summer
wsmd:
montréal - québec - toronto (or new york) - calgary - maui - montréal
it is looking very, very good so far.
I live in New York now. If you come, please, let’s hang.
Ian B.
Cheating
“I win!”
“No! It’s not a staring contest unless I know we’re playing!”
“You’re just sore - I won!”
“Did not! You cheated.”
“I ain’t no cheater.”
“Well I say you are.”
“Nobody says I’m a cheater - I’ll make you eat your words!”
Amid the playground chaos, a long time passed before the two boys fighting was noticed. The children encircled the commotion, and some of the older kids started chanting “Fight - fight - fight.”
Ironically, it was the rhythmic chanting - an unnatural order in the normal hubub of lunch hour sounds - that eventually summoned Missus K. to the scene. Marching across the lawn yelling for them to “stop fighting this instant” had little effect, but once she waded into the crowd, it was only a few short seconds before she emerged dragging the two boys out by their ears.
Missus K. was heard giving the usual rap about “zero tolerance” for fighting, and school pride, and so on. It took no time at all before the playground was back in full swing. A good fight only made lunch time more exciting.
* * * *
When John got home from school, he had a hundred excuses and explanations for the fat lip already figured out. His Dad was asleep on the couch while the TV played in the corner. John snuck past the snoring lump, making his way to the kitchen. Once there, the boy dared to hum softly to himself while he scoured the desolate refrigerator for anything he could eat. Sighing, he gave up and slammed the door shut without thinking.
A sharp intake of breath indicated that he had disturbed his father. John stayed perfectly still, he dared not breath, nor blink, he pretended he was playing statue, and he didn’t want to be *it*. A moment passed - it was one of those monstrously thick ones that you can feel sliding past you, like so many nails grinding their music on a chalk board. John didn’t breathe. Still his father lay motionless, sleeping. John dared not move. The deep shallow breathing of sleep began to resume. John closed his eyes, waiting.
Some time later, John had upgraded his position somewhat. His father still snoozed on, but he managed to reclaim the clicker, so he was watching what he wanted to - at least for the time being. He’d lowered the volume and was sitting on the ground just in front of the TV.
In the end, it all started with a cough. At first a really timid little thing, more like a clearing of the throat than a cough really. Slowly, the cough built up though, it turned into a series of short staccato coughs which wheezed their way out. Then, one of these wheezes seemed to catch in the sleeping man’s throat and, breathing in a long sharp breath, a new batch of deep chest coughs pulled him into consciousness.
If you had watched John during that time, you would have seen his ears perk up with the first sound from his father. You would have seen him stand up quietly when the sound continued, and finally seen him exit the room soundlessly a moment later.
When the fit died down, the man sat up on the couch and lowered his head into his hands cursing breathlessly about one thing or another. He looked at the television and laughed for a moment as Wile E. Coyote flashed a “HELP!” sign before the realities of gravity applied themselves. Just then, the phone rang, and grumbling the man gathered himself to pick his heavy body from it’s thrown.
John thought for a moment about heroically bounding across the room to intercept the phone call - bluffing like it was a friend from school - but he couldn’t muster it. He looked at his shoes and noticed that his socked showed through on his third toe on his left foot, and despite the ringing phone, despite his inevitable fate, he wiggled his toe watching the sock move inside the shoe.
Spending the Night in Japan
xoxo Meg, sorry I missed talking to you during your last hours in Calgary. We’ll have to figure out some way of getting audio communication going when you land!
aka family I am alive!
It’s in one of his books, but I think a character says it, so it isn’t from Murakami. I think it’s in Norwegian Wood, but it might be Wind Up Bird.
Did Murakami really say that shit?
(Source: -retrograde)
Christian Bok taught me poetry at the University of Calgary.
(Source: thechocolatebrigade, via mbhammer)
"Tell you about cockroaches,” said Clint with intense enthusiasm, leaning forward with a finger pointed. “Now! The place I live in has a lot of cockroaches, but I don’t have trouble with them, understand, I’m on the best terms with them. Tell you how I do this. Some years ago I sat down and thought about the whole matter: I said to myself, cockroaches are human too, just as much as us human beings. Reason for that is this: I’ve watched them long enought to realize their sense of discretion, their feelings, their emotions, their thoughts, see. But you laugh. You think I’m talking through my hat. You doubt my word. Wait! wait!”
The others were gigling uncontrollably, even Jack the hoodlum in a sort of idiotic, insolent way.
“Now!” went on Clint, leaning over towards them even more, stretching out his arms with fantastic emphasis and holding their attention that insane way. “Time came when I got sick and tired of finding cockroaches in my bread an jam on the kitchen table. I like cockroaches, but it was too much, you dig? I got a little string”- and with this Clint dug into his pocket and pulled out a piece of string and held it up to display-“little string like this. Every time I found a cockroach in my bread and jame, I’d give it a little flip of the string, you see, a little whipping on the back. Not hard!” he warned breathlessly. “Not hard! Just … a … little … flick … of my wrist, like this!” He demonstrated gently, over and over again, while th others watched.
“Now,” went on Clint, “time came when I not only had ‘em traned so they wouldn’t mess around my own bread and jam, but they were living in the pan under the table in peace and plenty, in a real orderly fashion, you dig? I used to lay down on the floor and talk to them and watch. Some of them lived in the pan, some of them were recluses and went and lived under the sink pipe. Others were just plain snooty, they had to live in the cracks way up on the wall. They has all kinds of domestic trouble, too. Some times a wife would desert her husband and run off with another character, sometimes two husbands would fight it out, sometimes one of them would run wild-a bandit, see?-and steal everything in sight, all the breadcrumbs and jam and carry it off, you dig? It was wild, I tell you, it was wild and weird. Well, here’s what happened. Time came”-here Clint took another drag on the cigarette with a joyous fury-“time came when the cockroaches from next door began to drift into my place, and naturally, not being trained, they were smelling around on top of my table. I thought I had a revolt on my hands and wasn’t being firm enough, not realizing that these here untrained cockroaches were causing all the trouble and I was beating up my own trained ones for the sins of others. The way I found out is, my cockroaches were sulking and resentful, you understand? When I’d talk to them they wouldn’t even look up. I could seee their feelings was hurt. I said to myself, what gives here? Aren’t they happy, ain’t I treating them right? It dawned on me about the cockroaches from next door. Well, there I was, trying to figure out what to do, when my cockraoches sort of all got together in the pan and held a meeting. I could smell trouble was brewing, you understand? I just sat there watching. First thing you know they all take a beeline for the hole in the bottom of the all leading to the next apartment and starting fighting the cockroaches from next door. It was a real knock-out drag-down fight like something you never seen, a regular campaign thing. It was wild, man, it was wild! Next day the cockroaches from next door stayed where they were put, my own cockraches settled down to a peaceful disciplined life, and it’s been that way ever since.
“They keep regular sentries posted at that hole,” he went on. “Nobody can come in. I cried for weeks realizing I was punishing my own cockroaches for the sins of others. I spent days laying on the floor tyring to explain to them that I didn’t know, that I couldn’t hav possibly dug what was realling going on- and they forgave me."
The others were gigling uncontrollably, even Jack the hoodlum in a sort of idiotic, insolent way.
“Now!” went on Clint, leaning over towards them even more, stretching out his arms with fantastic emphasis and holding their attention that insane way. “Time came when I got sick and tired of finding cockroaches in my bread an jam on the kitchen table. I like cockroaches, but it was too much, you dig? I got a little string”- and with this Clint dug into his pocket and pulled out a piece of string and held it up to display-“little string like this. Every time I found a cockroach in my bread and jame, I’d give it a little flip of the string, you see, a little whipping on the back. Not hard!” he warned breathlessly. “Not hard! Just … a … little … flick … of my wrist, like this!” He demonstrated gently, over and over again, while th others watched.
“Now,” went on Clint, “time came when I not only had ‘em traned so they wouldn’t mess around my own bread and jam, but they were living in the pan under the table in peace and plenty, in a real orderly fashion, you dig? I used to lay down on the floor and talk to them and watch. Some of them lived in the pan, some of them were recluses and went and lived under the sink pipe. Others were just plain snooty, they had to live in the cracks way up on the wall. They has all kinds of domestic trouble, too. Some times a wife would desert her husband and run off with another character, sometimes two husbands would fight it out, sometimes one of them would run wild-a bandit, see?-and steal everything in sight, all the breadcrumbs and jam and carry it off, you dig? It was wild, I tell you, it was wild and weird. Well, here’s what happened. Time came”-here Clint took another drag on the cigarette with a joyous fury-“time came when the cockroaches from next door began to drift into my place, and naturally, not being trained, they were smelling around on top of my table. I thought I had a revolt on my hands and wasn’t being firm enough, not realizing that these here untrained cockroaches were causing all the trouble and I was beating up my own trained ones for the sins of others. The way I found out is, my cockroaches were sulking and resentful, you understand? When I’d talk to them they wouldn’t even look up. I could seee their feelings was hurt. I said to myself, what gives here? Aren’t they happy, ain’t I treating them right? It dawned on me about the cockroaches from next door. Well, there I was, trying to figure out what to do, when my cockraoches sort of all got together in the pan and held a meeting. I could smell trouble was brewing, you understand? I just sat there watching. First thing you know they all take a beeline for the hole in the bottom of the all leading to the next apartment and starting fighting the cockroaches from next door. It was a real knock-out drag-down fight like something you never seen, a regular campaign thing. It was wild, man, it was wild! Next day the cockroaches from next door stayed where they were put, my own cockraches settled down to a peaceful disciplined life, and it’s been that way ever since.
“They keep regular sentries posted at that hole,” he went on. “Nobody can come in. I cried for weeks realizing I was punishing my own cockroaches for the sins of others. I spent days laying on the floor tyring to explain to them that I didn’t know, that I couldn’t hav possibly dug what was realling going on- and they forgave me."
—
Jack Kerouac The Town and The City
Honestly I’m jiving this book so hard. And I jive all you too, so hard that I just spent all that time typing that out - my wrists hurt now.
"There are greater and finer things than dallying around with mad strumpets."
—
Jack Kerouac The Town And The City
There are some lines in this book that I just like too much!
mbhammer asked: do you have a doppelganger (an evil twin)?
That’s an interesting question. I did have a doppelganger, but if my minions are efficient, that problem should be taken care of by now. If you see a idb doppelganger, please inform me so that I can annihalate it.
I remember using this drawing program in elemetary school! Is it Corel Draw? I forget.
MS paint
