heavily backwards

I want to tell you what it feels like to stand defiant and small against the wind.

And what it feels like to do too many things and then to stop and awkwardly catch breath but not quite enough so you still feel sort of tight and without.

It's not like in the movies. But then you all know that already.

I want to tell you about the day all the words became cliches.

cross my heart.

i woke up to pixelated words that made me smile
a lot
i am eating toast

water and some other things

unstable and over-thinking, thinking so much i no longer think at all, atop a messy wave, blown to and fro by imaginary winds, wanting quick assurance, doubting you, without need, without cause, without. this without that i negotiate so poorly. having received so much and known so deeply and been filled so full, but feeling so scattered, forgetting the things of five minutes past, unable to pierce a murky view, UP and (down) always, bobbing. breakable. vulnerable. living inside a man-made box that's all misfiring cerebral circuits, and conjured conversations that never were or will be - at least not exactly. and that's the point? the spontaneity? cluttered chaos of spoken movements in the "instance". the thrill of the chase of words across the air and imprisoned on the page...you you you. i'm heeding His word but needing your guarantee. (this makes no sense, and you know it. you do.) x. answer respond reply rejoin react. keeping it courteous and aloof maybe / except i can't do polite and beige. only operating overthetop. in ter act.

atmosphere

yes i've been sick for almost a week
yes i just bought cupcakes for my family because i have a feeling i am in trouble for never being home
yes i had very little sleep last night

but things are really really really good.

attacked by to-do lists

i'm so incredibly moody these days. my smile falls at the smallest thing. it's really quite annoying.

rachael yamagata - be be your love

8am

there was a girl with dyed black hair and a heavy metal festival t-shirt on the train yesterday morning. the bands had names like massive hammer violence and it was all black splashed with red. it was an all ages festival...seemed weird to have such a h.core tee for an event that welcomes twelve-year-olds. she sat down near me and started drawing little emo princesses in a notepad. they were kinda dodgy but she was being really precise and careful, and she'd scribble them out if she didn't like them. and then she put arrows next to them and wrote appropriate, matter-of-fact little labels like 'long black hair'.

bright

take my hand - take me up,
move me above the suburbs,
above the grid-mapped day to day.
higher than winter-tinged clotheslines
and copper-coloured rooftops,
leaving meandering white marks
like a wayward scrawling skywriter in the blue.
we're dreaming above in a vibrant now.
there's you and me and a patch of grass
and the landscape shifts while the sun slips;
we're sitting in the sky.
there's crumbs in our pockets
(and flowers in my hair)
an elevated picnic:
we're parked in mid-air.

some leisurely cafe-penned poetry that stutters and stumbles, trying to tell the tiny things that make this this. small, flat symbols pressed on torn paper, gleaming behind this computer screen - little flighty figments, indentations insufficient to capture thoughts and words and looks. but words are addictive.

landlocked behind rolled up windows. you say good bye a million times but you don't leave.

a today psalm

i wish i had written this.

the historical pursuit.

looking for the source that will - change - everything. that will explain the fullness of the then in the vibrancy of the now. (this is a pipe dream.)