Saturday, September 04, 2004
"She wants to dance to my pulse but I've got heart murmurs." Sage Francis
I had an interesting night tonight, despite activity levels being at an all time low. I farted around and down to St. Thomas for a raspberry italian soda and sinful rasberry cream pie. Oh Raspberries!! I want to be in a big bathtub full of them one day. I read there until I got kicked out, and then...the wanderlusting began.
I thought about what I'd written earlier and it just kind of carried my feet away throughout St.Albert, and I made a mental scrapbook of all the things I saw tonight that fit my words earlier, so I knew I wasn't wrong. Or crazy in my observations.
Later, when I was walking on the west side of the river, I observed a small yellow tent half submerged in the river, and half on the bank. At the time, the way the wind was pushing it, I honestly thought there was an animal trapped inside of it, like a beaver, that was trying to get to the water in vain or something. And what should happen next, but I ran into a savoury crowd of young drunk/stoned St.Albert youth. Oh joyous occasion! The original intent was to borrow a cellphone and phone the police and get a number for animal control, but seeing as they were underage and outnumbering myself, I gathered up the bravest drunkards and we ended up squooshing our way over to the puptent. Me and Henrik consequently proved to be the only brave ones. No beaver, no body, but a soggy sleeping bag and a soggy cardboard box with someone's wordly possesions in it. I felt terrible. This guy is basically living on the side of the river. His clothes were out to dry on a log, and the whole area was cleared. Actually a beautiful campground potentially, if not for the mighty stagnant sturgeon and the swarms of bloodsucking creatures that emerge from its algae choked depths. At the same time of feeling terrible, I also felt very unsafe. It was spooky, because I could have sworn the movement of the tent seemed so deliberate, and when we got there, there was no trace of anything living. I'm gonna drag Fenton and a can of thick n' chunky over there tomorrow to check it out maybe. Interesting though, because the statistic for homeless people in this concrete jungle is like, zip, nothin'. I wonder what happened, or if this is just a party lair for more of these fucked up children. The thing that made me feel very weird about standing in this little tree niche with black all around was the smell. It was something above river smell, and I couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it sort of made me panick a little. I eventually herded Hendrik out. More bizarrely, he seemed to take the whole thing just as seriously as I did, while the rest of his friends were just...typical. And drunk. I was very surprised that he just jumped right in there with me, and I suppose I've made a grievous error in my little judgement of St. Albert citizens in the teenage bracket.
Just had a long chat with Fenton. Damn I enjoy talking to that kid. Witty banter! Love it! ¶ 3:08 AM
I thought about what I'd written earlier and it just kind of carried my feet away throughout St.Albert, and I made a mental scrapbook of all the things I saw tonight that fit my words earlier, so I knew I wasn't wrong. Or crazy in my observations.
Later, when I was walking on the west side of the river, I observed a small yellow tent half submerged in the river, and half on the bank. At the time, the way the wind was pushing it, I honestly thought there was an animal trapped inside of it, like a beaver, that was trying to get to the water in vain or something. And what should happen next, but I ran into a savoury crowd of young drunk/stoned St.Albert youth. Oh joyous occasion! The original intent was to borrow a cellphone and phone the police and get a number for animal control, but seeing as they were underage and outnumbering myself, I gathered up the bravest drunkards and we ended up squooshing our way over to the puptent. Me and Henrik consequently proved to be the only brave ones. No beaver, no body, but a soggy sleeping bag and a soggy cardboard box with someone's wordly possesions in it. I felt terrible. This guy is basically living on the side of the river. His clothes were out to dry on a log, and the whole area was cleared. Actually a beautiful campground potentially, if not for the mighty stagnant sturgeon and the swarms of bloodsucking creatures that emerge from its algae choked depths. At the same time of feeling terrible, I also felt very unsafe. It was spooky, because I could have sworn the movement of the tent seemed so deliberate, and when we got there, there was no trace of anything living. I'm gonna drag Fenton and a can of thick n' chunky over there tomorrow to check it out maybe. Interesting though, because the statistic for homeless people in this concrete jungle is like, zip, nothin'. I wonder what happened, or if this is just a party lair for more of these fucked up children. The thing that made me feel very weird about standing in this little tree niche with black all around was the smell. It was something above river smell, and I couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it sort of made me panick a little. I eventually herded Hendrik out. More bizarrely, he seemed to take the whole thing just as seriously as I did, while the rest of his friends were just...typical. And drunk. I was very surprised that he just jumped right in there with me, and I suppose I've made a grievous error in my little judgement of St. Albert citizens in the teenage bracket.
Just had a long chat with Fenton. Damn I enjoy talking to that kid. Witty banter! Love it! ¶ 3:08 AM
