| On the following pages is stuff I wrote the night I decided to walk up Yonge (Jung) Street (THE Longest Street In the World, I hasten to add.) to Steeles Avenue. I was wired on caffeine, perhaps some will decide that the insides drug was responsible for the decision to make the trek, and I certainly will not argue with them. But hey, I could have gone on a rampage and machine-gunned everyone on the planet, right? Right? Well, no, actually -- fresh out of bullets. Dang. I apologize in advance if some of this smacks of pretentious self-importance, for I've tried to mask my pretentiousness and self-importance by talking about trivial social issues. Hope I fool you! By the way, most of the pictures are of stuff I picked up off the ground along the way. ### Ok, here's the deal -- I've decided to embark on a heroic quest that will see either brilliant success or my death. At the Lakeshore, the Stella Borealis is nestled against the bunker, waves burpling happily. There is a cold cup of coffee that someone abandoned on a rusty barrel and the fog halos the moon. It's about 3.30am, and a guy waiting for a taxi told me he thinks it'll take about three hours to get where I'm going. Heh. Soundtrack includes Oi Polloi, Spitboy, the Pogues, De La Soul, Cowboy Junkies and Right Said Fred. Did I mention my walkman casing is transparent? ### I'm underneath a superstructure of some kind. It's pretty neat here, it feels like there's a roof on the sky. Big billboards advertise Mickey at Disney World and Mummies at the Royal Ontario Museum. Toronto Star, who I delivered papers for as a kid, looms in the distance. Why do mega corporate buildings remind me of mammoth bullies as I walk past them at night alone (I pissed on one to show my nerve) and scare me worse than human muggers? ### Bloor and Jung -- Hardly dead at 4.35am. A street mural has a cute little text explanation that sounds as garbled as these entries may at the end. This is hardly as secluded as I like it, a lot of people around. I sit under a bully's concrete shadow. A bum storied me for bus tickets, and when I gave him two his fingertips felt like oily plastic. Androids planted by the opposition, perhaps, to show how wrong Rae is? Lots of homo cowboys riding the range tonight, good sightseeing for my idle rich tastes. ### Cop car just passed. In a rich neighbourhood, Roxborough and Jung. Listening to Spitboy sing about how "Bushes seem so threatening... Night-time is so fucking threatening" just brings it home how privileged (male) I am to be able to do this little jaunt in relative relaxation. Hooray for the patriarchy! Homeless guy (or just a guy who digs toting around tattered grocery bags) kept dropping behind me every time I'd stop to look at something. I forget how the street denizens are probably just as scared of getting beat up as I am. Maybe more. ### Funny thing is that the guy here dressed, moustached and bodied like a stereotypical queer is probably straighter than me. They guy back there, who looked like the average guy, asks for the correct time (as if I would have otherwise given him the incorrect). A few seconds later asks me if I want a good blowjob. Weird thing is that near the beginning of the trek I envisioned such a proposal to which I replied "No thank you." I say "No thanks," in reality. "You sure? It'd be quick," he adds. I look straight ahead, seeing the sidewalk descend into the underbridge where the deed could be done. In the grit and filth. My normal unadventuresome self, I reply sincerely, "No -- but thanks anyway," The guy quickly crosses the street and I catch one glimpse of him (not wanting to look back too many times) and then he is gone, melted back into the city. Then I realize that he's probably not just a guy just walking the street propositioning people, that he's probably a hustler who swings a right and left bat to get enuff $$. Wish I had talked to him more -- but he might have just been a sex vampire. Guy at next table (I'm at the Coffee Time near Summerhill -- "Coffee Time is Anytime!" -- oh, how true!) just mentioned how he would never date a Greek girl and I find I don't want to know why so I decide to split. ### Dum Things I Dun So Far - For symbolic value, insisted on touching the ever-fresh waters at the Lakeshore by dipping tip of shoe into Lake Ontario then smearing hand on it, getting hand dirty and shoe squelchy wet in the bargain. Also when I leaned over for the dip I clutched a mooring rope which gave me a nice batch of splinters. (This is cool! Under my feet, despite the grass, I can feel the first subway of the day rumble past. I'm on a bench in a little park in front of a church. Nice, but would someone turn off that fucking chirping machine?) - Picked up flyers and stuff off the sidewalk for graphics, making hands more dirty - Then ate a greasy cruller -- w/bare hands! Even avoided using the wax paper provided! Mmmm, tastes like the city! Boy am I ever dumb!!! Sun's coming up, it's around 6am. I'm interested to see the crowd that populates a Saturday morning. So far I've seen only a chaste looking Indian woman -- going to church perhaps, or work. I can see my breath, but the sun'll do its funky magic soon! ### I'm sitting on a stump, a huge razed stump right by the spiked fence of Mount Pleasant Cemetery. Couldn't resist this moody spot. I didn't mention my new trick before, but when it was dark, I acted insane whilst passing people to discourage confrontation. Stared intently at my hand, clutched things compulsively, rubbed mouth, etc. There's a guy over there trying to start his huge rustmobile parked on the two lane Jung St. The subway passes, had people on it. ### (Walking) Still at Mt. Pleasant. Thought I better mention how happy I am with my batteries for lasting as long as them have. I'm convinced they have souls and get offended if ignored. ### Sitting where I munched my packed lunch and chatted with Bernie -- that's right, outside DMS Marketing on the same marbly block where I took my lunch breaks last summer, in between phone whoring for St. John's Ambulance Charity. But instead of my business (slave) clothes, this time garbed in my Arthur Conan Doyle t-shirt, duster jacket, four dolla shoes and my brother's "Anti fit" jeans. I remember that cute girl who worked here, the one that read comix. I better get out of here before the morning shift arrives, gotta piss first. ### From the begged to the beggar. Asked a guy stacking fruit outside a fruit store near Eglington if "I revealed to you that I've walked from the Lakeshore to here would that gain any sympathy points -- " "Sorry, I just gave my change to that last guy..." "No, I just wanted an orange." No, he says emphatically, and I walk away with a half-shamed laugh. Wasn't fair of me to ask him to risk his job (or even his profits) to give me an orange when I could have bought on just as easily. And I probably made him feel bad, too. Dum. My blithering ramble of a plea makes me understand why some street people are so inarticulate -- not only from booze and natural stupidity, but perhaps from lack of sleep and disorientation as well. ### What a glorious morn! I've found this quaint little walkway slash park, covered w/dew, black ornamental iron fences and carefully manicured grass. Not in the sun right now, unfortunately. Watching the green arrow (you are here) on the bus shelter maps rise with the temperature. ### This coffee tastes like ashes -- yuk! No more Continental for me. Taking a break at the Second Cup at Lawrence. Think I'll read a bit of one of the zines I brought, Asian Eye. Then I think I'll play a wee visit to one of me pals. ### Colin wouldn't get up for me. 8am. His mom and dad offer me breakfast -- I refuse the delicious looking toast since the spread is surely offensive to my vegan habits (I assume, anyway, since the U.K. household almost always chooses butter over margarine, and I don't want to go into why I don't eat meat and animal byproducts right now.) Talked w/mom for awhile, who guessed right off that I had been up all night (and I guess she's utterly convinced that I'm a [moon] lunatic, despite her calm hospitality.) Now I'm sitting outside York Mills Station looking with sadness at the spot where that Canada's Wonderland bus used to pull up to take me to my job where the fun just never stopped. They've converted it from a bus bay into a parking lot -- ain't that just like those urbanizing bastards? Don't it make you want to sing that old parking lot hippy song? Isn't it pathetic how much of my memories are related to past work places? At Lawrence, I switched to the west side of Jung. Spread the wealth, I always say. Oh, and if I see another cup of dark coloured liquid that steams I'm gonna puke. ### Even I -- juggernaut that I am -- am powerless to stop the coffeeshitz. I'm sitting on a toilet in a diner between Sheppard and Finch. The ladies room actually (only 1 toilet) since there's no T.P. in the men's. I found that, while walking, I am singing out loud to my walkman, a sure sign that my body thinks it's still dark and acceptable to burst into song. I've been ki -- better get out of here. ### I rest in the shadow of the Druid's Circle -- actually, the only constructed part of an abandoned building near Central Library. There's a busted beer bottle in a niche that was probably once covered by an officious plaque. Sorry about the abruptness of the last entry -- the owner of the diner came down and pounded on the door, demanding to know why I was in the ladies washroom. I gleefully bellowed, "I get my kicks by committing obscene indiscretions in women's washrooms and leaving a horrible mess for hapless diner owners!" Well, that is I would have if my brain was its usual well- oiled self, but the best I could muster was the truth about the T.P. Damn. ### Have to mention the message board on the lawn of North York Hydro (5800 Jung St., if yer counting): "Goodbye, good luck, & cheers/ Adam Kelly is retiring today/ After 33 years!" When I see the such a creative talent wasting away in a corporation -- well, it just brings a tear tuh m'eye. ### I'm sitting at the corner of Steeles and Jung as I write this last entry. I've come just twenty feet short of my goal. I never had any doubts about my strength of will being able to hold out, just my ability to remain conscious. So then, I've been asking myself on the last stretch, why have I bothered? What was my motivation? Was it to have a story to tell? To brag about to the so-weird-it's-cool circles? Or is it what I consider a more worthy driving force -- sheer perversity? If the latter is true (or more true) than there is an even more perverse test of will power: Would it be possible for me to walk away? To leave the goal I've pursued over the last seven hours incomplete? And wouldn't it be a slap in the face to the whole concept that anything can be truly finished? Hey look -- a pretty girl just walked by. ### Fun Fax! - I saw 13 Jung 97 busses pass. - It took me 7 or so hours (no watch). - It is a distance of 17k (12 miles). - You can work out my speed by time/distance=kph - Pretty slow, Eh? - Fuck you. - I like to walk slow. - The city is Toronto. # This originally appeared in print through Lickspittle Ventures, May 1993, in a 2.25x2.75" format. # "Uh, if you'd like to give me some comments that'd be great."
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