Reading Leonard Cohen's 'Beautiful Losers' and Michael Dennis' 'Eros of Desire' is a dangerous combination. Yowza.
Standing on Mackenzie King Bridge, looking down upon the water and across at the Parliament Buildings [he's still a tourist at heart]. His arms are linked around me. A couple walks along the path underneath us. The man looks up at us and smiles. 'That's a beautiful sight,' he remarks. I smile shyly; he agrees. 'What a beautiful sight,' he repeats, grinning up at us. A moment of silence, laughter, then, 'that guy is in love,' he says to me. Maybe. Or not.
Not long after, a group of three walks behind us, two boys and a girl. One of the boys looks at us and says, 'I hope you two stay together. Because I didn't stay together and.... fuck, just stay together, o.k.?' They continue on their way. Discussion resumes. How do you explain yourself to someone else? Is there a need for it?
I am just about ready to shoot myself in the foot. Or some other form of self-torture. [Cohen and Dennis aside, as one possible form.]
Excellent at shattering my own heart, piecing it back together.
Emotionally, physically, mentally exhausted these days. I need a recovery period. Except that's what these past few weeks have been... or were supposed to be. Damn.
Mixtapes anyone [else]?
Winnipeg is a no-go, I do believe. Welcome to Le Tigre and Michael Kulas in Toronto as 'vacation'.
'How long will it take to get used to me? Don't wait that long...' - James
