I came across my Moleskine today. I bought it years ago but never got as much use from it as i thought i would. It cost me $17 then- which was a lot of money to me at the time. Anyway, i found this passage in the first pages.

It’s the 1st Saturday in May, 2005.

I’ve just bought the book you have in your hands now. I don’t expect greatness to come out of it nor for it to do for me what countless notebooks before this one have failed to do.

however, given what i paid for it, an hours wage & some change, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for me to expect SOMETHING more.

Perhaps if nothing else, this book will have a touch more class than my usual spiral bound notebooks which usually becomes a battleground for the noodle in my head that i call a brain.

I’m finishing off an average cup of joe at Boyd’s @ the corner of Flanders and 11th Avenue. Winter is officially gone & spring is her usual volatile self. A dark canopy ebbs and flows, letting sunlight warm me for a few seconds before the heatless sun returns [edit: this makes no sense- but i think i was trying to say the sun was on me but not quite warming me] . The streetcar light just went by with its usual steel and electric vocabulary and as for me, i’m getting tired of this cup of coffee. I wish Boyd’s the best but if this medium roast is indeed medium, then their dark roast is probably about as bitter as lickcing a battery post.

Yummers.

It’s past 7:30 pm Saturday night. For reasons i’ve yet to understand, i’ve allowed my neighbor **** to talk me into running errands along with him. We couldn’t be more different in several ways. he HATES silence; silence for me is a warm coat i like to keep on so i can think. He loves asking me questions for which i have absolutely no opinion on or prefer to keep my thoughts private.

If you were to put him on an island with no cigarettes, booze, coffee or anyone to constantly jibber jabber with, i believe he would spontaneously combust, implode and go insane within 15 minutes.