What do you wank about?

...The fictional characters I write into my screenplay.









xo

We aren’t what we’re not.

“Parking is prohibited on Sundays.” Therefore, parking is allowed Monday through Saturday.
You have a girlfriend.... Therefore, I am your friend.
That’s how the idiom “The exception that proves the rule" works.

How many healthy friendships are burdened with four years of “What are we?”? Once again I’ve been asked to define a certain friendship, for which the only answer I have is “We are what we are.”

And how do you reach an understanding with a person who never makes any sense? Example: When I asked why he thought we weren’t friends, the text I got in reply was: “It doesn’t mean I don’t think we aren’t friends.”

At first I’m like “Oh. Okay.” Then I give it thirty seconds and realize that that TRIPLE negative comment makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. I think when you work it out grammatically it still says that we’re not friends. However I have to assume that he wouldn’t text me that low blow, and so he was trying to say that we are friends. But who knows.

...I think you and I are friends. But I am attracted to you. You have a girlfriend, so we end up being defined by what we are not. We’re not a relationship. I’m happy to be friends, but sometimes I can’t tell what is going on with you. So just know that. Know what you want so you don’t fuck with my head.

Don’t. Fuck. With. My. Head.

!

Des.

If you looked "Desiree" up in the dictionary is could come after... Desire.

Lick and blush

Love is like

J -

E -

L L

-oh!

Sweet and

soft

and only better with WHIPPED

cream.



Yours,

I


If I were a flavour, I would be...black cherry.

Court-side at a Lakers game

There is something romantic about chimes at a junkyard.
There is something painfully romantic about not knowing the destiny of one's love life.
There is something romantic and yet agonizing about patience.

If patience is a tolerable form of waiting, is it still patience if you don't know what you're waiting for... but you know you're waiting for something BIG... and by big i mean by extension good?

It's been over a year since Inari, Des and I have moved into this place and when it comes to future, career and sense of self, we are all in very different places than we once were. Odd places. Exciting places... Odd exciting places.

We are constantly in a state of flux. A month and a half until I begin the next phase of my life. Goodbye school - bring on that cap and gown!
Must finish writing all of these screenplays. Screenplay... the word makes me tingle in all those places that appreciate tingling sensations.

Let the work begin...
xoLo.


Life Goal # 19: To be photographed Court-side at a Lakers game.

"Once we were lions..."

I'm sitting in my childhood bed wearing pjs I found in my childhood dresser.
I'm home for Easter and we just held a massive family party at my house with both sides of the family introducing my sister's amazing boyfriend (and love of her life) to the family.

Of course while we're pouring the Canadian Club and toasting shots we get a phone call from my grandmother (Nanni) who had just left the house); my grandad (Nonno) just had a heart attack and was rushed to the ER. Sitting in the Welland General waiting room felt like home. It's weird to admit - but it's true. I've had some decent times at the hospital - always times of limbo... but times indeed. My father and I just had a really deep talk about the irony of tragedy... the irony of life. He was smoking. And the entire time I was just observing the ash building on his cig. He'd tap it out the window... purse the butt in his lips. Suck, exhale and say something profound like "Lola...bella... once we were lions... ain't no more..." Tears welled in my eyes and as tragic as life is... I wouldn't change mine for the world. Our scars make us the unique beings that we are. I openly admit that God is everywhere. I walked around the Falls today and shouted "Geology is God." Maybe it was the homemade wine... that tastes more like poison... but still man... God is a synonym for magic... a synonym for higher life.
I live for higher life.

Again, maybe it's the booze talking... but there is something divine about tragedy. everything is written - pre-written. the Gods are storytellers. I want to be a story teller for life.

xoLO.
This is dedicated to the man Kurt Cobain. If I were any Nirvana song I would be "Heart Shaped Box" - or fuck, anything off In Utero for that matter.
my stomch hurts. too much molisana (eggplant in italian for all you white\Vietnamese folk)

I love movies...

...I just can't watch or make or write them. Not right now.

Yours,

I

If I were a director, I would be....Guy Maddin. Not in terms of the kind or quality of work, just the general sense of how antisocial he seems. Then again, I could be completely wrong

drunk on power and coke zero

i'm drinking too much aspartame for my own good which is weird because the only reason i switched caffeine sources in the first place is because i was worried about the toll of constant sugar would take on my health...now i know that too much aspartame sucks my soul dry and leaves my lips crisp and brittle like flaking sheets of nori...i guess it doesn't help that, being at room temperature, i kill two cans of it every hour or so instead of savouring a boiling double-double

fuck you roll-up-the-rim

dehydratingly yours,

i


if i were a Food Jammers episode, i would be...hot-tub shabu shabu

heart/mouth

teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar

the verb

kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiill

everything else


my heart longs for thee

my heart thirsts for thee

my heart weeps for thee

my soul begs....


Yours,

I

If I were on an ofrenda, I would be....wilted marigolds in a glass jar

i gave you my blood, and they gave me a cookie

There’s a number 5 written in pencil on the wall in one of the corners of my room.
It’s most likely a remnant of some sort of contracting or plumbing blueprint. But I think it’s there because of death.

I should not fall asleep watching episodes of True Blood. It makes me extremely morbid in the morning. Morbid; and kind of hot for pale skin and sharp teeth. Rawr.

As of late I’ve been having bloody flashbacks. And I’m not using the term bloody in the cheeky way those Brits use it - I’m using it as in reference to blood. Memories of blood. I remember a glass shattering in my hand and a constellation of blood stars beaded up all over my palm. I never had nosebleeds but I remember blood flooding from my ear once. My sister told me I had a brain tumor. I proceeded to cry. It was probably my misuse of a q-tip. I’m not very gentle - perhaps my most glaring flaw.

And I remember all those times watching the white-lab-coat of the given day, drain pints of blood from my mom’s little veins. She was always quiet on these days. What was she saying with that chilling eye contact… that voiceless unsteady, tearing stare? Answer me.
I said answer me.
She always looked like an infant. When you see your mother revert back to infancy, it kind of fucks you up.
Bloody hell.

xoLo
Blood type I’m most attracted to: O Negative.
Blood type I’m most like: AB Negative.

it's all part of the process

Sam Hedges was forty years old and lost his wife in the dead of night of the living dead calm in the face of danger danger frozen road to nowhere, to nothing but sand stuck to your toes stuck in the sand stuck to your toes stuck in the sand stuck to your toe the line and tell me to my face, you coward on the run down house, alone on a hill, alone on a hill, alone, alone, alone when his wife died he'd look at her portrait and say to no one in particular: "No matter what anyone says, remember that I still love you."

Yours,

I

If I were a smell, I would be...burnt wood

death by cactus & pig’s blood pudding

I just took 4 tsps of cough syrup in hopes of a little relief from this cold I can't seem to shake, and I feel neither “relieved, “sedated,” nor “mildly stimulated” as promised by the advertising print on the box. Liars; the whole lot of 'em.

I thought it would've hit me sooner… harder.
I just assumed I have low tolerance as a result of never taking medication and never getting sick. Perhaps it’s just the opposite that’s preventing the little miracle sedatives from working in my favor – perhaps I’m just sufficiently immune. Then where did this cold come from?... I can't tell you where exactly, but it's a part of Batista's regime, and it ain't welcome nowhere but my line of fire, ya hear?

After all, apart from the deep sexy voice that sounds like whiskey tastes (that of which I wish I had all year round), there is nothing remotely sex-tacular about a cold… this cold.

As the warm spring breeze invades the evenings yet again, and those patios fill up on Bloor W with all those delicious hipsters… I can’t help but forget about the venomous stress that invades my system and replace it with the simple joy of knowing that graduation is so so close, as is a rooftop patio rendezvous with the new and pretty faces that always come – as a welcome swagbag for one hell of a dynamite season. Oh those "delicious hipsters." Such an oxymoron. They're mouthwatering like nonna's Sicilian sanguinaccio... but deceptive. There's pig's blood on the hand's of everyone. Oh gee. The stimulants are setting in. It is affecting the effectiveness of conveying my thought processes with clarity and honesty, as desired. Forgive me as I stare this cold in the face and snarl with intimidation.

I leave you with a little anecdote I overheard on the subway earlier this evening between a couple. One man tells the story to a woman beside him. When he finishes, she's intrigued and gives him what most would consider "sex eyes." The man was wearing horn-rimmed glasses.

"In 1982, a cactus in Phoenix, Arizona killed a man. David Grundman fired two shotgun blasts at a giant saguaro cactus that ended up falling on top of him." Poor bastard.

x's & o's bros,
LO.

If I were any homemade cold remedy I would be...
Nonna’s Moonshine: For every 1 shot honey - 2 shots Bourbon. Viscous bitch.