Thursday, December 31, 2009

Tomorrow Never Knows What It Doesn't Know Too Soon

Today is the last day of 2009. Tomorrow is going to be an entirely new decade. I don't know what to think. I guess a lot of people are doing year end reviews and whatever. I don't really have the energy to do that because I can't remember things because I'm old now. Jk! Next year I turn 20, so this is my last year as a teenager. Kind of a scary thought.

Yesterday I was going over in my mind every month of 2009 to think of eventful .. events and I couldn't remember what I did for march break. I did nothing.

Significant events of 2009 in chronological order: meeting katrina, losing the hockey finals, working for autostraddle, getting a "real" job, going to new york for the autostraddle rodeo disco, going to new york for the second time, quitting hockey, being back at school and being happy, going to dc for the march on washington.

It's unlikely that I will ever link to the first 3 months of this blog ever again.

Significant events that I expect will occur in 2010:
January 8-13: NYC
January 11: it will be this blog's 1 year anniversary. weird, huh?
January 17: T&S concert
January 20: back to school ("significant"?)

Everything after that is up in the air. I expect to receive a letter or something from UBC either accepting or rejecting my application and from there I guess I'll have to make some decisions. I want to move into an apartment in the spring/summer. I want to make more trips to NY. I want to still have a job to pay for said trips. Maybe I'll go to Europe. Maybe I'll be in love. I don't know what's going to happen. It's kind of exciting. Hopefully my friends still like me in 2010. Maybe some a really good movie will come out. Maybe a really good book will come out, though I feel that's unlikely. Maybe I'll write a really good book.

Anyways. 2009 was a pretty good year and 2010 looks pretty good too. I mean, I think I'm finally growing up, or whatever. And I'm glad I spent 2009 with the people I did. Because I love love. And disobeying everything my eighth grade teacher taught me about starting sentences with "and", "but", and "because". (I'm JKing about that. Grammar lesson to follow in 2010). Happy New Year!

Monday, December 28, 2009

In the End They'll Judge me Anyway, So Whatever

[kid cudi - up, up and away]

I first heard this song at work and I have to say that after hearing it every day over and over again I still like it. I guess that makes it a good song.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

The One Where I Try to Make Light Graffiti

I thought about titling this "Baby When the Lights Go Out" but then I realized people might think I was serious or something. Natch.

Anyways, I've been experimenting with something called light graffiti. Light graffiti is really cool if you're good at drawing (which I am not). Here are 25 examples of light graffiti by people who are talented.

Wow, how do you do that? 1) get a camera. 2) get a tripod or flat, unmoving surface. 3) set a slow shutter speed (I usually do 15-25 seconds). 4) get lights -- laser pointers, flashlights, those pens that glow, etc. 5) take the picture and draw in front of it.

These are a few of the attempts I've made. I want to try it outside but so far I've been foiled by a) fucking cold weather or b) rain.


Also if anyone would like to donate some kind of light that you can control (i.e. turn on and off at will) that would be nice.

Anyways, I hope everyone is having "happy holidays". My "holidays" are going aight, thanks for asking. I'm going to New York in January, hopefully by then I'll have developed the pictures I took in August.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Open Letter to Santa Claus

Dear Santa,

for Christmas I'd like Bill Watterson to make more comics.

Thank you,
Love,
Emily

Monday, December 21, 2009

Recurring Dreams of Minor Chords

[maria taylor - song beneath the song]


Thursday night/Friday morning at about 2 am Katrina told me about Maria Taylor. Um. HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT HER BEFORE? Shit. Anyways, this is Song Beneath the Song and it's brilliant.

The song Katrina first sent me is Clean Getaway but it's sad and I feel like I might need to use it for another time.

Friday, December 18, 2009

The Calendar Post

I am obsessed with time. I look at my calendar every day, multiple times. Sometimes I just stare at it. Strangely enough, I don't even write that much on it. I write when I work, my guitar lessons (every Thursday) and when I go out with friends. In fact, I usually write it after it happens. A calendar to me is like a journal. It's srs bsns. SRS PPL, SRS.

Anyways, here is a look at every calendar I have ever owned since 1999. I can't find the ones from earlier and some are missing in between. I didn't look too hard. I still have to buy a 2010 calendar and it's stressing me out. SRSLY.

1999
A smashing new calendar for 1999! I didn't write anything in this, probs just liked tolook at the pictures.














2001
I vaguely remember buying/having this calendar. I also did not write anything in here.














2003

I remember having this one, also I wrote a lot in it. In November I wrote down all the tv shows I watched (The OC, Charmed, Survivor) and my hockey games/practices. I even wrote down the day I moved (September 2).











2004
Clearly my goal in life was to have a different animal calendar every year. I wish I had a Dairyland: Canada's Cow Calendar, but oh well. Someone also bought me a Harry Potter calendar but I didn't use it because I already had this cow calendar that I specifically picked out. It's a big deal, picking out a calendar. You have to spend a whole freaking year with it so it better be good! I hate people choosing things for me. That's why this year I asked for no presents.








2005
This is obviously one of the best calendars I have ever owned. WHALES. Also, the blue whale is featured on my birthday month. FYI, blue whale = AWESOME. Want to know what happened in November? On the 17th I got a hair cut. There was no school because of a strike. On the 22 I went to see the Habs play Atlanta. Blah blah. November was a pretty boring month, I guess.










2006
So I finally stopped buying animal calendars in 2006 and I haven't looked back. I'm not gonna post 2007-2009 because they're all the same with different quotes. But I love this calendar! It's motivating! 2006 was a really shitty year, who knows how shitty it might've been without this calendar. Also I realized that I titled that post what I wanted to title this post, I guess I have to think of something creative and exciting now like "The Calendar Post".








Also, I fucking hate blogger's formatting. Do you know how many times these pictures randomly disappeared when I added the next one? So sorry if sentences are randomly cut off or there are huge spaces everywhere. It's blogger's fault. Anyways, today I'm going in search of the perfect 2010 calendar. Cray cray.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

I Need a 2010 Calendar and a Slice of Bread

For some reason I keep thinking today is Wednesday. I realized I forgot to do the music monday and that I have no concept of time because I'm on break. Yet I still have an English essay to write and I still have to register for next semester. Half the options I want to take are not available. The good news is that I passed science which means that I can graduate next semester granted I pass all my coming courses WHICH I WILL MARK MY WORDS. The terrifying thing is that I have to apply to university soon. The other day I got an email from UBC saying they were accepting undergraduate applications now. I am very scared. I told this to someone while also mentioning that I am scared of everything. Write this down, kids: telling someone you're afraid of everything is not impressive. It makes you look stupid.

Anyways, I'm completely mixed up. The cheery holiday music at work made me sad. This Matt Costa song that doesn't exist on the internet, All I Want For Christmas, came on and I felt all bummy because I was thinking about this person and so I crumpled a little inside. Why am I such a sucker? I don't know. I have things to do. I need to buy a calendar. I need to eat. My room is 5 degrees colder than the rest of the house. Last night my friends wanted to go out but I fell asleep on the bed. I think that means that sometimes I'm not very fun to be around.

So far this holiday season I've been a giant lump who has barely gone outside except to miss the bus or forget my wallet at home. I feel like a grandma because I can barely stay awake past 11. I'm having candy cravings but my teeth are probably going to disintegrate or something. I hate living in the West Island. I'm not buying people Christmas presents. I told my parents not to buy me presents and to tell the rest of the family not to buy me presents. I think I'm just going to buy myself a present. After all, I know what I want. What I do not want is a t-shirt or a sweater so please don't buy me those things. I need ankle socks but no one would think of buying that.

Tomorrow I'm going to do nothing except drink tea and read Ernest Hemingway.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Don't Forget a Million Miles For Me, Safe and Another Day Has Passed by Me

"I went to B&H and got some film. Worked on autostraddle stuff with Riese and X. We smoked a joint and then went to meet Brooke, Carly, and Robin for dinner where I got drunk. Laura met us halfway through. We slept in Riese's living room and cuddled and talked and it was nice just to listen to people breathing."
- journal, August 14 2009

The room was dark, but not completely. The moonlight came through the cracks in the curtains and lit up little pathways on the floor. I remembered the first night I had stayed there, the night before. I slept on the couch. There were dark red candles on the table, at about eye-level. I thought about blowing them out because I could still see the flame when I closed my eyes but I decided not to. It added a cozy warmth to the room. For that first night I was alone with my thoughts and feeling little fits of happiness in my stomach. I was content and warm and felt like I belonged. There was satisfaction in knowing that the me from 7 months ago would never have predicted this. The fan in the window hummed quietly.

The second night was different. We slept on a mattress on the floor. The fan tried its best but the air was just sticky and hot. We pulled close to each other anyway and whispered breathy secrets. It was liberating. I felt like I was in another world, and maybe I was. I associate the feeling with New York but it could have been anywhere as long as the people were there. As long as I could lie on the floor and feel peace.

I spent the week in a daze. I seemed to be drunk all the time. I tried to get the seat next to the air conditioner. I tried to count how much money I had left. I tried to take pictures. I tried to remember every detail, every corner of every room, every street sign, every cloud in the sky. I couldn't. I only remember feeling as happy as I had ever been in my life. Now when I'm alone I think of the dark red candles. I think of Laura's navy blue shirt. I think of the mattress on the floor and the moon just outside the window and the steady breathing of the two people beside me who promised me without words that they would always be my friends.

++

June 26th, 2009. The road was foggy and empty. The yellow lines stretched on. Katrina was driving, looking for a place we never found. We listened to Tegan and Sara and it was surreal. We listened to the Yellowknife version of City Girl and we listened to the Spinner version of Nineteen and the Melbourne version of Want to be Bad. We listened to every Tegan and Sara song we could and we drove and drove and drove.

It was perfect, really. We met through a mutual love of Tegan and Sara, see. What seemed like a hundred years before, Katrina had been the girl who stole the screenname I wanted. Then she was the girl I stayed up late talking to. Then she was the girl I tried to write songs with over the internet. Then I was in DC in February and she was the girl who went from 2-D to 3-D and there was really no stopping it now. Suddenly she was in Montreal, in my room, watching the series finale of The L Word with me. It was before I knew Riese but after I had sent her that first email and I guess the forces were already at work because in four months we would be in Rockland talking about autostraddle. Riese said people usually like her better before they meet her, but I don't think that's true. I like her so much more.

The point is that four months after Katrina slept in my bed I was sleeping in her bed and driving in her car and on the eve of meeting Riese for the first time. I remember sitting in the bleachers at Katrina's high school -- the sky filled with stars, the air crisp but warm, and feeling tiny and large at the same time. The feeling would last until I took a cab to Penn Station and repeated those words to myself as the morning train took me home -- New York is big and small. My heart is big and I am small. There is enough room in my heart for everyone and everyone and other people and I will keep you [you] there because I need you [you] with me all the time.

++

I came back in August not really knowing why but feeling like I had to. I didn't know what I wanted. Maybe it was just a piece of that feeling back -- I don't even know what the feeling was or where it went -- but I wanted to recreate it.

It was so much better than the first time. I felt braver when I went home. I felt fuller, more complete. Now it's like I carry [their] hearts around but instead of feeling weighed down I feel light. I put one step in front of the other and hold this secret in my chest, this wonderful, wonderful secret, the secret everybody knows but not as well as us, no, not as well as me -- I could try and tell you but I'm not sure you'd understand: these people are more human than humans. They're more fantastical than unicorns. They're prettier than snow, they're smarter than smart things, they're worth more than their weight in gold.

They're changing the world, one heart at a time.

++

"X and Lola came over. I was passing out at 2:30 but I didn't want to fall asleep. Went to bed at 4 AM anyway. Also we came up with conspiracy facts about Gaga."
- journal, August 17 2009

At 4 AM I finally obeyed my tired eyes. I never wanted to sleep, never wanted to go home. There were three fans humming in the corners and not enough plugs for our computers. Where was the moon? I left my heart in Riese's living room.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Only Love is All Maroon

"So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard and we're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that, because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day."
- Noah, The Notebook

In the movies they have these bursting moments right before the end where everything sort of explodes and one person says they're so in love and they're here and waiting for the other person to decide. There's usually some sort of nice music and then they make out in the rain and everyone in the audience melts inside and wishes they could find love like that. Why doesn't everyone speak that romantically? Wouldn't it be nice if someone told you they've loved you for so long because of so and so reasons and you're so beautiful and the moon and the stars and love love love and how could you say no? How could you say no to a speech like that?

It's in the books too. I read books more than I watch movies. There's this moment in Pride and Prejudice when Mr. Darcy makes a confession to Elizabeth -- "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

People like romantic movies because they want a piece of whatever those lovers have.

But as far as love confessions go, this isn't one.

This is a pseudo-love, sort of like, can't decide, think you're really cute anyway confession. I love you in that accidental way, the way I love everyone on the planet. I don't really like you at all. Just kidding, I do. I just want to pretend that I don't because apparently that works sometimes.

Anyways, this is just to tell you I think you're really cute. I'm not saying I want a relationship, I'm just saying that you have a nice face and you like to read, and that's okay with me. I like to read too.

So that's it. I'm letting you know, in case you were curious or something. This isn't a love confession so I suppose it's okay if I tell you that I think I like you. I mean, you're alright, I guess.

Monday, December 7, 2009

With The Wild Wolves Around You

[phoenix - north]

this is an instrumental song. it makes me think of wolves, because i think i hear them howling their loneliness at the end. seriously, seriously beautiful song.


sorry for no updates this weekend. been busy studying.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Montreal, My Hands Are Getting Cold

Holy shitfuck guys, it's December. I wrote this on November 14th. Obvs I had just read 'America'. I don't know what I want.

Anyways, urgent matters to discuss before you read this poem. Remember when Maine happened? Ironically I used a line from 'America' as the title of that post, and today America, more specifically New York, fucked up again. The NY senate voted no on gay marriage, which is incomprehensibly lame. Read about it on Autostraddle and share your feelings.

Basically I just like to write about cities a lot, now read this about Montreal.

++

Montreal, do you hate me?
I can't figure you out.
I don't think I can talk to you right now.
I might cry and that would be embarrassing.

Montreal, I'm writing your name down.
Montreal, I'm making this real.
Montreal, you're ignoring me.
Can you hear me, Montreal?
I can't figure you out.

Would you like me to wave?
Would you like me to close my eyes?
Is this a game we're playing?
Montreal, you didn't tell me.

Montreal, should I stop asking questions?
I can't stop asking questions.
Is this too unbalanced?
Am I tipping the scales?

Montreal, I'll never be able to refine this.
Montreal, you're never going to read this.
I'm going to make you read this.
Montreal, I'm going to make you care.
I can't make you care.

Montreal, would you like me to leave?
I tried to leave.
Montreal, you wouldn't let me.
Who are you, Montreal?
I can't figure you out.

Montreal, I'm making this real.
Montreal, I'm ending this now.
I can't end this now.
I can't start anything either.

Montreal, I'm stuck.
Montreal, I want to cry.
I'm going to cry in front of you.
I'm going to smoke next to you.
Montreal, would you like a cigarette?

Montreal, would you leave me alone?
Leave me alone.
I'm tired of you.
Montreal, I never see you.
Montreal, you're everywhere.
Montreal, are you ignoring me?
Montreal, I want to leave,
but you left first.

Montreal, it wasn't fair.
I gave you chances, Montreal,
you didn't take them.
Did my opportunities come up short?
Montreal, am I good enough for you?
I'll never be good enough.

Montreal, I'm better than you.
Montreal, I'm stronger.
Montreal, my hands are getting cold.
I'm tired of waiting.
Montreal, you never came.

Montreal, you never met me.
I walked home in the morning.
The morning made my hands cold.
Montreal, do you have pockets?
Do you want a cigarette?
Are you ignoring me?

Montreal, I swear I saw you last night.
I swear you saw me too.
You looked right through me, Montreal.

Between St. Laurent and Mont-Royal,
Montreal, the sidewalks are full.
I walked the sidewalk down St. Laurent.
Montreal, you were on the sidewalk too.

Montreal, I broke the rules.
Montreal, I came outside and you were gone.
Where are you, Montreal?
Are you ignoring me?
Do you want me to leave?
Do you want a cigarette?

Montreal, I don't think you care about me.
I care about me.
Montreal, this is never ending.
Montreal, I'm trying not to cry.
Did you see me last night?
I was trying not to cry.
I walked home in the morning.
Montreal, my hands are cold.

Montreal, I don't think you're listening.
Are you listening?
Montreal, you're no good for me.
Montreal, give me a fucking chance.
Ask me a question, Montreal.
Is this too much?

Montreal, I'm stuck.
Montreal, I cried.
Montreal, I tried.
You didn't try.

Montreal, you ran away.
You left me standing here.
Montreal, my hands are cold.
Answer me, Montreal.
Montreal?

Don't wait up for me, Montreal.
I'm staying out late tonight.

Monday, November 30, 2009

I Felt You In My Legs Before I Ever Met You

Since the day I started this blog, I have been waiting for this moment. JK. Since I started music monday I've been waiting for this moment, this once in a lifetime moment. On Friday it was my 19th birthday.

That's not the moment I've been waiting for.

What I've been waiting for is this:

[tegan and sara - nineteen]
(sidenote this is the live version t&s did for spinner which is the best version of nineteen you will ever hear)

I was... nineteeeeeeeeeeeen, caaaaalll meeeee.

Except that you actually couldn't for a while because I left my phone in a taxi. Yeah, go me. Then my parents had to pay ransom for it because I was at work for 7.5 hours folding clothes. Money!

Also I realize that on my Rules of Life list I forgot something essential. If you recall, my Rules of Life are as follows:

1. Don't be too drunk.
2. Don't cry.
3. Everything's going to be fine.
4. Never try to write somebody else's poetry.

I need to add to that, perhaps one of the most important things ever ever ever and I can't believe I forgot it:

5. Always bring lipbalm.

Friday, November 27, 2009

It's My Birthday and I'll Cry If I Want To

Hello! On Wednesday I posted a bunch of lists about things. Today I'm going to continue that trend with one special list: 3290902 Reasons Why I Am Awesome. It's true that this list could make me sound really pretentious and stuck up but I have justifications, I swear. Firstly, if you know me personally I think you'll know that I'm a pretty modest person. I'm also honest. I think it's important to be honest with yourself, that's why I'm making this list. Also if you're Brooke Levin, you probably approve of this. Secondly, it's my birthday. Therefore, I deserve to feel good about myself. Notice I haven't made a list of my flaws. You can read that list at the shoreline receding.


Reasons Why I Am Awesome

1. I have feelings and lots of them.
2. I can write relatively well. I write poetry and short stories and this blog and sometimes I write for Autostraddle.
3. Also I work for Autostraddle. I should just end the list here (but I won't).
4. I play the guitar kinda okay ish and I write bad songs. But points for trying, right?
5. I can also play the bass and drums and keyboard kinda okay ish.
6. I take pictures.
7. I have good taste in music. Srsly.
8. I like to travel. Traveling is fun. It also makes me cool.
9. I'm a good friend (I think/hope?). I love them, anyway.
10. Even though it scares me I do it anyway. Cause I seize the day. Most days.
11. I'm funny.
12. I have an open mind.
13. I can use a computer. You might be like "obvs" at this one, but srsly some people are just slower than others. Don't judge them.
14. I'm kinda cute/I have a nice ass. OK NOW THIS TIME IT'S NOT ME TALKING, I have multiple sources that tell me I have a nice ass. So there.
15. I have fucking nice teeth.
16. I'm smart. I also have justification for this statement, read:
"i think emily choo is a very bright, 'poetically inclined' girl who pays attention to everything and knows almost everything (the point of stuff, how to read, how beautiful things feel, how scary things feel, etc) but doesn't believe/accept/realize yet that she knows almost everything. it's actually better that way because she'll keep wanting to know more stuff. i think of emily choo as a "girl we like" and i "feel she is kickass" and that she "has a name that sounds cool so we like to say it as much as possible." and "i feel personally i would be sad if emily choo was really sad." i also 'feel like i am stoned right now' and 'probably talking crazy' while 'consciously writing in a style reminiscent of the Great Tao Lin'"

Probs the greatest compliment I've ever gotten from someone stoned. Also if you won't listen to me maybe you'll listen to her, but you should listen to me anyway because I know almost everything.

So yeah, I think that's it. Clearly you can see I'm almost perfect. Single ladies you better put a ring on it.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Things I Hate Spending Money On & Other Lists

Things I Hate Spending Money On

1. public transport
2. tampons

Rules of Life

1. Don't be too drunk.
2. Don't cry.
3. It's going to be fine.
4. never try to write somebody else's poetry

6PM Walking Home From School Songs

1. RE: Stacks - Bon Iver
2. The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice
3. Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect - The Decemberists
4. Twilight - Elliott Smith
5. Sunset Soon Forgotten - Iron & Wine
6. Lost Coastlines - Okkervil River

4AM Walking Home From the Bus
Stop Drunk Songs

1. RE: Stacks - Bon Iver
2. Lua - Bright Eyes
3. Bird Stealing Bread - Iron & Wine
4. On My Way Back Home Again - Jim Ward
5. Adventures in Solitude - The New Pornographers

The Only Consistent Things In My Life

1. the stuffed animals on my bed
2. paper

6AM Getting Ready for School Songs

1. Northshore - Tegan and Sara
2. Thieves and Their Hands - Rachael Cantu
3. This Charming Man - The Smiths
4. Bad Romance - Lady Gaga
5. Greater Omaha - Desaparecidos

Those Stupid Songs That Make Me Sad

1. Left and Leaving - The Weakerthans
2. Back In Your Head (demo) - Tegan and Sara
3. City Girl (yellowknife version) - Tegan and Sara
4. Tonight - Stars
5. Angel - Sarah McLachlan
6. A Better Son/Daughter - Rilo K
iley
7. Vera - Pink Floyd
8. Upward Over the Mountain - Iron & Wine
9. Company Calls Epilogue - Death Cab For Cutie
10. Saturday As Usual - Bright Eyes

Reasons Why I Think You Should Call Me

1. multi-talented
2. ability to empathize
3. i'm actually an okay person
4. i can slip into a semi-comatose state while standing on a bus

Reasons Why I Think You Won't Call Me

1. you're not paying attention
2. i say strange things

Favorite Places I've Traveled To

1. San Francisco
2. New York City
3. Stockholm
4. some place in the French countryside
5. #smallearth

To-Do

1. write essays
2. read books
3. find love or a substitute of some kind

Things Love Is

1. a disease
2. the cure
3. the best sensation hiding in the lion's mane
4. blind
5. a smoke raised with the fumes of sighs
6. a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes
7. a sea nourished with lovers' tears
8. a madness most discreet
9. a choking gall and a preserving sweet
10. all you need

(first picture via autostraddle)
(second picture via cole rise)

Monday, November 23, 2009

I Can't Take My Mind Off Of You

[damien rice - the blower's daughter]

and so it is, just like you said it would be.
life goes easy on me,
most of the time.

i can't take my eyes off of you.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

fiction about women

I wrote this in August. I mentioned it once here and once here. I've been scared to publish it because I think it's good but I'm worried that it's not. This story doesn't apply to me anymore. It might have been true at one point, but now it's taken its place in fiction. Anyways, here we go. Deep breath.

"It's the daydreaming that does it. I'm doing the usual thing -- imagining in tiny detail the entire course of the relationship, from first kiss, to bed, to moving in together, to getting married (in the past I have even organized the track listing of the party tapes), to how pretty she'll look when she's pregnant, to names of children -- until suddenly I realize that there's nothing left to actually, like, happen. I've done it all, lived through the whole relationship in my head. I've watched the film in fast forward; I know the whole plot, the ending, all the good bit."
- Nick Hornby "High Fidelity"

++

all i know how to write about are the women i’ve loved. there’ve been a lot. every woman i’ve ever seen i’ve fallen in love with. the ones i’ve met for 5 minutes or less or more, but not much more. There’s the woman i met for a day and then i loved her for a month. there’s the woman who came up behind me on the escalator, then i wrote an entire love poem where every other word was ‘love’ prefaced with ‘i’ and ending with everything you do. these women break my heart. they destroy me. it’s only the ones i’ve missed that tear me apart like this. you know, the missed opportunities. all i can do is write some kind of fiction about women, all the women i’ve loved inside my head.

what i really mean is there’s one woman i want to talk about right now. that’s it, right? it’s never women in general, not for anyone. there’s always someone specific in mind. well, there is here, for me.

it would make sense to start the story from when we met. that would be logical. but the real story starts when i was born, because this is my story and that’s when i begin. so i guess meeting people and women comes in somewhere in the middle. or ‘late start’ since the story’s not over. there’s no real start to anything actually. i mean this whole life is like a circle or something anyways. there’s no starting point. the important part is this: there’s this woman, and then there’s me.

if i knew how to explain it, i would. but i don’t, so i can’t. i’m making it up as i go along. i don’t know what i’m talking about, but no one really does. if they tell you they do they’re lying and the world is full of liars and believers, and you need one liar and one believer and that’s how you get the truth. are you listening to me right now? are you believing this? what did i just tell you? pay attention. this is about love which doesn’t exist except inside your head.

so this is some kind of story about something. this is my story within a story. it’s about a woman or women or love. (it’s about the love i created inside my head).

let’s make a list. the list is called “things about you” but it’s not about you, it’s about this woman i’ve been talking about, you know? the woman in the story. see if you can figure it out. i know it’s a boring name for a list but it’s late and i don’t think the name is very important right now. i mean, it doesn’t matter. the list is still the same.

things about you: a list
blonde
crooked thumbs
distorted
low
round eyes
small teeth


i could be describing anyone right now. if you know who i’m talking about maybe it’s obvious and you are probably thinking i’m crazy right now, you’re making a mental note, suddenly you think differently of me. that’s fine. i’m fine with that. either i’m in love with everybody or i’m in love with nobody.

so i’ve written stories in my head. stories about this one woman, this blonde with crooked thumbs, a distorted sense of perception, low low sweet n’ low, round eyes and small teeth; one of them is about how we fight all the time. this is the beginning of the story, i guess, if there was a beginning. the beginning is in the middle because we’re already fighting and i’m making it up.

it’s the middle of winter. i think winter is perfect for breathing close to someone when you’re outside and hiding your hands somewhere. see, this woman, i shout at her in the snow but she never shouts back and that’s very frustrating. and i tell her that. i tell her she’s a robot and she has no feelings. she tells me i have too many feelings. i just shout a lot. it’s okay to shout in the winter because the world gets bigger when it snows. all i need is one believer now to turn my lies into truths.

in this shouting scene she’s wearing a hat and i’m not. but i have a scarf on. we’re on the sidewalk near a main street across from my school but there’s no one around because it’s winter. the world is bigger so there’s more places to hide and that’s where the other people are. or maybe someone is walking by but they just keep going. i don’t know because i’m too busy shouting. she’s not answering me, really. you know why? because this is a one sided conversation because it’s not real because it’s happening in my head because i live there. and i can’t think for someone else. not even for this woman that i love but don’t know at all. we just go to a hotel and drink wine. red for her, white for me. i know that much.

on the way there it starts to snow. i can tell we’re not really mad at each other, we’re just mad at each other. there are red patches on her cheeks but it’s from the cold not because she was shouting. that was me. that’s why my face is red. i’m not wondering if she’s going to hold my hand. it’s like we’re pretending we’re not going to the same place. i know she is just waiting for me to apologize.

either everything is true or nothing is. how much of this are you believing?

inside the layers of clothing come off. i never really thought about it but i guess i’m wearing a jacket and a sweater and a shirt and probably an undershirt because it’s really cold. (i want to say more about the cold and this woman but i can’t because that would give it away. i’m only giving some things away, not little truths, just little lies. stuff that makes up a story, you know? it doesn’t matter because i’ve already classified this as fiction, turned this into something that exists on the fringes of life, the edges of my mind. and maybe it’s based on a real person (blonde with crooked thumbs, a distorted sense of perception, low low sweet n’ low, round eyes and small teeth) or maybe it’s not. whatever you want to believe, i guess. whatever you choose to think about me. who am i trying to convince?)

we undress each other and make peace – i mean love – and then i take a shower and we order chinese food. we eat chinese food in the boxes and drink cheap wine and time sort of fast forwards. i can just skip this part. let’s just say that we’re both quiet and she’s been quiet since she got here, since i shouted at her in the snow, and i know she’s going to say something soon. i can’t say what because i don’t know her very well even though i’ve known her for a year. it’s amazing what you can talk about when you don’t talk about anything. we lie in bed and hold each other and watch the news but i’m not really watching, i’m just looking. i’m looking at her and thinking and knowing that we’re probably going to fight again soon, except it’s just going to be me by myself. i’m always shouting at the wall and she’s always calm and quiet until she gets her word in and that’s it, i’m defeated.

we walk around in the fresh snow again outside the hotel. i’m wearing these shitty converse with holes in them and my feet are freezing already. this is based on real life, this is actually a fact. the one truth i’ve told is about my holey shoes. i guess it’s better than nothing. i already said this was fiction didn’t i? it’s all about love which only exists in my head, and barely
there
at
all.



i’m making tracks in the ground, walking in a circle around this woman. she’s talking now, about worldly things. i touch her here and there, kiss her here and there. if we are puzzle pieces we don’t really fit together, but at least we’re in the right box, part of the same picture. we never tell each other lies because we don’t need to, instead we just say things and i don’t know if that’s worse.

i imagine our friends talking about us, saying we’re crazy for each other. they say that i’m crazy and i show it and she’s crazy but she won’t admit it and that’s why i’m always shouting. that’s why she’s never shouting. they say that we’re two extremes and i’m not talking about ‘opposites attracting’ because we have a lot in common (we also have nothing in common but that matters less), but we work because we need each other. it works on this paper because i wrote it, i made it, i’m the writer who turned fiction into fact. fiction into truth. this works if you believe me.

the truth (or...?) is that i can’t not be in love with anybody. right? either i’m in love with everybody or i’m in love with nobody and the latter can’t be true, it just can’t. i’m in love with every woman i know and i’m writing the same story over and over again. i’m rewriting my life over and over again.

we’re rolling in the snow and my jeans are wet. the snow is a good kind of cold, you know, that kind that you can hold in your hand and you won’t get shivers. i’m chasing her and shouting and i’m cold and hot and happy and warm. we lie in the snow. she’s wearing her hat, i’m wearing my scarf. some snow goes down my neck and i shake and giggle. the rest of the world is hiding, somewhere in the white spaces where we haven’t walked yet. i’m not wondering if she’s going to hold my hand, i know she’s just waiting for me to kiss her and i do. we lie on our backs and watch and feel the snow cover our faces and bodies and they’re just like white falling stars. tomorrow our tracks will be gone, replaced with something clean, a fresh new hope.

we go inside and make love – i mean peace – i mean tea – and we sleep and dream of space and snow and each other. and it’s warm inside these blankets and her body’s warm and the tv’s still on. i can hear it subconsciously. in the middle of the night i wake up and turn it off. i kiss her shoulder and bury deeper into her heart and into the sheets and it’s still snowing outside but not in our bed.

so here’s what i’ve learned: either everything is perfect or nothing is. and the answer is both at the same time because they’re the same thing, you know? everything is perfect, and nothing is. so she’s either everyone you know, or no one at all. believe what you will.

Monday, November 16, 2009

You Write Such Pretty Words, But Life's No Storybook


This is the first Bright Eyes song I ever heard. I don't think I understood it or liked it very much but I kept listening to it because the person I had a crush on at the time loved it. That was in grade 8. I've been a Bright Eyes fan ever since and when the person broke my heart I listened to Bright Eyes over and over again because sometimes when you're sad you listen to sad music hoping for a revelation or something. I'm kind of going through a sad period right now so mostly I'm just going to be posting sad things and sad poetry.

I picked you out of a crowd and talked to you. Said I liked your shoes, you said "thanks, can I follow you?" So it's up the stairs, out of view and prying eyes. I poured some wine. I asked your name, you asked the time...

Saturday, November 14, 2009

It's Cool, We Can Still Be Friends

Montreal at night.


Montreal at dawn.

I guess that your truth is just a ghost of your lies.
I guess your kind of truth is just the ghost of your lies.
Yeah, your kind of truth, darling, is just the ghost of your lies.
I see through them all the time.
So I'm pouring some whiskey, I'm gonna get drunk.
I'm pouring myself some whiskey, I'm gonna get real fucking drunk!
I'm pouring some whiskey right now, I'm gonna get so, so drunk
that I pass out and forget your face... by the time I wake up.
- Bright Eyes

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Read, Recycle, Write Poetry

So I know I just wrote a post about how people shouldn't write poetry 'cause they suck at it, but here I am writing some poetry and hopefully it doesn't suck and then I won't be such a hypocrite. For the record, Riese is currently not in New York, but on a fucking boat in Mexico. Since New York is where she lives that's how it happened in the poem. This all started because Laura wrote me an email about being stuck inside because her transit system thing was on strike and she was cuddling with her dog, then I had too many feelings about life so I had to write words.

Also I'd just like to point out that I think writing things down fictionalizes them. Once it's written down it takes on a life of its own, whatever 'it' is.

++

Do you think I'm a jerk because I answer harshly sometimes?
I've been taught to be defensive.
I get sad too, you know.
I get sad when it's midnight
and Riese is gone (she's in New York)
and Laura is lonely (she's got a dog).

Do you know what it takes to look in the mirror sometimes?
I've been taught to be obsessed.
I get tired too, you know.
I get tired in the morning
and my dad is gone (he has a job)
and Tina is asleep (she has time).

Do you know how it hurts to see you walk by sometimes?
I've been taught to stay away.
I get desperate too, you know.
I get desperate after school
and Esmé is gone (she is smarter)
and Val is gone (she works).

Do you cry on the way home sometimes?
I listen to Bon Iver and it hurts.
I get damaged too, you know.
It's all this time I spent alone
when Riese is gone (she's in New York)
and Laura is lonely (she's got a dog).

++

Congratulations.
I hate you.
Yes, I'm bitter.
Yes, I'm jealous.
Yes, I'm mad you're seeing someone else.

Yes, it hurts.

Congratulations.
Was it easy?
Yes, I'm sad,
yes, I'm foolish,
yes, I realize I'm just bad at it.

Yeah, it hurts.

Fuck off.
I hate you.
Yes, I'm bitter
and jealous and foolish and sad
and, yes, I'm miserable
'cause you're happier now.

So yeah, it does hurt.
Congratulations.

++

I'm thinking of investing in a sign:
"I don't know".
Don't ask me why.
I don't know.
Knowing hurts.

++

I noticed you got a haircut last weekend.
It's nice, I like it.
No really, it's cute.

I like it when you wear canvas shoes and plaid shirts
and black framed glasses.
They're cute, really.

I look for you on de Maisonneuve sometimes
but you quit smoking the day I started.
My chest hurts.

++

I have this urge to quote a song
but it doesn't sound as good when I say it.
Listening hurts.

++

I cry on the way home sometimes.
I listen to Bon Iver and it hurts.

And I miss all the people that are gone.

++

And loving hurt,
so I took a nap.

And a nap was all it took to forget your face for a while.

I woke up and it was very clear:
Shower, study, drink tea.
Read, recycle, write poetry.
Love.

And I miss all the people that are gone.

Monday, November 9, 2009

I Tried to Explain But You Cry and Cry and Cry

[the airborne toxic event - girls in their summer dresses]

For some reason this song makes me sad. I think it's because The Airborne Toxic Event make me think of this person.

I have 4 exams this week so, brb, gotta go study.

it's so quiet on these windswept days...

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Line Breaks Do Not a Poem Make

Listen, I'm never going to claim that I am a good poet. I think I'm okay. I've never really asked anyone's opinion, nor have I ever let people read much of what I've written. Actually, my poetry teacher from second semester said he liked an edited version of this poem, which was published in the Liberal Arts Anthology last spring. But he may have been lying. Regardless, I don't know if I'm a good poet or not. But I do know one thing: poetry is not a bunch of sentences with line breaks. Nor can you hide run on sentences with line breaks. Poems have a rhythm and beat, and I don't know why people think this means that poems have to rhyme. Rhyming poems are harder because you end up trying to force syllables in places they don't belong. This is a really good rhyming poem. Good luck trying to imitate that in any way. Anyways, don't write really long sentences 'cause it's tiring*. Just as a general rule. Keep that shit short. Concise. Done.

I just really have to get this off my chest.

Like, this is not
a poem because
I split my sentence
into 5 lines
where angels
come down from heaven
and I go off
on tangents
and say random things
that might have something to do
with my topic

and then start new stanzas
for no reason
banana
now I have to
bring this back around
to make this
make sense
can you tell
that I'm making this up
as I go along?
This is not a poem.

Riese has feelings about poetry in school:

I read this essay about how teaching literature in school is ruining it. I think a teacher wrote it. I can't remember. Most teachers in most schools in America are making kids hate books by treating literature like a Periodic Table, especially poetry.

Poetry is a gift and a skill. It's one of the hardest things to do well. Luckily, 'cause there's only a tiny poetry market, so it's a good thing we only have maybe 100 living poets who truly deserve a book of their stuff to be read by lots of people right now.

So making kids memorize poetry is boring. Making kids get pop-quizzed on what record album Holden Caulfield bought his sister is boring, and it misses the very best part of learning and reading poetry and really any kind of literature, which is reacting to it however you want -- rudderless and hopeful -- and I don't have an answer for how to give someone a grade on their emotional response to a work of literature. But I think making kids write poetry is a huge mistake. Let them discover it on their own if they must and if they must than they will. Otherwise they'll just associate poetry with the experience of sucking at something. Poetry will feel miserable to them and it has to feel not like that, it has to feel like the opposite of misery.

Back to me, Emily: Also telling having exercises where kids have to write poetry and you tell them to just write whatever is in their heart/what they feel is no good. Poetry has feelings, yes, but so does your fucking diary.

"If you cannot be a poet, be the poem." - David Carradine

*Unless you can pull it off.**
** but you probably can't.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

America, This is the Impression I Get From Looking in the Television Set

Yesterday Maine voted to ban same-sex marriage. I'm tired and my heart hurts. Someone asked why we still hope when we lose so many battles. The answer is because these are our lives. No one is going to accept being a second-class citizen. No one is going to lie down and die. Hope is the only thing we have. Why do I care? I live in Canada, votes in Maine don't legally affect me. But Maine is part of the world, and so am I. And I... well, I care about other people. I want to go to Alex and Riese's wedding one day. It would be so simple.


++

But you'll fight and you'll make it through
you'll fake it if you have to
and you'll show up for work with a smile.
And you'll be better,
and you'll be smarter,
and more grown up and a better daughter
or son and a real good friend.

You'll be awake, you'll be alert
you'll be positive though it hurts
and you'll laugh and embrace all your friends.
And you'll be a real good listener,
listen real,
you'll be honest, you'll be brave
you'll be handsome, you'll be beautiful.
You'll be happy.
- Rilo Kiley "A Better Son/Daughter"

++

I speak the pass-word primeval, I give the sign of democracy,

By God! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their

counterpart of on the same terms.

- Walt Whitman "Song of Myself"


Imagine all the people, living life in peace.

Monday, November 2, 2009

I Was Happy in the Haze of a Drunken Hour


in my life
why do i give valuable time
to people who don't care if i
live or die?

in my life
why do i smile
at people who i'd much rather
kick in the eye?

It's November. I hope November is better than October. I don't know how to do more than hope. I've forgotten how to take control of my life.. I've been living as a victim of circumstances. I'd like to say that maybe I won't go through the motions so much, but it's really up to me and I don't know how to change. So I'll just sit here for a while, sit through November, sleep through Christmas.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

I Am Not Descartes, There is no Thinking Here (today)

Hey weirdos, it's Thursday. I don't really have anything planned for Thursday in terms of this blog. I've been wondering since Sunday about what to write and I've decided that I'm going to do a photography post, since I haven't done one of those in ages. So I found a bunch of pictures that I really like and hopefully you will like them too. There is no thinking involved today. I mean if you're feeling the way I do you probably don't have the capacity to think anymore. Howevs, you should get ready because maybe possibly sometime soon a real big post is going to drop and you better be around read it.

++


+

(i got this from riese who doesn't know where she got it)

+


+

[time is an invention by people incapable of love]

+

(so i am not above self promotion)

++

If you're curious, my favorite is the Richard Prince one.

Happy Halloween, etc. I'm going to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show tomorrow night. If you're in Montreal come say hi.

Monday, October 26, 2009

We Treat Mishaps Like Sinking Ships

[modest mouse - little motel]

The remainders of a shooting star
landed directly on our broke down little car
before then we both had made a wish
that we would be missed
if one or the other just did not exist..

but that's what we're waiting for.

I would like to quote the whole song but that would be .. I don't know .. useless/waste of space/boring. Listen to the song, look up the lyrics. Have emotions.





















(via)


Saturday, October 24, 2009

You Feel Hopeless and Homeless and Lost in the Haze of the Wine

Maybe Matt Bergbusch was foreshadowing Friday night when he asked "who has all your lost or stolen socks?" and I said "Brendan Collins". Miraculously, after stumbling out of a club with my face in a fucking bag supported by a person I don't even know, I still have my house keys in my pocket. I still have my cards, my phone, my money, my earphones and even my fucking lip balm. I somehow managed to get my scarf, my jacket and my hat on. But I went home today with no socks. I lost them somewhere at Brendan's house.

++

Are they laughing at me? I asked. I stepped in a giant puddle. I was bent over, my knees seemed to be going on opposite directions, I just saw feet and heard voices, my face in that bag.

No, she said, no one is laughing at you.

Her voice was smooth, honest.

But they were probably judging me, I thought.

++

It starts sometime around midnight. I'm trying to tell someone to "meet me halfway". The thing is, I don't know where halfway is. I don't know where I am, where I stand or what I want. I'm thinking that "cmonqrrw were all in between just meet me halfway" is not very romantic.

I'm laughing and crying today. I find myself ridiculous, and hopeless. And I realize this is all very real and I'm on the verge of breaking through or breaking down.

++

Elliott Smith glorified walking between the bars.

I've been out haunting the neighborhood
and everyone can see I'm no good
when I'm walking out between parked cars
with my head full of stars.

There was nothing glorious about the way I was carried what seemed like one hundred miles to the car. Strong hands held me, someone I didn't know.

Why are you doing this, I asked.

Why, why in the world would this stranger pick me up off the floor and drag me somewhere safe. I know I said ridiculous things like Don't leave me! and clung to her body looking for some kind of primeval comfort that I'm too shy to ask for when I'm sober. But she never even needed to come near me in the first place.

Because you're the most beautiful girl here tonight. And we have the same name!

I don't know how beautiful I was trying to choke air down while coughing my stomach up but it's hard to disagree with someone when they kiss your disgusting face and hold your hand and tell you that it's fine and tell you that it's okay, it's okay it happens to everyone.

I don't even know what she looked like.

++

I've been trying to force something that's not there. I know I should let it go but I can't because I'm horribly overbearing and hopeful and desperate. This is my ballad of big nothing.

and you walk
under the streetlights
and you're too drunk to notice
that everyone is staring at you
and you don't care what you look like
the world is falling around you

you just have to see her

you know that she'll break you in two.

I would live for that glance, that one look where our eyes connect for a split second before people pass between us. Countless poems and songs have been written about that moment. Romantics die for that moment.

But that moment didn't happen because you were nowhere and I could barely open my eyes.

Good thing too, because I wouldn't want you to see me that way.

++

It's embarassing, it's humiliating. It's public shame that I probably deserved for not knowing my limits, or not obeying them.

But it's funny how at one of my lowest moments someone came out of nowhere, lifted me onto my feet and said I was beautiful. I was trying to lie down and die and she wouldn't let me.

So there's proof that good people do exist. Though it would probably be better to forget that night -- and the details are hazy now at best -- I don't want to forget the random act of kindness bestowed on me by a complete stranger.

Next time I see someone puking their brains out I will carry them home and tell them that they're beautiful and everything's going to be all right.

slide under tidal wave by mario leko.
(via)

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Well I Know What I Want, What I Want is SAINTHOOD

Listen up, guys. Tegan and Sara have this new album coming out October 27, as I've probably already mentioned it one or a million times. Crystal and I reviewed Sainthood and wrote a track by track breakdown of the whole album. Read it, bitches.

Today's music monday tuesday is SAINTHOOD.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Tumblr Saturday with Alessia the Photographer/Former Liberal Artist

Text:
Hello. It has been a while since I last posted a Tumblr Saturday. Well I've been busy so fuck you. JK. Love you. Anyways, today's guest is Alessia Pizzanelli!

I met Alessia last year in Liberal Arts. We have a facebook message thread of over 700 posts. It is so huge it makes my phone lag. A lot of those posts are me talking about Penelope Cruz (sidenote: Why is she supporting Roman Polanski I don't know I am disillusioned I just want Penelope to look pretty and know that rape is rape and not "rape" when you're famous. Ya know?). Alessia decided one day that she was going to leave Liberal Arts to study something more practical, like photography. I'm still bitter, but she's awesome. We always say we're going to have photography days but then we never do. Alessia says things like "guys" even though she's only talking to one person. She also falls asleep everywhere and likes sushi. GUYS SHE'S GONNA BE A FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER JUMP ON THE BANDWAGON NOW.

Photo:

















via

Quote:
"you are what you love, not what loves you." -adaptation (the movie, in case clarification was needed)

Link:
http://jessicapetunia.tumblr.com/

Chat:
[my conversations with alessia....]
Emily: um..the spanish armada has attacked me and won. shit.
Emily: 121 WORDS AN HOUR LATER.. SLOW, SLOW PROGRESS, BUT PROGRESS NONETHELESS.
Emily: you know, i think the title 'invincible' is a curse. anything given a name like 'invincible', 'unsinkable', 'undefeatable' is destined to fail. ex: invincible armada, titanic, dawson blues.
Emily: ok i know what the problem is. my topic is a historic event. how can i analyse it without describing it? yours is theology which has more arguments than "who won the war" obvs spain had an epic fail with the armada. i can only write about the consequences and i don't really know what those were.
Emily: tom cruise is 46 years old.
Emily: since 6:22 i have written.. 183 words. i'm going to pretend that's an accomplishment. & i'm tired and want to sleep/don't want to go to english/going to fail math/suicide
Alessia: emiliussssss i am back! i think we should both skip english, yes? ;)

Audio:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=os_8Xpl2Jsc

Video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GRHTGpWeiM

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

If You Want it to be Real Come Over For One Night and We Can Really, Really Climb

No attempt is made to explain away
the things that really, really, really, really, really are behind.
You can't hide.
- Okkervil River "For Real"

++

I found out on the metro, I mean -- I realized what I already knew -- that you're never going to call again. I figure that's okay, I guess. I tried/didn't try/didn't know what I was doing. But this is what I want you to know: no one knows what they're doing. It was my first time being born, my first time being 6, and 7, and 8, and feeling death -- my first time having a dead mother -- I don't know how to react -- does anyone? -- my first time in high school, first time learning the history of quebec, the geography of other people's bodies and mouths and hearts. It's my first time being 18, my first time living this day -- october 14th 2009 -- I'm never going to see this day again -- but how do I know what to do with it? So when I walked past you in the hall, so when I gave her that note, so when I avoided him on the way home; I was just living in my own weird way. I don't know if I'm doing it right. There's no instruction manual. I don't know if I should've said something else, or if this gets easier or more vivid. I don't think living gets easier, it just gets stranger. If I'm confusing it's because I'm confused.

I started reading the first couple of pages of this book and on page two I was told "love and ideals are not actually real". Oh, okay. I see it now.

Maybe it's because I have neither that I think this is untrue. Maybe I've read too many books, seen too many hollywood movies with romantic endings. Maybe I've been listening to too many songs that tell me love is the best sensation hiding in the lion's mane. I want love to be real, I need love to be real. I need ideals to be real because I idealize love in the worst way.

I slipped her a note in class, sat back and thought My life is a joke. After class she turned around, "Was this you who wrote this?"
Yes.
"Is this real?"

++

I'm just using you so I'll have a story to tell. So do your worst and I'll write my best. That's all I could ever hope for -- an experience so brilliant it will lift the words off the page. I'm running low on gas and I've kind of given up on you -- you, you'll never call. But now I'm asking you, come on, make it hurt! You're not killing me the way I want you to.

Come on, idealized love. I know you're real, I've felt you moving in me before.

And now I'm a walking contradiction. I wrote some days before -- notes in my phone -- But you're like, a real person. And I'm not. You're the kind of person who won't call back. And I'm not. I'll make you larger than you are. I'll write you into fiction, make you beautiful and smooth. But you're still real, you're just somebody else. I'm real too, but to other people. Maybe I passed you once before, before I knew you, and we slid by each other -- our worlds so close to touching -- your eyes straight, my head turned -- I didn't know you'd be real to me one day. Am I still outside your line?

++

I spend my days learning. I learn the curve of the hallways -- where the A wing is, the elusive F -- which bathrooms to use and when -- where to go when I'm alone -- and where to get on the metro so the doors open right in front of the stairs.

And when someone asks you if this is real, the answer is "Yes. Yes, of course it is." Because if this isn't real then I have nothing. If love isn't real then I -- we -- truly have nothing. You may call, or not. We might brush so close to each other again someday, maybe tomorrow. But I'll never have this day back, or that note, or this particular feeling walking home in a frustrated sorrow. I'll never be 6 again, or 7, or 8, my mom will never die again, I'll never be in high school for the first time. I'll learn new curves -- elbows and shoulders, lips -- meet other 'you''s and write other stories -- but I still won't know what I'm doing. It will still be the first time, it will still count, it will still be real. And I'll be here, taking notes.

Yes, this is real. This is very, very real.