who they are and how they leave

I'm not sure it's ever important.



I'm not sure I can keep making comparisons

The end result is that they were how I related to certain parts of myself

whether it was in
the cough of an old man, the ocean on the edge of a town, a feeling trapped inside of a school, the warmth of a friends hug, or a musical interlude


they'll all leave you feeling like crap,
the missing
of these things

D:

ooooooooooooooooooooo

fuckshitcockasscuntbawlz.

Band on the Run

You don't even know what makes you think of it, but suddenly you can't shake the image in your mind of Lauren Ambrose sitting in a diner at the end of Can't Hardly Wait. You see a low, early morning sun in the plate glass behind her and it flares out through the camera lens and reminds you of a photograph. You wish you were her, you wish you were there. You can hear Band on the Run playing in your head, the raucous, spontaneous version from the end of that Broken Social Scene video, or even just the Paul McCartney and Wings version. You get a little chill in your spine.

You wish you could have that moment, that it could have been one that belonged to you. You want to be on a trip, driving through the North America Middlewest with your friends. You want to be getting up at dawn or not sleeping the night before and pulling into a diner, still nursing a hangover or coming down off a high when you arrive in the parking lot. You want to sit there talking loudly and laughing a lot while a waitress begrudgingly or even happily refills everyone's coffee cups and you all say "Thank you." And she smiles. There's a musical flourish and the screen starts to darken making all the oranges and dirty yellows of the morning more pronounced, and a girl with curly red hair lifts a cup of coffee to her lips and grainy white text proclaims, 'The End'.

The credits roll, but then the colours come back and you know that it's not over. It's never ever over.

Laissez Tomber La Page

It's the reason he arches his back when he's standing in the windows
while the world passes by outside
barely noticing he's there,
and it's the reason why when he puts his clothes back on
and walks out into the street
nobody recognizes him.
He's a vampire.
He's Judas.
He's just a kid.
Now he's lost in the stacks, fingering the edges of the modern masters.
Now he's lost on a screen, having forgotten all he'd learned.
Now he's lost in the stacks again, wondering
"What was the point of that?"
wondering why his life is just a modern rock song,
and why they always put him back on the shelf.

all rivers run south, all roads lead home

presenting myself like a Saturday afternoon playlist.
Where parents have left the house,the coffee is on, and we're dancing.


our every moments should be lived like these Saturday afternoons,
and we know it's true
So we feel it instead
because
Living it is feeling it
and I breathe in, I scream it, I sing it, and I read it like notes on a page.
And we're all fuckin' dancing.

like tap shoes on a monday
there's an orchestra of scuffs and clicks and shuffle-toe-heels.
there's this ambience of sound between particles of air.
It's what sits lurking between the verses
and wraps around your chest, squeezing your ribs until memories flood out like the Fraser, southbound and silty,paving a highway that's built for the
crashing and churning and twisting of water.
The booming echoes that all but the fish are too deaf to hear.
They travel underneath their crashing blanket
loud whispers
that flow down
reaching the pacific
melting into song.

you dip your feet into the ocean
tapping them like a finger taps 'play'
and I unravel from the water.

shuffle after shuffle,
chord after chord,
you strum me back out

This Week's Theme

This Week's Theme is:
"Life, the Pop Song."

Where the H!

WheredaH are the weekly themes!
now really.

Love me love me say that you love me

Note pour mon Concurrent

I've forgotten the shame
and humiliation of those days.
But it always comes back
when I see you
and you see me
and we look away,
I'm disarmed.

vulgar

All the words keep slurring together on the page. I read like a drunken idiot must speak. My eye rushes through paragraphs and letters ahead of me form together and I'm almost certain that half a sentence down the line I'm going to run into "fuck." It's an exciting word to see written sometimes. It is always so overused verbally that people try to avoid it in their writing so it's exciting when someone just puts it there anyway. They rarely do though. It's always just my eye tricking me.

recycled

removed, without feeling

like when they tore me from the womb
like when they tore your womb from you
like when i tore myself from you.

you always seem to have things removed.

I'm sorry I've kept myself so removed
removed and ignorant
removed from my mind.

and on the topic of minds,
I hope yours is okay

I feel echoes in my middle ear
and I think of the block next to yours
about how there is no room for an echoe

and i feel less of my nausea
and more of your vertigo

like an unborn child feels their mothers' heart beating ,
it makes sense why I'm the one getting dizzy