Three Diary Entries Partly Concerning Teeth – Gwen Aube


Today I almost posted a photo of the tornado that struck Montreal when I ended my relationship. It’s been three months. Yesterday I sang in the streets with six thousand people. In 1957 Christine Jorgensen fucked the man in the moon. Today the girl at Tim Hortons wanted to tell me something funny but I don’t speak french and she doesn’t speak english. The sky was already so dark when I left the house for coffee. We laughed anyways. Her at whatever she was laughing at and I at nothing.


I awoke from the most beautiful dream and called my bank. The right side of my face aches against my pillow, but it’s just my tooth. Last night at the [Redacted] rap show I lost my wallet, or perhaps it was stolen by the couchsurfer. He said he just got back from Israel but also seemed like a compulsive liar. He didn’t steal it, I just didn’t like him. He wouldn’t stop talking about masturbation. From up here the clothespiles on the floor look like Google Earth. The operator sounds tired when she greets me and her name is Teresa.


Today it snowed and I cried on the phone with my dentist’s secretary. I told myself that after first snow I would pick the rosehips from the bushes in the alleyway to make jam, but I don’t care anymore. I asked the secretary is anyone else cheaper and she said no. She said there are industry standards but this is a lie. There is always the university dental clinic. In the alleyway I listen to black metal and dare the rosehips to give me a reason. They do nothing.