Tuesday, February 26, 2008

recording the wrong episodes

i am hideously negligent. i'm sorry. i feel like a bad parent. (and it seriously takes delna to remind me that people actually read this thing...)

...however! i must regretfully be further negligent, as tomorrow starts my tenure as store manager, and i have a myriad of how-to notes to copy out and general things to prepare for. i know, i know, you can't be ready for the unexpected, but given that today was one of those mondays from hell, i worry all too much that it was an ominous preview of what might be to come...eeeep.

yet i still do write, in between frolicking in the rare vancouver sunshine (it's like ontario patio weather here, but in february!) and jacking off over the phone line (one of those necessities that long-distance relationships dictates...i don't mind much, really, but i'd far prefer the real thing), and so for now - until i get off my duff and find the spare time some evening this week to write a proper update - i'm going to be lame and lazy and just repost something i wrote over in my myspace blog, which gets mostly neglected until i want attention. i'm special that way. (or else incredibly normal, maybe...but why split hairs?)

anyway, it's all a true story, and i rather like it. titled "my sentimental side should be held with kid gloves":

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one a.m., downtown vancouver. it's all tall buildings and sparkling lights, a waning full moon and a sky full of stars, the brief smell of someone's cigarette smoke on the night air. makes the veil slip, just a little bit. just enough that, combined with the writings you read last night, it brings it back in bits and pieces -- the stars and planets overhead in arizona, maybe, or the icy sidewalks of toronto when it was all still new to you, discovering the place where you belonged. and, even further back, a rainy night in pennsylvania, the first time you were actually scared that maybe the life you'd wanted so badly was too much for you to handle. lying in bed, staring at a white hotel room wall, blank.

you get impatient, maybe, just waiting for something to happen or someone to come find you, so you run, not because you necessarily need to but just because you feel like it, just because you want to hear the jangling of the chains on your collar harmonizing with stellastarr* -
well i want to wake from my disease / and the cure is lying next to me / and i'm trying so hard yes i'm trying to be what you're dreaming of - before you slow back to a walk. don't make eye contact with anyone passing, especially not the ones who whistle and comment and even just say a simple hello. lift your chin a bit instead, sneer slightly, glare, be that goth bitch in black with the long coat and fishnets under combat boots, hair exploding in all directions like the bastard lovechild of robert smith and siouxsie sioux. show them you don't belong to them. show them you don't belong here.

stare out the window. brief glances at the faces of the other passengers, still expecting to see someone you know, someone who knows you but doesn't know you at all, really. wish that you could have someone with you - family, friend, lover, it doesn't matter so much tonight; just someone who believes in you would be enough - to put an arm around you and make you feel like you exist in the expanse of the universe. because you're still looking for your place, still and always, even if you may never find it.

("...so what
are you doing here? i mean, really."

i didn't meet his eyes when i answered, smiling vaguely, exhaling nicotine smoke and other such vices. "...you know, i'm so done telling that story.")

and when the melody brings you back, close your eyes and pretend you're somewhere else, so many and only a few short years ago.


...Sometimes I still feel, even now, that I'm living someone else's life entirely.

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[ music | modest mouse, "dashboard" ]

1 comments:

delna said...

ahhh... the much needed dose of bloggage.