A Day In The Life

It started with a newspaper. A Metro, specifically, sitting open on a subway seat as we all know Metros are wont to do.

At first glance it was just like any other; a bold headline reporting some silly urban occurance supposedly relevant to the lives of the readers; schlock news and celebrity slag abounding coupled with a far-too easy crossword easily crossed (four minutes fifty-three seconds easy, to be exact).  See, that’s why I paid it no special attention – it was no special collection of recycled newsprint, let me tell you that.

Of course, me being the unathletic bastard I yet prove to be, I skipped right over the SPORTS section (ever squeezed between the seemingly ever-imperative FASHION and ENVIRONMENT sections).  Now, if I hadn’t been so averse to these pages of pure penis, I would have noticed that little manila envelope tucked between the results of Small People Racing Abused Horses and Angry Men Crushing Eachother that would prove so very troublesome in the days to follow.

Anyway, back to work. As I arrived at my station, I stashed the paper in my bag lest I draw the angry stares of commuters fellow.  I disembarked, dove into the typing Bloor Station chaos and swam through the suit-donned sea and went to work.

[Maybe TBC. We'll see. I didn't mark the date in my notebook. xx0608, is all I know.]

What Must Be Done

Well, that’s just it.  I had no real reason to be in class – most of it I knew, and I was dropping out anyway – but I made myself go. I had a responsibility to be there and so I was.  I owed it to myself, my family and the few peers humble enough to swallow their pride and ask for aid when it was required.  And so I went.

The thing is, I never really had to think about this; it is What Must Be Done and that is the only option, no matter the personal burden it would festoon.  You should see now why it bothers me so when people – any people. Most people – refuse to step up and do What Must Be Done in their own lives own worlds.

[No idea when this was written. Was in my notebook. Might be on here already, not sure.]

Here I Remain

I sit and I take out my book, as if to begin reading.  I can not; too distracted am I by the life the endless motion stream flow moving by.  People — persons, everywhere.  Of so many skins and hairs and lives and voices and oh to be able to sit here so engulfed in it all exhausted though I be I feel the pull of sleep and seconds are granted it before a rush awakening – it is not safe here, active as it may be.  I have with me my bad my precious belongings my work my world my life too dire to lose.

So here I rest here I remain on this curb national film board to my back and night rapidly approaching.  Here I rest, here I wait.

Here I remain.