Category Archives: LiveJournal Imports

I got nothing against him, but I’m definately gonna make orphans of his children.

I had a very sad entry here, filled with all kinds of horrible things about the world. Stories to make the sky weep.

However, I’ve decided it’s a bit too early in the morning for a narration of how hollow space really is and why we’ll never know if we’re alone or not, or a detailed account of how the poor girl who played Ducky (Yep! Yep! Yep!) in The Land Before Time was murdered by her father.

Instead, I’m going to leave you with some quotes from one of my favourite human tragedies, Mike Tyson:

“My power is discombobulatingly devastating. I could feel his muscle tissues collapse under my force. It’s ludicrous these mortals even attempt to enter my realm.”

“How dare these boxers challenge me with their primitive skills? It makes me angry. They’re just as good as dead.”

“I could have knocked him out in the third round but I wanted to do it slowly, so he would remember this night for a long time… he was screaming like my wife.”

“I can sell out Madison Square Garden masturbating.”

“I want to throw down your kid and stomp on his testicles, and then you will know what it is like to experience waking up everyday as me. And only then will you feel my pain.”

“Lennox Lewis, I’m coming for you man. My style is impetuous. My defense is impregnable, and I’m just ferocious. I want your heart. I want to eat his children. Praise be to Allah!”

“I’ll fuck you in your ass, white boy. You’re afraid of a real man. I’ll fuck you till you love me.”

“The one thing I know, everyone respects the true person and everyone’s not true with themselves. All of these people who are heroes, these guys who have been lily white and clean all their lives, if they went through what I went through, they would commit suicide. They don’t have the heart that I have. I’ve lived places they can’t defecate in.”

“There are nine million people who see me in the ring and hate my guts. Most of them are white. That’s okay. Just spell my name right.”

“I’m the most irresponsible person in the world. The reason I’m like that is because, at 21, you all gave me $50 or $100 million, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m from the ghetto. I don’t know how to act. One day I’m in a dope house robbing somebody. The next thing I know, ‘You’re the heavyweight champion of the world.’ … Who am I? What am I? I don’t even know who I am. I’m just a dumb child. I’m being abused. I’m being robbed by lawyers. I think I have more money than I do. I’m just a dumb pugnacious fool. I’m just a fool who thinks I’m someone. And you tell me I should be responsible?”

Morning Sickness

In NYC now with Yann, and very comfortable thanks to the endless hospitality of Ben, while Leslie and Mike are on the road somewhere between here and Ottawa. Nick has had to return home, but the tour has been going well, and we’re all enjoying our time together, and on the road.

Alan Gurganis once said that there are three days in the history of New York; the day you see it, the day you move there, and the day that, much wiser, you finally move back home.

The reason, I think, that so many people move here after visiting is that the city is so large that you can’t help but find a part of town that feels like home. No matter who you are, or what you do, there’s a group of people who are in the exact same place. There is a community present.

I haven’t found (nor am I looking for) a community here, but I’ve found places where they speak the same language that I do. Or at the very least, places where someone long ago spoke the same language, while designing parks, streets, and filling the city with meticulously rich Beaux-Arts architecture.

Central Park, especially. There’s something about seeing the tips of Impressionist and Art Deco spires over a wall of oaks. A green sea in the heart of the urban sprawl.

…

I feel sometimes as though the ground is shifting around me, and that the things which are personal and familiar are slowly being moved away. Intimacy becomes insulation, and contact turns to distance.

This was once a personal space. Now, it is so saturated with irrelevant meaning and interpreted implications that it is nearly useless for this purpose. I can write a line or two before something inside sends a warning, lest I give the wrong impression to the wrong people, or say something I shouldn’t.

I need to find sacred space again.

Adira, Aziza, Ameerah.

There is a story I want to share with you, about a place that knew only thunder and rain.

The rolling darkness in the sky was its land, and the violent clashes of sound was its language.

I can’t tell it to you just yet, though. I don’t have what I need to show you.

With time and patience, it will come.