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[Dec. 20th, 2009|04:54 am] |
There have been too many coincidences over the past two days to recount. To record them all is regrettably, as always, impossible. But a quick summary anyway: I went to the casino on an impulse, per Osama and Hussam's suggestion, won at the roulette twice in a row, making 180 dollars, got drunk, woke up, bought shrooms on another impulse, and after unsuccessfully looking for a scale, since Sam was asleep, ate 8 grams of shrooms, and then everything that followed, almost as if by magic, fell violently into perfection and bliss.
And by the way God is a girl. She is a girl to me anyway. If I met you in person I can explain this in a way that makes any sense. Anyway I met her two years after she died in a dream I had on Monday, January 26, 2009. And I'm going to sleep now. |
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[Dec. 13th, 2009|03:00 pm] |
Last night I dreamt of holding a girl so tight I could feel her bones poking beneath her sweater. I have to study for two exams today.
This morning Scott and Clara and Beth invited me to hike up the mountain that looms behind the campus. It's all snowed over and pretty enough. My boots have effectively zero traction so I grabbed onto Scott's backpack straps and he ran as fast as he could. We flew. Clara made a couple of jokes that fell kind of flat. Beth let out a little scared laugh every time her step faltered in the snow. There was nervousness. There is always nervousness when slipping means dying. On the way down we said hello to two policemen on giant black horses. Hooves made for trampling.
Friday Sam and Jonah and Zach and I crashed the party across the street in the art gallery. Everybody was French. The gallery is a converted warehouse. There was a huge, taking-up-one-whole-wall huge, painting of a jaguar's ugly mug. It was late and they were out of beer and we had to settle for cranberry vodka. But it was well made. There was barely any vodka in it. I like cranberry juice. I was drunk by that point anyway.
Met a girl named Claire who worked at the gallery. She tried to convince us to listen to her radio station Sunday mornings at ten. I don't understand French, I said. We play music, she said. So what is it you do, I asked. I put on the music, she said. What kind, asked Zach. [A list of indie bands I don't know cause I'm hip, but I'm not that hip], she said.
Later the party degenerated into drunken Quebecois karaoke. Claire made us promise to come up on stage with her and I said what the hell, which she took to mean Yes. So up we went and somebody handed me a microphone and then the song started and I remembered I don't speak French. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jonah hop off the stage surreptitiously. Zach shifted from one foot to another, drinking his cranberry vodka, looking uncomfortable and a little lost. Sam found a lampshade and put it over his head, and tried to light a cigarette. I said fuck under my breath, but accidentally into the microphone. Anyway, I said fuck it, and ended up singing oohs and ahhs for the entire song at the top of my lungs, having no concept of the melody whatever. I think people really liked us, actually, but maybe I was just drunk enough to think so. Who knows. She wrote her number on my hand. There's a party she knows of next weekend.
Really don't feel like studying for this exam. I'm going to watch The Twilight Zone and have a cigarette instead. |
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[Dec. 11th, 2009|11:09 am] |
I took about a gram of shrooms and finished my final paper for European History in about six hours, including the leisurely cigarette breaks and Twlight Zone. Then as I was finishing up the conclusion I double checked the time it was due and it turns out the essay isn't due Thursday but today, so I decided to put off the bibliography until today. That's what I'm doing now.
Things have been good lately. I don't know why, really. It could be the shrooms talking but I don't think so. I don't do that much. Maybe three grams per week or per week and a half. Writing the paper for a class I hadn't attended since October was effortless, and I guess part of this newfound sense of well-being has to do with finding comfort in certain talents. I feel like somehow, without any concerted effort, riding on nothing but vague ideas, I've become more or less who I wanted to be when I was a kid. Or at least what I remember wanting to be. But I don't know, maybe it's that or maybe it's something else.
Today Sam and I want to take some pictures at Verdun. It is 17 degrees fahrenheit today. |
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