apathy

This was half the reason for fuckingoff to the land of palmtrees and gator roadkill.
Fucking Canadian Snowsqualls.


Does this make you, little angry redhair blue eyed thing, snicker? =)
This is my squeege. There are many like it but this one is mine....


Im here. On this snowy roof a few entries ago.


Truckin. In the summer, 4 hours of this highway is deserted beach.



Has it gone too far? Is there even line to cross? Ill never know for sure.
He's got that quickness in his step that tells me exactly what he might be up to.
We hop the metro with complete disregard for the fact that most people pay for public transportation.
And then, the waiting game. Down Underground back into the metro (scolded that this isnt a living room),
We're sitting in a dark brick corner, a little girl watches us from across the platform. The subway tunnels dont interest me here because theres no rats. No secret tunnels. I think of where there are and it saddens me.
If I stop, everything crashes.
She warns.... Youll fucking lose your mind. She shouldnt have told me exactly what I wanted to do. Everything is going real fast and I like it. Serendipity? Im all in my head.
Im not back sitting on my pack for more than a few minutes before Im on my way out. A boy whos skin has turned yellow is sick of it too.
Screw all that fancy trainhoppin and your dirty carhartts, we hopped out in style! Couldnt tell you why they never checked our (lack of) tickets.
As a sprite, I used to dream of being a stowaway on a boat destined for Europe. Ive recently heard of successful stories.
Off the train, we walk through "prime real-estate land" construction sites (deathdeathdeath) and our eyes stay on a row of dumptrucks where we could sleep mostly out of the cold ass wind.
At the truckstop, his withering frame cannot eat. I pull my hood down over my eyes a little more than usual. We help a girl who's alone get a ride, and walk back to the line of trucks.
The moon is bright bright right above us, and we story of what we might do when we get to where were going. Were high and its all lies, I know that once we get there, it will be the same old race.
The early morning cold just before the sun gets up *always* wakes me and we manage to get out of there even before the workers start to hate their day.
I take a step back to look at us and wonder if anybody might even consider offering us a ride. We end up putting music on and dancing, eating ice cream... mind as well. Anybody who offers a ride is gunna have to be stranger than us. Its all ladies going to work.
We get to SmogCity and the sky, as I usually remember, is grey and wet. Sitting around in that disgusting excuse for a metropolis all sickly is never so great. Sick becomes Sicker on cold wet pavement. I see ooold highway friends, from years ago.
This house is 24/7 if you close your eyes in it you might mistake yourself for being in a zoo.
My hood is being pulled at and I wake up in the dark on a couch with one cushion, the springs on the other side have gone through my pants and im stuck. "Hey you! Who the fuck are you?" He wasnt here before. He pushes the hair out of my eyes and he stops it with the voice and just stares. Another comes into the room and it becomes 7 shades darker with an empty mind. My time is up.
Ride to suburbia, on the back of a Harley. (thankyou) I wished we were going to the desert to sleep next to cacti and wake up with strange insects on our heads. I want to see the desert, Solitary existance in her i think of. Want to winter with me?
Waiting for my Italian light to make the world go away, I find myself at another waterfront. BOOM. right away. 2 of them. They have sticks and we start having crayfish races. We try to have the claws cut my hair, but pinchy just doesnt get it and prefers breaking sticks. We eat a pack of flower seeds each and my heart beats faster and I laugh a little louder but what a stomache ache afterwards. He keeps randomly walking into the water and pulling out fish, it takes me half the day to realize they are all dead and he isnt magick at all. Lake Simcoe is dying. I wanted to swim but dead yellow and purple animals are all along the shore. And the crows arent eating them. Im staring at it all for too long.
I didnt hear it, deep asleep, but somebody breaks the back bus window. Lets drink! says a voice in the back. She is loud and pretends not to notice the other passengers are sleeping. She makes me loud too and soon we've got the whole bus talking to each other. Vodka. Soooo much of it. We laugh at our similarities, and the urge that is so very strong to grab the cops gun while they lazily go about anything. What fun there could be. You've got nothing to lose after that. Like the deportation game.
Hit the Gateway at 3am, I think of walking the tracks and waiting but theres something about having to step properly without bailing on my face that im too drunk to concentrate on and its too funny when i hop the fence and get stuck at the top. My pants are ripped all over again. These ones might have to retire I think theres more thread and floss than fabric.
Back to the Highway. Long walk up a too familiar hill. Sick to my stomach already with thoughts alone.
Sleep at a truckstop with free breakfast and not enough ketchup. Up at 5am and Im not the only one out there. Treeplant is the reason of the roadside-humantraffic season and why im north too. My feet were just going, I had forgotten there was a where. Im asleep under trees until July.