dear universe,
i wish i were quebequoise.
i guess i can't have everything?
i would vote duceppe
in the upcoming federal election.
i'm really starting to see where the separatists are coming from.
also i would be sexier.
o well.
i still love you.


slowly, but every day, i become
a little more like my mother.
i've pushed sunday cleaning forward to the middle of the week
so i don't actually have to do any cleaning on sunday at all
and tonight, when i got home from dinner, i washed my nylons
in the bathroom sink, hung them to dry on the towel rack.
what's next? bunions? a laser pointer for the cat?
i'm just curious)


congratulations, i think you've just found the world's thinnest argument.

today is one year since the head-shaving extravaganza.
evaluation time.
report cards.
how critical am i feeling today?
will i use black pen? or red?
if i ask
pass or fail?
can we call it
a coin toss?


today we’re breaking hot weather records.
i’m wearing black pants and a white blouse and everything is sticking.
there are hours owing at the office and this is why i’m here, now,
at seven pm on a saturday, at the receptionist’s desk instead
of my own work station. i can’t log into my files from this machine
and it’s really annoying because that means i can’t do any actual work.
and that means i will likely spend the hour and a half between now and
intermission working on my drawing of zombies encroaching on a city
bus. just as well. it’s so hot. my brain is shriveling from too much sun
and fathoming adobe indesign is a herculean effort and also probably a sure sign
of the coming apocolypse, which will be the series of which this drawing will be a part.
i wish there was a window. i wish i were in my underwear, eating ice cream.
this is what i’ll do when i get home. i can’t even remember the last time
i bought ice cream. actually, that’s a lie. it was the night of the rona murray literary awards,
afterwards, at the market. we got plastic spoons from the deli and ate it
in the graveyard beside the anglican cathedral and i told you to take the rest home
because i couldn’t fit it in my freezer. well, there we are. nothing has changed since march
except the thickening walls of ice in my fridge. and the silence. yes. well.
there’s produce in there so i can’t defrost it and also it’s too hot
to speak.


dear bc arts council,
thanks for the big fat cheque.
you have no idea.


dear employer,
i'm writing in sick to work on account of i got high and watched a david lynch film festival and it fucked me up.
please excuse my absence.


there are thirty days until classes start.
i'm dehydrated and i'm losing my cool.
this afternoon i was not sober and
the bosses were all gone and i made
paper hats for the office bunnies
and we all wore them and it was almost
funnier than the afternoon i spent at my desk
looking like i joined the witness protection program.
i am trying to stay entertained. occupied.
preoccupied. i'm trying to preoccupy myself
from so many things i have nothing left to concentrate on.
soon i will have at least thirty-nine things to keep me busy
every day, and will i do any of them?
or will it be like this?