everything moves slower even though we are constant.
everything where you want to go : encouragement, criticisms
discourse
complying with those people, audacious, telling you who they think you are
and really, isn't that who I am?
yesterday you said you were in an existential crisis, so today I drew a portrait of you with my left hand to prove it.
said 'look around, you wont find anywhere else or anyone else with this same guarantee'
SOLD! but I was not actually selling
I was reserving myself for a great sunday.
one with more self-nullifying behavior.
we are not bitter, so why do we keep framing our portraits as the same?
we are constant,
better than bad
we are constant, we are good
we are constant, but need too much backing up
we are constant
we are trying to sell ourselves on the idea of
one
and I'm failing at it,
constantly.
27.4.08
26.4.08
Allusions to Owen
it's always been ridiculous and you've known that from the beginning, but it still hurts when suddenly you realize that all you're doing is leaving another message on Jeanne's answering machine.
21.4.08
17.4.08
'some kinda ecstasy'
just like i said i would,
i put cherry blossoms on the back of my tongue.
i broke every law, that is to say i denied every desire for the sake of other desires, which is to say i did not have faith.
this is what i have learned about faith:
sour oranges hide seeds like a poison scold
black cats run from me
the sun won't set at the top of the city
angels guard a person with eyes like theirs. children eat what tastes good, not what saves them.
angels watch a person who watches the city who reads the myths who suffers the loss of the city who slings the myth when they're just a child who does what feels good the way children do when they're watching and don't save the memory of angels, the myths they read.
grow like trees who hide grainy seeds in the pieces of themselves they're supposed to give away when ready, when sweet
time isn't real. it will melt in your mouth before you get the chance to memorize the taste of salvation
i put cherry blossoms on the back of my tongue.
i broke every law, that is to say i denied every desire for the sake of other desires, which is to say i did not have faith.
this is what i have learned about faith:
sour oranges hide seeds like a poison scold
black cats run from me
the sun won't set at the top of the city
angels guard a person with eyes like theirs. children eat what tastes good, not what saves them.
angels watch a person who watches the city who reads the myths who suffers the loss of the city who slings the myth when they're just a child who does what feels good the way children do when they're watching and don't save the memory of angels, the myths they read.
grow like trees who hide grainy seeds in the pieces of themselves they're supposed to give away when ready, when sweet
time isn't real. it will melt in your mouth before you get the chance to memorize the taste of salvation
14.4.08
11.4.08
10.4.08
New Translations For Prince George
Be what you can make at the moment, extend your hands into jacket pockets, and guard a heart that pulsed irregularly offbeat because you forced it to slow down while you stood around waiting in your duckboots for far too long.
You've got to start treating this life like it was something that you consumed, you must not call here or there the victor, they are two things that recycled all the rivers into pumping veins, and though you've gone back to the south, you have yet to find all the different ways one can arrive home.
And remember, it's not who they made you, it's not how they asked you to abandon the revolutionary, it's not how you began to find wars on the land, worlds that reaked with the mask of death and threatened the person that was filming it behind euro-canadian camera lenses.
No, it's not only that.
It was the switching of pronouns. It is when 'you' became 'I' and 'they' became singular.
And these anxieties? I'll forget the written ones, they're just writings of themselves. I'll show the blood in dark blues and grays, because I've learned that when a leaf falls here it just depends on the growing discoloration of sky,a north wind, and the asthma that chokes us.
It makes us leave so soon, oscillating with the birds in mid-flight toward bluer skies with the power of an innocuous breeze.
So save up more sweet-tasting alcohol , I've got difficulties to raise flags for, to break bones with, and to hoist up next to hastily blowing sails.
And while I've kept you updated,
It's always had to go through translation,
Somewhere between the west coast and central mainland.
Part North and Part South, I come undone up on cranbrook hill, I lost direction and I lost place. I hoard ghosts and flood them with memories of hometowns, I focus on bleeding and the distant echoes of ocean tides, I live in music and count all the ways in which cynicism distracts from life,
yet I do little about any of it.
I become too conscious of closure.
I try too hard to translate my goodbyes.
I try too hard to make them clearly phrased and technical.
But this landscape holds more than a the constant brooding to find that perfect goodbye, it holds a wish for more.
More dirt, more frost, more death, more cancer.
Grime has a way of becoming romantic, and it sticks to you like a first kiss.
It's this northern BC thing.
It's this air pollution that does not let us see the stars that we once forged our hearts in.
And knowing we can search for more than dead trees and foggy skies, we modify our environment, we re-write our truths.
and I've given myself five days to re-write the definition of Fort George
because when a frozen town un-thaws, it leaves more puddles than a rain forest ever could.
and I see more of my reflection saturated in the dirty gravel ground every time I walk back
from the university to home,and so I know I'm already melting with it.
You've got to start treating this life like it was something that you consumed, you must not call here or there the victor, they are two things that recycled all the rivers into pumping veins, and though you've gone back to the south, you have yet to find all the different ways one can arrive home.
And remember, it's not who they made you, it's not how they asked you to abandon the revolutionary, it's not how you began to find wars on the land, worlds that reaked with the mask of death and threatened the person that was filming it behind euro-canadian camera lenses.
No, it's not only that.
It was the switching of pronouns. It is when 'you' became 'I' and 'they' became singular.
And these anxieties? I'll forget the written ones, they're just writings of themselves. I'll show the blood in dark blues and grays, because I've learned that when a leaf falls here it just depends on the growing discoloration of sky,a north wind, and the asthma that chokes us.
It makes us leave so soon, oscillating with the birds in mid-flight toward bluer skies with the power of an innocuous breeze.
So save up more sweet-tasting alcohol , I've got difficulties to raise flags for, to break bones with, and to hoist up next to hastily blowing sails.
And while I've kept you updated,
It's always had to go through translation,
Somewhere between the west coast and central mainland.
Part North and Part South, I come undone up on cranbrook hill, I lost direction and I lost place. I hoard ghosts and flood them with memories of hometowns, I focus on bleeding and the distant echoes of ocean tides, I live in music and count all the ways in which cynicism distracts from life,
yet I do little about any of it.
I become too conscious of closure.
I try too hard to translate my goodbyes.
I try too hard to make them clearly phrased and technical.
But this landscape holds more than a the constant brooding to find that perfect goodbye, it holds a wish for more.
More dirt, more frost, more death, more cancer.
Grime has a way of becoming romantic, and it sticks to you like a first kiss.
It's this northern BC thing.
It's this air pollution that does not let us see the stars that we once forged our hearts in.
And knowing we can search for more than dead trees and foggy skies, we modify our environment, we re-write our truths.
and I've given myself five days to re-write the definition of Fort George
because when a frozen town un-thaws, it leaves more puddles than a rain forest ever could.
and I see more of my reflection saturated in the dirty gravel ground every time I walk back
from the university to home,and so I know I'm already melting with it.
5.4.08
we may stay updated on any changes
"You are thinking much better than I do. What is the solution? What have you been taught? If you are drinking beer or messing with drugs than...-I know, I know, I have never messed with my chemical equilibrium-What the fuck are you talking about?: I am looking for a mult utility solution (including that last piece of the puzzle with that story about the cliff jumping)..because you thought it would save you, make you money on being a champion instrument.Too often these metaphors never make any sense or comparisons . We are unfamiliar with these personalities and accomplishments- it's not easy, but it's sometimes good....there are mile markers on the road to happiness but we are worried about bulk, so we simply delete these lines ( our lines, his/her lines, their lines, zee and zer lines) we are being removed- Okay I am about to permanently delete this entry- What I am trying not to say is in all these blog things...- Well shit, are you shy? Be assertive, learn to relax, reduce swearing, go places together, stop reading so much into anxieties and what you are writing about. You could read this 500 times and still not be aware of the current state of 'play' within it............ in this space of handy low-cost technology."
Potential/Absence
They say if it's crowded all the better but lately you can't even stay up late
and the noises and bright lights don't make your vision swim
just buckle and double like knees or iron or any support really
and it does come apart, and they do always come apart
because 'points of articulation' is just code
that says "a man made this so other men can bend it"
or break it
with baseball bats or even just their hands
with a guitar, a beer bottle and the silence from the last record.
and the noises and bright lights don't make your vision swim
just buckle and double like knees or iron or any support really
and it does come apart, and they do always come apart
because 'points of articulation' is just code
that says "a man made this so other men can bend it"
or break it
with baseball bats or even just their hands
with a guitar, a beer bottle and the silence from the last record.
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