film

i am sitting in my room at my computer writing a music review. lara just came in, i showed her something, she made a cryptic comment, i asked her what she meant, she wouldn't tell me, i asked her again, she wouldn't answer, she went to leave my room. i tried to stop her from leaving by holding onto her arm. but i am sitting in a rolly chair so it wasn't all that effective...i just ended up rolling along behind her on my chair.

we laughed about it for about five minutes.

writing an essay on shakespeare.

hmm my ideas are everywhere. some are in my head and some are written on paper and some are typed in Word but i swear there are some that are floating out the door of my room right now and others that are balancing precariously on my bookshelves, light fixtures, piles of clothes and cds, etc...

everyday rendezvous

so apparently i'm more of a girl than i thought i was. who knew?

// forward

i think that
in every relationship that ends
- with the exclusion of those that close with raised voices, slammed doors, enraged insides -
there is always an uneven distribution of affection.
the boyfriend likes the girlfriend more than the girlfriend likes the boyfriend
or the girlfriend likes the boyfriend more than the boyfriend likes the girlfriend.
one of the
two.
one is more heavily invested, more deeply attached, more fully immersed.
so the aim is
to find a person who likes you as much as you like them: a compatibility not only of faith, values, personality, aspirations
but of intensity.
more accurately, to find a person with whom an equilibrium of romantic feeling can be reached and, most importantly,
sustained
with
out
end; which at some point inevitably involves a shift into the realm of choice - a decision to love with longevity, with a stunning openness, indefiniteness, scope. maybe because of beauty, but definitely through and in (and not simply despite) ugliness.

trying to explain

growing twelve hours older in an empty field. surrounds coloured sepia and some murky swaying trees, in slow motion, in half-light. spinning time with easy words and held hands. sampling an increasing repertoire of memories and in-jokes; keeping the volume low. exactly.

"what are you thinking about?"

at home in a sleeping park with bare feet. tripping toes to a lazy beat across grass punctured with suspicious bindi shapes: a rock? a little white flower?

sight muddied by night but the landscape is surprisingly clear and it's that one a.m. kind of lucid.

"you don't think i planned this?"

ok so

i often write cryptic notes to myself on scraps of paper, post-its, open notepads. invariably i can't decipher them later. i think perhaps i am a genius in those scribbled moments but then i forget how to be a genius all the other times. ok bye.

letting trains go past

all grinning and it's ridiculous.
excited!