i should live in salt for leaving you behind

my life still exists without you but it's a little bit emptier. it's a little bit rougher around the edges. my sails blown open to the wild seas; i know you won't protect me anymore.

i want to light your matches and burn your candle next to my hair i want to sleep on fire and not feel a thing.

i'm one hundred different things i'm a liar i'm not worth a dime. i tasted salt on my plate and knew it was my tears. i want to be alone but i'm scared i'd miss you and despite your gentle touch i'm still nobody new.

i cried my eyes out for you but tears aren't worth a thing i'd never have enough salt to pay you back the love that i owe.

i want to light your matches and burn your candle next to my hair i want to sleep on fire and not feel a thing. i'd never have enough tears to put out the fire that i've started i'd never have enough salt to pay you back the love that i owe i'd never live enough lonely lives drinking in the dead sea to collect enough salt to pay you back the love that i owe.

those things you do will all catch up to you

in china i danced alone to the smiths in some strange rooftop bar, not even lonely at all.

girls who dance.
girls who sing.

people who sit alone in crowded bars. i don't understand and will always understand their desire to be close to the crowd but not in it. in the middle of the dance floor,

i too, prefer the darkness.

if you asked me, i would ask for the quiet at 5:43am
when no one is mad at me because i haven't screwed up,
and my sorries haven't piled up,
and i'm running to catch the first metro
to get to work on time.

sadness in the new, sadness is the old

you know i come here to listen to sad songs and think about how to say whatever it is that i can't say

it's not words it's physical

enough talk let's fuck

our hearts out our stomach top of the roller coaster i'm going down

to the bottom


to lie here and think about

why bon iver's first album is still so good

and winter in a minnesota cabin

between the trees some frozen tears


i could feel them fuck between the walls

remembered what it's like to reach through and grab nothing

press yourself against the wall

like a magnet from a distance


how many ways to say whatever it is i can't say

i can't say but i know now

i mean i think i know     you guys    i think i know

i didn't choose this but i want it


nostalgia 101 - a hundred different things about love

another line to remember

"Tell me the truth, how long until I find myself
throwing the dog's full bowl of water across the kitchen again,
because you moved on with your life and I stayed heavy-footed
in the linoleum, stupid, trying to resuscitate the broken mop.

[...]

What if I told you I wouldn't want to have an affair with her
unless she slurred and spilled her drink on the edge of my filthy bed,
or if it ever happened, that I licked the librarian's salty back,
I'd still call you afterwards that same night,
tell you to meet me for a drink somewhere,
in some smoky, lonely palace?"

- Ali Liebgott, "The Beautifully Worthless"



it's for a friend who knows what it's like to hear your own sobs echo through the empty hallway, who knows life is an empty box until you fill it with whatever you can and paint it whatever colour you want.

i like that at first, you read "in some smoky, lonely place." but then you find out it's a palace. and it's more lonely because it's bigger and it's empty and it echos so that you hear your loneliness and desperation bouncing back to you over and over again.

it is absolutely no fun being whole

it is absolutely no fun being whole
being that the whole time i was sitting here
at my desk absolutely nothing happened
except shadows receding along the sidewalk

silence

i said 'it sounds exactly like love'
sounds like a song that sounds like a song i used to know
it's sadder when you're alone
even when you're whole

it is absolutely no fun being whole
being that the whole time i was sitting here
i was waiting but for nothing to arrive
just waiting

....

i said 'it feels exactly like love'
an embrace glued to your skin
i shed it off, lie skinless while i wait
and think about the love we didn't make

i said 'it tastes exactly like love'
tasteless
empty
waiting
etc.

no fun being whole
no fun being broken, either
no fun, no fun at all

Stolen: Old bike, probably worth nothing to you

Grey Minelli bike, medium size, used condition. Pretty heavy. Was last seen locked to a bike post outside my apartment. Worth more in happiness points than money. Whatever. Keep the bike, you asshole. I hope you crash and break your bike-stealing arms.

Basically, this:

one day i might begin again

looking out my window i think about this:

is a person who is writing a writer?

okay now the difference between a writer and a good writer is:

blank

a good writer versus a great writer.

is it the conceptualization?

here it is:

a concept realized. question: is everything written planned?


it's a rainy sunday. the curtains are pulled back but the light is dull, gray. the sounds of wheels on wet pavement on the other side of glass. i tap my window pane. what the hell is this made of?


question: why can't i write anything?

answer: i am overwhelmed. with anxiety that what i write is not "good".

here is a giant block of marble. now carve.


let me just say this: this is not conceptualized. what is presented is what appeared in order of thought.

question: edit?

answer: no


here is poetry: i'm sorry.

i gotta tell you, you know, it's been so hard to pull it out of me. the words. all words. i haven't got a thing to say.

but then there's also

it's not like i haven't thought or felt

the full force

of

sadnessangerlonelinessloveetc

it's just that i didn't write it down.

question: ?


"Endings are elusive, middles are nowhere to be found, but worst of all is to begin, to begin, to begin." - donald barthelme

almost done

last essay of undergrad. china and the internet. this + beyonce + toaster strudels. i hate school but still love to study contemporary china. it's weird/of course that the first real essay i did for university was about modern china, and now my last essay is also about modern china.

Chaos / Accidental Physical

I never thought I'd ever know -- you know --

life --

I never thought I'd have it all figured out.

I never thought happiness was a thing that would come to me.

I never thought I'd ever know -- you know --

just knowing, like, absolutely,

any one thing.

I never thought I'd ever be quite sure.

I mean, this is just to say, I still think this way.


It rained the day I went to Alcatraz. Not real rain, more like mist. Everything was wet and foggy. Well, that's San Francisco for you. Sometimes. I took pictures in black and white.


There was a time when my feelings were directly connected to my fingers and it would all come pouring out. There was a time when I wrote without my own critical eye. And it was good. Remember. Now it's a journey through a checklist of metaphors, narration, imagery, concrete imagery, quantity, point of view, conceit, no abstractions, and sense, does it make sense. And the words don't quite make their way out.


Summer is a time for getting drunk. But I want to get drunk in October. And I want it to be cheap and easy. I want to shiver. I want to be looking for a good time do you know when I last looked for a good time. I don't know when. I want to get drunk in October and I want the sky to be black and I want the beer to be disgusting because it's two for $6 Boreale and I want to dance in a dirty hipster bar with young dirty hipsters wearing neon tights and neon sunglasses to dirty hipster DJ playing LMFAO before LMFAO was cool I want to dance like I don't give a fuck that I'm dancing with my backpack on like I don't give a fuck that I'm dancing like I don't give a fuck like I don't give a fuck like I don't give a fuck 'cause I don't give a fuck.


And the words and the words and the words. They're never ending. And they don't quite make sense. There's no need to try and piece them together.


Always sitting there trying to name the feelings. Separate them, label them, explain them. And always the questions when I'm not ready. I don't know yet. And I might not ever know. Maybe leave me alone forever. Maybe leave me alone indefinitely. I can't articulate. I'm not ready.

And I am so spent. And I am so exhausted. And I can't see anymore. Beyond myself. I can't say just what I mean. I don't mean anything. I can't articulate.

And now I shrug my shoulders. And now I am alone. Why articulate?



All we want, baby, is everything.


This body grew like a tree from the earth. This body wants food. This body wants water. This body wants touch. This body wants space to stretch its legs. This body is sorry about some things but not about others. This body is sorry for pushing Tino in first grade gym class but not sorry about being angry. This body is physical. This body and other bodies. This body and the accidental physical. This body is full of insides and outsides. This body is full of spaces for the metaphorical abstract. This body is science. This body is art. This body bleeds every 27 days. This body has a literal heart. This body remembers some things but not others. This body remembers the taste of another body that had just consumed beer and marijuana. This body does not know what it has forgotten. This body and the accidental physical. This body cannot make sense of what is not part of it. This body can count. This body is not sure if it's put its feelings in the right place. This body cannot actually see inside itself. This body does not know what's going on inside itself. This body can see outside. This body can't see in the dark. This body is protein. This body is carbohydrates. This body is vitamins. This body created itself. What is this body but a tree grown from the earth, and every spring there is rebirth.







What happened to the days.

What happened to the things I had to say and then forgot.

Today is the day I listened to "Good Woman" by Cat Power for the 121st time.

I remember you well in the chelsea hotel

[leonard cohen - chelsea hotel #2]

ah but you got away, didn't you babe
you just turned your back on the crowd
you got away, i never once heard you say
i need you / i don't need you

i need you / i don't need you

i remember you well in the chelsea hotel
that's all, i don't even think of you that often

And You Didn't Ask Why

You wake with your face sticky with sweat and you shiver in the chill of the morning. You roll yourself out of bed and you pull on a sweater and you pull the hood over your forehead. And you stumble down the hall to the kitchen to make yourself breakfast. And your feet on the cold kitchen tile make you shiver in the chill of the morning. The blue light of the morning crawls through the window which faces an alley off a street you've never been to. Right behind your own home there are places you've never been to. And the building on the other side casts shadows all day long. There are squirrels eating through the plastic garbage bags on your balcony and there is a cat in the kitchen with his face pressed to the window and you eat instant oatmeal in the middle of the kitchen watching it all. And you shiver. And you shiver. And you shiver. And you know no profound things.

Things I Care About Having On My iPhone

Recently, my iPhone 3G broke. It was my second cellphone ever. I'd had it for over 3 years meaning that my contract had already expired and I'd been paying month by month.

I went to the Apple store and the guy told me that I could get the iPhone 4S for $0 if I signed a contract (the other option was to get a replacement 3GS for a fee (which was more than $100 but less than $700) but no contract). Actually he strongly suggested I get the iPhone 4. So I could, you know, take advantage of all the new technology. I said I'd had the iPhone 3G for over 3 years - do you really think I care about new Apple technology?

Basically all I want is all the basic things the majority of phones have nowadays, with a wifi connection. Why do I bother getting an iPhone then? One: I like the size and shape. Two: phone + ipod combined.

Things I care about having on my phone:

+ ability to make phone calls
+ text messaging
+ the weather network app
+ ipod
+ email app + wifi
+ calendar + alarm
+ calculator

Bonus:

+ facebook app
+ maps
+ camera
+ instagram app which I actually rarely use
+ safari

I Don't Care

I don't want to write anymore.

No, sorry, I mean, I don't care about writing. I don't give a shit if my poem is "good". I don't give a shit about the standards of "good". I don't give a shit if anybody reads my poems and thinks they're "good" or "bad" or "meh" and I don't give a shit if I subjectively think my poems are "meh" because they are "meh" and I've decided not to give a shit.

I don't care about writing. I don't care about research papers and academic articles and databases and paper outlines and meetings with the TA.

I
don't
give
a
fuck
.

I don't give a fuck.
I don't give a shit.
I don't fucking care.

Here's a degree at the expense of your mental health and desire to do anything with your life.

I want to go to sleep.

The moment when "Infinite Jest" finally began to make sense to me

"No one single instant of it was unendurable. Here was a second right here: he endured it. What was undealable-with was the thought of all the instances all lined up and stretching ahead, glittering. [...] He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What's unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. What his head could report to him, looking over and ahead and reporting. But he could choose not to listen; he could treat his head like G. Day or R. Lenz: clueless noise. He hadn't quite gotten this before now, how it wasn't just the matter of riding out the cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed."

- David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

don't ask if it even matters because both possible answers are equally horrifying and i know that you don't know what to do so either kill yourself or get through it and live better somehow

after all, is this life? up and down and your stomach bare naked on the floor. if only i could be a better human being, then i'd be a better human being. and if i were somebody else, then i'd be somebody else. you know, like, whatever. whatever whatever whatever. every second that i sit here, and, well, who cares? if it makes sense or not?

every time you hit your head against the wall, say sorry to the wall. do this in a repeating motion, sitting on a chair, in the same spot, until the egg cracks and the yolk runs.

You Spend Your Days Dying Like A Rose In The Vase

[motorama - rose in the vase]

itunes has labeled motorama's latest album, calendar, as 'dream'... in a way that feels almost right, but also a bit wrong. motorama's sound is dreamy, but it's also gritty and haunting. it's a dream where you wake up feeling strange and a little bit lonely, though you can't remember what you were dreaming about.

this is my favourite song off of calendar. you can also download their 2010 album alps for free on their website along with some singles and past EPs.

motoramamusic

also i think they have nice album art and this is possibly the first russian indie band i have ever heard? i think that's pretty cool.

february, you're a piece of shit, always

february you're ruining my life what the hell do you think you're doing stop fucking snowing

forever and ever you're the worst month of the year i hate your guts and i hope you melt

if i were on the titanic i would lose my brains

k. made me watch 'the titanic' last night til 1am --

what the shit is that movie even about

and why do i know half of the lines by heart?

of course afterwards i had to wikipedia 'the titanic'

and read the whole damn thing --

of particular interest are the rich and famous who died.

then k. and i had a debate about whether or not

it's better to drown or burn in a fire.

i said 'burning in a fire sounds more painful

but drowning causes panic and chaos

and if i were on the titanic i would lose my brains'.

she said 'i'd rather die of hypothermia'.

i said 'it's funny that 10 years after this movie,

james cameron staged his comeback with 'avatar',

another poorly-written huge piece of crap,

and then he lost 'best picture' to his ex-wife kathryn bigelow

who also became the first female to win 'best director' at the oscars'.

we both agreed we were never going on a cruise ship.

how to properly search something in an academic database

otherwise you will probably get this:

I'm Not Really Sure How True This Is

Sometimes I go through a phase where I don't write anything in my blog which is kind of happening right now. I think about writing in my blog a lot but then I can't think of anything to say. Don't worry though, here are some other things I haven't been keeping up with lately:

+ my budget (still haven't completed January yet)
+ my laundry
+ my journal
+ reading books

There is an explanation though and the explanation is that I have ADD. You think the above paragraph is short but it actually took me 11 minutes to write because I had to clean my nails in between every sentence. Is that gross? Sorry. It's my ADD.

I'm not entirely sure how accurate this "diagnosis" is because if I have ADD then probably everyone has ADD, but I am also of the opinion that everyone DOES have ADD and so do I, but because everyone has it then it's not actually a thing (except for people who actually have like real ADD) and therefore we should just start selling Adderall in pharmacies next to the Midol so that everyone can be super stimulated without period cramps and we'll be really productive and stop global debt, poverty, etc.

Oh no wait is that screwed up logic? Am I just talking out of my ass? Hmm. I'm bored.

texting with my dad in the winter

jan 24 2013

it's so cold in my room

do you need extra blanket? supposed to warm up soon

it's too late i am an ice cube

:(

lost in rogue valley

for the past few weeks i've been feeling like i needed some new music, but i was looking for something so specific that i was having trouble finding something that stuck. i wanted a blend of folk/country/singer-songwriter but with a full band, etc. maybe i wasn't even sure what i wanted. maybe "country" is too strong a word for what i was looking for.

but i was looking through the 'folk' tag on insomnia radio and i clicked on this band called rogue valley and it was basically everything i was looking for, plus a bit of pop and amazing cover art. plus everything is available on their website for free or pay what you can.

winter

what really gets me about this band is that, in the course of the year, they released four albums, one for each season. i think that a) this is ambitious and b) they really pulled it off. there aren't a lot of "weak" songs on any album, thrown in there just for the sake of having enough songs. i dig it.

my favourite album so far is geese in the flyway, the fall album, because it was the first one i listened to. but they're all pretty great, in my opinion.

two songs that i really like so far...

+ geese in the flyway (geese in the flyway/fall)
+ dangerous diamonds (false floors/winter)

i'm so happy i have my friends

me: do you ever worry that you are actually an insane, irrational person

n: i pretty much talk myself off of that cliff daily.

//

me: if i go to topman and buy things what kind of person does that make me

r: a sophisticated one

ode to my macbook pro

my macbook pro

sleek innovative intuitive

silver and black unibody

a powerful machine

you are like a portal to another universe

my macbook pro

reliable durable beautiful

i am yours forever

you are like a portal to another universe

no wait that’s the internet

without the internet

you’re a fancy typewriter

without the internet

where are all my friends

Books I'm Reading For Pleasure Fuck You University

No One Belongs Here More Than You, by Miranda July

Alessia lent this to me in approximately 2009 and I loved it very much, and recently I realized that I don't have my own copy so I bought it and now I'm rereading it and I still love it the end.


A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, by David Foster Wallace

This summer I read Infinite Jest and Girl With Curious Hair and part of Brief Interviews With Hideous Men before getting kicked out of the bookstore/cafe where I was reading for free without purchasing anything "this is not a library" alright anyways basically I want to read everything by DFW.


The Broom of the System, by David Foster Wallace

I'm kind of stuck on this one because I started reading it in September/October and then got caught up with school and haven't picked it up again since. But I think about it a lot. I'm sending it good vibes.


Sorry, Tree, by Eileen Myles

I read Inferno and a lot of Eileen Myles' poetry online, but I didn't have any of her books, so I bought one, and now I'm reading it. It's difficult, but good. I like it. I'm into it.


Shenzhen: A Travelogue from China, by Guy Delisle

My dad got me this graphic novel for my birthday and I'm reading it slowly, but enjoying it a lot. Its humour lies in its accuracy.

four full years ago

i am sitting here, january 8 2013. here i sit. in my chair. on the internet.

four whole years ago i wrote this little poem and thus began a long relationship between my thoughts and the internet.

this blog has been through some weird times. i think, in these four years, i essentially grew up, and i documented a lot of that right here. and i'm still growing.

when i first started this blog i had just turned 18, i was living at home, and i was starting cegep. now, i just turned 22, living in my third apartment in as many years, and i'm going to graduate university in a few months. i fell in love and i fell out of love, over and over again. the friends i had when i was 18, the good ones, the real ones, i still have them. and i have new, good friends. they are all amazing. you are all amazing.

this blog peaked in about 2010 when i updated a lot and told people i was updating a lot. and i met some pretty cool people in that way. when i thought i would say goodbye to being on the internet for a little while, you were all so wonderful and sweet so i didn't. and i think i realized that i can't, anyway. if i wanted to stop writing i couldn't. which is why, now, i think, it matters less to me who reads. i love it, of course, if you're reading, but i don't think i'm writing anymore so that people read. i'm just writing.

here we all are. somewhere, in the world. and here i go, starting year five of writing in this little space. i'm not getting sentimental. i mean, whatever.

mont-royal/montreal