snippets of things that seem consequential
i like to watch peoples faces reflected in the windows of busses after dark. they're all quiet and contemplative or angry ore bitter and it reminds me to love those that are arounds you
even if they could be disappointments. even if theyre intensity or lack therof scares you.
not everyone can love not everyone will be loved. is this tragic? i think i'm undecided on that one
i played velocity girl through the speakers of the stereo in the kitchen, i harmonized and you were underground and the lamp caught fire. i'm sorry. that was an oversite on my part. and i like the part where chris whitley says WAKE UP WE'RE NEARLY HOME because you know THERES A PLACE FOR US
i like the sound of unheard telephone rings. you know what i mean? it's the comfort of knowing that you haven't been forgotten even in the moments where you feel like your teetering on the precipice of something unnamed and unnameable or maybe you're hopscotching across the equator, kissing untill your lips bruise. People don't forget even if you're underground. But sometimes they're mean to forget and you are a ghost wrapped up in bedsheets or camouflage or whatever it is
we found letters in free books about philosophy and religion in alleyways. and that was one of those days where hazy sun spun smiles and sweat in the creases of our arms and we forgot to want to be anywhere do anything. we sat on your doorstep and read the letter. it was about someone who had cancer who died but who's still loved and i said he was lucky enough to be loved
love love love could she love him less?
and i had my christmas lights on and you were curled up in my bedsheets that are all cut roses and i think you were almost asleep and for some reason i wondered how you would paint me if you were a painter
how does anyone paint anyone
its the way someone sees someone not the way you exist. you know? it's all in what we perceive and what if its all a mirage or what if we see everything in gray when really its the most alive shade of turquoise, like sections of the ocean or slivers of irises and cold lips or i don't know
and new years was all tiled floors and i forget. even though i said i never would. and then candles fires cat's cradle. friends and not friends and fuck forgetfulness, it's like cataracts, little trails of blindness that traipse across irises
as soon as i don't need to write in a fucking institution i love the way worlds feel again. if knowledge is power how come i feel so much freer, so much more in control of my words when i'm not fucking taking courses teaching me how to use them? i like blank pages i like vagrants and gypsies and the electric seconds just before you kiss someone and it means something, i like freedom and oceans and fingertips and eyelashes when the sdun hits them so that they are no longer invisible.
life has been basements and movies and crying and laughing and taking pictures of alleyways remembering my family hysteria cold sunsets. life has been velocity girl and wanting that which i do not have or need. life has been honesty in car ports cigarette embers and forgiveness and remembering what it is to be who i am and that will not be compromised for fucking degrees or temporary people. life has been missed buses on the first day of school and fuck this why am i going here, life has been cracks in concrete splits in my nails. life has been hiding things from myself without realizing. life has been sublime and reunions and revisiting beginnings and new people and my feet still feel the same. but i could be wrong about that. life has been sun streaming through car windows pictures of best friends and painted rainbows and not enough sleep, staying up talking for hours eating entire toblerones getting A's in university. life has been everything from bon iver to ancient yeah yeah yeahs eps which id always thought were unfindable but somehow came to fall into my hands. life is nick zinner's photography, tearing apart my walls, daring myself to do something slightly different, life is finding where my footprints fit.
