Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Alan he wrote

I write about things. I take pictures. Sometimes I repost what others have written or have photographed. Mail can be electronically sent to

The time I was accidentally drugged for rape

A couple years ago I went to a party with my partner and her friends. It was attended by people with whom they went to high school.

I can’t remember if I picked up the drink because I thought it was mine, or if I drank it because I didn’t bring enough of my own. Whichever it was, within a short amount of time I began acting very strange. We left the party and after an erratic trip home, I passed out.

My (former) partner and I loved telling this story - which is to say I loved hearing her tell it (she was always the better story teller). We thought I had accidentally had a drink with ecstasy. “Who would put ecstasy in their own drink?” We wondered. Whatever, it was silly that I accidentally took ecstasy and the results were fodder for funny stories. 

Retelling the story recently to two friends of mine, one of them pointed out that the way I acted seemed an awful lot like someone who had been “roofied”. “Who would put ecstasy in their own drink?” She asked. “Wasn’t the cup unattended?” The more we discussed, the more we became convinced this was what happened. After all, no one we told the story to had ever heard of someone taking ecstasy by dissolving it into their drink..

Now a silly memory - one of our favourites - has become a horrific reminder of how cruel, how depraved, how evil human beings can be. This means, at that party, there was a rapist. This means, at that party, someone brought drugs for the purpose of rape. This means, at that party, a girl was supposed to be a victim. In all probability I interacted with a rapist, and his potential victim. At that party was the love of my life and her best friend. How am I to know one of them weren’t the intended victim?

This has smacked me in the face. I know the statistics, I know the danger, and yet I never think that I could possibly be around a rapist when I’m out and about. Call it innocence, call it ignorance, call it naive, I guess I always just want to believe humans are better than they actually are.

One night, at a party, I drugged myself by pure happenstance, keeping someone from being the victim of an abhorrent excuse for a human. There’s a slight feeling of relief, knowing I’d rather be drugged than someone else, but there’s a great deal of rage that I am unsure how to process. 

What a strange and sad world we live in.

Kulu Sé Mama, 2014

How does one even go about moving on from the love of their life? Is it even possible or do people just learn to settle for less? I’m having a real dick of a time processing everything. I mean, not only did I know she was perfect for me, that I wanted to grow into sweet little old people together, that life is damn near impossible without her, but she said all the same things to me constantly. So what the bloody hell am I supposed to do now?
Although I love Toronto, I love being close with my two great friends, I love the opportunities I find myself being offered, I’d give everything up in a heartbeat to be with her again. I wouldn’t even think twice. Not even my dream job of the Prime Ministership of Canada would trump the overwhelming joy I got from waking up early to cook breakfast for her. How can someone possibly love someone so much and it go unrequited? Unrequited after being intensely requited for so long?
All I wanted to do was spend my life making her the happiest person on the planet. I failed terribly, but holy hell would I do anything in my earthly powers for her.
It is true that you don’t fully know what you have until it’s gone.

Electoral maps/statistics are for nerds, and I am one.

Electoral maps/statistics are for nerds, and I am one.

The major reason I had to remove people from my life -people I didn’t want to remove from my life- is because of signs they were able to betray. 

Her best friend is now friends with _____ on Facebook.
Her other best friend is now friends with _____ on Facebook.
Her sister is now friends with _____ on Facebook.

This is the person she was with shortly after me. The pattern I noticed tells me they are still together, becoming more serious. A confirmation I didn’t want to know, but that I needed to know.

I can’t say I’m happy for her, that would be a lie. I can’t say that this is easy to accept, that is also a lie. In plain speak, I am absolutely devastated. Things were never supposed to be this way. We were supposed to be different. We were supposed to be the ones that made it. But in all sincerity I do hope that whomever this person is they make her happy. I hope they make her feel happier than I could have ever dreamed of making her. I hope she gets everything I couldn’t or didn’t provide. I hope he loves her more than I do. I hope she gets whatever it is she is looking for and needs. I hope to god he treats he as perfectly as she is, as she deserves to be treated. I hope he’s a better man than I ever was.

Love is the most beautiful, and the most wretched thing we humans are capable of experiencing. What a glorious torture it is to love.

No Diving, 2014

I heard the way past guys had treated her - and I refrain from calling them gentlemen on purpose - and it was all terrible and sub par. All I ever wanted to do was treat her like the brilliant person that she is. To make sure she was always happy and proud of herself and confident in who she is and loved and supported. I guess I just have a hard time accepting that someone is going to make her happier, when all I heard of her past was people not fully appreciating everything that she is.

It’s hard for me to enjoy the city now, everything just makes me think of her. We did everything together, and maybe that contributed to the problem, but if I was doing something she was doing it too, and if she was doing something I was doing it too. It just felt natural to be that way.

Every beautiful day, every store in the city, every visit to the library, every use of a patio for a beer, it still all feels like she should be here too. Like I’m waiting for her to meet me, or I’m going to see her walking towards me, or I’m on my way to meet her after work. Each piece of good news has something missing, every sandwich I make should be for two, Led Zeppelin or Beck or Arcade Fire or The Hip or St. Vincent or Florence and the Machine should be being listened to with her.
I thought time and repetition and keeping busy would help, but it seems to have no effect on how much I think about her and miss her. 
You know how men refer to their spouse as “my beautiful bride”? That’s what I would think. That’s the only way I could describe how much I loved her. She’d be walking towards me in a crowd and I would just think, “there she is, there’s the love of my life”. She’d radiate. I could pick her out from a kilometer away. I may not have been the most interesting or invigorating or fun at times, especially during the end, but by golly did I ever love the hell put of her. I loved her like Archie loves Edith, like George loves Louise, like Ross loves Rachel, like Ron Swanson loves freedom.
As R.L. would put it: well, well, well.

The Yorkville neighbourhood in Toronto is the city’s wealthy district. Million dollar condos, luxury brands, insanely expensive cars, the whole shebang. I used to live nearby - about 2 years ago - and I must say that there has been an explosion of wealth. Walking around the neighbourhood causes me great shock at just how many more fabulously wealthy people there are.
Still a lot of desperately homeless people too. I’ve noticed several elderly homeless people I’ve never seen before, so that’s new/soul crushing.

Today a man yelled at me about Jesus, and another told me the sky is going to open up and we’re all going to be sorry. They shook, and were wearing tattered clothes.
Nearby is Tiffany’s and Rolex and Louis Vuitton.

Locked out of my account but the app still let’s me sign in so that makes a lot of sense. Expect nothing but text posts and cell phone pictures until whenever I can remember the password to my Hotmail address so I can change my tumblr password.
What a time to be alive.

It’s not illegal to force your cat to hug you so you can once again feel the warmth of another body against yours. I checked.

Robert Plant & Alison Krauss

—Through the morning, through the night