pg 48


January 24, 2013, 5:35 am
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from the back of the bar, past the glass-lined walls catching flickers of tabled candlelight his voice rings clear. it stakes its claim on the world the two men have been creating amongst themselves for hours.

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January 13, 2013, 7:37 am
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i’m on this porch as i read back back back and it feels like home where i can see the red dump truck to my left and the open space all around me. i’ve been writing notes on this porch for the last year and a half and i’m writing now. i think of the space in vancouver, looking out back onto the mountains where my darkness and light would shine looking onto the mountains and now i look onto this space with the red dump truck and the ukranian church and and and



January 13, 2013, 7:25 am
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all that i know is i’m falling, i’m falling. all that i know is that i’m thirsty at times and not at others. i know that people make as much sense as their desires do, which isn’t much. you can tell a lot by looking people in the face. you can tell a lot by crying in the bathtub. i want to try but whenever i do it’s so so clear that all i’m doing is trying. and trying hard.



January 13, 2013, 7:23 am
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i think we can run as we can hide. there’s a beauty underneath the bed that taps into what i’m talking about. forget about the whole of it. so much figurative writing that maybe won’t tap into the past when i look back and is that okay? i don’t know. i get scared to write in obvious truths because there are one or two others who may know where to find me here. i’ve sat on this porch and i’ve written in the past and i’ve felt other feelings and i’m feeling these feelings now. i’ve left people so i can get on the bus or they can get on the train and we can get back to the lives we lead without each other. there is a large raccoon that just scampered by me. it doesn’t mean anything. when will i grow enough to reach into my brain and pull out the feelings that i know so deeply. i don’t think that it’s possible. everything that i will convey for the rest of my life, when this life scampers out and it’s left and nobody will reach into this hole of internet words to find and if they do will they assume i’m still alive. i’ve been adding to this testament for the last 4 years and none of it is worthy enough in my eyes to show other people and so i have it all to myself and when i die, years from now, so too will it die because it isn’t for you but for me as i’ve written over and over again. i will be an old old man who in a moment of clarity remembers this site and finds it to find that there isn’t anything that has changed and i’m just as dirty now as i was then. i also want to walk you home from school. there is so much to write about and i don’t know how to tap into any of it. this amazing wealth of feeling that seems impossible to convey. maybe i can’t and maybe that’s okay. all writing is is the fear of losing grip on what seems so real and possible at this very moment. i’m scared to leave it because i like this moment as much as i do. i’m to enter a writing group nay a week from now and i want to be supported. does it matter if i’m not? i want to chart it all down. as everybody does. as everybody does.



January 13, 2013, 7:13 am
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and i don’t see what the problem is that you’re making such a big deal about. it feels nice to be around you as i feels nice to be back here. we can rush and we can run as i can make this out to be bigger than it is. today i met a person who has it so much deeper than i do and i didn’t find myself inadequate but wanting to be closer to what this person had. it’s scary to share without the other person sharing first and to find out that what you’ve been thinking about is so far off base from the other person and then to find that you’re okay with that truth. it’s okay and it’s inspiring. you meet people who know the teachers and if they don’t who at least know how to look for them. i can’t say that i’m not scared because i am. because it’s an inadequacy that seems okay when considered in the fact that the truth is out there like the x files is out there. i’m already tired of writing but i want to continue because this is how i can come back and chart what i’m feeling even though this isn’t getting to the root of it. how can it be getting to the root of it when there isn’t a root that i can find? i’m excited by the things that i can’t tap into however much i strive to. oh hey there.