French: Because I Can

il dit bonjour sans lever les yeux
et disparait rapidement dans une foule
de passants impatients qui ne remarquent pas
les lascérations de ma poitrine
ou les larmes qui se mêlent à l'eau de pluie

je rentre, meurtrie et anéantie 
par la seule personne qui ait jamais su 
me faire sourire comme une idiote qu'avec sa présence
qu'à présent je maudis prodigieusement

il n'a que connu la victime dévastée,
la pessimiste enrobée dans un cynisme obscur et fou
qui passait son temps à compter les gens
qui la laissaient pourrir dans son océan de larmes

s'il n'était pas parti si tôt
si je l'avais retenu en abandonnant 
mon masque de martyr incomprise
peut-être qu'il aurait trouvé autre chose enfoui 
danas les détritus nauséabonds de mon âme

peut-être que mon désespoir écrasant
aurait pu être alléger par une qualité qui m'est 
encore inconnue. mais les hypothèses 
d'un présent autre que celui qui est 
ne sont que des paroles vides de sens.

Alors qu'il s'échappe de mon monde empoisonner
je cherche refuge dans un lieu plus spatieux
où toute ma haine pourra brûler sans interruptions.

Life: Babysitting And Such...

By the time you've read the title, you are quite aware of what job position I've held for the past 4 days: that's right, I was a lovely, determined and caring member of the Babysitting Society. I had to wake up at 8:00AM every morning (7:45, if I wanted a little 15 minute personal yoga session with my Ipod), try not to miss the 9:00AM bus Est, and arrive at 10:00AM sharp, even after a quick Tim Hortons coffee and chocolate chip muffin. What did I do most of the time, you ask? What did I actually do these past 4 days, for a total of 24 hours (yes, a day!) of my life? Well, I played played hide and seek and manhunt, made (bland) ravioli, watched every imaginable Harry Potter movie (except the first because just no, and the seventh part 2 becasue they didn't have it -- terrible mistake: they weren't aware Harry Potter won at the end, surrounded by his friends (the ones that survive --DOBBBYYY :'( )  in a crumbling Hogwarts) went to Subway, played piano and played this game:

Which I lost. EVERY. TIME.

But the time was also educational. I exposed the young 8 and 11-year-olds too Macklemore...

"I touched the net. MAMMA I TOUCHED THE NET!!" is now a secret code too us, which I cannot share with you all for obvious reasons.

and One Direction.

This song has been playing non stop in my head for about 28 hours now. MAKE IT STOP!!!

Needless to say, I had so much fun the 288$ I made in the process were just an added bonus.

Hamlet's Sleep

Mere succession of unfortunate events
Occasionally highlighted
By intermissions of sunshine
Or white lies to stay relevant.

     Why forget the pain
     Clear indication
     That our lungs fill
     With poisoned air

     That our being
     Grows weary of
     Our abuse

     That we approach
     Our inexorable
     end.

          Forget these things
          With the false certainty
          That better things are to come

          Pushing our minds
          To the brink of insanity
          To the edge of an infinity
          Of sadness.

Why do we search
Our own hurting?
Why entertain the ghosts
Crowding our hellish nightmares?
Why leave a legacy of dreams
That amount to nothing
     and will soon the specks
          in History's dust?

I would much rather
be a privileged member
Of Hamlet's macabre sleep

A dissolving essence

                       in eternal

                                        slumber.

The Bus Chronicles: Daniel

My weekend was pretty good, starting with a nice surprise party that left my friend H pissing his pants (he was really surprised), and a Church concert thing (urgh) because my Mom is kind of devout, and some Bishop was going to be there too. And then I had to rush, late as I was, to my friend's directing debut in a play. (I was only able to catch the last 15 minutes. The theatre, a school auditorium, is tiny and everyone heard the fucking door open as I tip-toed my way to a backseat.)

As you can probably imagine, I was annoyed, tired and mostly annoyed as I tried to find my way back to the nearest subway station. I hopped on a streetcar and read a book I had brought along and next thing I know this announcement comes on:

PLEASE EXIT THE STREETCAR AT THE NEXT STOP.

THIS STREETCAR WILL BE SHORT TURNING SOON.

And in my mind, I've murdered the driver a few times. Why couldn't he just finish the job and GET ME TO THE STATION?!!? So, I'm left stranded on a street corner, in cold weather a Saturday night with the only other passenger left. So I did, what people normally do in such situations. I started talking to the guy.

Turns out he had just dropped off his Girlfriend at home (awwwww --- tooo bad -___- ) and was on his way home too. Then I learned he was a fouth year student, majoring in Biochemistry and Neurosciences at the University of Toronto. WHAT?!?!

So we had a nice conversation about math, and physics, and how you need to persevere if you want to make it. Also, not to feel bad if you decide this load of math, physics, chemistry and other unpleasant scientific studies just isn't for you. 

Finally, he warned me against the thing that hurts the most during your first year in post-secondary education: if you thought you were smart before, get ready to have your ass served to you on a silver platter by an Asian that can do EVERYTHING better than you.

Great, just great... hahah

P.S. : Though I am portraying a stereotype, I would like to remind you that it is a positive one. Being smart is a good thing. Now, read that again, and try to convince yourself there is such a thing as a "positive stereotype". That's a dangerous way of thinking. That's like saying "positive racism" or "positive rape" (==> Mitt Romney, anyone?) 

The Bus Chronicles: Wise Photographer

He sits in the corner
Closest to the opening
Towards the stars

It's cold: his layers prove it
Jean dress shirt, plaid sweater, tweed jacket

What a hipster
This wise photographer

Red colored pants
Nice blue shoes
Personality of many hues

A camera around his neck
A Dollarama bag filled with wires
That interwove with his deeper desires
Of future glory
And wise story

On a downtown bus
On a cold Sunday night