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

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

a cold sky, drunk and crawling

all my stories started outside in the middle of the night. it was always cold. i was always drunk. they were always about other people and how i would crawl home at night, drunk and cold, needing people but needing loneliness too.

i'm not anywhere tonight. there is no moon. there are only christmas lights and a dim lamp in this cold room.

i imagined a perfect stranger and let it be perfect. i buried my face in her shirt. i let the sun stream through white curtains onto her back in the morning. i let myself kiss her shoulder blade and i let myself out the door. 

perfection is painful. happiness is the worst. i could make it all up, i could put it all in there. secret desire. that's what the writer does. the writer causes two people to bump their lips and stumble through the streets at night when it's cold and they're drunk. the writer writes the answers for two people. the writer creates warmth and places it in between two bodies. the writer makes the bodies sweat, the sweat slightly sticky and odourless. the writer makes sure the bodies stay warm.

am i a writer? the writer inserts themselves under the covers. the writer chooses the person next to them.

am i a writer? but the writer is alone. i'm not anywhere tonight.

the writer is just sad. the writer is unhappy with the world so she creates another one. the world is a room, rectangular in shape, with painted white walls. the window faces south. the world has a large closet and a double bed and a TV and a night stand with an alarm clock. inside the world is a woman with staticky brown hair which sticks to her wool shirt and her cheek.

but the writer hates what is not real. she apologizes to the woman with brown hair and lets her sleep peacefully and then she closes the door on that dream.

a writer is a dreamer.

all my stories are my dreams.

all my stories are my desires.

i imagined a perfect stranger and i kissed her on the mouth and i told her i never wanted to know her. i told her no matter how much i beg, to never love me, never ever let me bury my face in that favourite place, never lift my shirt and kiss my spine, never let me touch the skin which is as smooth as i make it which tingles when i make it, never let me feel what will consume me from the inside; the desire to touch again, to taste again, to kiss again and again and again, to be kissed again again again.

there was a real girl, once, who i wanted to kiss in the middle of the street in the middle of the night in front of the mountain under the cross under the moon and the moon shining off the just rained on street with my hands in my pockets and my heart kind of warm and i wanted her hands on my face and i wanted it to feel like how i imagined it feels to be in love but it didn't feel like that it felt like going home alone at night underneath a cold sky drunk and crawling and needing someone but needing loneliness too and needing to keep the illusion that love is out there somewhere, and it is real.

i'm not sorry for what i did. i'll rewrite it someday.

only slightly alternate

nowadays i only ever get drunk on weekdays

and only ever on white wine

i bought at the supermarket for $6.99

i only ever think of a million different people

i've seen that week, some faces more than others

some faces i couldn't get enough of

i only ever think of an only slightly alternate

reality

no one ever shits or blows their nose

it's an open concept loft apartment with a double bed

nowadays i only ever get drunk

i only ever think of all the books i'm going to read

in your open concept loft apartment with a double bed

hi so this is the new year

hi i'm oscar here to bring you a very special message about life which i know a lot about despite only being 7-9 months old.

firstly i don't even know why i have to say this because everyone should know this by now but open bars are a bad idea. the number one rule of life is "don't be too drunk" and open bars result in a direct contradiction of this rule. alcohol is this very silly thing that makes people think it is a good idea to text their crush or jump on the subway tracks or get naked in public.

secondly emily is lying in bed like a dead person because she violated the number one rule of life and she lost her earrings. maybe she should do the dishes or put on some pants but she just can't. now she is suffering the consequences of her actions which i do not approve of because if you come home and have to shut the door so the cat can't get in your room because you don't want him to see you then you are probably doing something wrong.

thirdly emily's number one problem in 2011 which i know a lot about despite not being alive for the entire year was anxiety about other people. i think this is stupid because emily is a smart caring person who always feeds me on time the best that she can but for some strange reason she is overcome with crippling doubt/panic/anxiety that other people think she is something other than what she is. although she doesn't really know who she is so she is also often confused and convinced that maybe she should be who other people think she is or that maybe she is already that person and or that she is a person entirely created by other people's perceptions of herself and what is free will anyway? she's not sure she has to think about it more.

from autostraddle.com

fourthly i been to a lot of places and seen a lot of things and i just have to say that i just don't understand people. i mean what are these portable telephone things that keep bringing drama into everyone's lives. here is a cat's advice: stop drinking (so much) and stop drunk texting. i like it better when people read books in bed instead of texting in bed because paper tastes better. i like to chew paper. also everyone thinks that looking a certain way is very important but it's not really. dogs are colour blind so they don't even know what you're wearing anyway.

in the end it doesn't matter who kissed who last night or that emily's eating processed cheese on a burnt bagel right now. she just wants what we all want: free delivery on new year's day. 2011 was a great year because i was born and 2012 will be even better because i will be there for all of it and there is so much opportunity for snacks. 2012 is the year of snacks.

thank you drive safe,

oscar

are there snacks out there

to change or stay this way?

hey love.

touch you here or there?

kiss your head or go away?

because go away i might.

if you want me to i might.

if you said,

"go away."

i might say,

"okay."

i might say okay

and heart crush like dust.

just a touch, love.

'cause love i just might.

remember thursday night?

quiet love or loud?

'cause whisper i just might.

if you want me to i might.

if you say,

"please stay."

i will say,

"okay."

i will say okay

how'd it get this way

hey, love.

secret in the way.

tell you now or later?

because later i just might.

if i find the words i might.

i might say,

"you're okay."

and i might say,

i love you.

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.

why is everything so weird

i wrote this thing in october 2010 about the landmarks that were approaching in my life. it was called 'why is everything so weird'. instead i posted this. reading this right now makes me feel weird.

Late November, early December

Around this time I started working at American Eagle, which was supposed to be a Christmas job, and yet I'm still here even though I live far away from where I work. I also don't know how I feel about this. In the past 2 months American Eagle has been the only thing keeping me sane because it's the only thing in my life that's remained familiar. I genuinely like everyone I work with and I'm writing it here even though I don't think any of them read this, which is totally fine. I don't know if I'm good at my job.

If I didn't work at American Eagle I probably would never have talked to any of the people I work with, and I don't think they would have talked to me. And that's okay, because we're different, kind of, and I would never have applied if I hadn't already been friends with someone who worked there. I'm glad I get to work with people I wouldn't have otherwise met.

I've been thinking about my job lately, and people keep asking me why I don't get transferred since I live in the city now, and I can't really explain why except that it's become kind of comforting. I've even (sort of) come to enjoy being the janitor on Sunday mornings. I don't know. They should pay me more to clean the light fixtures, I probably have 5 pounds of dust in my lungs or something.

++

Everything is so weird. I guess this is called "growing". Why do things have to mean something? None of these dates are really important, except maybe my birthday which is important to society and possibly my grandmother. I don't know what life will be like this time next year, I don't want to know, don't tell me. I wouldn't believe you anyway.

i think i remember having a dream around this time about someone in a white cotton shirt. i think my life is the same but different.

Open Letter to Myself

You got what you wanted. You stumbled home drunk and it was cold. Why is that a thing that you wanted. You were alone. You were walking with a ghost who's not coming back. You lay on the bed and your head spun and your ears rang and your heart burst but mostly you did not feel because you had drank too much. And it reminded you of other nights in another city where things were softer. And you said to yourself why did you do that. And you said to yourself, to make it hurt. Because you're a masochist. Because you're crazy. Because there's something wrong with you. Your mind is on fire.

Put it out, put it out. Don't ever put out the fire in your heart.

You got what you wanted. You wandered towards the moon. You wandered towards the cross on top of the mountain which never got any closer. You never got closer to anything. You never figured yourself out. Instead you trapped yourself inside a box and now you're stuck. And you wake up and you don't know where you are.

You're drunk all the time. You're not even a person sometimes. You're a shadow. You're the moon which never gets closer to anyone. You just run away all the goddamn time. Half of your christmas lights don't light up and you don't know how to fix that. And what about your inability to glue even the largest of broken pieces back together.

Why did you make the choices that you made. You got everything you wanted and you're still let down. Why do you live here. And what if you could have someone here right now beside you. Instead of writing this you could be talking to someone real instead of talking to yourself. Sometime there'll be someone here beside you and this room will be too small and you'll bump into each other way too often.

But your loneliness will go out like a candle in the close quarters.

[And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor --

And this, and so much more? -- ]

[Places to kiss:

+ On Rachel, in the middle of the street, between Clark and St. Urbain, facing the mountain.

+ Against the Sun Youth building.]

WHY IS EVERYTHING SO WEIRD .COM

OH MY GOD

WHY ARE YOU WEARING THOSE PANTS

landmarks:

+ october 23, 2009 - dying/saved. i have changed/not changed.

+ birthday approaching - don't want to talk about it. currently compiling a list of things i want/need/intend to solicit people for.

+ one year at ae - help, i have feelings. want this sweater asap. i have so many feelings about my job.

currently:

+ wish everyone would read laneia's blog.

+ there are many things that i would like to say to you, but i don't know how.

+ definitely going to need more ice cream.

three wishes:

+ someone to come grocery shopping with me

+ stop imagining people into people i wish they were, instead of the people they are.

+ no one can leave before i'm ready

(but they already have)

"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.

the way it feels

i am inside your sweater, under your shirt and my little hamster heart is trying to be a better little hamster heart.

the inside of your sweater is made with that fluffy stuff and it feels nice. and it's still kind of warm.

i'm really tired. is that okay? i wish i were a little tiny baby so i could fall asleep on your chest. i wish i had little tiny baby hands so i could tug at your shirt and pull your hair and touch your face and it would be okay, because babies touch things, and you can't blame them for touching things. i wish i were a baby so i could look at you in wonder, and be amazed at how the world created this thing, like these tiny hairs on your face, like the shape of your nose. babies are amazed by everything.

my stupid little hamster heart runs all night and it won't shut up. why don't you want to run on your wheel? do you want some water?

truth about women

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. i wonder why it is always winter when these things start.

it’s the middle of winter and i don’t have boots on. i have shoes on and they are wet. my knees are wet because i fell to the ground to look at the sky. i thought it might answer some questions but i guess since the sky can’t talk it just snowed on me. it snowed on everyone else too.

i tried to make the place i live a home. i try to drink something warm every day. i’m afraid in the middle of the night my bones might freeze if i don’t continually stir the fires in my finger tips. i wonder how long it would take for someone to find my frozen bones and all it would take is another body in my bed and i might just melt a little. well, the truth was that i was waiting for somebody. i was waiting for her to come to the place i try to call a home because i thought maybe, well, i thought she said she would. but that was a long time ago.

it’s hard when you’re in love with everyone in the world. i want to say “you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen” i want to say that to everyone i meet, ‘cause it’s the honest truth, every time i look at them, god, i think, good god, you’re beautiful, and you, you’re beautiful too, you’re all so goddamn pretty i can hardly stand it. i love them all. i love you all and you don’t even know it. you’re beautiful and you know it so you don’t hear me when i say it.

you’re beautiful and you love each other and you don’t love me and i love you, all of you, and i say, i love you, and you, well, you. there you are.

time is strange because it’s never quite the same everywhere. somewhere it is summer. somewhere on the opposite side of me.

you wore a white shirt and you said something in my ear and it made me love you. i said that i didn’t love you before but now i do. i like that shirt you wear. i like those black framed glasses. you have your hand on my arm and inside my head i’m like “yes!yes!yes!”

no, wait.

that was a dream.

i’m wearing these shitty converse with holes in them and my feet are freezing already. i’m walking home at night, in fact, it may already be tomorrow, and there is slush in my shoes and inside of my socks. i wear my collar high or else the wind might come inside too, and then my bones would shiver, and they can’t take a shiver right now, they’re just waiting for a shake. but no one grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye and says “shake shake shake”. shake shake shake.

i thought i’d be home by now but i’m not home. and you know what, i’m mad because i can hardly take it, you know, i can hardly stand it, i feel like kicking concrete. i’m mad at all the things; the wind, my dreams, the height of my ceilings, her glasses, cold tea.

i happened to be there one night. i never go there but then i was there instead of being somewhere else. that’s how things happen. it starts like i was doing my ordinary thing but then something changed. so something changed. so i was there. you were there, surrounded by friends or just other people. i carried you home and laid you on my bed. i said “i’m here,”

and you said,

“i want to go home”.

and home it is. keys and stuff. asleep in the next room. i stay up because i think she might call me. i remember that time is different if you’re not in the same spot as me, and she’s not. but i stay up because maybe, just maybe.

i had things tentatively planned. i thought she could maybe help me pick some winter boots. i thought we could stumble home from the bars and it wouldn’t seem so long and far. i thought maybe we’ll eat dinner somewhere, or maybe i’ll cook her dinner, or maybe both, or maybe more. she could walk to the bus stop with me. that’d be a nice change from standing with the lonelies who have gathered at the same spot for the same reason but can’t connect ‘cause they were born with lonely in their blood.

she didn’t call.

i’m so fucking in love with all of you. i’m so fucking in love and it hurts. it’s a million heartbreaks and i can’t go back. i can’t ever go back. once i was on the outside and it was a dull pain, the inside was a real heart but i’m not there anymore. and i can’t go back to anywhere. i’m so fucking lonely i might shrivel up into blank paper.

i barely sleep at night. i wander through dreams of people that i know but not well enough. in my dreams they are my friends but in real life we don’t know each other well enough to call it that. i wake up confused about the time. i think it’s morning when it’s 4 am and i start to get dressed only to check the clock and i can’t fall back asleep again.

when she finally called i hated every word i said to her. i was a sad puppy child full of contradictions. i cried quietly so she wouldn’t hear but all i wanted was for her to hear so i could get some attention. but i didn’t know what i wanted. but i knew what i wanted. but i wanted to cling to her body, looking for some kind of primeval comfort that i’m too shy to ask for when i’m sober. i couldn’t ask because i knew she couldn’t give. i didn’t know if she would call again. but i wanted it, yes, yes i did, so honestly that my own honesty hurt me.

after she called my eyes broke and i ate a half-cooked half-dinner. no, it wasn’t even half-cooked.

it’s not about you this time, i guess. it’s about me. it’s because i tried really hard. i mean, i really tried, i tried so hard that you didn’t even notice because everything i did was perfect. i was so fucking perfect. and i still lost.

i felt the fabric of your shirt, your white shirt. it touched my fingertips. i put my face to your chest and it touched my face. your arms were a blanket. i liked the way small parts of my skin stuck to your skin and the way you smelled and the way you breathed like it was a normal thing to do. you know i was still learning how. inside my heart i breathed a steady “yes, yes, yes”.

it was a dream. sometimes waking up from a dream is harder than other times. i can’t help myself for wanting it, for wanting you, for wanting her, for wanting everyone. time is hard, but time is not the same everywhere. somewhere else there is good time and the truth is that we will get there, all of us, every single one of us. because we’re so beautiful, we’re the most beautiful people ever made, and that’s the honest truth, i think, good god, we’re beautiful, and i love you, i really do, every single person, and all the doubles too.

inside my heart i breathe,

“yes, yes, yes.”

if this, then this

when i say shut your eyes, shut your eyes. okay. now shut your eyes. do you hear the piano through the open window? it is our neighbor playing erik satie. now when i say open your eyes, open your eyes. yes. good. open your eyes. do you see christmas lights and birds and stars above you? they are blowing in the wind. yes, even the stars. they move like static to the wind. i am wearing your sweater. it is wrapped around my body and it smells like you. i feel safe and sound and sadder than i have ever known. i cannot cry because it is inside of me like a giant swell of a wave, like a sigh, like a... like a... like sigur ros on a sad day.

i am afraid i am bad at this dance we are doing.

why does it hurt like this. i shut my own eyes, very tight. very tight so no light can come in. i shut them tight. if i can't see this maybe it is not happening. it hurts to be near you. everything hurts so very much.

i see christmas lights and stars. i think briefly of russia. white walls and red sheets, red carpets. this time is not that time. my hands and feet are numb and i want.

i crawl and i am slow. i am slow and i am shy. i am afraid i am bad at this dance we are doing. i'm afraid i will not let myself get better because i think i have sewn my mouth shut. i can't tell you where to turn. you will never get there until i tell you how to get there and i will never go anywhere now because when i go without you i just cry [everything makes me cry] so now i crawl and i am slow. maybe because you are listening i am embarrassed for you to hear.

and i keep expecting you to walk through that door.

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.

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.