The Church, Church Street, and Streetcars Not Named Desire

19 May

lights out sometime around 3 a.m.
then up with the infernal birdies
screaming outside the window
at 6:23 a.m.
3.5 hours of sleep logged.
dazed and confused from a total of 3 or 4 litres
of red wine and various other cocktails
interspersed steadily throughout the day.
this is a fantastic city in the spring (i dig church st.)
so i’ve hit it at a good time.
listen, they got pools up here?
all the way up here, they got pools?
is it warm enough to get into a pool?
ever?
the ding ding of the streetcars
reminds me of bucharest
of home
of san fran
of nothing.
ipod is picking on steve kilbey and the boys:
under the milky way
first
then
north south east west
then
reptile
and finally
metropolis.
and i’m starting to think that there’s some sort of
shady, backroom deal being made between steve jobs
the church and my little white machine.
no?
i’ve got a mission on tap this afternoon
something about walking around like zombies
and shooting people
(with a digi cam)
maybe i’ll get chapfu to snap some photos
of yours truly
and upload the bastards to this site.
we’ll see.
nothing is planned, other than a couple of pints
somewhere.
and apparently i’m flexing my mario batali muscles
tonight
so i have to get going and buy some junk
to throw into a pan with extra virgin olio de olive
they got that up here?
they civilised like that?
i don’t trust any of these freakishly-friendly canucks.
if you don’t hear from me by tuesday
call the cops and tell them to look for me
chopped up in bits
in gran mama’s heirloom trunk
out back by the carport.
(they got cars up here, you know. crown vics
and all that…)

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2 Responses to “The Church, Church Street, and Streetcars Not Named Desire”

  1. slyboots2 19/05/2007 at 3:37 PM #

    They only bury the bodies on the pig farms. That’s where we’ll look first.

    Now I gotta go before I start whining about wanting to enjoy the fun…Keep on enjoying, dude- you deserve!

  2. Lx 20/05/2007 at 11:37 PM #

    tanks
    tanks?
    tanks it is.

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