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

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.

cheap honesty I.

MY DEAR FRIENDS, YOU ARE FUCKED. I LOVE YOU FAR TOO MUCH.

++

dec 6 2012

it would be really irresponsible for me to work 6am-3pm tomorrow right. and i should not be swayed by whoever picks up the phone

you cannot, emily. you HAVE to write your paper. seriously

do you know what it is. it is because if i don't go to work i don't leave the house. i need to go to therapy for my work related issues.

yeah....

i said no but i feel sad about saying no. i think i will take a shower.

maybe you should sign up for a hobby related class.

++

thinking of you listening to neko case

omg love neko case. what song are you listening to.

polar nettles

++

do you know any straight girls who wear men's underwear

random. i don't think so.

do you know any gay girls with long nails

yes...

...

.....

slash laughing alone in my room

did you finish your sound project?

i am finishing it now. so close. hence the hysteria. i keep getting interrupted by oscar who whines every time i close the door. then he stares at me when i open it

my roommate's cat used to do that. it made me hate him.

++

is darren being understanding?

yes he is amazing. he said he won't deduct marks as long as i hand it in while he's still marking the other papers.

wtf he is jesus. my idol.....

i know right

at least it's more generous than my 5 hour extension. ....which i didn't make.

++

dec 7 2012


i'm like moses: my body turns coffee into water.

some time later....

my shoulder feels dislocated

hola moses, mi examen final es hoy. then i am SO DONE. when are you finished?

tuesday

saweet. i smell a party.

well i was supposed to be mostly done this tuesday, but then i handed in everything late because of a mental breakdown and i'm still writing an essay because i'm a retard.

this is why we're friends, FYI.

i know i was thinking of you and how you're probably suffering just like me. we need to get out soon.

just found out my exam is 12 pages. 12 pages of spanish madness. officially getting off my phone.....now. see you when your social life finds you.

++

i got your other texts this morning because i was in bed..........i go to bed really early.

i know, because you wake up really early. i have 730 words written.

++

why are you calling me?! slash i bet it's a pocket dial.

one: i love how shocked (appalled?) you are that i might call and, two: it was a pocket...or book dial - i dropped my book on my phone b/c it sounded like one of the babies was dying in her sleep

you told me you never call people. for 2 seconds i felt really special. i hope the baby is ok.

indeed you are special, regardless. the baby turned out just to be snoring in the most old man way ever.

++

i am in a van, cramped up against the back because the self-entitled man in front of me put his seat far back. i feel like throwing up on the back of his head.

you should put your knees on his chair

ha, that is my plan.

damn those self entitled men. and the patriarchy.

you have no idea how much i hate men. sometimes i forget but it is always there, just simmering below the surface......probably only 5 percent kidding.

one day i will make you talk about your lesbian escapades....

one day.

soon.

++

dear darren, essay writing is going slowly because i am taking pictures of myself spooning my cat.

dear dr. cahill, your paper is still not in but i did spend an hour reading about how katy perry isn't a feminist and crafting an erudite facebook reply.

++

it's gotten to the point where i'm literally just collaging things other people have said about gail scott together and the only things i have written are "she argues that..."

hmmm....i suspect that is not going to work well....for darren....

i hope he appreciates my research. i did say that julie doucet and gail scott are both from montreal.

i just literally laughed out loud and i am in a van full of strangers.

how is that going by the way. are you almost there?

we are more than half way to toronto and i made the self-entitled asshole move his chair. he was rude (INDIGNANT) about it, if you can imagine (he has what is known as a "bucket seat" and so he is not even sharing/sitting beside someone!). 

well he is an idiot. those are the best seats.

yeah. basically that was the look i gave him and then i kneed his seat for extra effect.

you're the best.

i knooooowww..my bum is so NUMB. ....my text was in response to the seats being the best - i don't think my numb bum makes me the best. just so you don't think that.

++

I HAVE 3 HOURS TO WRITE 500 WORDS

YOU CAN DO THAT!

AHHH

half of that can be your conclusion!

the essay honestly makes no sense. it's kind of funny. at least i choose to see it that way

++

is it legal to rent an apartment in another country if you don't have a working visa (and you're not working)

no. but lots of people do it.

why is it not legal?

um i don't know. i think because you aren't doing anything there? maybe i am wrong but i don't know.... i guess if within a limited time...maybe?

hm. will do more research at a later date.

++

1,743 words i am so close i am so close i'm going to cry

yesssss. i knew you could do it!

i'm excited but slightly worried because this literally two essays about different things ... except that they are both from montreal!!! that sentence didn't even make sense.

10,000 tonnes happiness and sadness revisted

10,000 tonnes happiness and sadness

you're not quite sure what it is that makes you so sad, only vaguely aware that it is here, visiting you in the shower. just some under the surface stuff that you reveal scrubbing yourself absentmindedly. you're not even sure if it's sadness, maybe apathy or lethargy instead. but then a heavier sigh - yes, there it is. sadness, which is so close to happiness that you can mistake one for the other. happiness, contentedness, a sort of apathy or lethargy in its own way. a settlement of sorts? happiness, sadness, what's the difference? you hate euphoria - it scares you, makes you upset. never one feeling without the other. happiness and sadness inside your coffee mug; filtered coffee which tastes good because you can't afford better, made in your kitchen, sipped without thought on the cool tiled floor while your hair dries. something is missing; it's milk and sugar, but you can live without those now.

mouth sound

to say this word out loud

say this out loud

as i always am when i come here

i am confused

am i good or no good?

good/not good?

is this an act or is this

real life?

i feel

so much

anxiety

it

makes

me

want

to

.

one who does these things

one who does opposite things

i cannot compare myself to

one who speaks out loud

their own words

world collision

i cut myself in half. i split myself in two and i said, "i can be whoever i want to be. and i can still be happy." i can make this part of me disappear, i can make this part of me appear. i can wear a new skin every day. i can be in love i can be out love. with a snap of my fingers i need you/i don't need you.

i am -

i am -

inside this room i wear these boots and i am in charge.

outside this room i am -

i am undone. where do you find people? how do other people

find

other

people?

i am falling off the face of the earth i think. i have split myself in two and fallen right apart. i have torn myself open for nobody. i'll spill my guts for you, you don't even have to ask.

"don't become the thing you hated" or how to be a giant asshole

[destroyer - don't become the thing you hated]

what if the thing you hated becomes the thing you love? what then? do you love it or hate it? what if doing the thing you love interferes with the reasons why you love it? what then? do you still love it?

you like the feeling of being good at something. you like familiarity, you like feeling important, and most of all you like the idea of something perfect and tangible, and you know if you have it all away it would be fine and you wouldn't cry. but you can't destroy the desire for that which isn't possible and accept what you get with a smile. because then who would you be? would you be who you wanted to be? who is who they want to be? if you love the thing you hated and then became it does that mean you're who you wanted to be? if you love the thing you hated and then became it and then you ate it... does that make you full? of shit? 'cause you lied to all your friends, and you can't look them in the eye. so you hide underground in the metro and they never see you anymore, and you never see them. you lied to everyone and you can't admit you changed and you'd rather be used and wasted than nothing at all. and you hate yourself for being the coward who lied, the lying coward who lied and lied and lied and became the thing they hated. in the end, it turns out, you're just an asshole.

(via)

disposable myths

"don't you ever for a second get to thinking you're irreplaceable." - beyonce

i've seen you before. don't worry, we are all children looking up for validation. i know you don't want to feel special, you want to be special. you are so helpful. you are always there. you are so kind, so loving. you want equality so long as you are the equal one. i've seen you before. don't worry, you always get what you want.

here's what i think, though. you are completely disposable. we are all completely disposable. one body is replaced with another (how absence is easily replaced by another body that makes the same motions, and then it's fine i guess) is replaced with another is replaced with another. how the giant world makes us feel so small, and the tiny world makes us feel so small. you are in denial about your dispensability, 'cause it hurts doesn't it. all we wanted was to feel like someone needed us. i mean, me. wouldn't it be nice to feel like someone needed you, but actually you, you you you? turns out nothing needs us. you're flushed.

but don't worry, because it's completely alright. see, here's the thing. you are not the first nor the last to do the thing you're doing. someone will most certainly accomplish the same things as you, and don't worry because someone already has done it before you. someone has already made your mistakes, and someone will make them again when you're gone. so that's it. you are not the first and you are not the last. you are a cog in the machine, you are not a cog in the machine. you are free.

and absence ate the year

october 21 2010

now, now, it's broken now. all of it, all of us. i am up late again, waiting for a bus. the sky is a worn midnight wash, i mean, that's a real colour. i felt i knew it all along, and now i feel it, painful, hungry again, lonely on the way home from work.

i would like an invitation, would like to stop dreaming about a white shirt i've never seen you wear. would i even go? no, no, no. can't stop dreaming. would like to say, i like your smile. just saying.

no, wait, wait, yes. it's still pretty. would like to ask permission to kiss you outside but i'm too shy. ok, go, i am sure, this is a bad idea. lean. leeeeean.

the man asleep doesn't know when he's missed his stop. is he dreaming of you like i do, no, is he haunted by a ghost, hungry for something real. no. i am tired and i know, i shouldn't kiss you on the mouth, shouldn't accidentally touch your blouse. but, i know. i am hungry for something real. i am cold on the way home from work because it's windy and that's how the world works.

++

stephen dunn: "from the start all i wanted to explain was how things go wrong, how the heart's an empty place until it is filled"

i can never say how we got here. how i became me and you became you. how we believed that no one would leave before we were ready, until they did. how i learned that absence can grow or diminish, and nothing is for sure. how absence is easily replaced by another body that makes the same motions, and then it's fine i guess. how absence is actually just nothing over again against the side of your brain, saying there is nothing now where there once was something.

i remember sitting on that bus thinking about jeans, and absence ate the year, and i brushed against your shoulder.

today my body trembled a little bit when i thought of you. that's a whole other beat. it's a whole other hole.

all walls are great if they don't fall

sometimes i still think about the emptiness in my stomach, leaving my stomach in the air and my breath hovering around my ears, sucking in the world through my mouth. it passes right through me.

bungee jumping is like this:
a heaviness around your ankles
falling into absolute nothingness
and by contrast falling into everything.

the stars above the great wall of china are like this:
explosions in the sky
falling into absolute nothingness
and by contrast falling into everything.

the great wall of china at night; looming towers above us and spotlights on the mountain.
i am on a ledge and i can see everything and i can see nobody until we are all under a blanket shivering with the stars.

i am happy.

there are things i want, people i miss, an emptiness in my heart
but also a duty, also a feeling of fullness
all so full in my heart.

i will stand on this ledge and see the world displayed on the great wall of china.
the great wall of china, tumbling into nothingness, falling into everything.

Then I had to stop crying and eat dinner.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

wore sweatpants today. no longer care if i run into [redacted].

Monday, November 1, 2009

Today I bought cigarettes so I could stand outside on Maisonneuve and potentially see [redacted]. Except that I bought bitchsticks and she wasn't there.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Goal of the day: don't cry. Accomplished. Got the job at American Eagle. Really, really, really tired. 2 exams left.

Saturday, November 14 2009

Went bar hopping on St. Laurent. Decided to text [redacted*]. She never answered. Met up with [redacted] at Biftek. [redacted*] was there. She ignored me. I got drunk.

++

Wednesday, October 27 2010

She said she really wants to hug me in the winter. Then we talked about other things which were nice, like sweaters and heat.

Monday, November 1 2010

tried to get some work done on my break but didn't accomplish much. Went grocery shopping at night.

Wednesday, November 10 2010

worked 6-9:30. [redacted] got mad at me for standing around and made me feel bad. But I had just zoned out and there was nobody in the store.

Sunday, November 14 2010

She asked if it was something she said but it wasn't. I didn't know what it was. I went in my bed and cried and had a breakdown but I don't know why. I just felt lonely. Then I had to stop crying and eat dinner. Also [redacted] said she bought me something for my birthday. Everyone is so nice to me and I don't know why.

st laurent to mont-royal

When we climbed up to the top of the mountain it was like 4am and I was pretty drunk. It was cold it was sometime in November I think. No, it must've been October because Ryan didn't hate me yet. It was just me and him and Karen and I think Ryan liked her at that time. I liked Casey but she kept getting me down. That night I had seen her outside the bar sitting on some other guy's lap and ignoring me, well screw that.Why do girls do that. Let's go to the mountain Ryan said. You'll feel better. So we went up the mountain and I was feeling pretty down and Ryan and Karen were racing each other. Karen was so fast it was like they were so free and I felt heavy 'cause I couldn't run as fast as them. But when we got to the top the air was so fresh and I didn't care about anything anymore. Except maybe I was feeling down that Ryan and Karen were making eyes at each other. We stuck ourselves in a telephone booth to keep warm and wait for the sunrise. We must've listened to Bon Iver because whenever I hear "re:stacks" I think of running up the mountain and the view and the cold air. But later that song would come to mean something else to me and that was alright. The sunrise wasn't even that good I think it was on the other side of the mountain. But after that night I didn't care about Casey anymore. We went down the mountain and I was feeling pretty good about it and I fell asleep on the bus.

That was all before Karen moved to Thailand and I met Lainey who's a good girl. I don't get drunk anymore but sometimes I miss those days when it hurt to breathe. I guess no one's hurt me like that since then so I never needed to go back. Everyone changes I learned so we just grew up like everyone else. And growing up doesn't mean not fitting in telephone boxes anymore it means not wanting to or not even being there to do it. Shouting "fuck you Casey!" into the night doesn't mean anything anymore. When we were young we used to hear our voices ring around the city, now we just hear it in our heads. We don't let people get us down like Casey got me down anymore. But sometimes I miss climbing the mountain thinking that's what love is.

come away with me and we'll kiss on a mountaintop

sometimes you are sitting on the third floor of an apartment in a rocking chair watching the snow fall listening to norah jones, and sometimes you are walking home at 5:30 with your collar up high thinking about fresh bread.

sometimes you can only hear out of one ear and it's hard to concentrate.

"run, don't walk," laneia said.

sometimes it feels nice not to think about anything at all.

that secret that we know, that we don't know how to tell

can i tell you a secret.

'teenage dream' by katy perry plays at work and more than once it has almost made me cry. now i am listening to it on repeat but i don't know why.

last year -- december 2009 -- i was wandering up and down a street i knew too well. i was always looking for this one person without trying to make it look like i was looking for her; i was smoking cigarettes outside leaning on trees; i was stumbling down mountains and listening to bon iver and crying and desperate all the time. my money was gone and i was drunk as hell.

sometimes my secret is this: the ground is wet with snow but it is not snowing. the air is damp like it was just raining and the glow of lights reflect on the pavement. car lights. street lamps. i want to chain smoke. i am surrounded by people and all at once i am happy and sad and alone and hopeful. the night is just beginning and there are still places we haven't been.

sometimes my secret is this: i do not know the difference between being in love and wanting a mother. i am sorry. i do not know the difference.

one year ago -- december 2009 -- i was standing in the fitting room at my job. a song was making me cry. in my mind the street i seemed to always be standing on was upside down; my feet were on the sky. that's the way i walked around.

sometimes i have no secrets and it makes me feel bare but no one asks. a secret is hidden; if there is nothing to hide but no one is looking then what is there. am i secret if i don't exist. whose secret am i. what is the point of a secret if not to reveal it one day.

lately my secret has been that grey's anatomy makes me cry. i just let myself sink into this hand crafted world where people live and die with the stroke of a pen. and when parents hear that their children are dead and they break down in each other's arms, i break down too. i let myself cry over this tv show because it's easier than crying over real life.

tell me a secret if you so desire.

++

I am in love
with the way I see the world.
But I am all alone there.
- Matthew Rohrer "Hone Quarry"

i don't feel this way, but it's a beautiful line.

"we did some impressive or regrettable things."

there was a moment of madness, i lost myself. i lost my head. we did some stupid things. i was no good at loving you, good good good, i went and looked at pictures of you when you were 17. your hair was lighter then. kisses were lighter then too, and sweaters; warmer weather.

i could kiss kiss kiss you now, across the counter, you are just my height.

and why must women have hair that they brush so casually from their faces, so loose and effortless? why must they have wrists and arms and mouths with crooked teeth?

i did some stupid things. now here is what is going to happen from now on: i am going to close the door so you can kiss me on the cheek and no one will see. no one will know. among the metal pieces we are pretty much magnetic anyway. shut up brain.

i would lean against a tree halfway with laughter, i would finish this dirty street, death of stomach, head of iron air, i would find your ugly side.

i am no good at loving you.

this is how the days of the week work

if i make it to monday,

i might make it to tuesday,

and then i will park myself firmly

in the middle of the week

and hopefully one day

i will get to thursday

where i will be one day closer

to the weekend.

if i make it to monday,

that will mean that i have

spent some money,

read some sentences in a book,

laid in my bed,

eaten some pasta

and maybe a bagel,

probably showered twice.

if i make it to monday

without being an asshole,

crying over little things,

spending too much time on the internet,

ignoring phone calls,

or listening to sad music

it will be

a miracle.

if i make it to monday,

someone will listen to me talk

it will feel like a million tiny hands

massaging my brain

it will feel like punching a wall

i will call it a successful social interaction

i will navigate my way

to tuesday.

Explosions in the Sky - Your Hand in Mine

she made stars out of her hands. i mean, she cut paper into little pieces and used her fingers to bend the paper into star shapes. i thought if i threw them at the sky they would float up there all on their own, but i wanted to keep them for myself. i know it's selfish, but given the chance, wouldn't anyone want to hold a piece of the sky in their hand? maybe the stars in the sky are really burning balls of paper, shared by people less selfish than me. maybe i just wanted to hold a piece of her in my hand.

paper star girl used to walk down the street a lot in the summer. she had jean shorts and converse (who doesn't?) and she jingled when she moved: it was bangles on her wrists and keys in her pocket (house keys, car keys, keys to closets, hearts, hidden places) and noises in her chest. she met people on the street and she liked to talk to them. she talked to the man with dreadlocks and a white t-shirt. she talked to the girl sitting behind a table selling hand made bracelets. paper star girl did not buy a bracelet but she gave the girl a cookie from her lunch (she had leftover pasta for lunch and two cookies). she talked to a boy with sandy brown hair and a pretty smile and he was nice to her. he had a blue t-shirt and she gave him a paper star.

all at once paper star girl gave everything away, yet maintained an air of mystery. it seemed to everyone who met her that there was something even better behind her smile, if only they could get to it. but they couldn't.

she turned dresses into skirts and she stitched holes together. i wanted to crawl into her bed, into pink and colours, and swamps and swallowed by blankets like oceans and silly putty. she was smarter than me, already i could tell by the way she moved her wrists and shoulders, the way she bounced on all the edges of her feet. i could tell by the way the ink came out of her pen when she carved letters onto paper: "i just want to reach over..."

the books i read made it sound easy, but my hands seemed to weigh more than all those pages i'd ever read put together. i couldn't lift a needle.

at night paper star girl spoke alone in her room.

i wanted paper star girl to make me stars out of paper. i wanted paper star girl to take care of me. i wanted paper star girl to stitch me together. i wanted paper star girl to wrap me up inside of her. i wanted to cry on paper star girl. was i afraid my tears would ruin paper star girl? see, did paper star girl make paper stars or was paper star girl herself a star made out of paper? and what if i ripped paper star girl, or if i cried and my tears touched her and she didn't rip but merely came apart in a mushy lump like kleenex under water?

i was paper and we set ourselves on fire and burned up on the way to the atmosphere, and fell right down again, and lay there in the gutter, ashy, burned up stars; me with my heavy hands, and the real paper star girl, with the jingles from her bracelets and keys and noises in her heart, with a love for people and cookies and making things with her hands. she had a knack for turning lives around.

i had a terrible notion of romance

remember the airborne toxic event. sunday night. remember standing right in front of him. remember i don't remember some things. remember 'sometime around midnight'. "this is the song everyone came for". remember the lines "she leaves with someone you don't know" and it made me think of you and everyone who ever left. i didn't see that one coming. it punched me in the stomach. felt like i should've known. felt stupid. tried to forget you. didn't. what a jerk. but then remember 'innocent'. did not know what that one was about. sounded pretty good. made me think of empty apartments. i just said that because it's what i'm thinking about right now.

it was nice to forget other things for a while. could not forget you. could not forget montreal at night. remember papineau. remember mount-royal. remember metro stations in the dark. tim horton's closed. remember singing together. remember being together. remember being separate. remember being different entities. i don't know what that means. i type words and they don't mean anything sometimes.

remember blue dog. no. i wasn't there. remember that other place. i hate that place. remember the little rain. remember prince arthur. that was a different night. remember that guy with the stupid hair. another night. remember when i tried to fold st-laurent in half. remember the stars in the back of my eyelids. no one saw those but me. i didn't see the real sky that night.

remember my hand on your chest. remember pushing off. remember the stairs. remember the sink. remember the contents of the garbage bag. no. it was empty. it was empty. my stomach was empty. it was red. why did i call at all. because of the airborne toxic event. because of romance. i hate romance. their song ate me up. i played it in my head. where is blue dog.

i hate the chemicals in my brain. i hate the imbalance. i hate the lightheaded heaviness of my marble mind my heavy mmmmmmmmmiiiiiiiinnnnnnndddddd

she leeeeeeaves

no one came. people thought i made it up. they thought it was a story. i do that sometimes. i never do that. it's all real. link to blog post about realness. remember when i had cigarettes in my bag. remember when i gave her one. i offered it. want a cigarette. want one. take one. then up the stairs. one table in a tiny room. remember the people dancing on the table. back down the stairs. back on st-laurent; we never leave. puddles in the concrete cracks. back to that other time. remember the long brown hair. remember the wailing. the horrible sounds in the back of my throat. remember the empty air. the buildings and the ground. the ground on my knees. the building resting on my hand. everything was upside down.

remember how i thought of you. remember the tree outside biftek. remember the bookstore beside it. remember the cold steps. some nights they're empty. some nights they're full. why did you say you were something you're not. why did you look through my insides. i've never felt so invisible. why did you let me on. why did were you so cold. remember when you had blonde hair. remember when i passed you on the street so many years ago. it feels like years. remember when that mattered.

two dollar chow mein, sweat, sweaters, broken tables, eyes closed, no-good-dirty-rotten-shoes brains-split-open missed-connections space misunderstandings space and names space too-good-to-be-true-timing space $4 beer space vodka tonics space the airborne toxic event and you.

i made a mistake. they've hated me ever since. everything is safe now.

++

no updates till monday.

"your shoes are always the same, and don't travel very far."

for sale: baby shoes, never worn.

- ernest hemingway

mother, forgive me, i sold your car for the shoes that i gave you.

- iron & wine

++

this is the first page of a book. right here. this line.

this is where i usually write words about things. this spot right here.

this is where i connect the title to the content. this is where you say "oooh."

in this case, shoes.

shoes. this is where i put a picture of shoes.

this is the space where the picture of shoes goes.

this is where i make some point about something. this is where you re-read the sentence.

this is where i write things not about shoes. but it's still kind of about shoes.

this is where it stops making sense. this is where you wish there were more pictures.

this is where i try to make it make sense again. this is where it doesn't.

shoes. this is where you imagine shoes in your mind.

this is the time where you look away from the screen to think about

shoes.

this is where you come back. it starts to make sense again.

this is where i wrap up my point. this is where you wonder if you should buy new shoes.

this is where i finish. almost there.

this is the end. right after this period.

this is where you scroll up to look at the picture of

shoes.

and now you are back. even though this post is finished.

you are still reading this. this is where you remind yourself of my final point.

you are wondering what it means. the author wishes to tell you that it means nothing.

you think it probably has something to do with shoes. you are right.

shoes.

This is One of Those Posts Where I Write a Random Poem About My Day

I can't stop thinking of you,

and my stomach,

which hungers for love more than my heart,

which seems full,

already,

full of bits of stuff and bits of fluff,

little pieces of misplaced

I-don't-know-whats.

++

I love you more than birds, which are free
and love is free and boundary-less.
I like you more than that.
Birds are tangible,
three-dimensional,
edible.
Love is quick to catch fire,
sparks,
embers burn long into the night.
I love you longer than night,
longer than the spread of eagle's wings,
the length of light from the sun on water.
Love is not so measurable as the sky,
which has limits,
but not the mind, which is so easily interrupted
but steady in its perseverance.

++

"I'm over him," she said,

but something about her tone

and the way she flipped her hair

made me think,

No you're not.

It occurred to me,

hours later,

that I couldn't remember her name.

Then,

more hours later,

I wondered if I ever

knew it in the first place.

"This is where I used to live," she said,

"and this is the high school I went to."

I said something,

but she didn't hear.

She was lost in a memory,

and I wondered

if she was even talking to me.

Later,

I laughed about it

but it wasn't funny.

The realness,

the closeness,

the tangibility of it all.

It confirmed my suspicion

that nothing,

if anything,

lasts.

It was three-dimensional

and edible,

so they ate it,

and it was gone.