Saturday, February 24, 2007

Oh the fun of making fun of people who are just as lost as me, but less proud.

Roma is so much fun... when you know what to really look at. that is, tourists lost looking at their map. You can see 10 of them on every street corner. Since I'm proud and stubborn, I'm fucking lost, but I don't look at my map, or I look at it in dark corners when no one's looking. Nah.. but I kinda know where I'm to go... and I still have lots of time... it's only 9pm.I give me until midnight before I start crying.

Congratulations to all those who got a job recently.

Hmm... I don't really have anything to say. It was pretty much only the map thing.

By the way, I'm in Roma, and I already have lots of blurry and dark pictures. They look terrible, but I prefer to call it artistic. I possess the artistic license, since I'm a writer, so i can call my crap art if I want.

Ok, back to trying to find my way toward my hotel.

Oh... I've seen the vatican... from 2 km away, and only the dome. I didn't know where i was at the time. So much fun.

Sunday, February 18, 2007


I was suckered into buying a watch today. Moussah, from Senegal. I paid next to nothing for a rolex (really), even though I didn't want any stolen fake rolex, that will stop working in two weeks, in the first place. But I thought that money get spent anyway, I might as well lose it to a guy who lies with so much enthusiasm. i wonder how he will tell his buddies how he screwed me (ever so slightly... I paid next to nothing), still. Will it be with respect, at least? Will they laugh at me with admiration, at least?
Three americans were talking about baseball at the table next to mine in a restaurant. I didn't join in. I must really have changed. Or was it that they were talking more about money than baseball itself? I'm so disinterested in money.

Later on, one of them kept talking about things I'd talk about, bringing up arguments I would bring up myself. I found my good twin! Yes, I'm the evil one.

Ok, I get it now

I now understand why people bash Pisa. Once you've been around, there's nothing more to be said. One day is more than enough. In the morning only, I've walked to every site of interest, taken 80 pictures (each with a comment in mind), returned to the Piazza dei Miracoli, and I now sit wondering what I'm gonna do with the rest of my day. Perhaps read, while keeping MTV Italia as a soundtrack.

Talking about reading... I can't stop buying books. I'm stupid. I think I've read 7 books since I left, and I've kept 6 of those, and still have 3 more that I have yet to start. Still I buy stupid books. I just love books. Not to read them... just to have them, to own them. That is perhaps my only materialistic trait. Along with my computer, I guess. The other things I just don't care about them. If people in the street mug me and steal my digital camera, I scream: "Leave me the memory card at least!" If they steal my bag, I tell them, leave me my papers and my favorite book that I keep at all time with me (unless I leave the bag at the hotel, as I'm doing nowadays because my shoulders can't stand the weight anymore), i.e. La Chute, by Albert Camus.

Back to Pisa-bashing. Although the people are nice and you can buy stolen fake rolex cheap (which I haven't purchased), there are things about tourists that just leave me almost speechless, after all, I'm writing about it. The joke with the picture of someone pushing on the Leaning Tower, with the help of perspective, of course, is funny the first time you see it, because it had just never crossed your mind. But when you realize that everyone's doing it, with daddy photographing sonny, and boyfriend photographing girlfriend, etc., you can't help but suddenly feel very sorry for manking. Oh the shame! It's fucking enough!! People, you're terrible (although I'm aware no terrible people pushing perspectively on the Leaning Tower reads my blog).

Last thought about today and Pisa: If I sit in front of the Cattedrale and the Torre Pendente (Leaning Tower, people... damn, just learn italian, will you?!) long enough, I could perhaps claim to be on a thousand pictures.

Now really, this is the last though: A thousand pictures are worth one word: crap!

Isn't it the greatest blog since God created earth?

Saturday, February 17, 2007

A Quebecer in Pisa

I don't know why all those Pisa-bashers say it isn't worth it. I've been here only a couple of hours, and already I've met several nice people, five of which I was even able to speak french to.

On the other hand, I was still sligthly unimpressed, especially when I saw the Leaning Tower, and I thought: "Hmm... mine's longer than that." By that, I meant that it wasn't all that grand, all that impressive overall. It was an analogy, people! But the tower... it's a tower... and it's leaning... I get it. Anyone ever seen the tower of the Olympic Stadium, in Montréal? Now that's leaning! Even though it was done on purpose, I'm still amazed it still stands. After all, it was designed by a french dude.

There, link to french again, and for a reason! I'm that good. A couple of frenchies came to the hotel/albergo/pensione where I'm staying here in Pisa. I heard them talk in the stairway, and they reached the top floor, I told them, with a smile, that here in Pisa, they always send francophones on the last floor. It must be some kind of vendetta, bitterness from the time Napoleon conquered Pisa and gave it to his sister. But this french couple asked where I was from, and didn't believe me at first that I was from Québec. I concluded that I must soften my accent to make myself understood around here. But don't worry, when I come back, I'll be swearing in no time, and the glorious joual will still live on my tongue.

Long live the joual!

Friday, February 16, 2007

Thoughts of the day... yesterday's day.

I have lost so much weight since I left, mostly due to my eating habits and the countless hours of walk, that I am now able to sculpt abs with the fat left on my stomach.

Try to imagine that now. Isn't that beautiful, in a sad way?


Now with some french for you.

Umberto Eco, dans Le nom de la rose, prete au livre de l'ecclésiaste, de la Bible, la citation suivante: "Or je trouve plus amer que la mort: la femme, car elle est un piège, et son coeur un filet; et ses bras des chaines."

Ce qui m'inspirat ceci:

Mes chaines à moi ne sont que le souvenir de ces bras délicatement me serrant le cou, tandis que son menton reposait sur mon épaule. Un piège, certes, dans lequel je me suis débattu au point de m'emmeler davantage, si bien que je ne vois plus d'espoir. Amer, en effet, mais je la préfère tout de meme à la mort, qui est froide, tandis que mon piège me réconforte. Partout ou je vais, je sens son étreinte, et ça me fait sourire. Alors, je pense à son sourire, et je conviens de me débattre encore un peu plus.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

On top of that and some more.

Here's the lost post an evil firewalled computer swallowed and left nothing of, three days ago:

I met Buddy yesterday, when I got here, in Bonifacio. I think it's a desparate-dependancy versus desparate-affection relationship. He's the first friend I made since I got to europe. The other friends I met were already friends prior to this trip, more or less. Other people I met were friends of friends. But by myself, Buddy's the first and only so far. I call him Buddy, but I can't say for sure. He might be a she, and Buddy might be Girl.

He probably wants only two things: he wants to eat and he wants to play. I should take him on the ferry to Sardegna (I call it Sardegna, and not Sardinia, because in Sardegna, people call Sardegna Sardegna. There!). It's weird how travelling with animals is common around here. I've seen unleashed dogs on the ferry from Livorno to Bastia. But Buddy's dirty and probably smells. How welcomed would I be if I travelled with a stray dog, a dirty one on top of that. But I like his company. That's the one thing I've hoped for for almost a month.

Yesterday it also came to my attention that I have more gone than to go. Or was it two days ago (or five?)? Time flies. Only 18 days to go, and so many things to see. I should stop thinking about plans and timing and deadlines until two days before I leave Roma to return to Québec (or what I call "Glorious Canada", for its superiority is seen in the way Canada always have others do the things it is to do itself, like economy or war). It's crazy how time flies.

I feel like I have something to say about every street corner where I've been when I return. I still remember pretty much all I try to recall from my days in London. My memory is working well. I'll have things to say, at least to those who care to listen. My memory is really a sweet thing. It seems that my two biggest assets, besides my mesmerizing eyes [insert smiley here], are my memory and my imagination. For a writer, it's like having access to a limitless source of inspiration... and there's still TV, books and internet on top of that. "On top of that" seems to be my expression of the day.

My hair get fluffy in the wind. Guess what? I need a haircut, on top of that, because the top of that head looks ridiculous, and it's ridiculously windy. A haircut, or a sexy hat.

Well, now I'm in Alghero, and there's even more wind, and I still need a haircut. Just try to get a haircut from someone who can't understand a word you say. Oh the fun!

Don't you think it's funny when you see an old man with a face that has started to eat itself? I do.
Tell me why would two ladies go to McDonald's to drink an espresso...

Nothing more to say. You... how are you doing?

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

French keyboards are evil.

If you walk towards the back of a boat while it's going forward, you feel like hovering over water.
At this very moment; no government in the world can claim to know exactly where I am. This is so cool. I changed country without going through customs. Ha!
French keyboards are the stupidest things ever. When I got here, I looked around, walked a little and thought I could easily live here... until I saw french keyboards. Scratched off the list!
But... women are beautiful here. Or as french keyboards like to say: "ao,en qre bequtiful here:"
On that interesting note, I leave you for today... but not without more french keyboarding fun.

I cqn.t stqnd these fucking jeyboqrds: I cqn.t zrite qnything zrite zith these shits: Even itqliqns keyboqrds qre ,uch better thqn this horrible crqp: tqbqrnqk11 Thqt looks like untrqnslqted russiqn to ,e: oh ,y god11 qnd I don.t even believe in god: Thqt ql,ost cq,e out right:

Logging out:

Monday, February 05, 2007

Just left Trequanda. Livorno's a dump. It smells.

It's hard to believe one could enjoy swimming in something smelling like rotten eggs. I give you an italian terme as evidence, your Honor! You swim through a white creamy substance that remind you a little too much of bird crap. But it's warm, so let's pretend it has amazing virtues. And there's your experience! Welcome to the good old Roman pleasure, leasure and social tool of ascension, because you know you're going somewhere fast when you see that many penises in the men's locker. And there's your experience!

Just so you know, ladies, men's room is for males only, although I did hear a high-pitched voice in there, which made me face the wall with unmatched rapidity. And there's your experience!

But it was still nice.

I'm in Livorno now, waiting for a boat that will take me to Corsica tomorrow. I found a room in a pensione, even though the little old lady never understood a word I said, and I equalled her in reciprocity.

I loved Trequanda. If it weren't for Hurricane Vivika, it would be the quietest place on earth. The most stress-free environment ever created, and God (oh the blasphemy) knows I needed stree-free-ness.

Vivika is a not-yet-3 years old viking blondilocks/tiny italian drama queen, who can't understand why I speak almost no italian and no norwegian. And she speaks so much. She speaks all the time. So I tried to learn from her, but like the italian that she is, she speaks too fast.

She's the wonderfully imaginative and dynamic little girl of an italian painter/mother/wig maker/human being and a norwegian olive picker/father/cook/human being (sorry if somewhere in there I missed a stronger vocation, but I didn't have that much to work with). All this in an isolated little place, just outside of Trequanda, Tuscany, where the hills are so steep you wonder if that wreck of a car (sorry if I'm hurting feelings) will make it to the top. Talking about this car... have you ever seen a beautiful and elegant italian woman beat up an engine with an iron rod, hoping to make it start? I have, and the car started... that one time. The other times, until it got fixed, I've had to push the car for it to start. That's truly fantastic (no kidding. You can't be sad or preoccupied while and after pushing a car to a start).

So, Trequanda must be a part of Eden left unwatched by God (I use the name of God in vain far too often. the three christians I met in London would crucify me... damn!). It's quiet. It's isolated. It's perfectly dark at night. The 400 years old house is very cold, but I've never slept better at night. The stress-free-ness, perhaps.

For over 10 days, I've felt so bad for feeling so good.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Trequandian cats

Cats are gracious, when thye're not walking around with their tail up high, showing their anus to everyone. That's all I have to say about cats, except that they would probably look more cuddly than evil if it weren't for me constantly antagonizing them.

I guess I'm just jealous. I wish I'd be gracious and elegant, but the best I can do to hide my clumsiness and unfittingness to the world is to look threatening, uninterested and/or mysterious. I'm not sure it works either. Maybe I just look like an ass, but an unassuming one, so I guess I could potentially be somwhat endearing. I just have to find people with an open mind.

I always use that excuse to explain my inability to initiate and maintain human relationship. I could use that for all relationships, really, including animal. There, cats, you aren't open-minded enough! It's YOUR fault. I'm an ass.

I've spent the last 9 days in Trequanda. I don't know how desparate people are, around here, to see me leave. I'm leaving, I promise. I'm just not sure where to, yet. And I have to find a place where I can watch the Superbowl. I really have to go.

I've wondered a lot about my future, lately. There might just be something in it. I'm thinking about moving to Kelowna, where a job's waiting for me. But I don't want to leave alone. I've had enough loneliness, probably more than 97% of the people on this planet. Ethiopian die, but at least they die in bunches. And there's one person I want. I'd really like her to move away with me. I'm pretty sure she'd do it, if it weren't for me. But I just wish she'd give me chance. Don't I deserve one? Am I not a great guy? One who now has interesting stories about lands far far away. I can probably get invited to Trequanda again, if she wants to see this part of Eden forgotten on earth. A place where time, pressure, deadlines, expectations and civilization don't exist, as long as you're willing to fill up the bottles of water and put them in the fridge when you're finished. I've spent here nine days that felt like three. I've never slept better. I've never written more. I'd probably be as close to happiness as I can if it weren't for the constant thinking about that one person, the only person I'd ever want to share this with.

What do you say? Drop everything, move away with me, and at some point will fly to Italy for a few weeks, and I'll take you to Trequanda. I'll take you everywhere. I don't ever want to travel alone.

And no, I'm not talking about you, Pat.