Picky about matters

177 Davie St., Urban Fare, gourmet grocery store, Vancouver

There was supposed to be a visit to my small apartment-unit today, but as so often happens they were delayed until the early afternoon. Come on, you fuckers, come on, don’t make me wait. Movve it.

We — the three of us — when they got here — had an unusually long conversation. They are going to take me out to a proper restaurant for my birthday. I requested steak, as per my deeper hungers. The rest of our convo was a lot of bullshit: movies I like to see, the library I visit, et cetera. I can’t believe I have to go through this every Monday and Wednesday. It used to be Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday for the second week, alternating every two weeks, but they apparently just dropped the mid-day. Fuck. Goodee for them.

They were checking for fires in the Regal Hotel very recently. It’s a fantastic location, really, although I’m lined up for moving into a nearby abode on Howe St. That’s supposed to take a while.

My legs have been killing me the last 2 or 3 days. I really want to go running, but there you have it.

I perused the “Rise of Evil” docudrama — (Canadian according to the prelude notes?) — again. Something about that hypnotizes me. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I can’t get over Robert Carlyle’s Hitlerian eyes. Hectic, bulging almost — a really good acting job, commensurate with what documentation we have of the Great Man of History.

If it was up to me, we’d put Napoleon on one euro bill, Hitler on another, Alexander on a third, and so forth. It would be the most glorious assortment of monetary cards ever.

The fact is, I’m wasting my time. Even the limited lexicon I’ve begun to recreate isn’t enough. I wish I could do more. I really do.

I’m waiting for something to happen here. It’s a private sort of deal. But I don’t think the Jealous One is as strong as she makes out to be. There was a black man who was waiting to come into the building with food. That’s heavy symbolism. We’re dealing with a crowd which practically lives, eats, and shits symbols. Their honesty comes through via symbols. They need to talk to real people — because they are false — and so they try and figure out a way to get around the rules prohibiting their honest talk. Just like a girl to be bound by mommy’s rules. So stupid. I have nothing but contempt for the cunts of the universe.

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