OrphanPip

Disclaimer: This blog post will address some sexual issues, but not explicitly.

Well some events today inspired me to write the second entry of my autobiography. Sometimes there are moments or words that send you on a road trip down Memory Lane.

I had decided to write a blog today, and at first I thought this was going to be about my general experiences in high school; however, on my way home I ran into a girl I had dated in way back when. As I sat down to write this ...

So, I've decided to write an autobiography about my so far not so exciting life. Mostly for personal cathartic reasons, as there aren't that many points in my life that will be all that interesting to strangers. That being said, instead of doing this like a diary, I've decided to make it open to public view. Those interested in learning about my life, I can't imagine who you are, are welcome to read and comment.

Oh, and this probably won't be in any particular chronological order. ...

This time it's not some quickly slapped together poetry.

I'd like to talk about that special kind of awkwardness that sometimes occurs when you're suddenly hit by the sensation that you really wish you were somewhere else. I have no idea if any of you have felt like that before, but there was a time a few years ago that struck me and I haven't been able to forget it since.

I'll start with some background. It was a short period after Pope Jean Paul II's death and a collection ...

Well winter has finally truly sunk in, it is now snowing in Montreal. I've always loved this season best. There's something wonderful about snow.

Anyway, here's a little poem inspired by a story an ex once told me about falling in love with strangers on the bus.

Momentary Infatuation

I saw your face on the metro
And I whispered, “Hello”.
I wish I could know you,
Meet your mother, or declare, “I do”.
At the next stop you had ...

I don't really like it that much but I felt like posting it

Birds and Fast Food

In a food court of downtown Montreal,
I sit watching little birds fly about.
Why can I not help but look at you all
flying here and there, can you not get out?
Do you remember what the sky was like,
before this prison of crumbling concrete
and quickly snatched French fries, what it was like
before the sky was nothing but a neat
portrait ...