afternoon scotch... angels of light

no no i am not trying to say i am an angel, i refuse to be that kind of angel... once you have listened to 'angels of light's ' lyrics you realize it has nothing truly holy .. i love it .. it's middle of the day i am waiting for the bells to ring so i go to work... then i can eat . it's crazy all i had left in my fridge were little children's cup of chemical pudding, and veggies crackers, i am still trying to figure out if there is truly any vegetables for me in there. money release came in today , her name is sam, she's my new roomate, finally . i have hopes in there. 2 more weeks and i am finally going to Toronto... i can't wait , there is a coupe of person i want to see so bad. and i might even have money , last time i was there it was such a struggle to come back, almost impossible, i almost got drop in the middle of the ride back home, for a lack of money ....

it's funnt i finally switched when talking to people from '' i am not doing too good ''to i am actually fine, it would be ridicule to say i am not fine, i got a home, a job and a soon to be found 2000 dollars grant for my movie, but it's the jail type of grant , i have to stay ( kind of ) in the city for a year, right after 3 months straight of wanting to leave , i get my sentence .. one year more... i am wondering if i will truly be able to keep my kitchen job for one year ... lasting t'll christmas feels long already .... fall has just begun... i lovethe weather now, the wind more present , the slight cold on my face . i should go out , more often to wal... but wouldn't it be nice to walk with someone.... . in autumn's leaves. fall... for you ..

life

the aim of life is to live,
and to live means to be aware,
joyously,drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware... ( Henry Miller )

serenade from may 18 th 2005, words by the sea.

finally i get re-write all the letters to the beloved...the letters written in the bathtub.... and the peices of papers, filled in pulses all over my life.... i started to work again in my dearest montreal.... not to long ago, a fine job ... 3 days later i was gone... appear to be on the side of the waters, not any kind of waters. the eastern point of kanada.
newfoundland. i had to climb up the hills because i saw lights on top a fort.. it was the only place for me to see...
i needed soberty. but what am o crazy , people should read love and laughter by henri miller, instead of getting immaculate by the tv's intimacy.... i need flesh and bones. i need raw myself and i am alone.... i need to run up to the girl that knew none of my crazy me when she called me mon amour.... i will ride on a train... my friends , they tend to get nervous about security.. safety first says henri . but the day i stop beleivin' . this day i stop smokin' i am more convince that unfortunaly i might get hit by the first random bus in an empty city.... can you truly hear me.
i want you to call up my name...like in all the song i have been listening... alone it is crazy to be me.
Marguerite Duras; '' un ecrivain,seul c'est de la folie, rien ne l'arrete.... j'avais ce travail-la, ecrire et aimer "

serenade from may 18 th 2005, words by the sea.

finally i get re-write all the letters to the beloved...the letters written in the bathtub.... and the peices of papers, filled in pulses all over my life.... i started to work again in my dearest montreal.... not to long ago, a fine job ... 3 days later i was gone... appear to be on the side of the waters, not any kind of waters. the eastern point of kanada.
newfoundland. i had to climb up the hills because i saw lights on top a fort.. it was the only place for me to see...
i needed soberty. but what am o crazy , people should read love and laughter by henri miller, instead of getting immaculate by the tv's intimacy.... i need flesh and bones. i need raw myself and i am alone.... i need to run up to the girl that knew none of my crazy me when she called me mon amour.... i will ride on a train... my friends , they tend to get nervous about security.. safety first says henri . but the day i stop beleivin' . this day i stop smokin' i am more convince that unfortunaly i might get hit by the first random bus in an empty city.... can you truly hear me.
i want you to call up my name...like in all the song i have been listening... alone it is crazy to be me.
Marguerite Duras; '' un ecrivain,seul c'est de la folie, rien ne l'arrete.... j'avais ce travail-la, ecrire et aimer "

serenade from may 16 th 2006 ( old text written by the sea )

finally i get re-write all the letters to the beloved...the letters written in the bathtub.... and the peices of papers, filled in pulses all over my life.... i started to work again in my dearest montreal.... not to long ago, a fine job ... 3 days later i was gone... appear to be on the side of the waters, not any kind of waters. the eastern point of kanada.
newfoundland. i had to climb up the hills because i saw lights on top a fort.. it was the only place for me to see...
i needed soberty. but what am o crazy , people should read love and laughter by henri miller, instead of getting immaculate by the tv's intimacy.... i need flesh and bones. i need raw myself and i am alone.... i need to run up to the girl that knew none of my crazy me when she called me mon amour.... i will ride on a train... my friends , they tend to get nervous about security.. safety first says henri . but the day i stop beleivin' . this day i stop smokin' i am more convince that unfortunaly i might get hit by the first random bus in an empty city.... can you truly hear me.
i want you to call up my name...like in all the song i have been listening... alone it is crazy to be me.
Marguerite Duras; '' un ecrivain,seul c'est de la folie, rien ne l'arrete.... j'avais ce travail-la, ecrire et aimer "

sept. 23 th 2'33 am...... sleep

just a little words, .. i just posted a big text that was sitting on my screen, it was actually the smallest , i will soon try to put images or a layout or something prettyon my blog pages. for now it is words and words.... and it's funny how this blog is hidding , but somehow we like to have a part of ourself lost on th enet, because it is a fucking lost place, it's a senseless place for loner sometimes, for people who might feel brilliant replacing television by their computers. i usually take letters fro journal i have on the machine and post it here... it's a superficial journal, but it's still me, except people should try handwriting, it's gorgeous , it does turn me on, hand writing and old books, old poetry , new poetry , stories, i talk like a true reader who reads all kinds of shit, nope, i am actually picky lik eyou wouldn't believe ,... it always takes me forever to find a book i might like .. but when i do , i do for real.... i am now reading henry Miller's tropics of cancer after is 'love and laughter' they both are amazing... i want more queer litterature but my city is pauvre dans ce cas-ci .... i just just recovered internet home, so i'll probably be writing a lot to the estranged.. i like it... indeed it's only and will always be just long long conversation with myself. i went for a bit of therapy and realize no one will ever know me as muc as my words are dripping, i have so much journals i felt like i should land the therapist one for her freaking boring life ( i didnt say it, she said it ) ... going there and doing a speech to them made me realize t'll forever that i am so far away from crazy ... i am a freak ,,, but if one thing i became not is insane.. i am mad only about one thing, more like obsess ...l.o.v.e. wait a bit you'll see soon... it shows.... i recently wrote a letter to this lovely woman i know in Toronto, she was quite surprised how not emotionnally craving it was, more down to earth... she liked it... it's like a file.... not everyone can support that much overwhelming lovingness ( ha ha ha ) but for me its a bit hard to live without it ! it can feel so empty ...
nut i always survive... like a friend pirate would say , we have to , go through .... because there is always something after . i cannot throw away or forget the past , i keep it for lonely days , i keep it even when the lost hurts like knifes that are intertwine in the heart but it stays and healing can be, but sometimes old loves appear like new kind of pain everyday, dreams awake with no issues, and lay awake dreaming of deep sleep.

deep sleep and dreams in which...
you might feel the love have survived.
sur ce je quite vers les bras de morphee...

times awaiting, re .. read .. again and i'll change....

just a little words, .. i just posted a big text that was sitting on my screen, it was actually the smallest , i will soon try to put images or a layout or something prettyon my blog pages. for now it is words and words.... and it's funny how this blog is hidding , but somehow we like to have a part of ourself lost on th enet, because it is a fucking lost place, it's a senseless place for loner sometimes, for people who might feel brilliant replacing television by their computers. i usually take letters fro journal i have on the machine and post it here... it's a superficial journal, but it's still me, except people should try handwriting, it's gorgeous , it does turn me on, hand writing and old books, old poetry , new poetry , stories, i talk like a true reader who reads all kinds of shit, nope, i am actually picky lik eyou wouldn't believe ,... it always takes me forever to find a book i might like .. but when i do , i do for real.... i am now reading henry Miller's tropics of cancer after is 'love and laughter' they both are amazing... i want more queer litterature but my city is pauvre dans ce cas-ci .... i just just recovered internet home, so i'll probably be writing a lot to the estranged.. i like it... indeed it's only and will always be just long long conversation with myself. i went for a bit of therapy and realize no one will ever know me as muc as my words are dripping, i have so much journals i felt like i should land the therapist one for her freaking boring life ( i didnt say it, she said it ) ... going there and doing a speech to them made me realize t'll forever that i am so far away from crazy ... i am a freak ,,, but if one thing i became not is insane.. i am mad only about one thing, more like obsess ...l.o.v.e. wait a bit you'll see soon... it shows.... i recently wrote a letter to this lovely woman i know in Toronto, she was quite surprised how not emotionnally craving it was, more down to earth... she liked it... it's like a file.... not everyone can support that much overwhelming lovingness ( ha ha ha ) but for me its a bit hard to live without it ! it can feel so empty ...
nut i always survive... like a friend pirate would say , we have to , go through .... because there is always something after . i cannot throw away or forget the past , i keep it for lonely days , i keep it even when the lost hurts like knifes that are intertwine in the heart but it stays and healing can be, but sometimes old loves appear like new kind of pain everyday, dreams awake with no issues, and lay awake dreaming of deep sleep.

deep sleep and dreams in which...
you might feel the love have survived.
sur ce je quite vers les bras de morphee...

old texture laid left on the screen .

night . o it is perfect . because i will never say it enough . why o night, o it is perfect... why o why . probably because i had have enough . of moving arround going to see people . not that i don't like you people but you know i feel like i do good by myself . o yes like you could never beleive it . have i told you soon i'll be turning 25 years old and i have been all over the place . now i needed my own place . my eyes are fed , last years and more from eating garbage to feeding you, and i of fine cuisine. ,your eyes ate it all. like vorace , i AM an animal and i love it that way . i follow my instinct , about an hour ago they were hungry so all i had to do was appear like a perfect guest at my friend didi she lives underneath me and it is wonderful that way . we would kill each other with too much talking . it's increedible how crazy people like us can talk talk talk in public and alone there is nothing left to say . and we like it that way .. but see... let me tell you something . people's career, people's interest . alone you read, watch t.v. or sew , do the laundry . .

i talk ... still .. in perfect silences . with the music i adore ... even in silences when i could be doing so many other things .. all i wanna do is write ... like an eternal conversation . fragmented words that never stops .. and i do not see the point of shutting up . more times when i go out to the parties. la fete. it happens in my head. i 'd rather sip out to the bottle of wine every night like if it tastes nostalgia . because it entertains me more and more to write or just smoking cigarettes after cigarettes but really i am that healthy ... i just holds them ... they look fancy on my , in between my fingers. all over the paper we use to dance , i have eternal strenght in my fingers . i want to get a lover... in my life.... maybe i'lll finally get busy and appears too this whole wide world like a settle down type of woman, a fine job, still i am an artist , i have a bike, a computer , a cell phone, and a HOME ...


but ii am disturbed by my own melancholy , i am a dreamer. can you hear me .

i am THE DREAMER . my friend tom is the relayer , sometimes i feel like being the lover . but as for now i will be left in total .. all i wanna be is a dreamer . so let me dream the fuck alone .

so .. later .. tonight .. ashley is in the house . perfect . i feel like she will get herself cosy . . and having a bed ....

the wind is perfect , i have my own balcony and i am in love with it .... i have the fresh wind that caress my skin . i can write and give tom a break of house guest , now i can host the freaky lovely people in my house and it is hell o f a pleasure . to be surroundede . with rad and ashley in the kitchen , i grabbed an x-tra futon for her . and i have my room .. soon . it will be colored by my own history , i want to be able to invite julia for breakfast . . i wanna be able to invite who the fuck i feel like . and make them feel confortable . in walking inside my bubble ...

night time . sexy sounds of the dogs on my beds playing like lovers trying to unravelled each other . but i am guilty or more like a pervert eye that always stays open i d not feel like going to sleep . why would i . when i can stay awake t'll my hands they hurt . i am listening to this old cd of that movie basketball diaries.. i wanna read more of jim carrols's diary .

he was hell of a junky and lived up to his own private and final fantasy .

and my name is margo .. so am i . living to the core of my fantasy . and so be it . that is all i had to say . tomorrow i have to attend a job meeting . be a part of it . . completely .

now what .. words for the girl i wanna meet , one day . maybe, we will be going away run away . in a car i will have learn to drive by then. hopefully . then we go away in perfect shadows.


will you let me ring the bell . will i be trying to figure it out . i cannot tell myself to quit . what i started a long time ago . a long time ago . . when i was a little boy , i was born to be a broken dame , and a silver boy , the kind of boy who walks steady right up to the altar. where i would like to lay my dreams .... the SERPENTS will drop in circles around our heads and they will draw circles and circles of silver lights just enough so i can see the lights coming down . the lights coming down . swings like a blade , swings that blade all over me . show me how close you can get . how bad we can get .. let's be electric . together . let's be electric in an order all together . set myself on fire, and i will never let anyone burn the feather that wrapped all over yours , all over you . i wanna wrapped my hands and feather all over you .. so no one can touch ... or even think of hurting you . no one will ever try to hurt you my love. but . we have not. met yet
.


this is always the words of the end ... i have not met you yet . .. ..

night is gonna fall .. not yet .. soon . we are july 3 rd .. i woke up in style ... which means i had a shower then some weird new herbal tea . and scotch whyskey ... and i am writting ... smoking .... good god it feels healthy . my way ... and nothing else matters .... i don't even need to run away from the house that doesn't belong to me ... i have friends a little bit all over this city . some of them are away, some of them are closer, but they know. i think we all know we love each others. and life will go on .

now further in july .. looks like i am going crazy ... la solitude.... with one of my friend, , o c'est vrai du fait on ne rit plus... love and laughter commme dirait henry miller. i 'd rather be fuck out of my head with real girls... the one that drives me crazy .. i truly don't mind crazy lovers ..... i want affection, love .. more love ... and i'll give it all i have to give ...
( notes from the now... it does not work that way .. at all .. it's crazy re reading old stuff you wrote .. then you ralize how quick you have change , how 3 months ago is far .. away it'll go )
someone to break my body ....seriously .. someone to get me out of my mind....

dans la plus douce de ces nuits je reste un plus ..... predateurs ... and i feel ready to run .. run in the deep wild .. nothing to stop me .. break my my body all night long .. somebody get hurts ... .la folie je la connais ... elle cogne dans mes plus profond reves eveillees

camarade..look at yourself, already , nothing is real , nothing to fail me over.
i wish i could get out of my body, out of my mind , out of mysef ..

i could be riding in the desert ,naked , with my silver toungue all over the body i choose to adore.

all i do is smoking cigarettes, getting stoned and i want more, i wish i could be with a lover by the sea, moonlights,and sleeping not alone, wandering stars, and for now i am alone in a room . getting , aggressive on the computer, i can't get enough of myself, i wish there was p.j.harvey loud , denis i remember, and i remember more.
i want to go travel but not alone , in which i died ...

***** that is one of the many text laid on my computer... i don't mind sharing with you, unknown .. *****