Wednesday, April 22, 2009

I could if I wanted to...

I could lie, and cheat. I could keep secrets. I could break your heart.

But then I think of you. you. you...

and I can't.

Even if I wanted to.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Life's A Drag

I am not the man I want to be.

I have gone astray. Somehow, somewhere along the line, I am not doing what is necessary to be the man I want to be. I drink too much. I sleep in too late. I think negative thoughts. My life seems destructively haphazard rather than excitingly spontaneous.

This weekend I did not enjoy the life I want to live. I did not go to the opera, or the theatre, or the gallery. I did not enjoy long walks along the street in the gorgeous weather. I did not soberly enjoy the evenings festivities, but drank for distraction instead.

Time was wasted.

I do not want to be a man who lets precious time be wasted.

But all is not lost. Life still offers more. Even in wasted time.

Wasted time provides a reminder that I must create myself. I can do what is necessary to be the man I want to be: I will go to the theatre, I will enjoy the long walks, I will be satisfied by the company I keep and have no need for distraction. My life will be the world's greatest drag act - an act of positive beautiful self-creation. I will be the man I want to be. My life's a drag act.

And the world's greatest drag act begins now.

Friday, April 17, 2009


"Forty two years ago today I was pushing hard. In labour. And after many painful hours, my daughter was born", my sexagenarian co-worker told me as I sipped my morning coffee.

My co-worker, on the brink of retirement but still as feisty as she was the day she turned twenty-one, had become increasingly open about her personal history as of late. She was born in Columbia, raised in New Orleans, had been divorced once, was in constant conflict with her son-in-law, and was a very proud mother of fraternal twins. Today, the glimpse into her personal life becomes even more vivid.

"The nurse kept on yelling at me. 'Push! Push harder!' He was yelling and yelling. 'Harder! You've got to get that baby out! Push harder!'" she continued.

Talk of birthing babies always makes me squirm: To much bodily fluid with names that are sanitized from unappealing medical language into clever street slang.

"I was so mad at him. Oh! how I hated him! He kept yelling and yelling. And then I started to punch him. Right in the chest. Oh! I was so angry with him! I just wanted him to shut up! But he kept on saying 'Push!', 'The water's got to break.' Oh, and then..." Here I see her smile as she speaks. "When my water did finally break... Oh! My water broke and burst out and hit him all over his sorry face."

I want to vomit. Giving birth to new human life is beautiful in theory, not in practice.

Her smile is broad.

"I was so happy I got him. All over his face! Serves him right for being such an ass."

Thursday, April 09, 2009


I feel the urge to speak.

But we are civilzed, are we not? We do not recklessly act on every urge that is part of the human experience. There are times when it is appropriate to eat, sleep, fuck and there are times when it's not appropriate. And even when it is appropriate, we do not just eat anything, sleep anywhere, or fuck anyone. Implicitly and explicitly, there are rules and regulations.
Rules and regulations that we willingly follow.

This is the problem.

There are no rules and regulations when we share our voices on the internet. Anyone can speak at anytime and say almost anything. Not only are we permitted to say almost anything to anyone at anytime, we are obliged to speak. To survive as a social being, one must have either facebook, myspace, or twitter, or even all three.

But unlike discerning taste that dictate our daily victuals, or so-called 'standards' that provide social guidelines regarding who we fuck and who we don't, the urge to speak via facebook statuses or tweets is not regulated for quality. (It seems as far as facebook statuses and tweeting, quantity is privileged). The mere fact that facebook status updates and tweeting are one sentence quips makes it difficult if not impossible to express anything worthwhile: There are few thoughts, feelings, or ideas that can be adequately expressed in one mere sentence.

Any declarations of completed or intended actions (ie: Bedroomprince is making his return to blogging!) should be ignored: Let these actions have their life in the real world, there is no need to 'validate' them by declaring them online.

But here I am. I have acted upon that human urge to speak. Here I share my voice online. But several paragraphs later, the thoughts I have shared are critical, nuanced, and have been situated in a particular context. I like to think that this is a civilized act of cyber-speech.

Here I am.

Bedroomprince has felt the urge to speak.

Bedroomprince has spoken.

Bedroomprince lives.

And those mere sentences above are not the fodder for facebook or twitter.