Train writ: busy train

train 5:15PM departure, Monday, November 9, 2009; on the train from Toronto’s Union station to Bramalea, Georgetown train making all stops; 40 minute train ride, arrival at 5:49PM.

busy train

it’s one of those strange days again. train filled with people, all headinf the same way. is it voukah, or bramalea? you could never tell.

“do you want to sit here?” a girl asks on the stairs. “no thank you” i say. i sit together with soneone already, i thought, just not right now.

bloor just passed. it’s a long way to go, but i guess it wouldn’t feel so bad if i didn’t get this weird back pain all day. it feels like a turtle stuck in my joints, with inflammation creeping hesitantly as its hours of life begin to cease.

so here i am, sloppily writing with a half squat against a sticky galvanised pole, trying to distract myself from motion sickness. oops. just reminded myself of it.

70 questions of my proposed medicine isn’t as bad as i thought it would be. in fact, that extra hour would make my lack of confidence interfere with my gpa.

i got to play “a game” with you again. this time, however, wasn’t a mean one. it’s the ones we fell in love ib, as strange and seemingly taboo it has become in this culture. while walking through mccaul, though, i’ve realised that it never mattered to begin with. i guess it was quite a but more socially acceptable than being impregnated after a stand at thr bar with one too many drinks to spare. i laughed as i passed the rex. funny how it’s across from a prophylaxis shop. is 2010 really going to be made of these things? i’m saddened

this man with his psp. poppy fell on his lap but he didn’t want to make a scene. so he pinned it to the insurance poster. surely the world doesn’t need to remember insurance unless it involves guns.

but who cares. i love you. walking through the annexe reminded me if you. surely boards of canada hasn’t slipped your mind yet, has it?

i smell a train with argent cologne. surely there’s something more thab this on l’autre bord du monde. the concept of masking phemerones for indecent, meaningless sex confuses me. how would it feel to be a child not produced out of biological lovr, but rather the slicked up hair and replaced phemerone therapy?

i don’t wear cologne. i don’t wear watches. no wonder i’m so anachronistic. but that would matter if i cared.

bramalea is here. it’s time to stop.