Plenty of seduction, but very little passion since returning to Montreal.

I wonder sometimes if my heart got took out behind the sheds and shot in the head when I was in China. People love me but my heart is a whiskey soaked steak that loves to be eaten but refuses to be properly digested.

Only drugs, Buddhism, travel and literature make sense to me anymore. Attempting to achieve enlightenment through exercise and drawing enzos in beer foam on my chest.

I'm a werewolf with the tastes of a scholar, an aging Rimbaud who yearns for the discipline of the samurai.