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.

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.

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.

dead mothers

dead mothers

who are still dead

i am alive

you are in my blood

dead mothers


dead mother's

single daughter's

mother's mother

has dementia


dead mother

you had cancer

i was a child

one time

dead mother


single fathers

raising daughters

so much blood

in my blood

dead mother


9 months in your womb

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.

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.

The Supreme Art of Letting Go

The slow change of summer to fall, and we sit in denial. It's not quite happening yet, but you begin to think to yourself that you need a new pair of boots, and your mind briefly passes over that sweater you will wear when the weather changes -- it hasn't changed yet. But you know it will. It's happening right in front of your eyes.

For a while you refuse to shed the light t-shirts and shorts, until, undeniably it is fall and then possibly winter, and your shoes are wet from snow that melts when it touches the ground. But you still don't wear those boots, and your jacket is a sweater inside of which you shiver once or twice. One day you wake up and go outside and your breath catches in your throat and you know it's time to get the heavy-duty stuff; the hats and gloves, longjohns, big sweaters, and the hibernation attitude that allows you to trudge through dirty snow on your way home, where you will wear all these things. The days are short, but you knew this was coming. You saw it happening, it happens every year. But you are just not ready.

++

Slow change is like this. You wake up next to somebody and know that soon your bed will be empty, because summer is leaving and you are hungry. You can see the day when there will be no more hot whispers in your ear, no more christmas lights in August because it is no longer August, no more warm fireplace, no more warm body next to you, no more fingers on green shirts, no more kisses or touches or toothy grins kissing touching toothy grins.

Denial is easy and you hold on to it for as long as possible, but little by little you put the sweaters in the front of your closet, preparation for the coming cold. You don't wear them yet though. Summer is leaving, you know this, but you are just not ready for it to go. Knowledge does not make it easier, in fact, very little makes it easier.

++

You feel, and you let yourself feel it. You let the fall sharpness bite you, just for a second, before you wrap yourself up, and you hold it inside yourself, and then you inhale and exhale and you let it go. You breathe the cold air out and then you breathe in and out some more, because that's what you have to do, breathe the cold air out of your lungs until there is no more, and then you walk. You walk and talk and breathe and move your fingers like a human being with human tendencies. You make sure to wear your thickest coat to soften the blows until it doesn't feel like punching anymore. And that is all you need to do, for now at least. And you will emerge. You will emerge.

The Vanishing Act (blindsided)

i.

We pick a day on the calendar and circle it, then count down till we get there. Then we get there. What happens now? What do I do?

We're counting down and recounting and going and continuing on this road and if we just stayed on this train no one would ever know.

No one knows we're here.

Mum?

ii.

Why'd you leave? No one asked you to, except me. But that was a secret. It was a secret wish I made to myself, never even said aloud. Did you know? I could never even touch you. I think I made you cry. I made my grandma cry once. Once again it was my own fear, because I live my life in fear. I'm terrified of everything you loved. I can't plant tulips in the garden, I can't sew, or pick up seashells on the beach. I lost your letters, I lost your card, I lost your scarves, and your wedding dress when we moved. Children scare me because they have things I never did, and never will. And if my child hates me too? And if I vanish just like you? And if I'm still so mad that I don't do it just to spite you, just to end it here? 'Cause I'm the last one, I'm the last kid you ever had.

iii.

Why is life so fragile?

Sweet Ass Lyrics and Lines Part 1 of 500

I haven't really been able to think of something to write about for today because I've been busy sleeping/thinking about all the work I have to do so this post is a bit of a cop-out. I was listening to Bon Iver's "re:stacks" and I thought to myself, I love the lyrics to this song. Naturally then I started thinking of all my favourite lyrics, or some of the best lyrics I've ever heard. Sometimes lyrics can save a song (or completely ruin it) and sometimes they can hold more weight than perhaps intended simply because of what is going on in your life at the time.

So this is a look at some lines that I think are really clever or meaningful and that I probably put in my MSN name at one time in high school. Also I didn't realize that this was a huge undertaking and so there will be a part two and probably a part three to this. I mean srsly I just spent hours going through songs and looking up lyrics. This is from A-N and there's a zillion in between that I missed so I have no idea how I'm going to organize this are you even reading anymore

++

Bon Iver - Skinny Love

"now all your love is wasted and who the hell was i?"

Bright Eyes - Easy/Lucky/Free

"there is nothing as lucky, as easy, or free"

Chris Walla - It's Unsustainable

"sing again, now and then; now at least."

The Cure - Plainsong

"sometimes you make me feel like i'm living at the edge of the world."

Damien Rice - Cannonball

"it's not hard to grow when you know that you just don't know."

Death Cab for Cutie - Soul Meets Body

"if the silence takes you then i hope it takes me too."

Handsome Furs - All We Want, Baby, Is Everything

"heaven is a place we built out of stone."

Iron & Wine - Lion's Mane

"love is the best sensation hiding in the lion's mane."

-sidenote: video i made w/ this song

Jack's Mannequin - Miss Delaney

"in no time there'll be one less sad robot looking for a chance to be something more than just metal."

Jars of Clay - Worlds Apart

"watch the world i used to love fall to dust and blow away."

Joseph Arthur - Honey and the Moon

"don't know why i'm still afraid, if you weren't real i would make you up."

Lady Gaga - Monster

"he ate my heart and then he ate my brain."

Modest Mouse - Missed the Boat

"oh, and i laugh all the way to hell, saying, "yes this is a fine promotion.""

Moneen - How to Live With the Thought That Sometimes Life Ends

"you must be crazy, to die is no cure at all."

Motion City Soundtrack - The Future Freaks me Out

"it's so hard to relate to the whole human race. i don't know where to begin."

Muse - Thoughts of a Dying Atheist

"i know you're in this room, i'm sure i heard you sigh."

The National - Slow Show

"way out of sync from the beginning."

The New Pornographers - Challengers

"whatever the mess you are, you're mine."

++

be back later/to be continued/whatevs

When I Was Young Part 2: The Future & I

First: check it out! My top 10 favourite albums are on autostraddle!

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When I was younger I didn't dream of getting married and living in domestic bliss. I wanted to live alone near the beach in a small town with one gas station and a bead shop owned by a gypsy. I wanted to wear black and red flannel and hiking boots and I wanted it to be autumn all the time. I didn't want a phone 'cause I didn't want to talk to people.

Then came the point where I realized that living in a small town meant that people might know who I was and they might want to talk to me, ask me questions. I realized what I wanted, above all else, was anonymity. I began to picture myself in a big city like Manhattan, walking the streets never seeing the same person twice. I imagined the kind of freedom I might have, living by myself in a small apartment close to a main street. I could walk down the stairs in my building and instantly disappear into a crowd of people.

The two projected visions of my future seem so different -- one is in the country, the other, in the city. The thing is, though my vision has changed, I've always wanted the same thing. Is there a name for it (privacy? independence? freedom? to be left alone?)? It sounds lonely, but that's what the future looked like to me.

I never wanted money. Maybe that's because I've always had money -- never piles and piles of money, but enough to get by. Enough to buy a coffee twice a week, enough to buy excess clothes. Enough to play sports and travel. For whatever reason, when I thought of myself in my 20s, I always saw myself as poor. It's strange because I like money. I like to save my money and then make impulse buys on things I don't need. And I like things. I like my macbook and my iPhone and my overpriced moleskin and buying new books.

I always thought I would be a writer. I wanted to write a book as good as Harry Potter and I wanted to be a poet. I didn't understand poetry. I wanted to stay up late and drink coffee and typetypetype a novel on a desk covered in crumpled up paper.

Other people never figured into my plans. One thing I always knew about my future was that it didn't matter what other people thought about it. I was sure, and still am, that it's my future -- not my parents', not my friends', not my teachers'. As harsh as it may seem, they were never necessary to my success. Success is happiness. I'm probably wrong about my parents and friends.

I guess of all the choices I might make or could have made, what I want is kind of strange. I was always a little less mainstream than that, though. I was always good at writing, at least I was better than other people in my classes. I liked to read when reading was unpopular. I liked to write in my spare time. When I was sad I wrote poetry and at first it always rhymed and then it was just a mish mash of words, clichés, and tears. At one point I realized that hardly anybody reads poetry and hardly anybody understands poetry and you can write this assignment in any way you want except not in a poem.

Part of growing up in North America is that we're told from the beginning that we can be anything we want. I can be a writer if I want to and you can be a firefighter or a pilot or a chef. I keep hearing that we're the next leaders of our country, but the truth is we're not. Only one person gets to be Prime Minister/President. Someone has to clean the Prime Minister's toilet and sweep the streets and serve you at McDonald's. They never tell you you might be a janitor. Do people dream of being janitors? Do people dream of being STM workers? Do people wake up every day and think "Boy am I happy I pick up people's garbage every Monday! This is what I've always wanted to do!"?

The thing is, you're probably not going to be Prime Minister or a famous actress. You might not even get a job.

Sarah: he’s right, the undergrad degree is the new HS diploma
also hard to get a job with
Laneia: um did a h.s. diploma EVER guarantee a good job???
Sarah: no, it guaranteed a job if you were willing to join the military
Laneia: right
Sarah: i think the high school diploma lost it’s appeal in the 40s

[autostraddle]

Maybe the point here is that having shitty dreams means your dreams are likely to come true. I mean, I'm probably not going to live in NYC, but it'll be a big city, and I'll probably be a poor starving writer, writing poetry nobody reads.

But I think the real point is that, for me anyway, I've always been this way. I've always known what I want and I've always sought to achieve it. Subconsciously I've paved my way towards the future I always imagined myself in. I've shed the negative people from my life, gotten rid of the things that make me feel like shit. I think all I've ever wanted was the chance to be myself. I want to stop being lied to. I want to be around people I like, and who like me. I want to be around nobody at all. I want to be happy. I want to step out of my heart and go walking beneath the enormous sky.

And I will.

Music Monday: Best Concept Albums

Guess what? I've decided to start a music Monday! Why Monday? Because of the alliteration with music and 'cause I'll have all weekend to write it when I should be doing homework. It's probably mostly going to be just a random song that came up on my iTunes and maybe I'll post a soundclip if I can figure out how. I have 1686 songs on my iTunes so that's pretty much 1686 Mondays which is um, 32 and a half years. JK I won't do a song every Monday, that's unrealistic, it might be a song or an artist or an album or a genre or something else completely unrelated like what I ate for dinner last night (chicken and mashed potatos) or the colour of my socks (white).

I'm starting off today with something special because it's what gave me the idea to do this. The title of this post is misleading. By "best" I mean "my favorite" and by "concept album" I mean "album that must be listened to starting from track 1 to the end of the cd in order and may employ recurring themes throughout the album and though individually the songs are incredible, their full potential can only be realized when listened to consecutively from beginning to end". Some of the albums I'm about to mention don't have recurring themes which is why they're not necessarily "concept albums" and I had to make my own definition.

Top 9 Concept Albums
Because I can't find a 10th one to even this out.

9. Green Day - American Idiot

Okay, I know Green Day kind of sold out with this album but that doesn't take away the affect it had on me. My dad brought this home for himself in 2004 and I just remember thinking (it's been 5 years?!?) Oh this is the band that wrote When I Come Around and popped it in the cd player. I was forevermore a fan until now when I am not really obsessed anymore. But! American Idiot is a perfect example of a concept album (a real concept album) because it is a story. We are introduced to St. Jimmy and the Jesus of Suburbia who are actually alter egos if I remember correctly. Anyways, this album holds my favorite Green Day song (Letterbomb) as well as a couple of other epics and we all know GD made history and became huge with this. Just as a sidenote, their live dvd Bullet in a Bible is pretty awesome too - they can really rock it live.

8. Rogue Wave - Asleep At Heaven's Gate

Rogue Wave has to be one of my favorite bands. I only got into them last year right before the Death Cab concert because they were the opening act and I decided to check them out. After the concert I bought Asleep at Heaven's Gate and I don't regret it for a second. This album is not a concept album like American Idiot, but the silence after the last track is so comforting it's like being laid on a cloud and I feel like I won't need to ever hear any sound ever again. Harmonium and Cheaper Than Therapy might be the best opening and closing tracks (respectively) I've ever heard on an album. Rogue Wave is kind of like Band of Horses, with beautiful melodies and harmonies and weird lyrics, only better.

7. The Decemberists - Crane Wife

I got into this band also because of DCFC, well really Chris Walla, because everytime I searched his name in brackets someone would mention that he produced for The Decemberists. The Decemberists are really catchy, especially Crane Wife, which kind of has a recurring theme. In any case, this album is quite brilliant; it's dark and sinister and feels very epic. The songs really flow together, which is what makes it such a good "concept album". I'm always kind of sad when it's over. Like American Idiot, Crane Wife has two ~10 minute songs placed at either end of the track list and I think it's a cool format and more bands should try it though it does take considerable skill to write a 10 minute song without boring the shit out of people.

6. Sarah Mclachlan - Mirrorball

Wow, it took me a while to find a picture of Sarah Mclachlan 'cause for some reason it felt really awkward to post a picture of her without a guitar. And then something wonky happened with the HTML and it wouldn't let me type on the left! Now I'm so frustrated I have to listen to Sarah Mclachlan who soothes me with her Canadian voice. Everyone knows who Sarah Mclachlan is right? She's the one who wrote "I Will Remember You" and captured the hearts of people everywhere who have hearts (and ears). Well, Mirrorball is her live cd release thing, and holy shit, if you only want to buy one Sarah Mclachlan album, buy this one. I actually didn't buy mine, I found it. Best! Find! Ever!

5. Modest Mouse - We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank

What do you do when you're in Amoeba in San Francisco and you can buy anything you want? Go out on a limb and buy something you're not quite sure of, which is obvs what I did with Modest Mouse or else I wouldn't be telling this story. Isaac Brock is a lyrical genius, really. He's right up there with Conor Oberst which is saying something (!!). The lyrics carry the album as well as the gritty sound and bitterness which make me imagine Brock drunk in a bar stumbling around at 3 am. Personal favorite songs on this album: Missed the Boat, and Little Motel. Modest Mouse also boasts a lineup which includes Johnny Marr, ex-guitarist for The Smiths. Like come on. Just go buy their shit already.

4. Bright Eyes - Lifted or the Story is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground

Oh, Conor, Conor, Conor. If I could write one song as well as him I think I would retire my guitar forever. How does he do it?! I think the answer is drugs and alcohol. I was having a conversation with Amanda the other day and she was saying how the "tortured artist" is redundant, 'cause artists are tortured by nature. Conor writes some pretty fucked up stuff, maybe that's why he's so brilliant. This is one of my favorite Bright Eyes albums.

3. Okkervil River - Black Sheep Boy

Okkervil River is a recent discovery for me but they've quickly become a favorite. I'd heard lots of good things about Black Sheep Boy (apparently it's their best album) so I went out and bought it. It's lived up to expectations. Black Sheep Boy is a true concept album (one of the few on this list) but each individual song carries it's own wave of delicious heartbreak. Interestingly enough, Black Sheep Boy (the opening track) is not an original composition but I love how they turned a small idea into a whole album. I'm waiting for Okkervil River to write a 10 minute song like The Decemberists.

2. The Smashing Pumpkins - Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

Okay, I have a few things to say about this. First, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness has to be my favorite name for an album ever. Ev-er. Second, it holds some of my favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs like Take Me Down and Beautiful and Bullet With Butterfly Wings. Honestly, this album is epic. It has two discs and the whole thing just feels so romantic, but an edgy kind of romantic. Romance with a knife. Billy Corgan was, and always will be, very, very strange.

1. Pink Floyd - The Wall

The Wall: A concept album. A brilliant, yet simple concept. Why? Because we all build walls. You know, those metaphorical walls. I talk about them sometimes. The Wall features some of Pink Floyd's best stuff, though some would argue The Dark Side of the Moon is better, but that is not for us to debate today. There is a movie that is part drawing part real acting based on the story of the wall. Well, not based on, it IS the story, I guess. It just brings to life the music. I would love to watch it stoned one day, Pink Floyd is so psychaedelic and trippy.

"Vera, Vera! What has become of you? Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?" Pink Floyd - Vera

I could quote them forever. Right? Anyone who likes Pink Floyd knows what I mean. They're all-encompassing.

Also, I realize you are not commenting on my comment post to spite me. That's okay. You can comment on posts from last week. Who is anonymous saying I love you? CAUSE I LOVE YOU TOO whoever you are, I hope it's someone I know or else JK, I don't love you.