Phatt.

This is the wee bit I wrote for the show last night:

I was just lying around clipping my toenails, watching the pieces fly this way and that, landing like hail all over the ugly red carpet. I thought I should vacuum it up before I let the cat back in. I wouldn't want her to get a piece of my sharp toenail embedded in her sweet little paw cushions. That could lead to an abscess. Well, that's something my Mom would say anyway.

I lay there for awhile, thinking about that, really mulling it over. To vacuum or not to vacuum? That is the question. Instead I decided to smoke some of the pot I had sitting on the top shelf of my bookcase in a dirty looking baggie with a yellow twist tie. I grabbed the pipe that was beside it and sauntered over to the kitchen window. I pulled up one of the hideous brown and orange coloured chairs, the ones I got out of my Grandma's garage, opened the window wide and had a seat. Man, was that some good smelling air. For some reason our apartment always smelled like a meat factory. It was a mystery that we just couldn’t solve, so we had stopped trying. It made any fresh air that wasn’t tinged with the scent of burning flesh kind of a big deal.

I opened my eyes. I didn't have much of a view being that I was looking right at the brick side of my neighbour's house. There was a small window smack in the middle of all the brick. It was dark in there save for the slight illumination of what I imagined to be a night light. I stared into that dark room, seeing nothing. I watched the big cloud of smoke curl up up and away as I exhaled. It occurred to me that someone could be in that room, staring right back at me and I wouldn't be able to see them.

I turned around and scanned the living room. Oh right. There were toenails to be vacuumed up. I'd rather think nice things though as I like to do when I'm stoned and by myself. So instead let me think of you and that time we spent sitting around the dinner table late one evening on that island we like so much. We sat there listening to him read to us from his journal about being horny and desperate and we all laughed and laughed. It is ok to laugh at someone horny, desperate and good looking, right? It was then that we took off down the steep path to the boat and climbed in, fast. It rocked back and forth and I was sure one of us was going to take a tumble into the cold, dark ocean. He sat in the middle and started to row while you and I on either end leaned back, hands in the water, leaving a trail of fairy dust and shining jellyfish in our wake. If we had sunk to the bottom of that sparkling ocean right then I wouldn't have minded at all. Ah, my dear friends, how I love you.

Back inside, he went and got into the bath and then sat there in the dark, looking up through the skylight, singing to himself quietly. Although the door was closed and I could no longer see him, I had a feeling he was fiddling with his nipple hair.

My hands were the only hands that ever washed the grime from his hair so I knew that it had been over six months and that he could use a good scrub. There was no way he was going to solve his problem without a little shampoo. I yelled out to him: "Why don't you try washing your hair while you're in there!" And then I grabbed you by the hand and we ran off laughing, out the front door, into the darkness and down the road.

I wondered if there was anyplace else in the world as black at night as here.

At the end of the road we turned right, down the little path that took us to the big cliff we all liked to visit during our lazy summer days. Now it was night though and we wondered what secrets were in store for us. We sat down right on the edge and looked out at the ocean and at all the glowing lights from stranger’s houses across the bay. It was windy and we huddled together to keep warm and as an excuse to be near the other. It wasn’t close enough. If I were able, I would have disappeared right inside you.

I heard the arbutus trees peeling, could you?