30 déc - Speak No Evil, Thou Who Know So Little

It's past midnight and my head is fuzzy already. I've drink maybe four or five beers, by now. We were supposed to meet some people around eleven... And we're still waiting. I tell my friend I want to go out, take a drag of a smoke, so he follows me and does the same. I feel uncomfortable for a moment, then take a look around me. On the main wall is written: "More Than A Friend". I'm now afraid that something might go wrong.

As we finish smoking, I stare at some of the people sitting inside and recognize some girl we've met the last time we came together, maybe four months ago, or more. I tell my friend she's there, but I feel so stupid for a second, because I know he's gonna poke me 'til I talk to her. I am relieved as she passes by and talk to us, since I don't like to start conversation. She tells me about that night when I said to some prepy boy: "Sorry, I don't touch your kind of people. See, I'm homophobiac." I don't recall that part, but laugh anyway, feeling kind of proud for a moment. And then, the fear comes back again.

The people we were supposed to see canceled for some dorky reason. Something concerning some baby sitting or whatever it is. I come back at the bar to ask for a sixth beer, but the bartender looks at me, shrugs "Oh you again. Mister generous", and call quits for a smoke. I'm completely lost.The next barmaid comes to me, takes the order and gives me the beer I asked. Since I'm all "what the fuck" because of that douchebag, I give the girl twice the price of the beer in tip. She tells me I've given too much, and I turn to her and say: "That's for shuting your stupid friend's mouth." Raph is still talking to Fairy when I come back. I want to go out again, and smoke for the rest of the night, but the dizziness won't wear out and I feel like I should stop drinking. Some really young but very tall young ginger girl comes by, smiling at everyone except me. Her hair is shaved on the sides. God I hate that new style of hair-do... What a shame for such a pretty girl. She spots my friend and talk to him in a very smooth way. It seems she's drunk and doesn't give a fuck about how stupid she looks, talking to anyone like that.

THAT. I was afraid of That kind of thing. You know, when you're having a good time with an old friend, and then, suddenly, out of nowhere, That. Someone, really neat, even sexy maybe, comes by and talk to your friend. And she-just-fucking-ignores-you. For the second time tonight, I feel like some stupid retard from the suburbs, while I look at my best friend, all teeth crocked, curly and itchy hair, getting all the fucking glory out of a fucking drunken teenager.

I see this, and remember the prom night. One of the girls I had a crush on, earlier that year, was having a goddamn good moment, making out with a friend of mine. She was literally on him, on his seat, pulling out the tongue like a fucking Alien or whatever. I remember walking him to our room, speaking non-sense, saying stuff like: "I don't even like her, dude! She kind of disgust me, you know?" And I remember how much I've seen this scene over and over, through the last six years. How much did I hate those guys for being so lucky and so fucking rubbish about it.

Seriously. Put a bullet in my head. It would be so fine...

The hall becomes very hazy. Someone put a smoke machine in the entrance and it's so dark in here, I can't see shit. I check my pack. Empty. See someone dragging one out so I grab it, and light it, without even knowing if it was there for me or what'ver. I smoke it all in one shot. Can't see straight anymore... and faint.


There's a hole in my shirt, and a huge stain on my pants. Some big gorilla picks me up while I puke on his back before he knocks me out out my world again.

I'm a total wreck. No solution... I don't know shit about living properly. I should just shut the fuck up and walk all the way home by myself. That'll teach me some goddamn manners, you fucking nitwit.

Cab remixed

"T’as vu, aux nouvelles? Le type qui est mort." Le chauffeur du taxi, un nègre, baisse le son de la radio. "On parle pas d’assassinat, mais je sais qu’elle l’a tué, la vieille. Y avait du sang partout, t’aurais pas aimé être là. Je l’ai vu, moi, baignant dans sa marre. Old buddy of mine. C’est dégueux, la vie, des fois. Ça te prend par en arrière, et BANG, t’es mort. La vieille, elle s’appelait Justine. Une vraie chipie, celle-là, toujours à pleurer, à raconter ses malheurs. Michel a tout fait pour la supporter, mais en moment donné, un gars s’écœure. Bon, c’est sûr, ça se tapait dessus, mais rien de grave. Une taloche pour lui fermer la gueule. Évidemment, la bonne femme la fermait jamais, elle rapportait toujours à la police ou whatever… Les crisses de colonisés, la tête baissée dans le fond du trou du cul, moi ça me fait vomir. S’abaisser aux règles de madame, c’est franchement vomitif. Vraiment, ce gars-là a souffert pour elle; elle s’en est jamais rendu compte, par contre, non! Juste pour une partie de fun avec une p’tite fille qui, ELLE, n’a jamais dit un mot sur les méthodes de Michel, la crisse de folle pète un plomb pour de bon, lui casse la tête, lui fourre un concombre dans le trou d’balle, et pisse dessus! Tu trouve ça normal, toi? » J’offre au chauffeur dix dollars supplémentaires s’il cesse de piailler et qu’il remonte le volume de la radio. Il préfère cependant continuer à déverser son torrent, son fleuve de discussion de ghetto. « L’autre jour, y a beaucoup plu, hein? Es-tu sorti, mercredi? L’autoroute était complètement bloquée, c’était le Saint-Laurent sur la 15. Ah oui, y a aussi l’autre, Charest avec ses magouilles. C’est tu pas un crosseur, lui quand même! Franchement, prendre NOS fonds publics pour financer un procès qui mène nulle part. Je vais te le dire, moi : on est tous des Michel qui se font rentrer profond par en arrière pis on dit pas un crisse de mot parce qu’on est trop tight ass pour faire un move!"

"T’aurais-tu du feu", je lui demande. "T’es bien fin, mais là, ton discours, ça ne mène à rien. T’as beau être révolté, tu ne feras rien pour changer quoi que ce soit. Deal with it." J’allume une cigarette, malgré l’interdiction, puis continue. « Je dois être au mariage dans dix minutes, alors dépêche". Je mets mon casque d’écoute sur les oreilles.

x + 1

but "i'm not what you want", she said.
People are afraid...