ghosts & admissons

Adventures In Babysitting

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 02:55:00 +0000

So its been about 3/4s of a year since my last post and there is only one word to sum up my absence. Strippers.

Like passed-out-drunk-on-their-door-step-because-you-are-so-attentive-to-every-word-that-they-say-that-you-can-track-them-down, Strippers. The inner most workings of your reproductive system isn't the only detail I'm paying attention to...careful what comes out of your mouth.

Like getting-my-girlfriend-out-of-bed-and-begging-her-for-money-and-to-ignore-the-bouncer-standing-on-the-other-side-of- our-apartment-door, Strippers. I'm full of alot of things, and money isn;t one of them.

Man, I cant even count the amount of times I should have been arrested.

Welcome back.

Flux You!

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 17:41:00 +0000

In an awesome continuation of my winning streak I won yet ANOTHER contest from 102.1 THE EDGE!

I’m going to see Bloc Party in March and the Toronto International Auto Show this Saturday! Happy Valentines Day indeed!

I got people from grade school that I haven’t spoken to in years calling me…I guess they’re just happy to know I’m still alive.

Fighting fire with firewood

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 17:45:00 +0000

I was looking for a little excitement so I decided to become a drug dealer. The plan was to go to London to pick up a shipment that this Somali cab driver expected from his contact in Yemen. I was the perfect candidate because one, I’m well liked in the Somali community (I once worked across from a fine ass Djiboutian girl who taught me a few phrases, if you can say “I think its snowing” in Somali, you’re golden) and secondly, I was white and customs would never suspect me of being a mule for some Arabian Peninsula plant that nobody’s ever heard of or could give two shits about.

We made the deal over shwarma after declining to join him and his friends at a Somali dance club. I told him I wasn’t in the mood to paint my face and dance around a fire and he laughed so hard that tumbleweed soup came out his nose. We made the arrangements; I was to stay in a first class hotel in Fitzrovia, and meet his connect in a tea house by the nearest tube station. No guns or tough guy attitude required they considered me to be doing them a favour; I could just act completely natural, a Canadian guy in my brothers sweater sitting cross legged on the floor with a dusty ass, toothless Yemenite botanist just a block away from Piccadilly Circus. What could go wrong?

From there they’d take me out to the ports in Twickenham, where I would get the container vessel and the fake ass bill of lading. I was told I’d be more likely to get in trouble from IFAD than customs because they’d be more pissed about me moving invasive species rather than the fact that I was gonna get a whole whack of East African immigrants stone off their asses on this shit.

I was assured if I made the trip a few times (without getting caught) that I’d be living comfortably. Temptation is a bitch.

This is gonna hurt like hell

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Sun, 01 Feb 2009 02:59:00 +0000

This has been a trying 48 hours for me. I started by putting up plastic sheeting all over the apartment. I got off work early Friday so it glimmered nicely in the setting of the mid winter sun. It seems to breathe, the walls heaving collective sighs as I walk here or there, rippling in my path. It almost takes on an organic characteristic that serves to remind/embarrass me of my own failings. It has become my own enemy which I resent. I despise the fact that I can see myself in it, draped tightly over the windows and can hear the static embrace of the wall when my dry ear dares to get close enough to listen. The hair on my arm stiffens and I lament the lack of contorl over my body. But what else is new...

I stay in the kitchen, those egg shell walls are easy to clean.

But my girlfriend sure will be happy if things go wrong. I have a well thought out and comprehensive plan to keep my blood off these walls, and so far it seems to be working. My apartment is white, not nearly enough sun, but white in a non-descript overexposed picture sort of way. This is where we lead our lives; in this cloudy blob of whiteness that dulls our edges and mutes our features. I have 15 corners in my apartment, not counting cupboards or shelves, and I’ve mastered moving from one to the next with a sense of feline self consciousness where every step is at the same time cautious and adventurous. Megan once emulating a cat’s flat paw across my groin and I haven’t forgotten it since. Every step equal intrigue, every step equal impression.

I have 15 beers in me and a bottle of wine and a bottle on Tylenol. Now tell me if I will land on my feet? It would be a shame to waste all this nice plastic sheeting on the walls and globe and mail on the floor only to jump out the window.

Lucky for me I have a plan. What do they say? Jump right before you hit the bottom?

Watch and learn; this is how you get laid!

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 20:42:00 +0000

Me: Drunkenly MSMing chicks.

Her: Loving my poor spelling

First off, girls love it when you can spot a good deal, so imagine how impressed she was when I told her I got 2 pounds of wing and 5 beers for 18 bucks! That, plus me crafting dope poetry at the same time, how could she resist?

Such romantic things like inventing a new karate move and naming it after her then going around punching old people in the heart so they can feel what its like to die alone without her. That doesn’t even make sense but it’s golden, she ate that shit up!

A few more lines like that and she’ll overlook the fact that I’m about one beer away from pissing myself. And I’m gonna think of her while I do it!

Doesn’t get sexier then that! Welcome to the bone zone!

Just be glad i didnt put it back in the fridge this time

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 00:32:00 +0000

It’s Saturday night and I can’t even beg a friend to hang out with me. There was a time when I was double or triple booked every night of the week, and now, now I’m having a photo shoot with different wedges of cheese and a mason s’ jar of lemon preserves that I made. It’s hard to capture the cloudy mix of lemon juice through the reflection of the glass. It’s harder to come to terms with the fact that this is my Saturday night.

Oh Gruyere, you are such a good subject, this light flatters you nicely. And your creamy texture reminds me of passionate lovers that I also used to rub all over my privates!

the price of infamy, an hero...

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 04:51:00 +0000

If planning for the future lets you know you have one, why the hell am I half heartedly dragging this toothbrush over my teeth? I watched myself laboriously with my puffy red eyes muster all my strength to pull my arm in broad horizontal stroke in an attempt to wash this bitter taste from my mouth. To no avail.

God, tell me about dire straits. I called my pastor and church buddy and they didn’t pick up.

Lets get a bottle and drink, tonight!

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 18:26:00 +0000

I’ve been suffering juvenile fits lately. I swear I’m devolving or regressing or something and I love it. I dance erratically like kids in those kiddy pop videos from the 80’s. I head bang to rap, I jump kick to metal, I pack my face with as much beer as I can possibly fit and shake my head until its foams from my mouth and burns as it expands down my throat. I’ll thrash about until my glasses are flung from my face and I’m forced to squint into the faces of my horrified friends.

Fuck you, just because I’m driving with a suspended license because I’m too afraid to open my mail and I’m banned from my favorite strip club doesn’t mean you can judge me. Why do you care anyways? Sure it limits birthday activities and I’m pretty sure people can see through my meager excuses when I say I’m all of a sudden morally opposed to strip clubs.

Me not loving strippers? Its one of the only honest things I do!

Some finer points in romance

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 19:50:00 +0000

So like in most things, my girlfriend has decided to copy me again. First she cut her hair short like me, then she got braces (I never needed them to begin with), this time it’s a blog. That’s ok, as in most cases mine will remain better than hers. She writes about the politics of feminism. I yawn and write stories that make people forget about politics or the fact that they might be a girl because I’m so funny.

Another usless blog, so sad really.

I heard they suck live

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 16:27:00 +0000

Got free tickets to go see Andrew W.K. the first week of Feb. I won them from 102.1 for telling them that it was time for my prep-school girlfriend and her stuck up parents to be exposed to my dirty, shameful love for Andrew W.K.

Yeah boyyeee, me plus 3! Come to think of it, it’s never too soon to reveal your head banging and casual urination habits to the ones you love! Plus who can resist a show where 75 % of the lyrics are the words “party”?

That spells fun, me thinks.

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 21:28:00 +0000

So I was lucky enough to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Revolution in Varadero, Cuba this New Years Eve. I’m sure these stories and many others will come out in due time, but right now I’m focused solely on my cyst. I have one, and it’s bigger than any I’ve found on YouTube. It's so big I call it my a-cyst-ant because it outweighs my girlfriend...well, in the looks department, atleast.

I got now, I dont care whos got next!

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 15:22:00 +0000

The other day I was stopped on the street by an Ultra Orthodox Jew with his 3 children by the Eaton Centre. He asked if I were Jewish, his eyes seemingly lighting up on my approach. I said “no” and continued on my way but turned to my companion and said “Mazol-Tov bitches!”

Typically my Jewish friends don’t accept my partial Jewish ancestry and dance around singing things like “Gentile, gentile, there’s only one part that matters” while snipping their fingers like scissors and waddling side to side in a slow and what I can only assume traditional Jewish shimmy.

First of all; I’m pretty sure they use a scalpel and secondly you’re an asshole! Anyways, I wouldn’t give up my foreskin for anything, shit this thing could stop a bullet not to mention the additional benefits of prolonged endurance and auxiliary bladder if you pinch it right. Plus your dancing sucks.

In any event it was a nice, if not strange validation.

Lecheim!

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 22:08:00 +0000

This last Shabbat was a big one for me. I guess everything sort of came together and I was able to have a meaningful transcontinental experience.

Standing in the snow among the evergreens of my farm I was able to place a stone I took from Auchwitz on my Naugpapa’s grave a year to the day that I stood beneath the Western Wall in Jerusalem. My Naugpapa had been in a concentration camp twice and had escape both times. As I did this, far away in that same city, friends of mine stood before the Wall as I once did. I had just gotten a pin to that affect confirming that I was being thought of.

I recalled its peculiar yellow glow and imagined how it would reflect off their fair skin or blonde hair. I wondered if they searched its crevices filled with the hopes of the devout and faithful, as I had twice before but neither time being able to seal the deal and have my prayers answered.

As I placed the stone on top of the Kopjafák, the traditional Transylvania funeral marker, I hoped that it could retain its superior position at least through the winter. Hoping is hard, sometimes things don’t work out the way you would want. As I walked away my girlfriend asked if I wanted to pray, I said I had friends at the wall thinking of me right now, and that’s more than I could ever ask for.

A gangsta and a gentleman...

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 20:51:00 +0000

Some of my buddy’s pictures from his trip to Ukraine have started surfacing on his facebook and it got me remembering.

Remembering making eyes at a prostitute across the hotel lobby in Kiev while waiting for my passport they had in lockup. I had a pocket full of Hryvnia that wasn’t mine and I had to get rid of it anyways, I didn’t want to get arrested for capital flight. A problem we all encountered as a guy ended up giving me 200 UAH at the airport for guessing his tie was designed by Jerry Garcia. In any event I wondered if maybe I should clean the caviar from my teeth so she didn’t gouge me just in case I decided to go through with it.

I had already justified the porn mag I had bought earlier, I wanted to learn about local preference and sensibilities (didn’t know that hemorrhoids would be one of them) but this would truly be a cross cultural exchange. Maybe it was the romance of the revolution, I wasn’t exactly ducking bullets but I was all alone and my journalist friend was able to confirm for me back in Odessa the rumours of the stabbing of a Diplomat across the Dnipro just the other night, so that was enough to bolster the adrenaline enough.

Luckily I was saved by the young blonde (of course) in her leather jacket (of course). She said she was waiting for a ride from her sister but had no way of getting a hold of her. I offered my blackberry after being surprised that one of the few English words she new was “SMS”. The wedding was breaking up and the lobby was filling with people, as they started to shuffle out the door into the gently falling snow I tried my best to blend in and follow behind, craning my neck one last time to catch a final glimpse of that hookers’ panties, hoping that there wasn’t Anusol in her purse. She glowered at me and snapped her legs shut.

It was too early for them to go home, especially in the heady days following the revolution. There had to be a jazz club or a disco out there somewhere, and they were going to lead me to it.

The shape of things to come (/) in the not so distant future….

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 18:44:00 +0000

Who knew that a year later this week these statements would come true.

…as necessity was always only the dominate force of progress, a new paradigm was required to mediate the differentials between an ever present future, a lack of pure or absolute present and an ideal of a past now so remote due to the rapidity of evolution that the concept of the reintroduction of the galaxies most sentimental creatures was considered…

What I wouldn’t give to have my Grandma back. How sentimental is that?

A year before I uttered these words; “Love supplements the human search for value with a capacity for bestowing it gratuitously.”

Who knew that I would just now begin to understand it...

Collecting Debts

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 21:17:00 +0000

Oh Google Alerts, you are so attentive. Messaging me while I’m still asleep like the good friend that you are so that when I wake up I have lots of cute messages to start my day. Its ok that you’re not human, sentience is over rated and not entirely necessary for a fulfilling and sexy relationship.

I'd kill for the sultry voice of a telemarketer.

Setting fire to sleeping giants

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 18:57:00 +0000

Up until this point I though sadness was violent. Drinking blood and breathing fire violent. Tantrums resulting in bloody fists and broken glass violent. Vowing revenge as you’re dragged away in handcuffs violent. Enduring years of prison sex just to make a point violent.

Quite the opposite is true. My phone hasn’t rang in days.

The course of human history (pt II)

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 21:15:00 +0000

Shortly before feeling its feathers squeeze between my fingers I paused to impart one last piece of wisdom. Yes sleeping together was fun, yes waking up was better, but it would end there. You’re here now in the tender embrace of someone you love, what could be better? Did I not nurture you? Did I not pluck you up from your discarded place? Then whatever comes next is great-if it is swift. For I would never want you to actually feel the full weight of what I’m about to do.

I cooed the final words of Mice and Men, about gazing upon your own reflection and warning you not to drink from standing water. Then I very deliberately squeezed, and let me tell you, you struggled right until the end.

Playing with fire

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 16:13:00 +0000

Ok, so maybe I’ve taken myself too seriously these days. A deep breath, a sober thought, an apology here and there and I can enjoy again. You look beautiful by the glow of Christmas lights. Snow fall cast an angelic illumination about your head; hot breath in the cold air is sexy. It’s not the best, but God it’s good.

Sure, let’s talk about magic. Why not just let? Let things happen the way they do, it’s not a good thing, it’s not a bad thing, it’s just a thing. Romance doesn’t have to be perfect, or free of consequence, it can just be. And that’s fine with me.

I’m just happy to be wherever I am with whoever I’m there with.

Ah there's lies that we've ignored...

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 02:40:00 +0000

I think I said it before; miscalculation burns. Watch the disastrous effects as I rock this bitter metal edge back and forth over a fulcrum of human flesh. I teeter, I taught her. Enjoy bouncing up and down on this.

Go ahead, be carefree; it only saws right through me.

I tremble

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 06:09:00 +0000

I feel like my sternum is split and splayed like oysters yawning open and exposing themselves like ripe genitals, quivering deliciously reserved to inhale, engulf,indulge -tensing as your breath falls upon them. Throw your head back and let that salty flesh slide down your throat. Wipe your sloppy lips, salvage your dignity and apply serviettes to your dripping chin, to your bleeding heart, to your venomous grin.

Help, I’m alive.

Modern love

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 21:57:00 +0000

The best part of suffering is the horrified look of your friends when you’ve clearly lost it. That bewildered stare as pulpy flesh swings from your jowls, the tremulous caution that stays their hand as you gorge yourself on morbid and unsanitary risk. Devouring people is hard; it’s a detriment to your own well being. When you’re up to your elbows in guts you’re bound to catch something.

I’m scared of the future; I’m not really that satisfied. I didn’t envision my life like this, covered in all this blood.

Feed the animals

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 03:30:00 +0000

I feel like a fool
So I'm going to stop troubling you
Buried in my yard
A letter to send to you
And if I forget
Or God forbid die too soon
Hope that you'll hear me
And know that I wrote to you

Talkers keep on saying things like… “You’ll be alright”

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 20:10:00 +0000

My knuckles are bruised a lot these days. My ego’s bruised my stomach’s bruised. I’m fighting a lot; defending even more. I’m under siege and overwhelmed.

How often can I tell my self that love won’t simply pass through me like water through the grinds?

How else could I come out of this? Strong but bitter.

Talkers keep on saying things like..."You're falling apart"

noreply@blogger.com (El Chupacabra) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 04:43:00 +0000

Sometimes I make wrong decisions, sometimes they’re dangerous, sometimes they can be described as unhealthy. So I need all the delicacy of disciplining a child for touching itself in public. “No its not wrong per se…it’s just not an outside thing.”

How can you judge me? Let’s just be happy that I can keep my hands to myself when necessary. Don’t even get me started on your sister.

Oh yeah, this is a tender tender flesh moment...