yeah so i went to quebec city
punks everywhere, empty beer cans and ramen noodles, long-time-no-see friends and an awesome thunderstrom right before the show made me develop a permanent smile.

rain did well prepare the ground to a massive mud stomping.<
dirty smelly brown liquid orgy that it was.
cramped but oh-so much fun with non-violent hommes and femmes.

the show was alright, they were there with fire spitters and wierd characters screaming out injustices and society failures. they played classics, so it was sorta like listening to their cd at home.

i came back home after a night of debauchery hitching with some random guy under a magnifying sun.
and here i am, burnt and happy.

got drunk and dirty at bérurier noir in quebec city.

answer, you know you want it!

ok, so if you ever want to know what suffering is like, i dare you to go on a week-long roadtrip to quebec city, with twelve of your dorky co-workers. rainy weather, door-to-door sollicitation, superficial as fuck conversations...

which leads to a "i think i'm quitting everything" statement.

so here's my announcement. RENT MY FUCKING ROOM PLEASE! for a month and a half. (mid-july to spetember 1st).
it's really big and lit, furnished, downtown, it leads to the gay side of sainte-catherine and it's cheap (say 130$ for half of july and 255$ for august).
i know it's a good place, i've been there for a month and a half already, i just want to travel again.

this is it or i'm commiting suicide. if you care about me, rent it.
alright?

no cats, no dogs, no annoying roomates (they're cool and they're never home), no fuss and loads of fun in my big comfy motherfucking bedroom.

poor suicidegirls, they must really love the coke...
all the people i know who went to see them are so unsexy and gross i wouldn't bare an inch in front of them. even for money and notoriety.

i feel like getting a blue lily flower tatooed on my shoulder. bonne saint-jean even though you all are square conservative english people. ha.

tired of hearing across-the-street drunken gay karaoke i could show up later. but i'm overdosing party, these days.
funny, overdose is the name of mini's thursday nights. after going to parking on tuesday, bluedog on wednesday, on thurday you're already saturated with overpriced beer and memory holes.

mondainism is killing me.

leonard cohen's susan is a classic on rainy days.

i walked by station c, an art gallery near my place, at noon and saw many cracked-out ravers with bloodshot eyes and studs on their baseball cap.

so what's the deal?

hurray for the children of the learning channel.

if it wouldn't be for them we'd all be alarmed by a society in crisis and rising climate changes.
but i agree that documentaries on whales mating are much more interesting.

i watched TLC because i wanted to learn.

they taught me that americans had saved the world. and not only was it instructive, it was very entertaining. followed to by a ''caught on camera'' drug bust to keep me hooked.
now that's what i call education!

at a psytrance party, drunk.

then stumbling to a plastic tunnel in a kid's park where i layed to cover myself from the rain.

ever since, never again!

fuck them all foreigners who think they are zen with their newage 50pesos vegan meal.
i'd rather eat my refried beans out of the can and have a laugh about how stuckup they are.
next time i leave i'll be going to another place than those un-original modern-day hippie and bourgeois matrimonie traps.

any party that would invest in obligatory food labelling, renewable energies and selective tree cuts in ancient forests.

almost just because i am tired of repeating those facts over and over.

anyone who has nothing to do, to the point they wanna witness cars, running cars, speed and noise and suburbans.

after robert quine dying from a heroin overdose last week (since you junkies are probably too busy looking for spare change to know him, he was tom waits and lou reed's main man), ray charles left us with what's left of the babyboomer mass, poor mental-issue youth that we are, struggling to find better music than these guys did.

last night i went to saphir and as i left, at that famous pizza place there was a bunch of guys eating pizza and one of them called me a dyke, but didn't want to admit it, so i hit him at the back of the head. and laughed.
anyway stupid motherfucking posers who think they are "the shit" because they go to jupiter room but won't even recognize a girl with short hair doesn't have to be gay.

big up, sexy geriatrics.

yeah it's nice. it looks like my aunt's on the île des soeurs.
actually i don't like those pvc snares.
they remind me of holiday inns.
where did the poetry of light curtains softly blown by a breeze go?

Your objective is simple: Criminal Activities.

Your motive is a little bit more complex: Love (Yes, it works)

Stage One
To begin your plan, you must first traumatize a senator. This will cause the world to whisper among themselves, unsettled by your arrival. Who is this evil genius? Where did they come from? And why do they look so good in a corporate suit?


Stage Two
Next, you must sabotoge Empire State Building. This will all be done from a haunted woods, a mysterious place of unrivaled dark glory. Upon seeing this, the world will lose their minds, as countless hordes of mean english teachers hasten to do your every bidding.


Stage Three
Finally, you must prepare your time machine, bringing about an end to sanity. Your name shall become synonymous with the spice girls, and no man will ever again dare roll his or her eyes. Everyone will bow before your extraordinary charisma, and the world will have no choice but to pray to you for enlightenment.

hey simon!
viens prendre une bière un jour que tu ne seras pas occupé à courir partout. j'habite la porte à côté du rona. 3e étage. ouaaaaaiiiiiis!

you're very defensive, like a hidden queer.

ok, first of all it's a transition thing.

for june, july and august. or only july and august if better.

great 7 1/2, spacy and vintage, on saint-catherine near papineau. close to barely anything. 250$/month +hydro +phone. great for summertime.

even better if you're an artist/activist, or if you speak french, whatever if you don't.

with cool roomates such as me (hah), and a eccentric painter, a french musician and a guy that's in japan.

homophobia, racism and sexism are all in the same family.

it's called discrimination.

...or maybe you're gay but scared to show.
it's alright, it happens frenquently.

azzizzuzz needs to get laid.

maybe after he has sprayed his accumulation he will be less of an angry/raunchy conservative, typical macho.

made: party at home, 150people, tech&dnb&reggae, funny french people, paint in the trash, moving tomorrow, for real, with less material than ever. the village, station c.

ruined: estoy tan cruda, dirty floors, cigarette butts, confusion, ears buzzing, dirty laundry, guitar strings.

i hope i don't die tonight.

and why is everyone posting their score if it's just a random stupid game?

hahaha i was thinking the same.

idj's are an easy pickup spot.

sorry simon. i don't know her, but you should drop by to my party tomorrow. pm me.

moist vagina / sonic youth

you create your own reality, sweets.

i'm a cuckoo/ belle&sebastian

LOS TIGRES DEL NORTE. now that's some real badass latin music, mofo!

for some reason i ignore hubert thinks he's my dad.

i pressured your roomate to go.

and yeah, hardcore dnb. with lots of drugs.

biking under the rain washes all worries away.

love.

thanks to the copy/paste feature of 2k4 computer device thingie.

i was fucked off of my ass, but still managed dip my brush and let it flow on the shared-space communal paintings which were pretty nice until some dumb fucking morons came and decided to empty paint containers on the murals thinking they were making some newage revolutionary art.

the many, many rooms filled with multimedia concepts were amazing. to each his own. being not a big tv watcher i couldn't stare at those screens more than two minutes but most ones i saw were original and outstanding.

i danced and i loved it.

so many beautiful people i watched from the upperstairs with my former roomate who wasn't bitchy (at once) for being on ecstasy. and drinking those forgotten beers left on shelves was quenching. then my friend that had just came back from a 4month mexican trip ran to greet me and wasted as i was i asked her "hey what's your name?".
g r e a t !

then i smoked the peace pipe with people i thought that hated me. and even agreed to gather and paint soon.

had to pull my roomates' blouses to get them to follow me in the split-priced taxi to get home at 705 and walk around the village until 800 so we'd be legally buying three big belles gueules and finish it off with a wildcat's 40.

inspired by events as such i promised myself to live next months in a process of creation/production. make connections and share knowledge better.

by the way hippies should not make food in parties where drugs are around.
it took me half-an-hour to get to chew the bite i took out of one of those "energy granola balls". next time stick to fruits and tea. thanks.

what a poet.