The Fucks

The fucks that forgot to put knobs in our doors came back again while I was sleeping.
They always come before eleven to make a ruckus in my kitchen.
One time it pushed Matt into my bed.

The Metamorphosis

I am now freed of all constraints binding me to my sub-basement with all of its red lights and Basils. It all happened thusly:
I was sitting on the window ledge, peering outside at a car tire through the screen. Noting that this feeble looking object was the only barrier to my proper state of nature, a plan began to formulate inside my cute little head. I quickly surveyed my surroundings - Kyle was standing around the room looking blank at the time - he didn't pose any sort of threat - so I nonchcalantly started batting at the screen in an attempt to loosen it enough to slink myself out. It didn't work very well, not having opposable thumbs unlike my comrade, Thumbs (may he live a long and happy life), and I was forced to take a step back and analyze the situation from a fresh perspective.

While thinking hard about what my next steps would be, I observed that some bugs were flying inside, attracted by the absurd and track-lighting, through a rather large hole in the screen. I thought to myself, "Why, look at that Dirk! If those bugs can get in and out through a hole in the screen, there's no reason that you shouldn't be able to." I admit that the logic wasn't entirely sound, but it led to my freedom nonetheless. The hole was a little bit too small for me to fit through (after all, I am no Slinky), and I didn't want to resort to damaging anybody's property lest a hefty fine should make its way into my lap.

I left the ledge immediately - confused and conflicted. That night I had terrible nightmares. I was outside, but didn't know where I was. I was lost and terrified of everything that moved. A spotlight comes on - seemingly looking for something - and I realized that the spotlight must be looking for me. I tried to run into a corner, but the corners shrunk away at my approach and the spotlight trailed just behind me. Finally, I began to tire and was forced to slow down and let the spotlight find me. It did, and with it came a police officer handing me a ticket. "Dirk, this is for you." I opened it. Kitty-hands shaking. "Three million dollars for a screen!!? I don't have three million dollars!" "That's too bad, Dirk. Maybe next time you won't break that screen." I woke up in a cold sweat.

I was scared, but still wanted to go outside. The next day I read some John Locke to see what he'd say about my situation. As I read, I began to feel a sense of outrage, of injustice. Am I not allowed even the smallest liberty? I must revolt. And with that, I strode confidently to the window, gently peeled the screen back and scuttled outside. The moment has since become one of my proudest. I have absolutely no regrets about it. If, as in Nietzsche, I were forced to live my life over and over again, I would be honoured to commit that particular offence for eternity.

My little heart is brimming with joy. Mine cup hast filleth. Justice is not a myth, for she exists.

At a Cafe in Burlington

So I'm sitting here, in Burlington, looking up how to do calculus on the internet because I don't have my roomies here to help me. There's actually a great wiki textbook on calculus (or it's great so far in its description of functions). So there I am - on the internet in Muddy Waters - concentrating hard - and this dude starts talking about his career as a camp counselor or something mundane like that. And he's talking for like 30 minutes and I'm thinking "OK, this is like an interview or something", but he doesn't stop, and then the girl that he's talking to tries to say something or relate to him in some way and he responds "No, it's not really like that" before going on for another 15 minutes, so I figured that it probably isn't an interview. Then I leave to go to Burlington Records...to pick up some records.

I came back 45 minutes later and he was doing the same thing to the same poor girl. It may have gone on all night. I'm not sure, I left a little bit later.

Fast forward to today. This middle-aged guy is monologuing to this girl about how he used to play minor roles in Shakespeare plays at UVM when he was 14 or something. This also went on for at least 30 minutes during which his poor girl said not much, either. Turns out that this was an interview, though. But at the same time, he was the interviewer.

So, if you want the opportunity to speech about yourself to poor girls in Burlington, then I highly suggest Muddy Waters on Main. They have great coffee and play nothing but The Beatles and Pink Floyd like the rest of UVM.

But seriously, I really do like the cafe.

Miss you Dirk!!

Stickyfingers

yo my fingers are sticky and it's unpleasant.

A Little Brekkie

This morning, well it was actually about 1pm, I was dreaming about waking up with lice and bed-bugs all over me. I think I was influenced by Lee's dream because I began to call our landlord all angry-like. Anyways I woke up and my head itched but it was only because I haven't showered in a couple of days and I'm hot and sweaty.

Actually what I woke up to, and it was beautiful, was Lee telling me that we're all going to get breakfast - as a family - at Le Vieux - and then Matt came in and we talked about Dirk and Basil and their troubled and complex relationship.

Mattson is leaving soon. But don't worry Mattson, I'll always think of you as my roomie, even if you're a million miles away on a spaceship heading to Mars. Or into the sun. But not before I steal your music and a couple of your movies.

There's a hole

Had a dream last night our apartment sprung yet another leak, this time in the ceiling above Mattson's bed. It was thunderstorming and several friends were over at our place drinking beer in the kitchen when it started. We push the mattress against the wall and put a bucket down on the floor, but it's coming through hard. Everyone is hush as I make the call to Parzad Feyrow*, our landlord.

Ringing. Ringing. No answer. That bastard. I decide to leave a message. I'm gonna go for it. I'm gonna do it all nasty like. I'm not going to hold back any of this latent anger. I'm gonna make it manifest in the worst message conceivable:

"Hi. This is Lee from 9073 Pioneer.* We've got another leak. It's in a different spot now. It's in the front room.

"Parzad, I'm so FUCKING sick. So fucking sick of living in this SHIT HOLE. Now you better get your miserly FUCKING ASS the FUCK over here right now and -"

But for some reason everyone listening has started laughing. And laughing loud enough that I know it's being picked up by the phone and being recorded in the message. I stop my rant and chuckle a little too. I hit the seven on the phone to erase the message and start over, but it's doesn't work. The voice mail box lady never speaks and the message has gone through, incomplete and with laughter.

We all keep laughing and go back to drinking beer.


*Some names and places have been changed to protect those parties involved

Warning Signs

Dirk is back for the night quite against his will. He has been hollering at me to let him go outside since we let him in, despite Basil not being around. In an attempt to placate him, I took out the bowl of cat-nip that Matt Murphy kindly left around for us. The last time I had seen Dirk with some of the sauce, he had no idea how to handle it. Should he sniff at it and sneeze? Should he paw? Does it do anything if he fixes his eyes upon it? Well, this time Dirk was hitting the nip hard. And when he had gotten enough, he got mean. Real mean. And then he had more. He was licking it straight from the bowl and he didn't stop.
Good God how he didn't stop.