March 15th, 2013


I'm sorry.

If I hadn't existed, everyone would've had a much easier time of it. The teachers who wouldn't have to pass me despite knowing I should fail. The classmates who wouldn't have to put up with me ruining their perfectly good explanations of troublemaking. My parents could've had a better kid than me. Consuming guilt. Dream up promises. I want to die.

Stompin' Tom died well known and respected, calling on all of us to be better Canadians. I have only ever been in love with American women since high school. I am a disgrace to my country. I want to die.

This used to be one of my favourite songs, Neil. "When will I see you again?" Now I know, for so many of us, though we wish otherwise, the answer is "never." The plaintiveness in your voice and mine, betrayed by simple physics. I want to die.

Well, no. Having written all of this, I want to listen to "Sultans Of Swing". I am fickle? The god pulls its fangs out of my hide.

Posted via