i'm just killing time until i die.

all of this is a ruse.
use me/ i'll use you too--
in fact, let's all use each other until
we're all used up and nobody has anything left to give.

the menial doodles that take up this life/
words working side jobs to pay for the night.

{none of us has money--
but poor is cool these days,
it means you don't give a fuck.}

i'm hallucinating a stereotype.
it moves slowly past my arm on the edge of the precipice i call my desk--
nothing gets done here.
just shadows pretending to be shadows,
following a darkness of thought that moves freely around the abyss.

MmmBeats.

it lingers behind you, round clouded corners, brandishing your dreams...carrying the weight of your worries and following your shadow through the day..
you pretend it isn't there, isn't following you from dusk, but you know it won't leave anytime soon. and even as you deny its presence, and ignore its attempts to grasp your attention, you tingle when it's near; you know that eventually, you'll have to give in.
you hold out for weeks and months, you think even perhaps a year... but no, love's sneaky like that. it jumps you when you think you're done and turns you on your head.

scars...

little lessons to carry with and remind you along the way...


...like the new, purple-ish one i earned on my leg (about the size of a dime) from hot oil last week. reminding me not to drop things into the pan, but rather to place them gently. or like the small shiny one on my left knee cap that tells me, still, that practicing long jump in a gravel courtyard is a risky endeavor... and the faint blip on my eyelid that taught me that ex racehorses don't get reprimanded like the rest--because they will react quickly and knock you out with their nose bone somewhere in to a tree... and lastly, one deep one nestled in my eyebrow, reminding me not to try climbing up japanese innertubing waterslides (i'm sure other ones are okay), because japanese hospitals are scary, so disinfected.. and because it hurt.. there are other scars, too, but these ones i will never forget..

open letter

i've said everything. i needed to say

Oh Freddy...

only you can make me sing (and clean my room) like you do

last night i dreamed about candy

then i woke up, and it was halloween. go figure.

the only costume idea i have so far is an irate pirate. which doesn't even rhyme. it's a better play on words than costume. it looks great on paper, like a lot of things.

best TRICK of the day *so far*:

"hey hawco, you want a threeni?"

"a what?"

"a threeni! it's like a toonie, but three dollars."

"is that legal tender?"

"..."

can't wait for the TREATs.

f/r\a g m|e|n|t (s)

Today has no purpose, but for that of a stepping stone from yesterday to tomorrow

"I (personally) have always found it a little tricky to put together my desire to be with and love someone with my need and desire for solitude."

[tell me everything is going to be okay.]

Today i'm not angry at bus drivers or people saying stupid doing stupid. no, today i only hate i only hate myself.

bonafide

it has crept in to my attention that i am becoming a *bonafide* pessimist. little hints, like thoughts of 'i hate everything' and 'people are the worst' scroll through my head, usually in the morning. these indicate the potentiality of a larger problem, brewing.
since i am generally known as a person who smiles noticeably more than the status quo, it seems to me that this is a more recent development.

things that may be contributing to my less sunny disposition:

cold weather
lack of sleep
homework
work
the disintegration of human moral
increase of stupid people in my immediate surroundings
loud noises when not necessary
a general distaste of the moronic goings on around me
too many people in general
finding my jar of peanut butter nearly empty early in the morning as i go to use it for breakfast...

things that may help me through the hate loop:

good music via good room mates (m83)
robin still loves me despite this 'hate everything' attitude
bonus points for putting up with the early morning version of above mentioned
writing things that don't make sense
going home for the holidays
the salvation army
spring

things reached a peak this morning on the shuttle bus as the driver raged around corners and repeatedly slammed the brakes, despite the overload of students on board. between the redundant, annoying conversations i had to overhear and the constant pitching and falling of the vehicle, things were not going well. i surmised that the general population of students and people in my appropriated surroundings are fucking retarded. excuse the socio-politically incorrect use of mental disability to illustrate a point. i don't care.

in general, the amount of times during any given day that i have the urge to tell someone to 'go fuck themselves' has increased exponentially since this time last year. i wonder, have i gotten angrier, or everyone else more idiotic--and me, by default, smarter. i prefer the latter and that is what i am going to go with. if you disagree, it's only because you aren't intelligent enough to comprehend my rationalizations.

th!nk

nothing i write makes any sense.

sometimes i think: why bother?

other times i am sure that this is irrelevant.

why make sense when you can wander through equilibriums... drift aloft on clouded wing tips, avoid crowded conversation... run away from the definitive. embrace arbitrary: ambivalence at its finest.

did anyone see the rain after it washed down the drain path and disappeared into the dank obscurity of the underground mazes?

did anyone care to watch long enough to see?

think fast. time doesn't wait. nothing waits, any more.

The autonomy of a question;

A perfect way to lie.

Residual deconstructions

Made from shallow eyes.

The aura of a demonstration;

Catacombs of life--

Different means of resurrection

Seem to end in strife.

i'm only happy when it rains

just kidding. i like sun too.

also,
happy birthday chris!
because even though you told me not to wish you a happy birthday (via matt),
i know you'll never read this.
hah.
i liked you better with a curly moustache.

snow, breakdowns and a cold october..

maybe i'm hallucinating, but i just counted three snowflakes outside my window. and it's cold. nevermind. there are a lot more than three. goodbye summer...i'll miss the way you let me dance without piercing me with thick, icy needles and frosting my nose closed when i only wanted to breathe....

and despite the romantic notions i still have about winter...the warm hearth, mulled wine, a good book and snuggles... nobody i know here* has a hearth.

my computer broke the other day.

i came home from work, maybe a little too excited to lie down, get cosy and watch some new episode of something... but when i turned it on, all i saw was gray screen accompanied by a never-ending series of three LOUD beeps. i should have it back and *functioning* in three weeks.

thanks Future Schmuck. don't worry about school, it's not like i'll have anything due before then.

but really, i can't complain....everything else sort of rules...i get to MAKE MOVIES and play with PHOTOSHOP FOR MARKS and write POEMS for (sorta) marks... and the people at work are okaaay too..

speaking of nothing... when i think about the wind...

...she calls my name with a whisper

quiet, inaudible,

sincere.

she plays with leaves--

a summer's breeze

twirling trees

like paintbrushes in the sky.

if i had a twin

• we'd pretend to be one person and fool everybody

• she'd be doing my poetry homework while i did this

• i'd only have to work half the time

• we would go on double dates and switch halfway through, when we got bored

i finally found

Thorsteinn Surtr

everything hurts.
my body--
the spaces around my head, pressing inward
closing until my world consists only of the inside of my eyes.
there's hardly any light
and why?
i am erasing it all.
slowly, carefully, purposefully,
unintentionally.
i didn't ask for this, but i created it.
all these nights spent up until light finds its way back through the window vanes--
pleasant torture,
and completely unnecessary.
but still, i can't stop.
all of my promises to myself
demolished in the scent of a moment--
and maybe it's you, too,
because some days you fit in with this puzzle and i can't quite separate you from the tangled
confusion i think i'm trying to avoid.

i need a break, but nobody here will let me go.
i can't wait. i need out. i need out. i need out.

in an other world

they make you pretend you're designing the cover of a magazine. for 1%. thaaaaanks, first year intermedia class that's interspersed with little girls who wear bobbles in their hair. knew i could count on you for 60% of my workload. you one, insignificant and mandatory, first year class.
just kidding. i could learn to love you.

when

poetry prof asks you to write about an early memory, an historical event and to describe someone you hate without naming them... you write about your best friend face planting off a concrete wall at the feria in seville on your fourth birthday. you write about the death of silent film. you describe stephen harper as acidic and frigid.
then she tells you to write a poem using all three pieces. what?

finally:

lights fall down a darkening sky
(before they turn again).
carnival spires spin through the dusk—
as you walk the line.
from beneath a curtain of frailty,
marble eyes fight ferris wheels
for clearer visions of you.
you tilt--
falling down from concrete heights,
unwound.
marble softens to shrouded lies,
an opaque doorway in the night.

the process was painful. the poem? questionable.

dear johanna

today a girl in my intermedia class was wearing red boots.
i thought of you.

THE BEST

kinds of things happen when you google your own name.