sits in the car with this sheepish smile on his face. He's worried.
"Ya, you have that look on your face asshole", I say as I crush out my cigarette and open my own car door. The two indian cabdrivers who've been watching me crane my neck and curse under my breath for the last hour laugh to each other. "Oh, he's in trouble", one of them shouts to me. Yer not kiddin. I raise my head in acknowledgment and slide into the passenger seat.
"So," I say, trying not to sound as pissed off as I am, "what happened?"
"I slept in", he says, like that's an excuse.
"uh huh. So set your fucking alarm. What the fuck? You don't just leave me standing here. I forgot my address book and i had to call my roommate to get your number."
And he says "oh, that's nice. You don't keep my number with you?"
Motherfucker.
"Dont' you fucking try and turn this around so it's something thats my fault, asshole. Who do you think I am? I'm not playing that game, buddy, I'm not that fucking stupid."
And he looks at me and bats his big brown eyelashes and smiles and leans over and kisses me. And that's it. He thinks he's gotten away with it. But of course I have to have the last word.
"This does not bode well for us having a fun weekend together." I turn and look out the window at the delta slipping by. I'm fuming but, fuck, I have to be here for two nights so I better calm down and try to enjoy myself. He wants to take me to Metrotown and go shopping. Maybe he'll buy me something to make it up to me. That'd be acceptable. I need some new pyjamas. And I wouldn't mind a new eyeshadow or lipstick.
But I forgot it's coming on christmas time, and every fucking idiot and his brother is at Metrotown. Thousands of them. Wandering around like Dawn of the Dead with their wallets in one hand and a Starbucks eggnog latte in the other. And suddenly our north american standard four feet of personal space in null and void. We're on the escalator and there's some snotty kid pressed up against the back of my jacket and and old indian fellow with the ass of his kameez in my face. And oh, fuck! I forgot the xanax.
I grab onto the foreigner and hide my face in his coat. "There's too many people here," I say, starting to panick, "I really don't like it."
And he just looks at me like I'm being cute and is like " this is nothing, you should see Istanbul."
All I wanna do is get the fuck outta there like now. I don't care how many people are in Istanbul. All I care about is that there are way too many people here right now and I need to get away from them. But he wants me to meet his dad's friend or some shit like that. I dont really understand why but I know it's important to him so I try real hard to keep it together. I buy some soap at The Body Shop and we eat a falafel in the food court. I say I'll share his greek salad with him so he eats it first before I get a chance. I'm not hungry anyway, and I pick my falafel apart and eat maybe half of it. It's all I've had to eat today but with all the people my head is reeling and I feel like I might puke anyway.
Then we're wandering accross the street to some hotel, up to the third floor lounge. It's this weird classy bar and I sit there in my dickies jacket and dreadlocks and order a crown and ginger, cause fuck if I'm gonna pay for this and fuck if I'm gonna drink cheap rye on his dime. I'm just gonna sit back in this big club chair and observe. I'm gonna drink my rye and disappear into the chair and watch the goings on like its my own personal movie. I have this ability to dissociate myself that is both borderline psychotic and extremely handy. I do it when I don't want to deal with reality for a period of time. Over the years I've kind of learned to manipulate my own psychosis to my advantage. Or so I tell myself when justifying the stupid shit I do sometimes.
So his dad's friend shows up and they start speaking in turkish. And it's like I'm not even there. They don't look at me, they both lean away from me. I'm thinking, hey, my plan has worked. I've disappeared. Then he looks at me with those big brown eyes and pats my lap like I'm a cute puppy sitting at his side, and goes back to his conversation.
Damn. Still here I guess.
I watch the hockey game. It's toronto vs montreal, so I can put myself in a place where i enjoy it. Somewhere else I notice ottawa is playing Detroit and I mumble that they should be showing that score. The boy looks over and asks if my team is winning.
"ya, les canadiens. Nous gagnon." He has no idea what i'm saying and obviously really doesn't care cause he just smiles laconically and turn and starts speaking turkish again.
He's a pretty good looking guy. He dresses really well he has those eyes. Through the language barrier i get a sense that he's not that stupid either. But sitting here while the menfolk talk business I see a preview of what he'd love our marriage to be. This same scene with a buncha hairy little ankle biters running around and me in the kitchen barefoot with my apron on and a gourmet meal on the stove. I've only spent one weekend with him before this and he mentioned something about wanting me to change my hair.
Jesus christ. How do I get myself into this shit.
Then the meeting is over and we're going home to his apartment. The alcohol has warmed and calmed me a little and the further we get away from the mall, the more my stomach settles down. By the time we pull into his garage twenty minutes later I've convinced myself there's something to be salvaged from this weekend. After all, I've got drugs in my bag and we're going to do them later on.
January 01
that weekend pt 2
On the ferry over here I checked in my handmirror again and they were still there. I saw them this morning in the mirror as I got ready to come over here. I tried smoothing them out with some spit and my finger but they stayed there. Then in the underside mirror on the passenger visor. Third time's the charm and they're still there. Two fine lines extending up from between my eyebrows about an inch and a half to the middle of my brow. Wrinkles. Two wrinkles that weren't there before i turned 30. Two wrinkles that are rapidly turning into crevasses on my forehead plain. I think this weekend has already added a millimetre or two to their length and has the potential to in fact crack my forehead right in half and reveal my gray matter pulsating like so much magma underneath.
I walk in the door and race to the bathroom before he can take off his shoes. I've had to pee for like an hour but kept forgetting about it. Now I can't hold it anymore. Sitting on the toilet i notice how filthy the sink is. The rubber seal around the porcelain is black. Last time I came here he told me he'd made sure there was no toothpaste on the bathroom mirror as per my instructions. I don't think he bothered about that detail this time, as I can see a few splashes of blue green film around head level.
He's already in his underwear and t-shirt when i come into his room from the bathroom. He's sitting on the mattress in the corner of the room with his laptop out, putting on some progressive house mix he found the other day. He listens exclusively to only two types of music: progressive house and black metal. How the two are connected I have no idea. He says they both evoke emotion when listened to. I show him Elliot Smith and Songs:Ohia and he has no reaction whatsoever. "Boring", he says. I want to tell him that house music is totally ten years ago and every file he's ever transferred to me reminded me of the shit I was listening to in 97.
"Did you bring Hex?" he asks, leaning back with one arm behind his head and his other hand scratching his belly.
"Ya, I brought two".
"Let's do it now."
"Oh, Okay," I say and grab my bag from the foyer. I dig around in it until i find my wallet. It's an Astroboy wallet my sister got me in Korea. It's enormous and i can keep everything i need in it and more. My roommate calls it my George Costanza wallet cause it's so thick it seems like at any moment it could burst open and spew its contents all over the sidewalk and into the street.
I dig my fingers into the secret compartment behind the change purse and pull out the tiny ziploc baggie. Inside are two white pills stamped with butterfly insignias. I reach in and pull one out, put it on a cd case on the table in his room and go fetch a spoon and a knife from the kitchen.
He's watching me set up, totally fascinated. Typical of single men he has shit utensils and the knife isn't sharp enough to cut butter let alone controlled substances. I manage to break off a chunk and the rest of the pill shatters and flies around the room. I gather together the pieces and pick out the biggest one to give to him. It's about half the pill. He looks at it and looks up at me.
"Maybe I only take half," he says. "I have to work tonight".
"What? You didnt' take the night off?" I can't believe it. He invited me over here. He wanted me to come on the early ferry so we could spend more time together. Then he's an hour late to pick me up and now he has to work? What the fuck is this all about?
"I couldn't get anyone to work".
"So you have to work tonight and you want to do exstacy for the first time like 4 hours before you have to work?"
"Yeah. How long does it last?" he says as if that's totally a normal thing for a guy who doesn't even smoke cigarettes to do.
"Well, christ, it could last 8 hours. It depends on your constitution and the type of E you get. And having done this drug at least twice a year for the past decade, I would advise against it."
"Maybe I'll just do half a half."
"Pfft. Okay fine, but you're not even gonna get high off that." I cut his piece in half again, give it to him, then take the rest of the pill and crush it into powder with the spoon. Then I take my credit card and tease it out into three short white lines. I take a twenty out of my Astroboy wallet and roll it into a tube.
"What're you doing?" he asks me. "Are you going to do it in the nose?"
"Ya," I say and explain to him how, back in the day, whem MDMA first became popular in Canada, it always came in caplet form. People would buy big tubs of it from crooked pharmacists in Germany and sell jell caps stuffed with the shit to stupid kids like us for twenty bucks a pop. So if you wanted to share a cap with your friend, you opened it up and snorted it. It was kind of a tradition for me. And somewhere not so deep down I just really love sticking things up my nose.
He watches me sniff two lines. His eyes are big and brown and kinda remind me of my mom's shih tzu when I look into them. He says "I think eating is better. Much less drug addict." And I throw my head back and cackle. Then he's horny and he wants to make out.
I oblige him cause this is what I came over here for. A weekend of sex and drugs, baby. A little away from the every day. I close my eyes and put myself into that place where I go when I'm having sex with someone I don't really care about. It's a right here, right now kinda place that lets me enjoy everything that's happening while remaining somewhat disconnected from it all. It's the same place that allows me to appear naked in front of other people during daylight hours and to have crazy orgasms with guys I would never actually be seen in public with. And although this guy looks great on my arm in public, with his swimmers build and his metrosexuality, it nevertheless takes a short period of adjustment to go from annoyance to attraction.
But then I'm there. I'm thinking about how great it's gonna feel to be riding him and having the E coursing through my veins and the combination of that deep E breathing and heavy sex breathing. But he doesn't even give me time to think about a second breath before he's pushing himself into me. It doesn't take me much to get wet but there's no one in humanity that could catch up with this guys advances. He thrusts a couple times and then backs off. He flops back on the bed and I notice his dick is soft. I was pretty sure it was hard like two seconds ago so I check to make sure but there's nothing sticky on me anywhere.
"I'm tired. I'm sore. My back."
I'm compliant as usual. Mostly cause I'm so confused about what's going on. "Do you want a back rub?" I ask him.
"Yes", he says without looking at me and turns around and lays on his stomach across the mattress. I grab a bottle of lavender lotion off the shelf in his room and pump a couple jets onto my hand. Then I turn and survey the terrain.
This is by far the hairiest guy I have ever seen naked in person. I've seen things like this on the internet before, but now it's laying before me expecting me to comfort it. He's got a shimmering brown pelt that is really extraordinary if one appreciates that kind of thing. The back of his neck has a hair arrow that points downward,almost as an indication of the joys which can be expected below the collar line, or perhaps as a warning. From there it branches into a kind of lotus pattern on his upper back, spreading into full epaulettes. Following the trail down the spinal column we catch up with the hair again at the lower back, where the dark, warm environment of the underwear has allowed an astoundingly thick forest to bloom. Mid ass cheek, his skin is almost invisible underneath the curly brown foliage. And this extends right down to the ankles with little or no break.
I take a deep breath, exhale slowly, rub the lotion between my hands and turn to my task. I like giving massages. I like making people feel good and warm and comfortable. It's all about feeling, I tell him. "You have to feel the muscles". And he misunderstands and says "yes, you do it with love." I start to say no, but decide to shut my mouth and use my hands instead. I can feel myself getting high.
I massage his back, blocking out the feeling of the hair on my fingers. He's ridiculously tense and I work his muscles out with hard, slow pressure. When I'm massaging a lover I generally like to do the whole body, particularly if I think it's going to lead to my getting laid. But I reach his forested ass and can go no further. I have a vivid image of the lotion caught in the hair, making a seaweedy swamp down there. I choke back my bile and slap his ass and tell him I'm done. It was an inferior job to be sure, but he's none the wiser.
I'm starting to get really high. I take deep breaths and feel the warm air deep in my lungs.
"I don't feel anything", he says, and then: "I'm tired, let's watch movie."
Okay.
I figured we'd be having more sex, but apparently not. At this point I don't really care. I'm high and I'm getting higher and I feel great and anything that happens is great. I'm always like that. I don't understand people who have freaky bad drug trips. I never do enough to make me out of control and I always go in with the attitude that whatever happens, it's an adventure.
So he puts on the movie we rented. It's the full length Family Guy flick. I've been looking foreward to it for months. And for the first ten minutes I'm laughing my ass off. It is SO funny. Seth McFarlane is an absolute genius. Then I realize that he's not laughing. He's laying back on his mattress with his eyes half lidded and a detached, semi-confused look on his face. I realize that satirical humour based entirely on North American pop culutre references and sub-references is probably not the best thing to watch with a guy who doesn't really speak english.
"You don't get this movie at all, do you?" I ask him.
"No, I'm going to sleep," he says, "come lay down with me."
"I can't lay down baby", I say with a half smile on my face. "I'm high over here."
"You're high?" he asks, because obviously he is not.
"Ya dude, I just snorted two lines, hello? I'm high as a kite."
"Don't you want to lay down though?"
"Not at all. I couldn't lay down right now if I wanted to anyway. You lay down, I'll play on the computer."
And he rolls over and puts his arm over his eyes and goes to sleep. Just like that. And I'm sitting in his room with the lights off and the TV on and his laptop in front of me. I can't believe I'm high and I'm in this situation. I like being high by myself, but I wasn't really planning a solo journey tonight. As I'm pondering this I reach into my cigarette pack and realize that I forgot to pick some up on the way here and I only have two smokes left.
Two smokes! Christ! That is not gonna be enough for tonight. I'm going to have to plan their consumption strategically. I'm going to have to occupy my time until I just can't not smoke and make them last as long as possible. I occupy the next five seconds by finishing off the last line of exstacy left on the cd case beside me.
So there's five seconds gone.
Hmmm....
I go out on the balcony and light my penultimate smoke of the evening. It's cool and crisp and the night feels clean and good on my skin and in my nose. I take in deep lungfulls of the night and lean against the damp wooden railing of the balcony. I can see Cyprus Bowl from here, all lit up against the black sky. There's some searchlinghts swirling in the dark distance above what I estimate to be downtown.
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