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Showing posts from 2005



Fuck I'm glad this one's over with.


Besoin: urge


Besoin: urge
all day
roughdirtyhardoutofbreathshakes kinda thing
the sea
the sun
j'ai besoinfaimenvie
je désireveuxriendemanderjusteprendre
just take me
i want to givetakehave you all over me

St-Jean-Baptiste 1976

St-Jean-Baptiste here in Québec is like the 4th of July in the US or the 14th in France. Except that only us in the province celebrate it, the rest of the country has the 1st of July. Anyways, long story, boring, bottom line is St-Jean-Baptiste is huge.

1976 was the year my parents separated. I was 5. Don't remember the exact date but school hadn't started yet, so it must've been in August. And that night of June 24th 1976 probably had a bit to do with it.

It was going to be a huge party at the mountain, with great bands, tens of thousands of people... We got there my mom, dad and I by car, met up with their friends and started up the mountain to get to the park. Party's on the way, sun is setting down. I remember topless girls, hairy guys with leather hats and indian sandals. I remember the usual smell of pot, hash and beedees (indian cigarettes). I could tell the difference already then. I vaguely remember music, but I can't recall if it was from the show or just guys around us with guitars and tam tams.

It's getting late, I need to pee. Badly. My mom is already stoned, but my dad insists she goes with me (he's gone as well anyway). So we set out, with another girl (16 y.o. babysitter/mom's friend who died of an heroin overdose at 19) to the restrooms (port-a-potty yessssss). We get there, get in line. I get in, do my thing, get out. L. goes in then out and heads back to the gang. My mom goes in, then out, then we head back.

Back to where? We can't find them! There are thousands of people sprawled on the grass. I guess my mother didn't look at where we were sitting before leaving, you know, to mark a spot or something... We're lost! In an ocean of hippies, looking for a bunch of hippies, a hippy mom and her kid. She was getting frantic, I was trailing behind, looking everywhere for a familiar face. No luck.

So the only thing she could come up with was to head down the mountain, get a cab to her parents' apartment and wait for my dad to come and get us (we lived up north at least 100 miles from there). We get down, a good 30 minutes walk I'm guessing. My mom looks into her purse... No cash! Not a fucking penny. We need money to get to my grand-parents, so my mom asks me to fucking sing! Sing for the strangers, I'll ask for money... Ah shit, even at 5 I knew what embarrassment felt like. I don't know how long it lasted, I burned that from my brain. We finally got some money, flagged a cab. We arrived at her parents, middle of the night... They took us in, no questions, as usual.

It's very early in the morning, door bell rings... Dad is here! So pissed he can't even talk. (to this day I haven't asked him where he spent the night that time...) It turns out, my mom had the car keys in her purse... Could've, should've, shouts and screams. The ride home was another nightmare.

I never really got over that one. It still bothers me, still hurts me, I still see myself singing on the sidewalk. I can't really see my mother's face, I don't think I looked at her much that night.

The only picture I have of June 24th 1976... She had half the party on her lap.


The pile


Writing about my childhood really brought back a lot of stuff... Things I had buried deep under newer stuff, stuff I can deal with.

I'm thinking about putting it down here. But I don't know if I want to let it surface, or just let it hover for a while, until it goes back under the pile of shit taking most of the space in my head right now.

Nice parallel with the wall.

I'm getting confused.

Sex, death and the wall.

Sometimes, not every time but often enough, when I go to a funeral home, I get vaguely aroused. I feel so alive, so vibrant, so liquid. If not right in there, then later. The room is so grey, the gloom so overbearing, the people so sad. There's this part of me that wants to defy death, to say fuck you, you ain't got nothin' on me.

Death is on my mind this time of year, and this year of course was something extraordinary. I know now that when I cry I do so because of my loss, because of the presence that is not there anymore. The person is gone, nothing I can do about it. I cry over my own inability to deal with the void. But I also know that by thinking about the ones that are gone, I keep them alive, I keep them in my heart.

I say cry, but they're silent tears. I say cry, but they rarely get out. Rarely roll down my cheeks. My lack of empathy, my lack of interest in others, my avoidance of situations where feelings might get out of hand. That's a burden, and a blessing. So much shit I dealt with as a kid, so many times I closed my eyes on situations I should not have gone through as a child.

In our house: junkies, thieves, dealers, dancers (hookers most likely, didn't really question this), used syringes, empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays, loud music at 4 in the morning, people sleeping or having sex in the living room at all hours of the day, no food in the fridge, mom's weekly new boyfriends (and sometimes babysitters).

Me then: serving as DJ starting at 6 or 7 y.o., walking over bodies to get to the bathroom, having breakfast at the neighbour's, stealing change in unconscious people's pockets, spending weekends at my aunts', grand mother's (maternal and paternal) and sometimes at my dad's (when he was not in jail), avoiding touchy-feely guests (surprising how many men are interested in prepubescent girls), waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of the unhooked phone, finding my "babysitter" stoned out of her mind, asleep, drooling, I couldn't wake her up, I put down the phone and went back to bed (I was 5). I could go on, but it serves no purpose.

Me now: Cold sometimes, unaffected, indifferent. I don't want to feel too much, don't want things to get to me. A fucking wall, at which I'm clawing now. I'm not sure I want to tear it down, not sure how much I want to let in.

But I've felt so much in the last few months. I've felt. Hurt, loneliness, depression, hope, love, lust, friendship. I felt them each separately, individually, not in a mush of self absorption, not like usual, brushing it off as self pity. There is no such thing as too much awareness, I understand that now.

I've felt. I want to feel more. I can handle it, now.

À fête du mort


3 heures plus tard, quand tout l'monde fût ben gris

J'me mis encore à s'mer la zizanie
Je pognai l'cul des grosses matantes
Du spanish fly dans' crème de menthe
À'fête du mort, y avait jusse moé d'pas triste

Les pénis, les fesses, les vagins
S'exitèrent en un tour de main
Ce fut un bordel merveilleux
J'emmenai la veuve à'sauvette
Tirer une pipe dans les toilettes
À la mémoire... à la mémoire?
À la SANTÉ du vieux

À'fête du mort y avait jusse moé d'pas triste...
-Plume Latraverse


Y a des fois où je m'demande pourquoi je n'arrive pas à être triste pour les autres. Je peux être fâchée, en crisse, enragée même, envers quelqu'un. Éprouver de l'amour, de l'amitié, de la sympathie à la limite (très limite).

La misère des autres m'emmerde, j'en ai rien à foutre. Ça m'empêche pas d'avoir une conscience sociale, de donner aux pauvres, d'aider les vieux au centre d'achat, whatever. Mais fondamentalement, les problèmes des autres, ça ne me fait pas pleurer.

La mort c'est certain, c'est différent. La mort dans tous ses états, subite, lente, prématurée, anticipée. Celle de ma mère, que j'ai attendue en cachette, celle de ma grand-mère, que j'ai mal acceptée malgré son âge.

Maintenant celle de parents proches, de personnes aimées, jeunes. Une mère de famille, frappée par un cancer de merde, un père de famille, qui n'a jamais rouvert les yeux au matin. Un frère, une soeur.

La mort, qui chie sur noel. La mort qui nous fait un gros finger.

Et pourtant... Je vais me rendre au salon demain. Je vais embrasser et serrer dans mes bras ces 9 frères et soeurs, ces enfants, ce mari. Je vais compatir, leur offir des kleenex, les laisser pleurer sur mon épaule. Et je vais repartir chez moi, le linge un peu fripé, un peu humide. L'odeur écoeurante du salon impreignée dans mes cheveux. Mon maquillage aura même pas coulé.


So sad


Not the Christmas anyone expected...

On the 22nd we learned that my sister in law's brother died in his sleep the previous night. He was in his early 40's, with 2 kids. She had lost another brother 4 years ago. She is now an only child... Both parents are still alive.

This year it was her turn to have us over for the Christmas dinner. She decided she did not want to cancel and still have a party. And it was a great idea. Everyone had a great time, we drank a lot (me too, a big fucking lot), did karaoke, word games, the food was great, we hugged a lot, cried, laughed, said I love you... L. did a wonderful santa for the kids.

That was last night. Before leaving for the party I called my dad to ask what time he wanted us to be there tonight for dinner. He said well, we might have a change of plans... My step mom's sister has been in the hospital for a few weeks now, terminal cancer. And S. was there all night (23 to 24th). The doctors told the family she only had a few hours left.

This morning I called again, and my father told me S.'s sister had died yesterday. They are 10 brothers and sisters in her family, both parents are dead (of cancer). They were all there with their sister when she passed. I spoke with S. a little bit, we cried together, and I tried to comfort her as best as I could.

So we came back here. It's been a very strange Christmas. I wasn't looking forward to it, yet it probably was one of the best party we've ever had.

Maybe we were celebrating life.


Joyeux Christmas! Merry Noël!


It's here again...

Let's have some goddamn fun.
Have a good time with the ones you love :)

Encore une fois, encore une année...
Ayons du fun cibole.
Passez un bon moment avec ceux et celles que vous aimez :)


Invisible soon


I'm fading

Away, retiring
Drawing back
Forgetting how to feel
Letting go of the gloom
Yet not letting in the light

I'm fading
Unlike the memories
Unlike your touch
Unlike your smell
Unlike your taste

I'm fading
But not forgetting
How good it can feel
How deep it can get
How big it is

I'm fading
Into the winter
Into the colors gone
Away from the presence
Into the nothingness of the cold

Receding, withdrawing
Not erased yet
Just fading


In my ears


Tonight I took a long walk, it was snowing somewhat heavily, big fat flakes, beautiful.

In my ears "and up above, aliens hover, making home movies for the folks back home" and I was thinking, have I become a spectator of my own life?

In my ears "let it flow like a mud slide when I get on I like to ride and Glide I’ve got depth of perception in my text y’all I get props at my Mention ’cause I vex y’all so what’cha want" What is it that I want? What am I looking for here?

In my ears "A sickened mind and spirit, The mirror tells me lies, Could I mistake myself for someone, Who lives behind my eyes?" Is it really me here, or just a few layers that needed to be shed?

In my ears "In this theater that I call my soul, I always play the starring role" Center stage. Look at me, look at how miserable I am, look at how sad my situation is, look at meeeeee, hello????? I'm here, over here, hey, look here!

Strangely, I'm in a good mood tonight.


Pain in the blog


A funny thing happened. I started to write here because something was missing, things were changing, events were definately not happening. And I was wondering where my love for writing had gone. Slowly it came to me, that torrent of words, of ideas, of emotions, feelings, thoughts, pains. Now I just can't stop. Can't hold anything inside.

In the few months I've been here, I've browsed other peoples spaces, read their thoughts, ideas, stories, poems. Interacted with a few, to different degrees. Some want to be writers, some are. Some, like me, just need a place to express their feelings, no matter how dark. Others are true artists, social commentators, spectators.

It's a wonderful experience so far. I belong wherever I go. And every one belongs here. I like to leave comments, I like it when people leave comments here. I try not to think about the audience when I write though. That's a big trap. I'm not here because I want to be a writer when I grow up. I'm here for everything else.

Anyways, here's Maddox's take on blogs, enjoy!: If these words were people, I would embrace their genocide.


Misère matinale en stéréo


Nuovo à la SRC
Martineau au 98.5...
Ciboire que j'suis contente de tomber en vacances.




Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.

So he goes.

So I'm here, chain smoking, reading, surfing, watching tv, wishing I was stoned, wishing I was drunk, wishing I was rich, wishing I was somewhere else, wishing I'd get rid of that fucking pain in my stomach.

I make up my mind to be happy, jolly, merry, then I fall.


I had this dream last night. I can't remember most of it. There was a lot of people I knew, some I didn't. There was a lot of movement, of walking around, running. There was some sexual tension, some desire, some lust. I have no clue who was involved. I don't even know if I was.

But I woke up around 2.30am with a feeling of peace and well being. I thought "Yeah, this is it! This feels good! Everything will be all right!" and went right back to sleep. The feeling lingered this morning. Until mid afternoon. I was just feeling good.

I wish I remembered my dream.




"Qu'est-ce que t'aimes?"

"Je l'sais pas... Je l'sais pas."

C'est triste. Mais des fois je l'sais. Des fois c'est tellement clair que ça fait mal juste d'y penser. D'autres fois c'est le vide. C'est un gros crisse de vide. C'est pas parce qu'il n'y a rien. Ça s'peut pas. C'est la tempête. C'est comme quand le vent pousse la neige, ça fait des dunes, ça fait des trous. J'escalade une dune, je déboule en bas. Je me relève et je recommence.

C'est en haut, c'est là, je l'sais. J'y arrive. Je le vois. C'est pas juste des souvenirs. Si c'était juste des souvenirs, je ne me donnerais même pas la peine de grimper à nouveau. Je veux qu'il y ait d'autres teintes de rose dans le ciel quand le soleil se couche, je veux que la lune soit pleine à tous les soirs. Je veux voir des nuages aux formes impossibles, des étoiles tellement brillantes que ça fait mal aux yeux.

Je veux surtout arrêter de me dire que plus tard ça va aller mieux, que plus tard tout va être correct, que plus tard tout va s'arranger. Je veux que ce soit vrai. Que du haut de la dernière dune que j'ai gravi je puisse voir la vérité.

C'est encore la tempête. Elle a tout poussé d'un bord. Mais je lui fait face. Je ne lui tourne pas le dos. Qu'a mange d'la marde la tempête, je l'emmerde.

Pose-moi donc la question encore une fois pour voir.


One Slip


I will, I will she sighed to my request
And then she tossed her mane while my resolve was put to the test
Then drowned in desire, our souls on fire
I lead the way to the funeral pyre
And without a thought of the consequence
I gave in to my decadence
-D. Gilmour

Decadence... what a lovely word. Nothing proper these days, nothing appropriate pleases me. I want depravity, self indulgence. I don't want to please anyone. I want to be pleased.


Your eyes


All over my words
All over my thoughts
Thinking you understand
Thinking it's about you
Thinking it's about him
All over my soul
Looking for the truth
All over my sins
All over your faults
All over my words
My words
Just words

Your eyes
Looking at my heart
Spying on my thoughts
Watching me breathe
Was I gasping here?
Was I panting there?
Do you see my craving?

Your eyes
Do they see?
Do they see my blood?
Do they see me getting closer?
Do they see me closing the door?

Look away now
For your eyes may burn
For your sight may be damaged
For you will never see me like I was
For I am not here anymore


I think


I may be losing my mind

(not really)
(edited a little later, just to clarify... )

Motion Picture Soundtrack


Red wine and sleeping pills

Help me get back to your arms
Cheap sex and sad films
Help me get back where I belong
I think you're crazy, maybe
I think you're crazy, maybe
Stop sending letters
Letters always get burned
It's not like the movies
They fed us on little white lies
I think you're crazy, maybe
I think you're crazy, maybe
I will see you in the next life

In the next life... Dashiell Hammett?


J'ai fait le tour


J'ai souvent cette impression. Que j'ai fait le tour. Une situation, un emploi, une personne, une émotion. Je l'sais. J'ai saisi. Je vais au vidéo, je regarde le boîtier, j'ai vu le film. J'écoute une toune, j'ai entendu l'album. J'ai une conversation, les mots sont vieux et usés et je sais exactement où les mettre, comment les placer dans mes phrases. Un déjà-vu qui m'écoeure, un désintéressement total. Parce que j'ai fait le tour.

Un moment donné, au cours d'une conversation on me dit "J'ai fait le tour". Fuck. C'est plus pareil dans la bouche d'un autre. C'est pire. C'est le reflet du vide. Du manque. Je regarde mon abîme, pis j'me dit, c'est pas vrai. Ça peut pas être juste ça.

"Dans le fond, tout ce qu'il y a, c'est les enfants". Tu n'as jamais fait le tour avec les enfants. C'est toute une vie qui s'écrit devant toi. C'est pour ça? Toute une vie à écrire, toute une autre vie à oublier. À partager? J'ai peur de cet abandon de soi.

On se donne entièrement à ses enfants, ou on se consacre à son nombril? Qu'est-ce que ça donne de lire, de voir des films, de se cultiver, d'avoir des amis, de manger un bon repas, d'avoir une vie spirituelle, de baiser, de fumer, de boire un bon vin, de rigoler d'une bonne blague, de s'engager socialement, de voyager? Qu'est-ce que ça donne tous ces plaisirs?


Des vies à écrire, des vies à unir.


Pas toujours... Mais souvent...



How to get there


Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can't help but ask myself how much I’ll let the fear take the wheel and steer
It’s driven me before, it seems to have a vague haunting mass appeal
Lately I’m beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel
-Incubus (don't have the album, can't find who wrote the lyrics... sorry)

Well, yeah, grabbing the wheel is a start. Getting rid of the fear. The appeal is in the comfort. In wearing your seatbelt. In making full stops. In never letting that needle get lower than half. I rode on fumes. Ran some red lights. I just need to get a better hold on the wheel.


Of anticipation and aftershock

Anticipation, expectations, quake, aftershocks.
Anticipation, all there is to it. It's all there still.
Expectations, promises, deceptions, hopes, promises again.
Quake, a little tight. Still, earth shattering, feeding, ending the need, prolonging the longing.
Aftershocks, patience, smile, happy, empty, when? now, later, never, who knows.
A little tight.
A little dirty.
A little.
Anticipation... Everything it should be was.
Expectations... Too many, not enough, the hunger gives.
Quake... In the past, present.
Aftershock... In the future.
Again? now, later, never.

Goddess of war

Not quite... But I'm in the temple of the Oracle, so I'm doing pretty good. And Kratos is damn sexy.


What defines a relationship after so many years? Besides comfort, besides habit, besides security. There has to be love. There has to be patience, acceptance, trust, understanding. But these things mean some kind of self sacrifice. Does self sacrifice mean love? What makes us think that taking the backseat is love. Then again, why is it not? Happiness can be found in self awareness, yes. Emancipation? Ok.

I'm not happy. It's not his fault. Not at this point. It's mine only. I have chosen to become who I am. I have chosen the paths at the crossroads. I have made the decisions. Not anybody else. So if I'm unhappy, it can only be my fault. It is my burden. My war.

I can deal with this. Nothing has changed, nothing of importance, in the last few years. Nothing in our foundations. Nothing. I've been able to take it, I've even embraced it at times. I've taken the wrong paths at times. It is now up to me to find my way. If it could become what it is now, there is no reason why I can't make it become something better.

I'm taking on a challenge. Not out of fear of being alone. Not out of pity. Not out of obligation. Out of love. To end the war within myself. Beware, the Goddess has arrived.

I should stop playing that game.

A very momentary lapse of reason


Fuck the lighter side.

I'm doing fine, but. I can't put my finger on it. We had this very open, very honest conversation. That was supposed to take care of everything, put things in perspective. Give us a chance for change, for improvement.

Ok, fine, we had the talk. So why do I feel unsettled? Is it because I thought it would change instantly? Because it wasn't really what I wanted to hear? Because I, I, I, for fuck's sake. Yes, I. Not you, not us, just fucking I.

Obviously he's not the only one with problems. And that's probably what struck me that night. Shit, I really did not want to hear this. Actually it never came out. I just realized it while we were talking. I have some serious issues. I need to grow up.

Christmas tree: up
Decorations: up
Anxiety: through the fucking roof
Coworker whistling Jingle Bells: dead
Me: feeling much better.

Merci du link Pat :)

No content

It will take me sometime to recover from the events of the weekend. Sometime to be able to write about how I feel about everything. Lots of words, lots of feelings. Everything's good, just a bit overwhelming.

So I'll be on the lighter side for a few days.

I discovered God Of War today. What a great game. I can't stop playing. I love to kill the minautors with my double swinging blades (whatever they're called I don't care, they fucking KILL). Also rented Donnie Darko and The Score.

I spent my birthday crashed on the couch ripping monsters apart and smoking cigarettes. I'd say it was near perfect.


C'est mon âge depuis minuit. Depuis minuit ma vie à pris un nouveau souffle. De belles possibilités. Une shot au bonheur. On a décidé de se donner une chance. Depuis minuit, je dors mieux.

Faut quand même décorer l'crisse de sapin.


We need to talk... I hope I'll be back. When everything has been said.

La voix

Elle est apparue au milieu d'une phrase, au centre d'un mot, juste avant une inspiration. Et puis mon nom. Et puis mes mots. Et mon coeur s'est emballé, mes yeux se sont mouillés, ma respiration s'est arrêtée... un peu.

Elle a redonné à ces mots la vie qui m'avait échappée lorsque je les ai écrits. Elle a mis en symphonie la confusion qui hantait chaque phrase. Elle a fait de ces paragraphes des chapitres de ma vie. Elle a mis un visage sur chaque sentiment que j'essayais d'identifier. Elle m'a dit que tout était vrai. Elle m'a aidé à ne jamais oublier.

Merci Pat.

Les mensonges


C'est du poulet. Ça f'ra pas mal. Tu sentiras rien. Je l'ai vu ce film. Je l'ai lu ce livre. Oui j'aime ça c'te toune là. Mmmm c'est bon ça, qu'est-ce que t'as mis là dedans? Non merci, j'ai pas faim. Ça va très bien et toi? Rien de neuf. J'ai envie de toi. Oui ça me tente. J'ai hâte. Je vais t'attendre. Je vais t'appeler. Ça me fait plaisir. Je suis heureuse pour toi. Tu as raison. Ça ne me dérange pas du tout. Je serai là.

J'prend l'après-midi, je m'en vais magasiner.



I should be in a better mood. I should be thankful my kids are as healthy and bright as they are. I should give more love. I should stop whining and do something about everything. I should stop using the words murder, kill, shit, fuck, asshole, motherfucker, stupid, ignorant, bitch... so much. Although I did come up with a few imaginative combinations today.

I should let go, open up, smile, feel, enjoy.

I should shut up. I should find a doctor that would be willing to rip my uterus out and throw it far, far away. I should invent a weapon against premenstrual syndrome and kill it slowly and deliciously.

I went down to the crossroads

Did fall down on my knees, but did not ask the lord for mercy. Just wondered how the fuck I ended up here. I mean, I remember most of it. But there's this blur, like the moment between day and night when the lights are not on yet, but the sun is gone. I'd say a year... Maybe two. Lost. Lost because I have no recollection of living. No memories of specific moments, happy or sad. No feelings either. A great acheivement our house is. A monster house. A monster of a prison, where I cannot find myself. Where I'm lost, where my voice has disapeared, where I have faded.

Then one day, one night, one minute, I don't know, I was crying. And I was here, I was alive, I was still me. I was crying for the first time over myself. I was crying over me, whom I thought I had lost forever. But I've found myself again. But so much pain. But now what? I'm at the crossroads, and no lord will give me mercy, for I will not ask. I will get it myself thank you very much.

A new soundtrack

In order to remain sane and happy for the holifuckindays I will try to play music that makes me feel good, and not too blue or agressive... hummm not easy, but here's my very tentative list of things I should play more often to keep me from murdering someone to the rythm of Winter Wonderland.

The White Stripes-Get behind me Satan
Beck-Sea Change
Led Zep-Houses of the Holy
Billie Holiday-All or nothing at all
Koko Taylor-Force of Nature
Stevie Ray Vaughan-Greatest Hits
System of a down-Hypnotize (fuck it, can't help myself)
Robert Charlebois-Québec Love
AC/DC-Dirty deeds done dirt Cheap
Depeche Mode-Violator
Nirvana-In Utero
The Black Crowes-The southern harmony and musical Companion
Violent Femmes-Viva Wisconsin
Oasis-(What's the story) Morning Glory?
The Beatles-Magical Mystery Tour

That should keep me happy for a while. Happy I said. So no Radiohead, no Metallica, no Rage Against the Machine, no Bush, no Matthew Good, no Tom Waits (or as little as possible)...

I will try and squeeze in some Elvis, James Brown, K.C., Sly, Curtis, Isaac, Marvin and Tom Jones.

I'm feeling a light spring in my step...

La robe

Je suis bien fière de moi. J'étais vraiment belle hier soir... en tout cas, en début de soirée. Ça s'est gâté vers la deuxième bouteille de rouge cheap servie avec le carré d'agneau aux champigons en canne. J'ai dansé un genre de merengue avec un gars de la cour et un genre de cha cha avec le concierge. Je dis genre parce que je ne sais danser ni un ni l'autre. J'ai cruisé le fils du président pendant que mon chum était aux toilettes. Il a eu la bonne idée de s'abstenir de sniffer, bravo. Je suis fière de moi parce que depuis le party de l'an passé, j'ai perdu beaucoup de poids. 35 livres pour être exacte. Je n'avais pas vraiment de problème avec mon image, mais ma santé n'allait pas du tout. Mais après m'être vue dans cette robe là, j'ai réalisé que je pouvais être un méchant pétard! (qui ramolli... ça fait deux mois que je ne vais plus au gym, trop depressed, mais j'y retourne dès cette semaine) Je me sentais très glamour, Hollywood a été mon surnom de la soirée. Il y avait même un petit flou dans ma caméra vers la fin de la soirée. J'ai pas nécéssairement hâte de voir les photos :-s Malgré tout je m'en suis bien tirée, faut dire qu'il y avait 350 personnes. Il y en a eu des pire que moi ça l'air. Good.

Parlant de poids. Mon fils de 11 ans sort de la douche, vient nous embrasser pour nous souhaiter bonne nuit. Il est en bobettes, les cheveux mouillés, complètment adorable. C'est l'annonce de chars avec William Shatner à la télé, et je suis en train de dire "On dirait qu'il va accoucher!" Comme je dis ça mon chum sacre une claque sur le ventre de notre fils en disant "Parlant de grosse bedaine!"

.... Ah ben crisse. Les rayons de la mort sont partis de mes yeux. Il vu. JAMAIS, ok? Jamais tu ne va faire de remarques comme ça à ton enfant de 11 ans. Bon je pouvais pas lui dire, pas devant les enfants. Je ne comprends pas ce qui lui a passé par la tête de faire ça. C'est tellement stupide et méchant. Premièrement il n'est pas gros. Oui il est costaud, mais pas gros ni obèse. Mon amour de mère ne m'aveugle pas. Mais génétiquement, je le sais, il sera toujours comme ça. Et je peux facilement le comparer à ses chums, surtout l'été quand ils viennent se baigner. Non, mon fils n'est pas gros. On a eu la discussion cette semaine L. et moi. Mais j'ai tort et il a raison. Whatever. Mais de faire ça? C'est le genre de chemin que tu veux prendre avec tes enfants?

Est-ce que je vais lui en parler de cette claque? Oui, il le faut je l'sais bien. Mais j'ai peur de la tournure que cette conversation pourrait prendre. Je vais y penser.

C'est parti

Le magasinage, les cadeaux, les soupers, les partys, les décorations, la bouffe, le monde que j'ai pas envie de voir. J'ai même pas décoré encore, pas de sapin, juste quelques lumières dehors. Il fallait bien qu'il en mette, tous nos voisins l'ont fait...

Ça fait trois jours qu'il coke, dans le jour même des fois. Après toutes ces années, il pense encore que je ne m'en rends pas compte. Je le confronte, il pogne les nerfs... Ehhh qu'on a du fun. Que ça soit une ligne, un quart ou un gramme je m'en crisse. Pour moi il n'y a aucune différence. Je suis au travail, qu'est-ce qu'il fait de ses journées? Je l'sais pas. J'arrive c'est le bordel, il fait a souper à peine un jour sur deux. Je me tape les devoirs, le souper, le ménage, les réunions, les lifts pour les cours, les courses. Il a quelques projets en vue, il joue à la bourse, il va au bar.

Bon, ça va faire.

J'ai décidé de prendre le mois de décembre off de toute cette merde. J'ignore tout ça, j'arrête de déprimer, me morfondre, me replier. On passe les fêtes. Je vais tout faire pour que ça se passe bien.

Je vais me mettre un beau sourire dans la face, je vais dire s'il vous plait et merci, je vais frotter, popoter, acheter les hosti de cadeaux, rentrer un sapin, étendre les maudites décorations laides à travers la maison.

C'est pas le temps de bad tripper, pas avec les enfants. C'est leur plus beau temps de l'année, je leur gâcherai pas ça. Mais je ne regarderai plus en arrière. C'est fini. Comme c'est là, je ne sais pas s'il sent le courant changer, mais puisqu'on ne peut plus se parler, il est ben mieux d'allumer. Parce qu'il va avoir une méchante surprise.

Rain song

These are the seasons of emotion
And like the winds they rise and fall
This is the wonder of devotion
I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient
Upon us all a little rain
Must fall.

Just a little rain? Or is this a downpour? I don't know. So many things are falling down, so many moments are being washed away. Then a crack in the clouds and a few rays of light. A smile, a hug, a touch, a kind word.

Through my storm I've encountered islands of tranquility, patches of sun. Now I see the land where I can build a new path, where nothing will be familiar but everything will be right. I will not crash on the shore. I will meet the sand, feel its warmth, print a trail and move on to the wide open space before me. This is where I will stand, this is where I will grow.

The spirit indeed is willing


But the flesh is weak.

What am I to do? Say no?

Ohhhh Jim, Jim, Jim... You of the incredible cock...

I give you my skin, my breath.

Take me please.


Dans ma caméra

Pour Jim Thompson

Il y a mes yeux qui te regardent
Il y a mon cou qui attend tes dents
Il y a mes seins qui se dressent
Il y a mon dos, sur lequel tombent mes cheveux
Il y a mes cuisses qui s'entrouvrent
Il y a mon sexe qui brille sous le flash
Il y a mes fesses qui t'invitent
Il y a mon désir qui n'en finit plus, qui crie, qui pleure, qui supplie
Il y a le fantôme de tes mains, de ta bouche, de ta langue, de ta queue
Il y a l'espace entre toi et moi
Il y a l'espace

D'amour et d'eau de javel

Je sais pas quand ça c'est passé. Je sais pas. Mais quand je le regarde maintenant, c'est plus pareil. En fait c'est comme quand j'met pas mes lunettes, je plisse les yeux pour mieux voir. Mais là c'est pas des lunettes que ça me prend. C'est quoi? Si je voyais de l'amour dans ses yeux, est-ce que j'en voudrais aujourd'hui? De toute façon, pourquoi y en aurait soudainement? Y a du désir des fois, mais j'ai pas toujours l'impression que c'est parce que c'est moi. Surtout quand j'me déguise. J'y ai tout donné. J'ai joué tous les rôles. Je l'ai fouetté, insulté, frappé, marché dessus. Et plus. Je n'y pense plus. De le voir toujours soumis, c'est un turn off maintenant. J'ai pensé longtemps que c'était ça le cul, sale, violent, tordu.

Mais j'ai 34 ans, ça fait bientôt 19 ans qu'on est ensemble pis là mettons que j'en ai plein l'cul. Ça ne m'allume plus depuis longtemps, mais bon, j'ai toughé. Des fois je lui dis, on fait comme dans un porn ok? Ordinaire, une pipe, par en avant, par en arrière. Il est pas capable.

Je me fais peut-être des illusions, peut-être que j'ai tout faux, mais me semble que ça serait plus façile pour moi de vouloir rester si on avait une vie sexuelle satisfaisante. Je suis encore capable de lui donner ce dont il a besoin, je suis encore capable de le satisfaire, mais je ne suis plus capable de ne pas l'être. Et je ne pense pas que de me mettre à courailler va sauver mon couple non plus, mais euh, bon, humm... ouan c'est ça.


Nothing on TV, don't feel like going to the library, no more books to read or reread (unless I go downstairs and open a few boxes... screw it, too much work)...

I'll hop around the blogs, leaving small comments and lose myself in other people's lives.

Another night at the bar for L., meaning I'll go to bed early. Avoidance. Pathetic. Empty. Lifeless. How about cancelling the whole fucking thing, rewind, go back, erase, burn.

I'm dying here, as dry as that egg that's threading its way to my uterus. No point in making the journey buddy. Just ask me, I'll tell you how the story ends.


Le poids de la vérité

Je le sens peser très lourd. Je sens ma raison m'abandonner un peu plus chaque jour, même si de l'écrire me soulage momentanément. Mais dans le fond, ce que je fais, c'est que j'évite de penser. J'évite la douleur, le manque, le vide, le silence, la peine, l'échec, la peur, l'insécurité, la solitude, la vérité.

La vrai vérité, celle qui me pousse à fuir encore. Celle qui me terrorise. Celle que je n'arrive même pas à écrire de peur de la voir me regarder.

La vérité qui m'empêche d'aller dans mon folder et de deleter tous ces emails que je ne lis plus. Tous ces moments qui m'ont aidé à me lever le matin et donné enfin le goût de passer à travers la journée. Tous ces mots qui m'ont rendu belle. Toute cette merde dans laquelle je me suis mise. Et cette dernière entrée qui m'a tuée.

J'ai perdu la vie pendant quelques minutes cette journée là. Mon coeur s'est arrêté, même si en voyant le message qui me disait qu'un nouveau email était arrivé, je savais ce qu'il contenait.

Je savais que mes journées ne seraient plus les mêmes, que ma vie redeviendrait vide, que plus jamais je n'aurais ton visage entre mes mains. Je l'avais déjà lu avant de l'ouvrir.

La vérité... c'est lourd. C'est fucking dur. La vérité, ça me fait chier.

Truth is...

Standing in the middle of the office today, amidst the cubicles, looking at that loser hooking up a plastic santa to her partition... I just lost it...

-You know, I fucking hate Christmas.
-Why do you say that?
-Because I fucking hate it, everything about it.
-Nahhh you don't really mean that!
-It's all shit to me. All that spending is shit, shopping for gifts is shit, dressing up for people you hate is shit, driving in the snow to eat food that will make you sick is shit and quite frankly all these decorations around here are shit!

Blank stares...

-You have quite an attitude today... pmsing?
-No, I am ovulating... which is sometimes worst than pmsing.
-Really? That's interesting
-I just realized that today is my most fertile day of the month... Now, were I looking to procreate, who the hell would want to fuck me today?

Blank stares...


My thought exactly


I just love Andy Capp. Every time I go to the used book place I look for the small collections, the very old ones. The recent ones I don't like as much, because they took Andy's accent away and it just isn't the same.

Ten things I never said but should've

Surfing blogs I was directed by Stephaine to Secret Garden for an interesting exercise... Ten things I never said but should've. Just list them without putting the name of the persone they're intended to. The funny thing is, as they both mention, is that you realize after writing them down that they can be directed to more than one person.

1. No it's not ok.
2. I never meant to do this to you, I'm sorry.
3. Shut up already!
4. I'm sorry I didn't say I love you more often.
5. Please leave.
6. I don't want you in my life anymore.
7. Sure you can come over.
8. Yes I do mind.
9. Your heroin habit is a turn off really.
10. It was me that stole that gram from your stash, sorry about the problems it brought you.

I enjoyed that :)

I'm glad I'm not into drugs anymore... I haven't touched anything in over 15 years except the occasional joint. And I still have issues with that part of my life, imagine.

Death all around

This time of the year, not only am I reminded of my mom's death, but also of my childhood friend. She shot herself in the head. On January 2nd 2000.

C. and I met in 6th grade. I was new to this small town up in the laurentians, coming from Montreal. My mom send me to live with my dad because she wanted to... well, I don't know what she wanted but she ended up dancing topless and feeding her coke habit. Anyways. So I'm sent to live with my father and his girlfriend. It was really hard the first few weeks. I didn't know anyone, and everybody knew each other. I started to hang out with a weird family that lived next to the school, smoking and stealing and stuff. Then one day one of the girls I was "friends" with confronted me with my friend to be. Saying I had badmouthed her. Which was true, but I wasn't gonna admit to it. So C. jumped on me and started to beat the shit out of me. I had never been in a fight and had no clue what to do.

I was on my back, C. straddling me, punching me in the face when an old man got out of his car and started to yell at C. to get off me, leave me alone. So I did what I thought was the safest thing to do... I told the old guy to get the fuck back in his car, this was none of his business... And a friendship was born.

She was living with her mom, who was a sometimes dancer, mostly waitress and barmaid. Into drugs of course. I celebrated my 12th birthday smoking a joint with C., her mom and her mom's boyfriend. We were best friends, I basically lived at her place.

Throughout the years, we took a lot of drugs, fucked a lot of boys and beat up a lot of people. But then I moved back to Montreal and it wasn't the same anymore. We grew apart. She really went all out and also became a dancer... then dealer... then escort... then she had a kid... then she got AIDS... then she hooked up with a loser who beat her up... who left a fucking gun in the house... which she used to kill herself.

She was an accident waiting to happen. She was miserable. She loved her daughter to death. She was my friend.

Wild is the Wind


By Nina Simone

Love me love me say you do
Let me fly away with you
For my love is like the wind
And wild is the wind

Give me more than one caress
Satisfy this hungriness
Let the wind blow through your heart
For wild is the wind

touch me...
I hear the sound of mandolins
kiss me...
With your kiss my life begins
You're spring to me
All things to me
Don't you know you're life itself

Like a leaf clings to a tree
Oh my darling, cling to me
For we're creatures of the wind
And wild is the wind
So wild is the wind

Wild is the wind
Wild is the wind

-Dimitri Tiomkin, Ned Washington

I miss

your eyes on me your hands on me your fingers in me your teeth on my neck your mouth on my tits your hands on my ass my face between your legs my tongue on your balls your cock on my face in my mouth my fingers running down your body the taste of your skin your skin under my fingers my hands holding your face your hands holding my hips your fingers planted in my skin your tongue inside me your looking down at me sucking licking drinking tasting eating loving your body moving me watching in the mirror moaning crying wanting taking giving look how beautiful you are I want to fuck you hard now take it off no oh yes yes yes I see you looking I see now I still feel you inside me still smell taste want want need...

I changed my mind, I'm not thankful you let go.

the Dude

I watched the Big Lebowski again today. Sometime I wish I was like the Dude. He is totally aware and content. Absolutely ok with who he is, isn't. Jeff Bridges reminded me to watch Arlington Road soon too, I really enjoyed that one when it came out. I love Tim Robbins. He's filming with Phillip Noyce right now, a film about an ANC freedom fighter. Noyce is also directing American Pastoral, from Philip Roth's novel. I bought some stock on the Hollywood Stock Exchange for that one but so far it hasn't paid much.

Also watched The Fellowship of the Ring. How can a movie get better even after so many many times? I hope King Kong will have that same magic.


Pensant que les antidépresseurs lui nuisent, L. a décidé d'arrêter de les prendre... Le deuxième jour il était tout étourdi, faisait de l'angoisse et n'arrivait plus à dormir. Il a tenté de remédier à ça en se tapant une couple d'ativant... Il me conte ça ce soir. Je lui ai expliqué que s'il croyait qu'il était prêt à arrêter, il devait rencontrer son médecin... Il dit, je vois bien ça, et il a recommencé à les prendre.

Je vois bien que ça le fuck. S'il prend les antidépresseurs il ne bande pas, ne ressent rien. Il a l'air d'un zombie. S'il arrête il ne va pas bien. Il prend du ginseng et de la gelée royale, pourquoi, je sais pas trop. Mais du stuff fort, qu'il achète au chinatown. Ça lui coûte une petite fortune à chaque hiver. Alors on a le Effexor, les Ativan, la coke, la boose et les gogosses. Beau mélange.

Je suis assise ici... Je m'emmerde à mourir. J'ai envie de partir en voiture, conduire toute la nuit en écoutant de la musique. J'ai envie d'être dans un bar entrain de boire une bière en écoutant un band blues. On ne sort plus jamais. Ça fini toujours avec la coke. Comme je ne veux rien savoir et bien, on sort plus. On ne va plus au resto non plus. Je m'ennuie du 917.

Je suis assise ici... Je m'emmerde à mourir.

Being thankful

Our neighbors holiday made me think about that. This blog as well. Being thankful is not that easy, I think. Thankfulness is usually mixed up with other feelings. I will try to strip everything off right now say thanks.

to B. for helping me open my eyes to everything, holding my hand for a while and letting go at the right time.

to C. for being honest, compassionate, understanding, bitchy, funny, patient.

to L. for being strong, true, a wonderful father.

to my children for their love, their intelligence, their help and for just being.

to my mother, who while she was alive I was busy judging and criticizing, made me realize after being gone that all she wanted was for me to be me and to be happy.

to my father, for loving me at all times, even when I turned my back on him, and even more when I came back to him, without him ever asking me questions.

and finally, to the people who have paid attention to my whiney ass on this blog. I started here without even thinking for a second that people would stop by and read this. Then some did. And I am amazed. Because you have been so nice, and respectful. No one judged me. I still think that I'm weird, but I know now that it's ok :)

I'm new to this. I'm starting to visit other people's blog and really enjoy it. There are some wonderful human beings around here. And it gives me hope. After many years online, I never thought this would happen.

Shopping... take II

I hate, hate, hate going to the mall. And during the holiday season even more. Christmas music blowing, full blast... You can't even think it's so loud. I think they do this so you can't keep track of how much money you've spent.

I found my dress though, after like 10 stores. I'm happy with it, L. is not thrilled, it's floor lenght. He always wants me to dress slutty. And he was disapointed because I didn't buy nylons. Ah jesus fucking christ. Can I just spend one day, one single day without having to deal with this?

I need some time off. From everything, everyone. Ok, I gotta brace myself for the next month. There will be no time off. No breaks. Gotta be strong, gotta be nice to everyone. I gotta let go. Mmmm maybe I should drink more. Or smoke. No, I'll get through it. Come January, it will be a new year, and hopefully a new life.


Tomorrow being turkey day and all my suppliers being down south, I will take the day off. I'll go shopping for a dress for the company's Christmas party. I feel like getting something totally outrageous, but not trashy. I want to be the star :) well, might not happen, but I can always fool myself for a minute here. There'll be around 500 people there. Lots of competition!

I don't like parties, I never know what to do except drink and smoke. Dance a little bit once I had a few drinks and meet everyone's wife/husband. I don't care, ok? I won't see them until next year anyway. I see these people year round, why would alchool and a nice suit make them more interesting? Sometimes I think I'm totally anti social, or hanging on the fringes of sociopathy. It could be that I'm in the wrong crowd too, I don't know.

But I have to make a conscious effort to be nice most of the time to the people I work with. I have no interest in their personal lives or problems. I hate it when someone is talking about their relationship or their problems with their kids. I don't want to know unless we're friends. It's just too much information. And how about their interests and hobbies? Nope, no interest there either. One quilts, knits, does tai chi and paints wood boxes. Another spends all her time at the casino or bingo.

There are 6 people in my department. None of the others have read a book in the 2 years I've been there. None!!! Music? Movies? Theater? Politics? I make suggestions, bring CD's, lend them DVD's... There is just nothing at all going on here. My work day is working like a growing desert in my mind. I'm drying. Scared, alone, isolated.

So a whole day shopping should bring me back to human form :)

A gift

With my birthday and Christmas coming up, L. told me that as a gift he will pay for some dental work. My front teeth are little bit crooked, not much, but it's getting worst with time. I really didn't think about it until my last visit to the dentist, when he asked me if was happy with the esthetics of my front teeth. I was a bit insulted and surprised. But it made it's way. The strangest thing is, my dad has the same thing. Same teeth, same slant, same deviation. He's older, so I kinda know what it will look like in the future. Scary.

But I was mostly surprised by L.'s offer to pay for it. I look a lot like my father, and he told me many years ago that it disturbed him for a while. Now I wonder you know? But never mind that. It's a lot of money. I'm not comfortable with this. My friend tells me I'm just stupid and to book that dentist appointment already. She says I have to stop acting like I'm not deserving. She might have a point, but I'm not sure. Is it really because I feel like I don't deserve such an amount of money to be spent on me? Or is it because I'd feel guilty later, if I was to leave him?

I'm so torn about this, yet I realize it's not such a big deal. But I have issues with money. And so much money to be spent on my appearance... I don't know. Would that be considered superficial? Smile is important though. And I keep my mouth closed more and more when I do. And I hide my mouth with my hand when I laugh out loud.

It's weird. I'm very confident, have almost no self-image issues, yet this thing has been bothering me for a while now. I guess I'll have to make a decision soon.

De l'eau? Pelagic Plastics

Maisonneuve avec le présdient d'Amaro ce midi... Quelle idiotie cette idée des bouteilles de 15l. Le gars n'avait aucun argument qui tenait debout. Passons outre l'histoire de la responsabilité civique... ça va faire. Le problème c'est l'irresponsabilité des corporations, on va tu se réveiller un jour? Voici les effets à grande échelle des déchets de plastique non recyclés:

Most plastic floats near the sea surface where some is mistaken for food by birds and fishes. Plastics are carried by currents and can circulate continually in the open sea. Broken, degraded plastic pieces outweigh surface zooplankton in the central North Pacific by a factor of 6-1. That means six pounds of plastic for every single pound of zooplankton.

Storms flush plastics down stream and ultimately into the ocean. Plastic debris looks bad, but it behaves worse. Far worse! Plastic pollution negatively effects trillions upon trillions of ocean inhabitants and ultimately humans.

Cet extrait provient de ce site et pour voir un extrait vidéo de leurs recherches, ici.

Aussi à lire: Trashed sur


Lâcher prise

Donne-moi un break... Je ne connais pas ça, les relations. J'en ai eu qu'une seule dans ma vie. Et puis toi.

Pas de drame promis ok? Mais fermer ma gueule pour faire plaisir c'est pas mon genre.

Je comprends bien plus de choses que tu ne le penses. N'assume rien à mon sujet.
Mais de tout comprendre ne m'a pas empêché de me sentir désemparée devant ma disparition. Mon annihilation soudaine et totale. J'ai tourné la page, mais difficilement. Je suis tombée de très haut, à toute vitesse, après ce high.

Je sais même pas si tu vas lire tout ça. Alors je vais en profiter pour te dire ce que je pense vraiment.

On aurait pu se revoir. Le cul ça fait un temps. Combien de fois on aurait pu baiser comme on l'a fait cette fois là? Impossible à répéter, comme si j'avais été vierge. En fait, je l'étais. Qu'est-ce qui serait arrivé après deux fois, trois fois? Je l'sais pas. On aurait peut-être du y penser avant même la première fois.

C'est toi qui m'as demandé si j'étais capable de dealer avec notre liaison. C'est aussi toi qui m'as demandé si c'était juste du désir.

Mais c'est clair maintenant. Non, pas juste du désir. On avait faim aussi. Non, vraiment, pas juste du désir. Mais je ne le savais pas. Je pensais que j'étais cool avec tout ça. Comme j'étais dans le champ. C'est toi qui as tout vu venir.

Par contre pour moi, il n'est pas question d'oublier. Lâcher prise oui, mais pas oublier. Comment t'étais beau, comment j'étais belle dans tes yeux. C'était juste pas le bon moment. Tu m'as trouvé weird quand je t'ai dit everything happens for a reason, everything has a purpose. Mais j'y crois. Si ce n'était pas vrai, ce qu'on a fait n'aurait pas d'importance. Mais ça en a pour moi. J'ai beaucoup appris. Sur moi surout.

Je m'épancherai pas sur mes sentiments. Tu ne m'as jamais parlé des tiens alors je ne me questionne pas là dessus non plus. Mais sérieusement, je capote pas là ok. C'était heavy, je réagis à ma manière, c'est tout. J'ai pas de repères pour dealer avec tout ça. Je fais de mon mieux. Je veux pas te faire peur, je te l'ai dit, j'irai pas plus loin.

Fais ce que tu veux avec tout ça. Je ne te demande rien. C'est juste important pour moi de croire que tu me liras.

C'est ma maison ici, tu peux y venir quand tu veux. C'est ouvert.

Je t'embrasse,

Good Girl

Wonder woman

I was on fire at the office today... Cleaned up a lot of shit, ordered a lot of people around, argued with a sales director, impressed a VP, pissed off my boss, received a couple of emails from another VP who's in China to ask me to take care of a few problems, put a new driver on the road... :)

I felt like firing a couple of my collegues... but I have only so much power. It was a great feeling though. I did share my stories with the man of the house. Who could not have looked less interested. Since he doesn't have a job, he doesn't like to hear office stories. It's your fucking choice buddy, live with it. I get home, feel like a million bucks, and I'm gonna shut up?

So I went to the video store and got Tekken 5, I felt like kicking some more ass. And also rented Gangs of New York, The Big Lebowski and The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

Thorn in my pride


Do you dream to touch me?
And smile down deep inside
Or could you just kill me?
It’s hard to make up your mind, sometimes...
My angels, my devils, my thorn in my pride.

-R. Robinson & C. Robinson

Café Rimbaud


Café Rimbaud

Je t'attends au café Rimbaud
Je sais que tu ne viendras pas
J'écris dans un carnet de notes
Une mélodie au crayon feutre
Une chanson pour la radio

Demain je serai toujours là
A la même table qu'autrefois
J'aurais écrit une symphonie
Un concert pour boîte à musique

Je t'attends au café Rimbaud
Je sais que tu ne viendras pas
J'écris dans un carnet de notes
Une mélodie au crayon feutre
Une chanson pour la radio

Demain je devrai m'en aller
Avec mes souvenirs rétro
Et mes visions au fond des yeux
Comme des images d'Épinal

J'ai laissé au café Rimbaud
Une page de mon carnet de notes
Je sais tu ne la liras pas
Je t'écris un space-opéra
Dans un hôtel tout près du ciel
Au bout du monde en t'attendant
-Lucien Francoeur

Encore dimanche

Party d'anniversaire pour les enfants à la maison. Mes beaux parents, une belle-soeur et son mari, mon père et sa blonde. C'était l'fun, ça m'a fait du bien de voir des gens et de rigoler. J'ai fumé un joint avec mon père et on a eu une conversation sur le culte du héro qu'ont les américans, entre autre Donald Trump et Martha Steward, on a bifurqué vers Halliburton, Michael Moore et Chantal Hébert... Complètement décousu, mais on se comprend :) La belle famille... sont ben fins... du ben bon monde. Mon beau frère veut coucher avec moi, c'est pathétique son affaire. J'essaye d'être distante, je ne m'assois jamais à côté de lui, je n'entame pas de conversation avec lui... Ça fait des années qu'il m'envoie des regards, qu'il essaye de se coller quand on se fait la bise. Come on, là. Oublie ça.

Il faut que je règle mes affaires. Il faut que pense à ma famille. Il faut que je fasse quelque chose avec mon couple. L. est plus attentif ce weekend, on a même baisé et il n'avait pas sniffé. Il était chaud par exemple. Il voit bien que je m'éloigne. Je vois bien qu'il essaie à sa façon. Je ne sais pas si c'est assez. C'est loin d'être tout de sa faute. J'assume mes responsabilités. C'est pas seulement à cause de nos problèmes d'intimité. Je change. Ce qui me suffisait avant n'est plus assez maintenant. Ce dont je n'avais pas besoin avant me manque maintenant.

Je dois décider si j'ai envie de vivre ces changements avec lui. Si j'ai envie de continuer mon chemin avec lui. Je ne peux pas lui demander de changer. Mais est-ce que lui peut accepter mes changments? On s'en parle un peu des fois. Pas de séparation, mais de changement. Il a vécu de gros changments dans sa vie professionnelle dans les derniers six mois. Je l'ai appuyé, encouragé, aidé autant que j'ai pu. Je suis épuisée. J'essaie de lui faire comprendre, sans vouloir le faire se sentir coupable, que ces derniers mois ont été difficiles pour moi aussi. Que les changements dans sa vie m'ont affectée aussi. Je ne veux pas une tape dans le dos, je veux juste qu'il comprenne qu'il n'est pas seul. Ah oui, je l'sais... c'est tout ce qu'il trouve à dire.

Alors c'est l'fun d'avoir de la visite, de changer l'air. De voir des gens que je connais, qui me connaissent, que j'aime, qui m'aiment. Parce que je me sens bien seule ces jours ci.


lolllll I can be such a loser sometimes :) But I can live with it. It's my way of letting him go. I sent him Replay, through bookcrossing. I know it's stupid but honestly I don't care. I have to deal with this my own way. Whatever happens, happens. I won't lie to myself anymore, I won't let things go to please other people. And after all the emotions I've gone through in the last three months, I want to decide how it ends for me. I just hate unfinished business. And I want the last word, just because that's the way I am.

He might freak, or think I've gone psycho, or be disapointed in me, or pissed for not leaving him alone. Don't care. I've tiptoed around his feelings enough. I'm not vindictive, but the way he left really hurt me. Is it so bad if I want to tell him? I don't see why he gets to decide all on his own. Fuck that. It appears that I have to move on, so this is what I need to do.

I'm getting better. The void gets smaller every day. The worst is all the images and physical memories. It was such an experience. And I was so ready for this at this point in my life. I have to be thankful for that.

I also understand that this is not all about me. I'm sure he went through a hard time too after we met. I just wish he'd been weaker and lost the battle against his demons. I know that's a mean thing to say, but fuck man, seriously... All kinds of stupid analogies come to my mind right now.

Bottom line is, I still want his cock... very badly.

The Devil's Rejects

Is a fucking brilliant movie :) Rob Zombie has an incredible eye and can capture images that are just perfect. The colors, textures are carnal, you can almost smell the rooms, the characters, their clothes. You just know they stink. Brutal, deliberate, sensless violence. It's ironic, vulgar, funny, twisted and highly entertaining. He took the best from House of 1000 corpses and just made a perfect sequel. Zombie cut out the Dr Satan scenes from the final product though, but put them on the DVD as extras.

Some movies I want to see...
Hostel. I saw the trailer and it reminded me of Saw. But it still looks interesting.
Grandma's boy... I know I know, but I don't care, I'm sure it will be hilarious.
The fountain with Hugh Jackman. I'm intrigued. I don't care for love stories, but the treatment looks original.
The dying gaul. I loved Lucas' Longtime Companion. I was like 20 when I saw it, it was my introdution to the gay world. Although it came out a couple of years before Longtime companion, I saw Torch song trilogy after. Both films are excellent.
The Chumscrubber... yeah I know another teenage suburbian angst themed independant. But having seen the trailer, I have faith in it. I don't know where it will show around here though, thanks to the megaplexes.
Match Point by Wood Allen. such a different setting... London! Fascinating interview in Vanity Fair with him by the way.
And also... Maurice Richard, Capote, Syriana, King Kong, The Libertine, Va vis et deviens, Le promeneur du Champs de Mars, Trop de volume.


Deux solitudes

Depuis des années c'est comme ça. On fait chacun nos affaires, chacun notre lit. On a plus les mêmes intérêts, les mêmes idées, les mêmes motivations. Le seul vrai lien qui nous reste, c'est les enfants. Et encore. On est souvent en désaccord sur la façon de les élever. Je suis stricte. J'exige beaucoup d'eux. Pas côté performance, mais côté humain. Je veux qu'ils utilisent leur jugement, qu'ils soient conscients du monde qui les entoure, qu'ils soient hônnetes envers eux mêmes avant tout. Il les gâte beaucoup, les laisse aller, ne les réprimande jamais. Mais exige d'eux qu'ils soient perfomants à l'école, dans les sports et populaires. Notre fille ne l'est pas. Il prend ça dur. Personellement ça ne me dérange pas du tout. Elle s'épanoui très bien même si elle n'a pas une tonne d'amis. Je lui en parle des fois. Elle aime qui elle est. Elle ne veut pas faire de compromis et changer sa personalité pour se faire des amis.

J'essaye de leur enseigner la tolérance, l'acceptation de la différence, l'entraide, l'empathie... Il ne se gêne pas pour rire des gens devant eux. Dénigrer les autres. La grosse crisse d'épaisse au dépanneur, l'hostie de loser au garage, le cave, la p'tite laide, le nèg'. Je lui fait des yeux, ferme ta gueule sacrament... C'est pas possible...

En plus, quand ça sort de sa bouche, je vois ce qu'il y a dans sa tête. Ça ne me plait pas du tout. Il n'était pas comme ça avant. C'est avec les années que c'est venu. Et plus ça va, plus il rapetisse. J'aimerais voir de l'espoir pour notre couple. Si ce n'est que pour les enfants. Je suis capable d'en prendre. Mais le temps passe, et j'ai de la difficulté a trouver des ancrages. Je ne peux pas toujours me tourner vers le passé pour me retenir. On peut pas vieillir ensemble comme ça. 35-40 ans encore? I don't fucking think so.


Today my mom would've turned 57. Tomorrow my son will be 11. My birthday is on December 11th, and she died on the 12th.

She's been on my mind alot lately. Of course because it's that time of the year. Also because I'm going through a difficult time right now and I need her. And also, and mainly I think, because I've been thinking about leaving the man in my life. And I'm afraid of that. Because of how life was with her being a single parent. There are things I can accept about how things were, how she was, others I still can't.

I'm not afraid of being alone, or not being able to provide for my children. I'm afraid I'll turn into her. I don't want my children to look at me the way I looked at my mother when I was a kid.


Limb by limb and tooth by tooth
Tearing up inside of me
Every day every hour
I wish that I was bulletproof

Seriously. It's like a movie reel that's been cut up in tiny pieces, mixed up and glued back together (yes like The Beatles). Then its played on fastforward, on a fucking loop. It hits me over and over, each image, of everything that's bothering me. Nothing and everything. The neverending remembering. The nagging feeling of the should've, could've, would've. Smiles, tears, laughs, sobs, screams, silences. There is no sense to this, just shit being tossed up and drilling a hole in my brain.

Christmas coming up. Oh the dread. It has no meaning to me. I don't even want to see my family. Not at Christmas. Not on any holiday for that matter. Why? There is no purpose for this. No one, not a single one of them attends church or expresses any religious affiliation of any kind. So what's the point? And then they go "Come on, sign for us, you're so good! Just one, please!" And then they go to my daughter "Come on play a little guitar for us, you're so good! Just one, please!" And then they go to my son "Come on tell us a joke, you're so funny! Just one, please!". It's Christmas, not circus, you fucking idiots

I wish I could include a few fictional movie clips on my reel. Reality sucks. Dread indeed.

Le coké

Et voici notre nouveau premier ministre. Yé. J'm'en crisse tellement. Voyons voir ce qu'il a dans le ventre. L'éducation, me semble oui. J'ai comme l'impression qu'un référendum va coûter tellement cher qu'ils auront plus d'argent pour rien d'autre.

Pour ce qui est de l'autre coké, l'homme dans ma vie, il est au bar avec ses "amis". À boire et sniffer. Parmis ses amis comptons quelques journalistes en vue. Oui, oui, les mêmes dont le salaire qu'ils se sont mis dans le nez provenait des articles publiés sur la consommation de l'autre.

C'est tu moi qui est trop cynique ou quoi?

Maintenant je vais me dépêcher à aller me coucher. Parce qu'il va arriver gelé et saoul. Et il va vouloir baiser. Mais qu'est-ce que je vais faire? Qu'est-ce que je vais faire ciboire pour me sortir de tout ça????

One day at a time :s

I cringe everytime someone gives me that line. But these days I seem actually live this stupid saying. And I'm afraid it works. I wonder though... Am I loosing sight of what is really going on in my life? Isn't it like avoiding my issues? It sure eases the pain of looking at what I've done and become. I'm not sure its the right thing to do.

T'es malade?

J'ai passé samedi et dimanche sur le sofa à morver, tousser, moucher, toute étourdie. Ça file pas mal mieux aujourd'hui, mais la journée à été longue au bureau...

J'arrive à la maison, je lui dis fais moi pas à souper, ça file pas fort, je suis encore malade. Il me répond, t'es malade?

J'ai réussi à passer au 10ième niveau sur Burnout Revenge, 15 heures de gameplay. Mets en que j'suis malade.


I miss my mom. I never thought I would, not that bad. She was sick for so long, when she finally passed away I thought I was through mourning. And quite frankly, I was. I couldn't handle it anymore. She had no family, I'm an only child. So the responsabilities were just suffocating me. And I felt ashamed for being relieved when she died. But as with everything, I coped.

It will be 5 years on December 12th. The day after my birthday. And right now the only person I really want to speak with is her. Funny, while she was alive we rarely had mother-daughter talks. I was mostly the mom anyways. Not only in the last years, but all my life. I never turned to her when I really I should've. I think I denied her of her role, in my constant need for control.

I never agreed with the choices she made in her life. And I blamed her for a long time for my short comings. I was strong enough to get to here, but not enough to face the reality of my own weaknesses. I always thought she could've done more for us. She was smart enough to know it too. But maybe she did do enough. I see that now, when I look at my own children. What is it that I need to do for them, more than love them, accept who they are becoming and show them how beautiful life can be?

Now my mom is gone, and every day I wish she was here. But she still lives in me, and as the years pass, everything about her that I was denying myself to be is sufacing. I can live with that now.

Read and release!

Isn't that a beautiful idea? If you haven't done so yet, visit Bookcrossing. I won't explain, just go have a look.

I've been a member for months, registered my books weeks ago... Meant to release them but got sidetracked a bit... I'll go release a few next week for sure. I have to. It's too good an idea.

I released only one and someone catched it a couple of days later. I hope he releases it back once he's done!


It was, of course, the voice that made her swoon. The face she had known for a while. But once she heard him on the radio, the face somehow took the backseat and became a blur in her mind. The intelligence, the sexiness… Oh, how he turned her on.

And so she wrote him an email claiming her love, jokingly, in a way that she thought showed some wit. To said email he replied very briefly, even reluctantly, but she pushed on. And soon they were having conversations about their lives, turn-ons. Everything was moving so fast, she was caught in a whirlwind of being anxious about the next email, feeling elated after reading it and getting all hot and heavy replying.

And then he wanted to meet. And then she said no, and then she said yes. And then they had unbelievable sex. And then he said it was too much to bear. And then he disappeared. Blocked her email, said fuck you and went on his way. Well fuck you too buddy she thought, not really meaning it.

Ok, it was a stupid idea to start with anyways. You had it coming. He didn’t have to be an asshole about it though.

So on that very sad night she lit up the thousandth cigarette of the evening and contemplated the possibility of becoming a psychotic stalker.

But then, she realized, she was just too fucking lazy.