I dreamed last night I was on the boat to heaven, and by some chance found a bottle in my fist...

I dreamed last night that I went to see you and I had a camera and I was taking your photo. We were sitting side by side on a bed and you told me you were getting married. You were getting married and you were going to settle there down at the end of a narrow cobblestone street that always seemed to be wet and there was a clock tower looming overhead. I guess, I said, then this is the last time we'll ever be together like this; only just realising at that moment that it was true and this really was the last time. Yes, you said, with a sudden seriousness that locked all the jokes we'd just made and the kisses we'd just shared in an uncrackable safe and flung them down into the sea, this is the last time. With this I woke, dear diary, and set to work instantly uploading my movie.

I never imagined, although I should have known, that the process of editing would take exactly five times longer than the process of filming and that 18 minutes of raw footage can only become 5.4 minutes of raw footage through 10 hours of somewhat stressful (because of the difficulties of working with the editing software) but on the whole generally entertaining work.

And then I came home, just catching a bus, at the end of St. Catherine and Du Fort that took me halfway home at chilly 4am squeezed in against the wall by an old lady who I only gradually realised smelled like dried shit on a cloth and a bus driver who braked so hard that each time the bus stopped I was nearly thrown from my seat. And then at St Laurent and St Catherine, as I lingered a few minutes waiting for the night bus, there was one leggy transvestite wobbling down the street on impossible stilettos with xer legs all but exposed in fishnets and xer ass barely covered by a think slip of black silk.

And then another one came down and cornered a well dressed man and I heard them start to negotiate a price like two seasoned business types and then they turned and the transvestite led the man down into the peepshow booths. And then up by Sherbrooke a man passed with all his worldly things lashed across his spine in a great jangling mess and there were pots and pans and old shoes swinging and grungy on their tattered laces and one of his feet was bound entirely in a nest of white plastic bags and he limped visibly, slowly, dragging himself west with his weight on a twisted walking stick.

My next movie will be better. Next time you will be my wife not someone else's.

click. and wind. and click. et ave, Caesar.