Max Hodges TMZ

Dear Diary...

Monday June 5th, 2000
Age 9
(no editing)

Today Stephanie and I got into a fight, and I mean a big fight! But we always get along and today we did. Stephanie thinks Fabien has a crush on me. I think he does to because when we did our morning prayer he was looking at me, and when he couldn't see me because of Lindsey he tryed looking past her. Also I had a dream near Cristmas that Fabien and I were kissing under misiltoe. We are going to see Mrs. Murrey's ducks hatch tomorrow. Did you know you have to help a duck hatch? Yesterday I got a new book at the Great Book Store. It is a very good book store to go to I like it a lot.

Why don't you want me?

If we're being honest

I'm not myself.

I creep your facebook page

a lot.

I know your favourite band,

your ex girlfriend's name,

your potential girlfriend's name...

Your house

I know where it is

(I used google street view)

I know your friends before you introduce them

I know your plans before you attend them

I KNOW EVERYTHING

so fuck you

fuck your facebook

and your friends

fuck

WHY ARE YOU WASTING MY TIME

I hate you

I have better things to do then to hate you

I am obsessed with you

do you not understand this?

You won't make a mockery out of me

I won't let you

like a lace undone

like another penny hitting the ground

I'm over you

you mean NOTHING to me

I can smell your journal from here.

I can smell the clean sheets of lined paper.

The anger in your poetry.

The humour in your stories.

The blue ink on the pages.

The crisp lines you draw under

every date, every title, every important

word.

The pressure of your hand on the pen.

The way you hold your pencil.

Your thoughts.

Your emotions.

It's all here in your journal.

Any tiny thing.

A fly

A thimble

A dime

A pin

A hockey game I'll never win

A day at home when I'm alone

A 30 min phone call on the phone

An open door thats held for me

A cup of herbal Tetley tea

A broken toy I'll never fix

A birthday cake batter I'll never mix

I'll miss the tiny things a lot.

The things that others would have forgot.

My grandpa once hired a man named Gilbert. I think he honestly felt sorry for the guy, I mean he was a little slow and needed a job. My grandpa was only doing the fellow a favour.

My first day meeting Gilbert with his trucker hat forward, his oversized boots, and his plaid shirt, were characteristics that screamed country bumpkin or "dirt squirrel."

Gilbert also had a lisp.

Not a lispy lisp, its was more of a whistle sound.

I asked my mom about it later and she said that back in the day Gilbert used to cut down trees for a lumber business. A branch got caught in his mouth, punctured a hole in the roof of his mouth and created the soft whistle sound heard between every word Gilbert spoke. 

Gilbert was different.

I mean right away he was a dirt squirrel.

But he couldn't even be pegged as that.

He lived in the middle of the woods. With his country bumpkin stereotype you'd expect this. Though I remember watching him fly up the dirt road at my grandpa's farm road to greet us, his hands clenching the shiny red four wheeler with something in his lap. At first I didn't know what to think. Had Gilbert brought us a rabbit he had hunted back in the forest, was he all smiles because he was proud of his kill?

"This here is Sparky," Gilbert announced beaming, "She's a Pomeranian Poodle."

My grandpa just fired Gilbert.

Apparently Gilbert wasn't doing his job at the farm. Basically he screwed up a job that couldn't be screwed up by too many.

Grandpa: Gilbert you can live on my farm and I will PAY you, just don't let people into the farm much to fish.

Gilbert did the opposite of course.

I know it's strange but I sort of miss Gilbert. He was different and I like different. But, I will never forget him and Sparky. They're just the kind you never forget.

We tip toe as we say our words softly

we won't give away our secret

the secret that flows through my lips

like streaming water

fast and violent

nobody must know

only you

keep the words within you

store them till they rot

till they no lgenor mkae sesne

till you forget

please forget

forget that i told you

everybody knows

how can everyone know?

you told

you told my secret

you let the words out

gave them the potential to last

now they will never be forgotten

people won't forget this

i will never tell you a secret

never again

I pulled up my tight black pants preventing my g-listed can from making a comeback.

Your dad's in a cardboard box saying, "do you need help with your garden?"