2001-07-30 || 11:05 p.m.

dollars to doughnuts.

No, I don't have my name plastered across a bestseller, and it doesn't come up anywhere in the credits of a blockbuster movie. No, I don't run my own business or live on a 41-foot catamaran registered in the Turks & Caicos, taking rich Yankee honeymooners to secluded white beaches where they will have the most romaintic fuck of their lives; I don't have a countryhouse in BC, nestled between the Rockies and the Pacific, and maybe a view onto Haida Gwaii.

I live in an old little city that clings precariously to its country and hangs off the East end of North America, where 1% of the people speak its language , and even less care what happens to it. I live to fill the pockets of a corporate lightweight who kneels in prayer every morning at the altar of the almighty Dollar; and every night before bed, I ask myself why.

No, I don't think that most of us *do* get to live the life we dreamed about. It's still worth dreaming, though, and that's what keeps me going.

One day, one day...



||Gods save the Queen,
||cf

back || forth

older shite

One last little note... - 09.21.2006

de-stressing, biking and terrorism - 06.06.2006

Mildly stressed... - 05.29.2006

More crime stupidity - 05.28.2006

Scary stuff - 05.25.2006

diaryland.com
Oh yeah, the page and everything
on it is �2000 - 2005 to me, alright ?
don't copy without asking.