Month: February 2006

Un bon coup d’pied dans l’cul

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Des fois ça prend ça. J’en ai reçu un de mon amifellowblogger Jeliel dans son commentaire à mon dernier post. Franchement, ça fait du bien. J’ai pas d’affaire à me sentir si misérable. Pas à cause de choses ou de gens sur lesquels je n’ai aucun contrôle. Pas à cause d’événements que j’ai moi-même provoqués. C’est vrai que c’est simple. C’est aussi vrai que c’est façile de s’appitoyer, de se laisser aspirer, de se noyer dans le noir. C’est même confortable. Beaucoup plus que de se botter le cul. Des fois des coups de pied au cul se perdent. Pas celui-çi.

J’apprend à tous les jours. Je m’enfarge souvent, mais ça fait de moins en moins mal, parce que je tombe de moins haut. Une main tendue, c’est bien. Un coup d’pied dans l’derrière c’est mieux. Pour moi en tout cas. Je ne veux pas tout considérer avec du recul. Je veux voir les choses venir de loin. Bon, là je les ai dans la face, mais c’est mieux que rien.

Des attentes, j’en ai beaucoup. Je dois me contenter de celles qui me concernent. Celles qui sont bénifiques. Les empoisonneuses, les négatives, les impossibles, elles ne sont que des prétextes. Pour m’éviter de me regarder de trop près. Et de le faire à jeûn. C’est pas toujours joli.

One word

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There are times I miss getting wasted. Acid, mescalin, thc, coke, pills, booze, whatever I could put my hands on. To look at life, at things, at people, as colors and movements and temperatures and smells. Lobotomized reality. There are times, I wish emotions did not take over and hurt so bad.

That’s a lame statement, “hurt so bad”. It doesn’t really translate the actual hurt, because we hear and say it so much. When I say hurt, I mean physically hurting, scathing, scorching, mutilating. It’s ripping my insides, it’s choking me.

I feel totally lost, totally alone in my hurt. I feel pushed away, when in fact I was pulled in.

I’m sad, sad, sad so fucking sad. I will do what I do every day. I will say what I say every day. But I will go to bed sad. And I will wake up sad. And only one word could turn this around. Not two, not three. Just like only one drove me here.

Hours will pass. Days will pass. The sadness will recede, like a wave. Will return, like the tide. But to where the word came from, to where the word could come from, I will go back. I will ask again. I take full responsability. The fear of rejection is lesser than the desire of acceptance.

I want to beg, I want to plea, I want to kneel in front of you and cry. I want everything to stop. Everything to be right.

I still hope to hear the word. Because to think that it will not come is unbearable. I was there not too long ago. Thought I was through, thought I was done. Then one word. Like boiling water over everything I’ve said. Like when you stroke a match. Me. Instant combustion. Scorched remains, ashes.

Sweep me off the floor. Blow me away. I’m done.

La petite cage

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Le monde s’écroule autour d’elle
Un bébé dans son ventre
Un sans-coeur sur le sofa
Une amie sur le hold

C’est un adieu qu’elle ne veut pas faire
Qu’elle va faire pour lui
Qu’elle va faire pour le garder
Qu’elle regrette déjà avant de l’avoir fait

Une lettre à laquelle elle n’a pas répondu
Un sourire mort sur ses lèvres
Une larme coupant son visage
Une porte qu’elle m’a claqué dans la face

Dans sa petite cage
Elle croupi
Dans sa petite cage
Elle se meurt
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She’s pregnant again…

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For the fourth fucking time. She never kept one. And she won’t keep it this time either.

She’s my best friend. But two years ago I told her abortion is not fucking contraception. Get your shit together. She won’t take the pill, she says it’s too chemical, it’s bad for her body. No shit! What about condoms, abstinence, the calendar? What ever it takes. I don’t understand her. I don’t want to judge her, but when I got her email this morning I was very angry at her. Still am.

Anything else, I wouldn’t even think twice about being there for her. But I have to admit, I’m so so disapointed. Her boyfriend is a leech, hasn’t found a job in months, just sits at home watching sports and smoking pot, pretending to go to interviews. She wrote me “We thought about it together and decided it was best this way”.

Frankly, I’m speechless. I love her, I want her to be happy. I let her live whatever she has to go through and try to be there whenever she needs me. I will be there again. But I don’t know if things will ever be the same. Abortion. For the FOURTH time. This is just wrong.

When my son was 6 weeks old I had one. I am pro-choice, of course, all the way. This is completely different though. What can I tell her, what can I say that won’t hurt her, how can I hold back on something like this? I don’t know if I’ll be able to. We’ll see.
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The Kiss

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What about that first kiss, when the world disapeared and only his breath kept you alive?

What about the taste on your tongue as you licked your lips hours after he was gone?

What about the smell that lingered on your sweater, still hidden in the drawer? What about the swoon of the hearth when you bury your face in it and catch a glimpse of his scent?

What about the blue of his eyes? What about the clouds that stopped moving while you thought you were looking at the sky?

What about the hours spent feeling the ghost of his touch? What about the words that stayed, stay, echo, shout, that makes you want to runaway?

What about the movie in your head, playing until you’re sick, until you can’t take it anymore?

What about the emptiness? Yes, what about the longing to be full again.

What about that first kiss? Long gone, but still printed on your soul?

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Kiss me kiss me kiss me!
Your tongue is like poison
So swollen it fills up my mouth

Love me love me love me!
You nail me to the floor
And push my guts all inside out

Get it out get it out get it out!
Get your fucking voice
Out of my head!

I never wanted this
I never wanted any of this
I wish you were dead
I wish you were dead

I never wanted any of this
I wish you were dead
Dead
Dead
Dead
-The Cure

Click here to enter

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A question, that I was not able to answer
A question, that I still hear
“What do you like?”
Months, and still
The interrogation is laughing at me
“What do you like?”
And at the time, sitting on the floor
Between his legs, my face resting on his thigh
I could not come up with an answer
“I don’t know, I don’t know”
Even as I said it, I was ashamed
Of myself, of the sound the words made
I still hear it, them
Because I’ve yet to come up with an answer
“What do you like?”
Sport fuck performance anxiety
Tanned tight smooth
Hairless plastic latex covered feelings
Bound branded humiliated underfoot
Dominated submissive trampled
Nothing is real, it’s downloaded
How am I supposed to know?
How are we supposed to know?

Migraines

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Thanks to my very illegal copies of pretty much everything on this computer, I’ve spent the last 6 hours sitting here, fixing my mistakes. Major, major losses. But at least I’m online, yes, safely. This is not the first time it happens. Am I considering actually buying software? No. Unless it comes with the next machine I buy.

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Woke up with the headache from hell, not even because I was hungover. Just because. What I really needed today was a deep muscle massage, head, neck, shoulders, back. Yeah, right, like that’s going to happen. I don’t even ask for it. I did what I could myself.
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Sometimes I think if I could’ve had more kids I would’ve. Then they invite some friends over, and man am I glad I didn’t.

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Bought some books lately, and also went to the librairy. I have 3 going on at the same time. I can’t concentrate. Half the cycle is here. Yes, ovulation, then a few days off, then all hell will break loose. Right at the start of our trip to Colombia. Poor them…

Climbing up the walls

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je laisse un message
je donne de mes nouvelles
je lâche un cri
je compose le numéro de poste
français montreal xxxxxx xxxxxxxx
il n’y a pas de service au numéro que vous avez composé
désolé l’abonné que vous désirez rejoindre n’est pas…
le vide le vide bordel
y a rien plus rien
sauf moi qui grimpe aux murs
l’attente du mouvement dans les rideaux
l’oreille tendue, c’est la troisième marche qui craque
la chatte me regarde
crisse de folle

Clock watcher

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That’s me! Today anyway. Man, that day is draggin’. I use MSN at work, mostly to communicate with my carriers, and a little bit to chat with friends. I have this guy, a carrier that does a lot of work for me. But he’s getting on my nerves big time… asking about my panties and stuff. He’s always complaining about his wife, about his marriage, bla bla bla… I’m probably going to shut him up before the end of the day. Loser.

I finish at 4pm here… Then I go straight home, PS2 is calling, gotta go on tour. SSX tour. I don’t care what other people say, I love it 🙂

Second post of the day from work… I should feel guilty right?

Fickle fickle

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I’m at work. The fact that I can be here and do this, and read blogs and read GNN.TV and chat with friends, work a total of 35 hours in my week, and be very well paid bothers me. I rarely keep a job for more than 2 years. After the novelty has gone, and people show their real (stinking lying) face, I leave. Or another company grabs me.

Fuck security, fuck the pension plan, fuck the insurance coverage. I hate it here. The WOMEN… and my boss too. I was promised a bunch of things when they hired me. Nothing has happened, and that irritates me. But for everything that is going on here, the one thing that I can’t stand anymore is the people. The rest I could deal with. And I don’t think it’s worth fighting in this case. I’m the one who doesn’t fit in. And I can live with that.

So starting today I will start looking. No haste. It might take a few days, weeks, months, it’s ok. I don’t care, as long as I know that I won’t stay here. Some people have been working here for more than 20 years. I don’t understand that. 20 years??? There’s this woman, all she does all day is to take off staples from stacks of papers and run the papers through a scanner, and re-staple the stack. 8 hours a day, for 4 years now. Can you imagine this? I can’t. I’d be dead inside.

I could go on and on, but at this point I even bore myself with all this shit. At least it’s Friday.