tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51016812011-06-08T02:23:36.960-04:00The Hipless BoyOpen. Intimate. Odd.Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comBlogger611100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1134081159515925112005-12-08T17:17:00.000-05:002005-12-08T17:32:39.526-05:00To Be Brief.The lovely people at the Void magazine are having a contest. You have to write a tremendously short story and insert a sentence in it that they stipulate. See if you can guess which one it is.A hint: it's the deliberately unweildy one. Part of the fun of this contest, I am guessing, is watching the fictive gymnastics the writer has to go through in order to insert the sentence and Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1133564350593730102005-12-02T17:57:00.000-05:002005-12-02T17:59:10.606-05:00A Few Hours With Flowers I’m on the phone with Oona. “I was gonna bring flowers, but I didn’t know how that would play out,” I tell her. “I don’t want to make her feel bad, I mean, if I brought flowers and Alia didn’t.” Alia and Oona have been dating for about a month. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever dated someone and they’ve been dating someone else Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1133226387903701662005-11-28T20:04:00.000-05:002005-11-28T20:06:27.913-05:00The New MontrealApparently, Portland is the new Montreal.The new hip shit. The place where the nextArcade Fire will emerge.Thank god.Maybe rents will go down andthe Separatists will come back.God bless.http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20051126.wxportland26/BNStory/Entertainment/Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1133220974696701642005-11-28T18:31:00.000-05:002005-11-28T18:36:14.706-05:00FAILER:So I lost the A.M. Klein Award.But I looked fabulous doing it.It’s a funny thing being the only cross-dressed man at a very straight, very conservative event. It was fulla writers, so it probably wasn’t that conservative, but it certainly felt that way at the time.“How are you feeling?” she whispered to me, when the person who went up to accept the award for Erin Moure went up.“A little Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1132352066894992172005-11-18T16:10:00.000-05:002005-11-18T17:14:26.950-05:00Busier Than Blenders At a Smoothie BarI'm so busy.Every fall I get busy.I feel like a squirrel gathering nuts for the winter.Next year I will take my vacation around this time so that I've got time for all the craziness that comes. It's fairiy predictable. It's like knowing that the strawberries will be ripe at a certain time, and that they must be plucked.I feel bad.I neglect my blog.Sometimes ISullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1130539760073102942005-10-28T18:18:00.000-04:002005-10-28T18:49:20.086-04:00Rawr.Some exciting news today.My book of pseudohaikus,"The World is a Heartbreaker"is shortlisted for theQuebec Writer's FederationA.M Klein Poetry Award!I'm up against two poets withhuge credentials. Mark Abley andErin Mouré. They both have awardwinning books already under theirrespective belts. But if I win, I take hometwo thousand bucks! A one in threechance of taking home 2k, I have to say,isSullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1130287994302176532005-10-25T20:53:00.000-04:002005-10-25T20:53:14.313-04:00Cat trapped in dog's body. Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1130287775376030382005-10-25T20:46:00.000-04:002005-10-25T20:49:35.383-04:00Kissing Tag For over a decade of my life I had cross-dressing dreams.In at least one out of every three dreams I’d be cross-dressed in some capacity.Sometimes I’d be wearing a summer dress.In another I’d be all decked out in heels, but incongruously, trying to climb the ladder of a construction crane. I remember another dream where I was wearing pantyhose and sliding down the slick hallways of a Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1129229703992293282005-10-13T14:53:00.000-04:002005-10-13T14:55:04.000-04:00Plans For The Weekend Oona’s invited me up to her parent’s cottage for their closing weekend. “Will there be canoes?” I ask. “There will be canoes.” she responds. “And a hot tub.” “A hot tub!” I exclaim. “They built it,” she explains. Her mom’s boyfriend and someone else in the family are engineers, so creating a hot tub from scratch is what Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1128440933229957942005-10-04T11:48:00.000-04:002005-10-04T11:48:53.233-04:00It looks like asteroids impacting the earth. Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1128440413629025432005-10-04T11:37:00.000-04:002005-10-04T11:40:13.636-04:00Three Hole PunchThe gun bucks in my hand.I take aim and fire again.Then again and again, till I’m out of bullets.Jim comes up beside me and presses the “Return” button on the frame beside me. The target comes zipping back, like clothes on a clothesline. “Wow,” I say. “I suck.” Then kind of laugh, because I’m so nervous. Not about having a bad aim, but rather because firing guns is Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1126684718608284402005-09-14T03:44:00.000-04:002005-09-14T04:03:40.013-04:00Sit Down and Make a LapOona and me are over at Louie's. He's got kittens. Literally. They are the cutest. They break my heart. The way that babies break some peoples' hearts, cats break mine. Anyway, I see this box on the kitchen counter. It's colourful and for a cat toy. It's this radio-controlled mouse. You can like, set it going, and the cats will chase it. There is a remote control for it. Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1125510509325633402005-08-31T13:47:00.000-04:002005-08-31T13:51:19.163-04:00Eight One-Sentence StoriesThe naked man, who might not be naked behind his solid balcony, recently put up these windchimes, which keep me up all night, and the thing that hits the chimes is this wooden heart, and I don’t feel love when I see it.Jim, his feet at the edge, flames licking his back, held his breath before he jumped, knowing it didn’t make any sense, knowing that none of it made any Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1125013794476189602005-08-25T19:22:00.000-04:002005-08-25T19:49:54.483-04:00TOMBOYFRIENDMy friends Owen and Lena are starting up a band and I am going to produce it. I know nothing about production, but I know people who know people who know things, so I remain hopeful. Also, it's my nature to try to do things before I die.Originally the band was going to be called "Women & Children." But then all these bands started appearing. One was "the Ladies and Gentlemen" and I Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1124321176221976512005-08-17T18:59:00.000-04:002005-08-17T19:28:21.926-04:00SEENSTERSChris is blind. He got Diabetic Retinopathy in his 20's. He sits across from me eating a vegetarian sandwich. I met him through a friend of a friend. I'm doing research for my book - one of the characters will be blind, and I don't know anything about blind people. There's so much I want to ask him and I do. One of the things I ask him is how he perceives new people now."I mean," I say. Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1123024283724887662005-08-02T18:36:00.000-04:002005-08-02T19:11:23.733-04:00Birthday GirlMinerva's birthday is coming up."What do you want for your birthday?" I ask her."What don't I want," she grins.***We are walking to the park. It's one of those rare days when it's not swelteringly humid. There is a breeze that is sliding up the belly of my shirt. I am wearing my flip-flops. It's one of my rare concessions to summer. They make noises. Flap, flap. Flap, flap."Every Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1122559611836853202005-07-28T10:04:00.000-04:002005-07-28T10:10:34.690-04:00I HEART ANNE FRANKOwen tells me his plan.“I’m gonna take the story of Anne Frank and hey - you ever see that movie?”I shake my head. “I know the story, though,” I tell him.“Anyway,” he continues. “I’m gonna take that story of Anne Frank and rewrite it.”“You’re gonna rewrite it?”“Yah,” he nods. ““As what?”He grins, pausing for effect.“As a horror film.”“As a horror film?”“It’s perfect,” Owen says,Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1122417300591513432005-07-26T18:05:00.000-04:002005-07-26T18:35:43.023-04:00GAYDARADERose and I are at the gay pride day parade. It's my first one. There's about four rows of people standing in front of us. Nothing's happening yet. We are at the very end. To our left we can see this fenced off area where they're going to dismantle the floats, and have people disembark. It's kind of hard to see with four rows of people in front of you."We need to get higher," I tell Rose.Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1122327791466901332005-07-25T17:04:00.000-04:002005-07-25T17:43:11.473-04:00PETS, PART-TIMEOona is over for some ginger tea. We're talking and talking when she mentions an old boyfriend she used to have, and in my head I do a double-take, like you see in cartoons, because up until now I'd thought she was a lesbian.In fact, I was so sure she was a lesbian, I'd asked my friend Vince, who knew her better than I did, once I knew Oona was coming over for tea, if she was in Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1121968739800491742005-07-21T13:27:00.000-04:002005-07-21T13:58:59.806-04:00THE COLLECTED WORKS OF BILLY THE COLONIZEROwen is over. He just finished reading Michael Ondaatje's The Collected Works of Billy the Kid."It was very cool," he says. "It's kind of a scrapbook of poems. He deliberately juxtaposes different kinds of poems. Some of the poems masquerade as other things.""Like what?" I ask, having never read it."Like, newspaper clippings. Wanted posters. Things like Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1121808149638388482005-07-19T17:12:00.000-04:002005-07-19T17:22:29.643-04:00A PUNK CUT TO BREAK HEARTSI am cutting my friend Julia's hair tonight. The last time I did it she baked me raisin cookies! Tonight it is the same deal. I know what I'm having with my coffee for the next few days.The last time I cut her hair she kept urging me to go more blunt with her bangs. I was being tentative. She wanted it punklike. Asymmetrical. She liked it if it was a little fucked-up. Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1121723802350163122005-07-18T17:43:00.000-04:002005-07-18T17:56:42.356-04:00MATCHBOOK LIBRARIANThese days I am prepping to write my thriller. I read all these books, true crime and otherwise. I take copious notes. I take notes on pacing, characters, technical notes - like what kind of gun an FBI agent carries. I take notes on how to create suspense in the reader, how to manipulate them into thinking one thing, while I am preparing to hit them with a twist. I am Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1121385686379326622005-07-14T19:57:00.000-04:002005-07-14T20:01:26.386-04:00EVEN JESUS WORE DRESSESShe wears all these different pairs of shoes during the summer. Each one hurts her feet in a different way. She's nurturing these callouses. She is building up scars. She's waiting for it to hurt, then heal, then hurt again. She is building these walls for a reason. She knows those flip-flops will cut right across the top of her foot, so she puts her band-aids there before Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1121289141535129002005-07-13T17:05:00.000-04:002005-07-13T17:12:21.543-04:00ALL MY FRIENDS ARE LESBIANS. OR BI.I've noticing that increasingly, I am spending more time with girls who like girls. Or who like girls and who like boys, too. But if you didn't know them, for sure you'd think they just liked girls. What is the opposite of a 'fag hag?' I have discovered that whatever it is, I'm that.Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1121261912431993342005-07-13T09:29:00.000-04:002005-07-13T09:38:32.436-04:00INSANE BY SUNSETI keep thinking that one day I'll go crazy. But I keep thinking this not in a crazy way. I think it in the way that some people say they'll get married. Or have kids. Or retire. I feel like one day I might retire from sanity. That going crazy is the most natural thing to do.But then I think what a short drop that would be from medical illustrator by day/artist by night to homelessSullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1121084102539228462005-07-11T08:01:00.000-04:002005-07-11T08:15:02.620-04:00IT'D BE NICEMy co-worker Deidre and I are talking about Tania. I mention this prank I wanted to play on Tania once. Around the medical faculty we have these plastic skeletons. I had to return one to Tania one time. She wasn't in her office. I thought about taking it off its stand and seating it in her chair, behind her desk. It wouldn't come off the stand, though. So I didn't. I just left it Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1120751449215868212005-07-07T11:39:00.000-04:002005-07-07T11:50:49.220-04:00WHEN TERRORISTS ATTACK!This morning my radio alarm goes off and it's all about explosions. None of the usual beauty about provocative new books or the same-sex marriage debate. A double decker bus in London's top is blown off. Smoke in the underground. It's happened again. Almost 5 years after "Nine-Eleven," we have "Seven-Seven." I wonder if that's how they will refer to it. Or maybe they'll Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1120669543798181832005-07-06T12:59:00.000-04:002005-07-06T13:05:43.803-04:00ARTWORK AFTER WORKOona tells me over the phone that she likes to stay at work after work too. She works in this yoga studio as the receptionist. Her job is to be the perky greeter. But she's kinda stopped doing yoga. It's too much if the place where you work is the place where you relax, she tells me. But last night she went dancing on the warm polished yellow wood floors. She just spun and spun.Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1120580051688314132005-07-05T12:04:00.000-04:002005-07-05T12:14:48.843-04:00DON'T FIGHT GOING CRAZYI see old people and they're insane. They like to wear what they like to wear. All their old cardigans are pilling. They wear their skins like loose clothes and they're constantly trembly. The way their faces quiver reminds me of terrified rabbits' twitchy noses. They take their time at cash registers. It takes them forever to walk to the corner. They are these clattering Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1120178514758236352005-06-30T20:37:00.000-04:002005-06-30T20:43:07.816-04:00Jesus PiecesI had the wildest dream last night.We’re on the roof of a building in downtown Montreal looking at the huge cross on the hill, when my friend Christina tells me she used to be a Christian.My eyes flick down to her boobs, then back up to her face.“You used to be a guy?” I ask. For some reason this is the first thing I think of.She laughs.“No. Like, a Christian. As in, Jesus CHRIST Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1119477274683353422005-06-22T17:34:00.000-04:002005-06-22T17:57:27.376-04:00The Better Things in LifeI'm waiting for my pizza and the pizza guy is standing there talking to me."What's up?" he asks."Oh, I just got off work," I tell him."You like it?""Well - I've been doing it for four years. I'm getting tired of it.""Yah - my pal," the pizza guy says, "My pal Don, he says to me, 'I want the kind of job where, every morning, I wake up - " the pizza guy makes these running Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1118070679479315922005-06-06T10:46:00.000-04:002005-06-06T11:11:19.486-04:00Beer and StarsIt’s Friday night when Minerva calls.“Hello?” “Hey, it’s me,” she says. “What are you doing?” “Guess,” I tell her. “Working on your graphic novel?” “Right.” “D’ya wanna do something instead?” she asks. “Like what?” “Like, maybe you could come on over.” Minerva actually lives very close to me. It’s Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1117259702281552592005-05-28T01:27:00.000-04:002005-05-28T01:55:02.286-04:00I Want To Be on TeeveeSo I'm back in Toronto. For the third time in a month. I'm going a bit crazy. But it's all for a good cause. The last time I was in Toronto this very nice and enthusiastic woman approached me and told me that she was producing a series of half-hour shows about poets. Right now she was scouting, but that I gave a good reading, and that there was a chance I could snag a spot. Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1116813356301326792005-05-22T21:55:00.000-04:002005-05-22T21:55:56.306-04:00Scrabble pins! You can make some too! All you need is a glue gun and pretty little pinbacks! Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1116812811019814792005-05-22T20:38:00.000-04:002005-05-22T22:41:58.926-04:00AnarschismI'm at the Montreal Anarkissed Book Fair. It's a little past 11 AM and already it's madness. I'm sitting behind a row of cafeteria tables with my friend Amber, who I luckily happened to find myself sitting next to."Do you have a band name yet?" I ask her."Not yet," she replies. "Actually, me and Erin were discussing this last night.""Can I help come up with one?""Sure," she says.Coming Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1115713255245261132005-05-10T03:50:00.000-04:002005-05-22T21:57:44.663-04:00The Brittle Outer Crust, and the Hotter, Softer MantleI'm sleeping in these days. I watch Oprah. Then Dr. Phil. Then the news. It is my mid-afternoon line-up. It's a parade of blunt, stunted people. They are the people I watch and whom I thank god I'm not. Maybe it's wrong to do that but I'm quite certain people have the same opinion of me.A few months ago I asked my bosses for a two month leave Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1113000886763743342005-04-08T18:53:00.000-04:002005-04-08T18:58:03.300-04:00We Named Our Streets After SaintsThese days I’m constantly crying in the streets. This was an unexpected side-effect. I didn’t know that this would happen. Does it happen to everyone? One day I’m walking along and bump into Owen. He’s got one. “Ooo,” I coo. He hands it to me. I rotate my figner along its touchwheel.“Like it?” he says, more of a statement than a question. “The interface is like a Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1111815544687506492005-03-26T00:34:00.000-05:002005-03-26T00:39:04.706-05:00Turd Reich Minerva is on the phone with me. “I need your help,” she says. “Okay, sure.” “Come to my place. Bring your camera.” When I get there, it’s just getting dark. The days are getting longer, but the sun has to set some time. When I buzz her apartment, I hear a voice. “Hey!” I look up. Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1111184620882478312005-03-18T17:20:00.000-05:002005-03-18T17:23:40.886-05:00She Blued His Balls“These are so gross,” Minerva says to me, picking up the bag of leftover Valentine’s Day cinnamon hearts. She pours out a handful then tosses them down her throat. She examines the back of the bag. Through her mouthful, she mumbles some of the ingredients, “Caruba wax, mineral oil, shellac. Yuck.” I can hear them crunching in between her teeth. Inwardly, I laugh. Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1110567712688401412005-03-11T13:59:00.000-05:002005-03-11T14:01:52.693-05:00Pulling Their Wings Off When I was in high school I wanted to be a poet. I thought I was good at it. There were these crazy things I wanted to get out and poetry seemed like a good way to do it. So I used it. I even sought out other people who could do it. One day in the paper I see there’s this little listing for a poetry group that met once a month at this library in downtown Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1109363080856489982005-02-25T15:21:00.000-05:002005-02-25T15:24:40.863-05:00Morning Glory It’s Friday night and I’m in Ottawa for the weekend. My friend Jill and I just got back from her friend’s party.“Jesus, what time is it?” I ask her. She peers at her watch. “Um. 3:40.” “Erg,” I say. “I have to wake up at 7:30.” “Shitty,” Jill says. “Yeah,” I concur. I’m in Ottawa not just for fun, but for business too. There’s Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1108677745693864292005-02-17T17:01:00.000-05:002005-02-17T17:02:25.696-05:00My Killer Is Cooler Than Your KillerI’ve decided to write a thriller. At first I was a little daunted, because I’m not that thrilling, but then I realized I don’t have to be. Just as long as my character is. But then I realized, I didn’t want my character to be thrilling. I wanted him to be normal. But then, the question became, how could he be normal and catch a serial killer that’s terrorizing Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1107382767638199842005-02-02T17:12:00.000-05:002005-02-02T17:23:47.583-05:00Running With Scissors, Walking Slowly with a Butcher Knife
My friend Minerva is much better looking than me. In all the ways that she could be. When we walk down the street it’s something that I notice. Other people notice it too. I notice them noticing. They look at her, then at me, then at her again. They always have this questioning look in their faces. As if we were a code they wanted to Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1105656739135292662005-01-13T17:49:00.000-05:002005-01-13T17:52:19.136-05:00Big Wave Fall Down Go Boom
On Boxing Day I check my phone messages.
One from my sister.
“I guess by now you’ve heard. Don’t worry. Everyone’s okay,” she says.
What? What’s she talking about?
I try to call her back but no one’s home.
Later that day I’m hanging out with Owen. I tell him about my weird sister.
“Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1105123968773735522005-01-07T13:30:00.000-05:002005-01-07T13:56:14.503-05:00Famous For Five Seconds
My friend Nat told me once about this guy he met in Brazil.
This guy, at some early stage into teenagehood, decided
that his lifelong ambition would be to go down on Madonna.
Yeah. I know. But whatever.
Anyhow, he did it.
He met Madonna at some club in Rome and I suppose he was
pretty hot and he got his wish. But then, Nat told me, it was
all downhill from there.
HeSullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1105049147299498702005-01-06T17:03:00.000-05:002005-01-06T17:10:19.763-05:00I Am An Anarkissed
“That’s called a Mondegreen,” Minerva says.
“What’s a Mondegreen?” I ask, puzzled.
“When you hear something wrong,” she says. “Go to Mondegreen.com. It’s from this song, something like, “’Blahblahblahblahblah and laid him on the green,’ but someone heard ‘blahblahblahblahblah and Lady Mondegreen.’”
I laugh. “That’s awesome.”
“And there’s hundreds of them!” Minerva exclaims. “Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1103750300799745672004-12-22T16:16:00.000-05:002004-12-22T16:18:20.800-05:00Dance Dance Dance
The red velvet curtain parts, revealing a gagged, blindfolded girl, tied with ropes to a simple wooden chair. A single spotlight shines down on her.
She moves her head from side to side, as if trying to get her bearings through her blindfold. She makes noises through her gag, a crude sonar.
“Mmm!” she mmms.
Then she does it again.
“Mmm!”
Slowly, the girl begins to rock Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1102615974503050592004-12-09T13:07:00.000-05:002004-12-09T13:12:54.503-05:00Radio Free
I’m picking up Owen at the end of his shift. We’re going to find someplace warm for a cold beer. It’s snowing. There is an urgency in the way people walk.
“So today,” he says, “I had this meeting.”
“At work?” I nod back towards the porn theater.
“Nah,” he laughs. “I barely see the boss. The only kind of meetings that happen there are “intimate encounters.” No, the meeting I had Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1102111740034282562004-12-03T17:06:00.000-05:002005-01-06T17:13:05.263-05:00The Meanest Man in the World
Every morning I take the 144 bus to work. It’s a funny bus because it goes up the hill past all the major Montreal hostpitals and crests the upper end of McGill campus, which is where I work. Every morning the bus is full of college students in their prime, and old folks going to the hospitals, in decline.
Every morning I take the bus at about the same time. And soSullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1101426642494656602004-11-25T18:37:00.000-05:002004-11-25T18:50:42.496-05:00I am So Small in this Big House
“See that house?” Minerva points. Through the cab window I see it. “That’s where they filmed the interior scenes of that movie, The Virgin Suicides.”
“Cool,” I say, though I’d never seen the movie. People I liked, however, spoke favourably of it.
It’s the weekend and Minerva and I are in Toronto to see our respective folks. I’veSullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1099685926962995872004-11-05T15:12:00.000-05:002004-11-05T15:18:46.963-05:00Love By Any Means Necessary
I didn’t think I’d be nervous, but I am. I mean, I know I’m not going there as a customer, but just the idea that someone might see me and assume that I was there as a customer makes me nervous. I’m trying to act nonchalant when I walk through the porn movie theater door.
Thankfully Owen’s there behind the counter to greet me.
“Owen!” I say, throwing my arms aroundSullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1098657578237591612004-10-24T18:38:00.000-04:002004-10-24T18:39:38.236-04:00Flower Raiders
Two years ago I moved into this hipster neighbourhood. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to stay in my old one. But I had to move and this was the best apartment I could find. Anyway, there’s a lot of bars and clubs on my street. Luckily my windows don’t face it – but everyone’s so hip, it was enough to make me feel positively hipless.
There’s one thing on the street, though, that’s Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1096385645382727682004-09-28T11:31:00.000-04:002004-09-28T11:34:05.383-04:00Ugly Fuckling
I first met Minerva two years ago. I was in this vegetarian restaurant. I usually don’t go to vegetarian restaurants. I’m a carnivore. Actually, I’m an omnivore, but I like the way “carnivore” sounds better. Anyway, I was in this restaurant because I’d heard good things. Thought I’d try it. It was pretty good. For vegetarians.
When I go up to pay there’s this girl with a Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1086964283409181282004-06-11T10:24:00.000-04:002004-06-11T10:31:23.410-04:00Stirred, Not Shaken
Me and Olive are watching teevee. Olive is a new friend I met at a party.
Olive is not a party kind of person. I’m actually not sure what kind of person she is. Like I said, she’s a new friend. But even at this early stage, I know she’s not a party person. But she came out because she’d written a piece for this little magazine that I also contribute to, and it was a spur Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1074895889329902272004-01-23T17:11:00.000-05:002004-03-01T10:31:18.340-05:00Porn Star Potential
Minerva’s over. We just watched this movie called “Man on a Train.” It was okay.
“It got a little obvious at the end, I thought,” she says. I get up to rewind the tape.
“Do you want a beer?” I ask.
“Okay!”
I flip the channel over to 8 and it’s the news. Tarah Schwartz is the anchor tonight. Sometimes it’s Todd Vanderhagen. He’s so clean-looking I bet when he puts on Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-1067013275326547982003-10-24T12:34:00.000-04:002003-10-24T12:34:36.686-04:00All Shocked Out
Recently, Owen went back to school. After following his parents’ dreams for a few years he’d realized he was a frustrated artist who needed to do what his inner nature demanded.
“Like Jesus, I’m trying to ‘afflict the comfortable,’” he told me.
“What about that other thing? ‘Comfort the afflicted’?” I asked.
“There are groups for that,” Owen replied. “What I’m doing is Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-897344032003-02-25T16:37:00.000-05:002003-02-25T16:37:56.373-05:00Blackout
Last night there was a blackout in my building. And not just mine. A whole bunch. On different streets. Nobody told us anything. I couldn’t even turn on the local news. I came back and most of the block was black. The main foyer of my building was a dark hole. I patted the walls to find my way up the stairs. It was creepy. I wondered where the emergency lights were that always came on Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-897343082003-02-25T16:36:00.000-05:002003-02-25T16:36:07.686-05:00The Oxford Oracle
“Let’s play the Oxford Oracle,” Minerva suggested.
“What’s that?” Owen asked.
Minerva picked up the dictionary and told him to ask a question. “Anything,” she added.
Owen raised his eyebrows. “Um, how is my date going to go tonight?”
Minerva dramatically closed her eyes, and using one hand, started the pages flipping. Then with her other hand, she poked a finger into Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-897238342003-02-25T13:18:00.000-05:002003-02-25T16:18:57.000-05:00My Sister is In Love Again
My sister visited Montreal about a month ago, just before school started again, and we hung out for awhile on St. Laurent. My sister’s really cool. It’s kind of hard to explain – but she’s the kind of person I’d like to hang out with anyway – even if we weren’t related. This time she tells me she’s in love with Holden Caulfield. I’m laughing because she’s always in Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-897221112003-02-25T12:45:00.000-05:002003-02-25T12:59:07.000-05:00The Anti-Warhols
“Hundreds,” Nadia said. “We have pages and pages. We each went home and brainstormed like mad. But we can’t agree on anything. They’re all wrong, somehow. They all sound like band names. That’s the thing.”
My friend Nadia and I were having a coffee at Chapters and she was telling me how her as-yet-unnamed band was trying to come up with a name. They were a loose pop collectiveSullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5101681.post-897213422003-02-25T12:30:00.000-05:002003-02-25T12:30:03.513-05:00I Only Make Passes At Girls Who Wear Glasses
My friend Susan, who is a bag fan of stockings, garter belts and elegant corsets, got her first tattoo the other day. She had black seams drawn up the backs of her legs to just below her bum. “They’ll never be crooked,” she smiled, smug.
“You should get a tattoo,” she said to me. I’ve never been a tattoo kind of guy. “What would you get if you got Sullyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12256769922302485824noreply@blogger.com