pg 48

December 8, 2011, 1:46 pm
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youth lagoon-daydream
wye oak-civilian
sarah harmer-captive
louise burns-drop names not bombs

December 7, 2011, 4:52 pm
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At this point I want to run her brain through a blender hoping to by the end understand a little better. On my cell phone I look and see that she texted me last night and haven’t seen it until now what with being at work and purposefully leaving it at home and everything. How I’ve realized that this is a woman (maybe still a girl) who doesn’t feel the need to connect or see where the other person is at. Her brains and actions feel selfish even when we’re sitting in her apartment on 6th with the window that looks out and onto Vancouver downtown, the science centre, the arena. This is a room that I doubt I’ll think about in the future. To stand there and know that this would be forgotten as have so many other things with my shit memory. It made that moment something though I still remember it now. A treat to look out onto the world from a different spot, a location that was only granted access because of who I am, who I presented myself to be. Into the bedroom in the next room, a view that you have to move and lean to catch but doesn’t matter when the view of that room is usually taken in from a position lying on the bed. Looking over and seeing her walk in and out, nothing but black underwear, her tits cresting up reaching toward life and her ass contained. To look closer you see that her arms and her legs are built larger as though a future planned without her consent, a truth that will grow bigger.

December 6, 2011, 2:10 am
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The store where he buys his cigarettes is only a block away. Closer once walked than it seems when he assesses his lungs’ desire from the front porch. His socks are turned inside out and his journal is filled with pages and pages of regrets. Back from the store he is on his front porch. The house was built over a hundred years ago, the oldest house he’s ever lived in, and from the street it looks like a house filled with love. It looks like this inside the house too.

He was a man with a beard, is now a man with a child’s face. He comes in the house from the rain and kicks off his wet shoes onto the pile of mismatched other ones. He sees that one of his housemates has fastened hooks for the family jackets above this pile and appreciates the work of others both know and unknown to him. It makes him feel a part of something hanging up his coat and he wonders if the jacket, army green, will be dry by the morning.

He looks in the mirror as he brushes his teeth and is startled to see the dark circles under his eyes. He thinks that maybe it is the light of the bathroom bouncing off the sink and goes to the mirror in the front hall but finds the same results. He vows to quit everything and then gets into bed, forgetting to shut his bedroom door and turn off the light so he has to get back out of bed, cursing himself for being so stupid. He starts to cry but the tears never come. He falls asleep. He goes fishing by himself in his dreams and catches a big one but it doesn’t matter because he won’t be able to bring the pride of it back to his waking life.

December 5, 2011, 1:52 am
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where do the words go? tonight they went and fell and died in front of us because it seemed there wasn’t anything to say. they didn’t come and instead we waited between words and looked to the date beside us, probably each noting throughout the night how it was going, wondering because that woman there was something to her face, had she been hurt or had her face just aged like that? when they were moving to sit down i caught the smell of the man, cologned, which got me thinking it was a date in the first place. why would you smell that good otherwise? or that clean is probably more accurate, though he did smell good.

at our table we got beer. and pierogies to start. and burgers and sandwiches for after that. we talked about i don’t know what. movies i think but that couldn’t be carried on. it died and that was my fault. the ones afterwards not so much, the other two taking their turn in choosing to respond in a way which cut the conversation to a halt. when one went to the bathroom the one who stayed told me they were sad, that being separated in the road ahead, and knowing it was coming, was changing the way the two of them knew what was what in their collective world.

the meal ended and the cheque was brought and we walked and it was raining lightly and i wondered when the snow was to soon come. they were serious and i wasn’t up for carrying a conversation. there will be many more times we’ll see each other in life so that this one will soon be forgotten and we’ll never remember that one time, or that other one and what will count years from know is how tonight’s hang out and all those we’ve forgotten have condensed to create the connection between us now, as we’re dying.