I’m back in Vancouver at least temporarily and because my new roommate has basically no furniture mine finally comes out of storage. If you own as many books, CDs, DVDs and VHSs as me you need to assemble a lot of Ikea furniture in your life. I don’t have room for everything so much will just go back into storage at my mom’s place. Maybe someday I’ll be successful enough to own a home, one with a library or a study. I’m supposed to inherit the remainder of the Dougan library.
I took a quick look in my old journals after taking a picture of them all stacked on my Ikea desk. I happened on the following page dated May 19th 2008 I think. Sometimes my handwriting is not the best.
Flaming Death: A Love Story
Parts of it are brilliant and parts of it don’t make sense. I ask myself is it the brilliant parts that don’t make sense or the parts that don’t make sense are brilliant?
It is below a quotation from a Mo Yan novel, so perhaps it was some sort of a brief book review, I jot down random thoughts sometimes, now we have Twitter and social media and people share entirely too much online with strangers. Before there were blogs, there were journals, most go unread. What I need is an editor. My new roommate fancies himself a writer, he hasn’t asked me for any advice yet. He might suffer from the delusion that everyone is wrong and someday everyone will realize his brilliance, I just don’t know, he’s just another random Internet roommate, one that might be even more anti-social than myself.
Maybe I have a box of undiscovered brilliance sitting on the floor in East Vancouver or maybe it is just fire starter.