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Septiembre 23, 2003

Crazy Talk

Why do homeless guys always talk to themselves? Or at least, why are there so many people in the streets that are doing it? Some guys talk non-stop, and other guys talk, then pause as if they are listening to a response. What is this condition, and why is it so common? I imagine it evolves out of loneliness, but would this happen to any of us if we spent a few years with no one to talk to?

Some guys walk down the street screaming with rage. Screaming and swearing. And I wonder what's happening inside their heads? We can all relate a little bit I think. Everyone's had moments where their mind races and they can't calm down and if you imagined the extreme of this mental process...it's still hard to understand. But there are so many people like this. Every day I pass someone who's doing it, and there they are, just walking around, disturbed. Disturbed is probably the best word to describe it because something inside them is clearly disturbing them. I guess your brain can really just blow a fuse so to speak. And there you are: a walking, talking, cursing lunatic. Just walking and talking wouldn't even be so bad, only you never see anyone talking to themselves in a cheerful way about flowers and bunnies and happy things. It's always semi-incoherent, profanity-laced and angry through and through.

Wait, not always. The other day at the Tim Horton's at Bathurst and Bloor there was a guy -- the guy that bums change outside, and he was inside and he was standing beside the line-up staring into space, and his voice sounded well, sad. And he kept repeating: "What did I do wrong Kirk? What did I do wrong? Why did I ruin the day Kirk? Why did I ruin the day? What did I do wrong Kirk? Kirk? Why did I ruin the day?" That's all he kept saying, to the point where
I felt kinda sad for him. I was like, fuck, give the guy a break Kirk-- everybody makes mistakes.

I have no basis for thinking so, but to me it seemed like Kirk was his former employer, and whatever happened on the day this guy ruined, it
shattered his confidence for good, and that's the day he started down the road to living on, well, the road, in the squalid parts and back alleys of delusionville.

Hey! Maybe he was a P.A. on Growing Pains.

That'd fuck your mind up.

Posted by King at 01:48 PM | Comments (7)

Septiembre 22, 2003

Dalton McGuinty is psycho

That is correct. He is not, as the PC's of Ontario claim, an "evil reptilian kitten-eater from another planet" but he sure as hell is Norman Bates. Click here, here and here for a comparison. Eerie innit?

Posted by Sting at 12:28 PM | Comments (2)

Septiembre 17, 2003


Sucked today. A fucking stale bun smothered in butter then seared on a greasy grill then lathered with tzatziki, then stuffed with old chicken. I took it to the park and sat on a bench. I had to tell myself three times to slow down and chew it, and when I did, it didn't taste good. I looked at my arms afterwards and I could see them pulsing, indicating a heartbeat too fast for my own good.
I lay down on the bench to relax and fell asleep for half an hour. I woke up groggier than before, but too thirsty to drink coffee.

Posted by King at 09:48 AM | Comments (4)

Septiembre 11, 2003

A Message To MPP Rosario Marchese

I think you can chill out with the campaign signs now man. You've got way more than anyone else. Way more.

Posted by King at 12:12 PM | Comments (5)

A Message To Ossington St. South

Get your shit together bro.

Posted by King at 12:07 PM | Comments (2)

New Colour

Pank. The colour of rotting salmon.

Posted by King at 12:05 PM | Comments (0)

Septiembre 10, 2003

Sir Ian McKellen's Dick

Did anybody see what McKellen was wearing at the Movie Television Festival Schmooze last Friday? A fucking white trenchcoat, and an army green T-Shirt with Dick Cheney's face silkscreened on it that just said: DICK. What a guy. And he's 64 years old for Christ's sake! D, who is a mad Dick Cheney fan (albeit apolitically) said I should e-mail Sir Ian to find out where he got it, so I did. We'll see if he gets back to me. In the meantime, McKellen's official website, is selling T-Shirts, with a real do-it-yourself look to them. This pisses me off.

Hey Sir Ian, listen up. You may be a gay knight and all, and you dress fucking cool, but don't be ripping off our million-dollar T-shirt idea now.

Posted by King at 04:21 PM | Comments (0)