Writing On The Walls

Either Write Something Worth Reading or Do something worth writing

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Horse-less Merry-Go-Round and Hoarse Time Hortons Employee.

I keep seeing, experiencing, things that just make me wish I carried my camera around twenty-four/seven. This weekend, I just wanted to photograph everything. It’s been a long time since I wanted to photograph anything.

Like, I understand bringing an expensive camera to a beach in a bad plan, but lol wouldn’t it be funny to have photographic evidence of falling asleep topless on a beach, and waking up in an awkward position, then hoping to god you didn’t roll over onto your back?

And the ridiculous facial expressions of the friend you havent seen in a week because she’s too busy having a problem with you.

And honking at a cop while doing something illegal.

I now understand what David meant, and why he made his May, 2012 album.

I offered to buy a horse named Goober today because in a few months time he is so obviously dog-food. A lump of a horse with serious entertainment value. Doesn’t know what to do with himself.

After leaving work tonight, I drove by the Glouster Fair as they were tearing it down. The only ride left lit up was the Merry-Go-Round. All the lights were on, and it looked so pretty, but they had already taken all the horses off. It was like an empty shell, only reminiscent of it’s former glory. Kind of like the track. Kind of like everything. 

Then, logically, I went to tim hortons. And fucking Samara greeted me over the drive-thru intercom. I expected “seven days” to follow the “Hi, welcome to tim hortons, may I take your order?” Lol, “for the last tiiime”. Poor Sydney (was it syndey?) was losing her voice, well no, had completely lost it. And I tried to make things easy on her but the laughing baker just continued to harass her, (playing keep-away with the halls is a cruel thing to do to a voiceless timmies employee at midnight). And that was the beginning of her shift.

I wish I could have taken a picture of the golf-ball that had grown into the tree at the golf course. Or the corpse bride in La Cigale who obviously could use a lesson or twelve on how to apply make-up.

Oh, so fucking rich, James thinks he can sell his photos online as stock photos. Bah ha. Sent a condescending facebook message to him for that one.

And while working on anti-smoking debate and praying my smoking friends stop smoking, I reach out in support to one of them and then get bitched at for campaigning. Fuck you, secretly totally emo boy. I FUCKING LOVE YOU DAMMIT GET USED TO IT.

Everything right now seems somehow, incomplete. Lacking. But I can’t put my finger on how to fix it. Step one, mend some burned bridges.