|oystershell|

NAMES FOR PLACES I'VE NEVER BEEN

there has not been a cloud in the sky in i don't know how long.  the sun has been shining brightly, and it's almost a wonder that it can remain so cold.  at least, though, we're on the brighter side of things.

i'm tired.  i've been playing hard and working harder.  i've had people in town every weekend since christmas, and in the next 3 weeks to come.  this is great.  this is expensive.  and i am fairly poor. 

and i fail.  i fail i fail i fail i fail i fail at trying to find the meaning in the things we all do.  we haven't kissed.  but he baked me cookies.  but we haven't kissed.  but he keeps making me mix cds.  but we haven't kissed.  but he says all the right things.  and i could dissect the why's till i'm one hundred and four.  i just don't know.  i just won't know.  maybe he'll surprise me.  maybe i'll never hear from him again.  maybe i'll wake up 45, wondering.  it's wasted time; trying to figure out people's motives and intentions, their actions and apprehensions.  wasted time.

so i waste my time.  in bars, in arcades, in bed, sitting on the sofa staring at the world outside.  so bright.  so cold.  and i'll dissect myself in the mirror.  and i'll dissect myself in all the things i say.  in all the things we say.  in all the conversations that resonate and fill up the room until it's too hard to open the door.  until i have to turn the music all the way up. 

the past, though, has been calling in sick a lot lately.  and i like that.  i like that a lot.  on walks and in taxi rides and in bookshelves at powell's and in all those conversations.  all our conversations. 

WHEN IT'S COLD OUT

i would love to pay for you.  you could be a good wife to me.

YOUR VERSION OR MINE

i keep finding paperclips in my pockets.

today beat me up a little bit and offered nothing spectacular, but i liked it all the same. 

and now, cinnamon mocha coffee with chocolate sauce and no where near ready for bed. 

i've been craving chinese food and wine like nobody's business. 

and i keep finding paperclips in my pockets.

DATES & A SEA OF FACES

we lose faces in stories we sell.  for laughs.  for memories.  for distractions.  we lose faces in the shadows of the buildings we walk along.  nothing but dim lights and careless swaggers.  we lose face when faced with the truths we can't sell.  the truths we can't bind and wrap and sew into gold.  sew into laughter.  sew into memories.  sew into distractions.  we just lose face.

i lose face.  it crumbles to the ground, like the trash we put out.  sitting, waiting.  like it means something.  like it ever meant anything at all.  i lose face.  i grow tired.  i grow wary.  my inhibitions bury me.  under the trash we put out.  sitting, waiting.  like it means something.  like it ever meant anything at all.

what i thought it was it isn't now.  what it is now is something i never thought it would be.  it's just sitting, waiting.  out by the curb.  out in the street.  out in the cold.  and the better of me will turn my back.  i grow tired.  i grow wary.  i grow up and out of the idealism we use to swallow the world around us.  the idealism we choose to sell.  for laughs.  for memories.  for distractions.  what it was it isn't now.

it's just real.  the pennies roll out of our eyes and into the streets and down into the gutters.  they pile up, like the trash.  sitting, waiting.  shiny, little faces looking up between the bars.

and when it's fifty, it's fifty.  and when it's late, it's late.  and whatever it is, it just is.  and what we put out, we all just seem to lose.  the energy.  the emotion.  the frailty of being something more than shiny, little faces looking up between the bars.

and it's not sad.  and it's not depressing.  it's not something to hang our heads about.  it just is.  what we thought it was it isn't now.  it just is.  not for sale.  not for a cure or a cord to hang ourselves from.  not for all the money in the world.  no amount of coffee.  no crying.  no amount of whiskey.  no wine.  just shiny pennies looking up. 

and beds have never been so cold.

THE TICKS AND TOCKS OF STARVING NATURES

my impatience sometimes negates the good i have to offer.  i'm quick to jump the shark and even quicker to drop the ball.  let it roll.  let it roll off and then away. 

i find myself walking the same two miles.  walking and i walk them.  up and down belmont like it's a living.  like it's something i'm good at.  starving off my starving nature, walking up and down. 

i find the snow is slowly melting.  melting down to nothing.  puddles and piles.  puddles and little piles, floating off the sidewalks and down into the gutters. 

and sometimes i find my knees are wet.  from crawling around, trying to find an hour or two.  trying to find a place to dock.  where the air is warm for just a little while.  and i'll be so quick to jump into it.  so quick to jump.  the same two miles, where only the snow is changing.  so quick to jump then drop the ball.  let it roll.  let it roll away.

stay.  the snow is melting out on belmont.  but it's still so cold.  so damn cold.  for me.  for me or for whomever.

my fervor sometimes negates the good i have to offer.  i'm quick to jump the shark and even quicker to drop the ball.  let it roll.  let it roll off and then away. 

LINELESS

last night i walked up hawthorne, 11:30pm, from my new favorite coffee shop.  i tried not to slip on the ice.  i marvelled at the snow all around me. 

i woke up yesterday to find it had sowed overnight.  and not the snow we've become accustomed to.  not the snow that from time to time stops by to say hello, and just as quickly walks out of our lives.  it was the kind of snow that lays down around you, and stays a while.  the kind of snow that covers the streets and the sidewalks and the rooflines.  the kind of snow that matches the sky.  until everything just fades into one.  until we are only smiling faces and eyes, bundled up as we pass each other by. 

on my walk to work yesterday morning, i passed kids sleighing in the streets, people skiing to work, and cigarette smokers and coffee drinkers standing about, staring out.  the snow kept coming down, into our faces, onto our jackets and sweaters, and resting beneath our feet.  and although it was only morning, i didn't want the day to end.

the snow is beautiful.  it reflects the light.  and it harbours the echoes.  and everything around us sits in silence.  and you feel like you could put your ear against that snow and hear the whole world.  lost with the lines that divide the streets from the sidewalks and the grass from the concrete, so we're somehow all so much closer together.

last night i walked up hawthorne, 11:30pm, from my new favorite coffee shop.  where the streets run diagonally, creating diamond islands full of roses and ferns.  where i've, on several occasions, felt myself feel a little bit of something for a boy who paints monsters.

 

STATIC

it's cold.  damn cold.  the streets try to be as empty as they can.  we make the most of our time outside, watching ourselves exhale in its brevity.  watching parts of our insides float out and away.  some sort of proof that we exist.  for all the mornings we wake up groggy, trying to remember the details of our lives in bars.  the dancefloors, the lips, the jokes we can't recall.  some sort of proof that we exist.  for all the things we don't feel.  the static inside us, when it's late and we're tired, from all the mornings we wake up groggy. 

i was with my friends, laughing in a bar.  and now my head is pencil lead breaking on paper.  points lost on white.  points lost in sheets.  in the things we whisper but don't know we mean.  for all the things we try to believe in.  not because we can, but because we have to.  even when it seems its to our detriment.  like walking out in the cold, watching our breath just float away.  disintegrate into nothing.  like static.

in lieu of a pair of lips and eyes and hands to wipe our faces when we're on our backs just staring up at the sky or ceiling or sheets around us.  because it's cold.  damn cold. 

SLOW DRAW

it's a slow draw.  a slow dar into new routines.  into accepting things as they are.  into bed at 230am, night after night. 

it's a slow draw, and everything moves so quickly.  even when it's barely moving at all.  one minute at home watching grey's anatomy.  the next, at the aalto, talking to new people.  checking out new people.  living this entirely new life.  this entirely new life that seems to have just fallen into my lap.  this entirely new life i'm not entirely acquainted with.  but a life i like.  a life i like a lot.

i do a lot of walking.  i can probably count on one hand the number of times i've ridden public transport anywhere.  even when it rains, even when it snowed the other night, i find myself walking.  watching this entirely new life happen all around me, all the time.  scenes from a movie flashing on every falling leaf, on every passing car, in every sidewalk puddle.  and the snow.  it's funny how much it excites me.  when it snows, it's all i can do to keep from talking about it over and over again.  it's something so many people deal with so often, and strange how it's something i have never really been around.  i suppose it's like babies.  or love.  you have it, or you don't.

and love.  love, these days, seems to reside in some foreign country i've never been but everybody talks about.  and everyone seems to be talking about it.  like it's just around the corner.  like it's everything we all really want.  like any minute now, we'll be coming aroundsome corner and... hello, love. 

but love, for me, is a slow draw across the tracks of a very fast train. 

i love, though, this life i like a lot.

and i love my friends, who will land in 7 hours.

SOON

it's wednesday, and i've already put in 30-some odd hours at the studio.  it's wednesday, and i'm tired.  and anxious.  jen, eric and jessica get in friday night.  i can't wait to see them.  i can't wait to have a bottle of wine.  or beer.  hell, even whiskey.  i can't wait to get out.

in the meantime, i've found an amazing coffee shop, in an amazing neighborhood.  and in this coffee shop i met an amazing guy. 

i had all this great prose, but i'm just too tired and out of it to start.  soon.

COFFEE STAINS

i spent six bucks on coffee today.  because i haven't been sleeping.  because i've been listening to music and staring at my ceiling.  tracing random shapes and tracing random timelines in my life.  timelines in my life that just don't feel like they've ever been mine.

i re-read this thing, trying to find old pieces that look good.  the trouble is i'm having trouble finding old pieces that look familiar.  most times it's like i'm reading someone else's life.  someone else's words.  someone else's stories that i either just don't understand or just don't remember how to re-live.  like watching movies you haven't seen for ages. 

i spent six bucks on coffee today.  sitting on the bright red couch in floyd's, staring out the window.  at the old apartment building, at the passing cars.  reading random articles in newspapers that seem more familiar than anything else i've been reading these days. 

the rain, it comes and goes.  and we never know these days if it's coming or going.  the gutters fill and empty.  with no intention of maintaining any schedule.  somedays the sidewalks are flooded.  somedays they're dry and just fine.  so i grow accustom to watching where i walk.  watching where i step.  this is something i'm not accustomed to.  never knowing what's going on around me.  only knowing just where or where not to step.

and now it's one a.m. and i'm still up.  typing.  staring.  tracing and retracing.  listening to music.  thao nguyen's tallymarks.  over and over again.  and so tomorrow i'll drink 3 more coffees and watch the sidewalks.