May 6th, 2012 § § permalink
I presented at a conference in Madrid – a city of dirt and noise. It doesn’t make sense to me, but maybe it makes sense to you.
I travelled to Portugal for the first time & fell in love with it as soon as I stepped off the airport express onto Rossio Square in Lisbon surrounded by a bright sky and small uneven cobblestones playfully hurting my feet. I will write about my love soon and with fervor. There is so much to say.
Love at first sight is the best feeling in the world, because love at first sight to me isn’t some superficial lust and desire and awe, but a beginning of becoming.
I will go back to Portugal, yes. But for now, back to Montreal, the city turning into a police state, hurting its citizens and taking apart the things that make it such a great city to live in.
June 12th, 2011 § § permalink
I came back from shooting (for my documentary) in LA and Del Mar, California, a few days ago. There’s a spirit on the West Coast I thought I would hate and putting the East Coast screwface on to protect myself dissipated at every turn. Everyone is so unpretentiously chatty and such a storyteller you can’t help but to listen and exchange ideas – at Jimbo’s, at the train station, or on the plane – unlike Toronto. I’m not suggesting it’s somehow superior, because as a staunch loner, it did overwhelm me, but as a novelty, I welcomed it with a smile (!)
California moved something inside me, I’m not sure what yet, but something was planted. It’s like I had a sneak peak at joy.
These are some photos I took in Del Mar along the Pacific Ocean. On the way from the train station in Solana Beach, Christine surprised me by driving very slowly down the road to show me the street sign that donned my name.
June 2nd, 2011 § § permalink
Another unfamiliar ceiling.
August 26th, 2008 § § permalink
Taking a piss in the Bloor Cinema washroom tonight after seeing 400 Blows, I was reminded of the first time I ever came while standing up. I sat on the toilet and the window to my left was ajar enough to see the street alive below. There was traffic, noise, cyclists swerving, people trying to get laid, lights shining in all directions and there I was looking at it all. It was exactly how it was in my hostel WC in Rome six years ago. I remember not having masturbated in a while, and my finances never left me with a room of my own, often even without a locked shower stall, making jerking off difficult. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but I must have taken my vibrator into the bathroom with me, and started touching myself with it. There was a tiny makeshift window that was a hole in the wall and I could see inside the top windows of Stazione Termini, tilting my head I could also make out the people on the street. I remember slowly focussing on the sensations I was used to, but I had to ground myself in my feet to let the awareness take over. It took a while, but I wasn’t going to give up, I was going to break new ground. I remember focussing on a person inside the terminal window, imaging it to be some sexy Italian man who could discern what I was doing, even if it my window was too small for anyone to see into. He would look at me, then scan my body – my swollen tits, wet from the shower that was on as to not rouse suspicion in my room mates, to my belly, circling the piercing, to the hair just growing in surrounding my pussy, around my pelvis and hips, down to my legs and painted toes. I’d close my eyes and let him see me come, let him watch my face turn and my lips spread open while I gave way to muffled groans. He’d touch himself too, he’d have to, he’d see the water running down my thighs and imagine his own cum in its place. I came three times.