True Love at Last!

Love Poems!

Album Review: Scratch - Bela Lugosi - ft. Track "Prealudium"

I drove into the ethereal last night
without cause I waded far and left it all
behind me the quivering home i shunned and dove
into the midnight trove
of well combed hair and sheer crop tops and brushed gold chains and ombre mops
of granville street

and then I saw someone so ----- I could barely even dance

we stood and swayed and some girls brayed and dropped their hips on phantom dicks and elbows pumped and pretend rain
and on our faces, painted strange we feigned this toughed out look of pain and called it posing for the camera

(and then amid the eyebrow paint, in the vibrating mass a freight call of supremecay echoed out from the coated throats of the young men as they jumped and whithered, akimbo knees knock to deliver, and the bass grew louder and the lights stayed dimmer)
i shiver as again I see something I can't help but want

i hug my crotch and move around and toss my hair and pretend frown and try and fit in instead of standing still in awe as is the want of lusty desire lusty calm.
floating bereft as we chat later, i'm barely controlling the inward mater
I regain my sober composure,defeated by limitations imposed on myself of dress and then I

leave.

////// /////////
Last Night, looking like a blown out doo-hickey (That was me)

The only thing that is making this morning less cry-baby is this song, scratch the rest of the album. single repeat.

Album Review // Relaxed Fit - Naturally Paula

Somedays, when the saltiness of the crispy, roasted burmese cashews that have nestled so sweetly inside a little red dish on the coffee table is really bumming you out - I mean harsh here, you are in a fugue (slowly descending, a breathless figure caught in a body)- you probably should have made more tea sooner - your mouth is dry and full of nut bits - then you realize you should have went to the liquor store after you had finished showering this morning at 10:39. Also, the calamity you know about is one text away.

Somedays when the tears won't flow and you're left vibrating in the hot sun shaking
Everything is poo
The little voice inside my head is telling me what I should have said
All this poo's for you

And I had,
so much more to say
But then you left, left me here ya babe
Your just a throwaway

At the end of the sixteenth century mr Fitch gave my own love to me
He saw me struggling

Every ball mr wa gave to me, hollow with a clapper chime
a silky string, these dapper times

And I ran, I ran so far away
I just ran, I ran all night and day
And I ran, I couldn't get away


My favourite part of listening to this album is that after, I listen to bubble pop electric by g. Stefani. Without feeling weird.

(It's a little more melancholy than even if its true, which to be honest, is the only song I really care to listen to in the morning anymore. But that's because In The mornings I'm still butt's out optimistic on life and whatever. Touching closer than closer is real - I can't hear what the lyrics are / I don't know what people are trying to communicate to me half the time - a lot of the words are being repeated / life is just a big swirly loop of repeated patterns and behaviors and life cycles and stardust becoming you, some unique being that isn't actually unique if you take into account alternate parallel universes, where chances are, you exist there already, atom for atom YOU. )

You definitely want to listen to change the subject when you're drunk - Blonde when you're sober.

Never make out to any part of this album, don't ruin this shit.

Fucks Taken

Blocks between the work places of the largest cock and the smallest cock I've ever seen irl - 1.5

Number of people whose mouths I've bled on that are now sleeping on my couch - 1

Athletes I am unable/willing to identify - every athlete

Texts I am too hungover to read - 19

Missed calls in a half hour from a single person in the middle of the night - 23

Ringer volume - 0

Play count of Under The Earth in the past half hour - every play counts

Times Jacob told me we were meant to be together together while he had a girlfriend - a lot of the fucking times

Times I wanted to make out with a guy asking for change last night - 1

Positive value adjectives attributed to me during breakups - a lot

Crazy volume - 8

Dead things I saw on my walk yesterday - 2

Girls in the bathroom after a DMX song starts at Emily car free-for-all-dirty-crayon-breathe-strawberry-scented-faux-lesbian night at fortune - (-1)

Male sexuality - start a dialogue

Scale value of my attraction to x________, the prettiest Chinese man with the gelliest hair to size of my engorged labia 4:3 [_____________] 5m

Fucks given - 6

Bic pens for her. Giiiiiiiirl get some pens!

I suppose it started last year. My boyfriend at the time would come and stay over, 2,3 nights a week. Our love making always seemed so deep and meaningful, we often wept together during. Undulated joy is how I often described it to my therapist the following afternoons. Sometimes my lover would enter me while I was standing, slightly bent over, with his fingers. He had long tender fingers that felt like fleshy probing rods inside of my private, slippery little sand balloons.

After he died while his cheating ass was being choked out -autoerotic asphyxia-by his male lover - now in prison/accepting pen pals - I felt a huge, gaping hole where his privates, my privates/his digits/my mouth, had intersected so incessantly before all that nasty death hollabalub. 

I purchased these pens on a cynic's whim. I don't want to get into a detailed description of what I have been doing with them.....suffice it to say, ive been spending a helluva lot of money on stamps lately. 

Album Review: Alex Calder / Time EP // ///

//////////////
captured tracks. brooklyn. when was the last time you were in the womb? Was it when you had dropped three tabs of acid in your hand lotion and masturbated yourself till you were sick and bleeding all over the gingham picnic blanket? Was it when you listened to track three of Mr. Alex Calder's most idyllic, avuncular, body of work yet (Location / 3:43)? Are you currently penetrating a vagina, deeply?

Like this?



i sat immobile for thirty six hours, letting the xxxxxxxx and the xxxx wash over me, the resounding sounding sound of the universe crawl over me. my spine was afire suddenly, and as i stood up at the end of it, i knew // i walked for twelve kilometres, it didnt take me long to get to the mouth of the park. a trail of racoons led me deep, past the lagoon, led me far, under the moon. my head was quaking peace and soot, the sleeves of my shirt were stiff with frost by the time we arrived. the fire, symbols lucid, hadn't survived. i clasped hands with every slivery blade of grass and crawled up the lawn.


"i think i most want to listen to this album when im in da shower." - ng

A cookbook for individuals mixed up in loveless marriages and long distance relationships (also, single people).

P


You are quite comfortable when you are alone, letting the blissful honey of solitude trickle down your spine like a little nervous shiver. You often smile to yourself - benevolently- and also at the crowds of coupled people and incomplete family units pushing through the aisles of whole foods/nesters/urbanfare/ famous foods, laughing and cheering, crying. You came for a single litre of almond milk, and breeze past everyone. Onliest you, a wondrous phantom escaping with the time they all seem to be fighting for in your rear view mirror.
This is your city, you don't have to share these moments with anyone. As you strut, across the Cambie bridge, ( a little overburdened, yes, on days when the load is vast. But today your limbs are free in the traffic blown wind as you laugh at the sky, and the watery creek below you) you take it all in with a sorrow free breathe, your lungs nearly bursting with the air, teeming with sunshine - you aren't fighting for oxygen with anyone right now.
You are inside suddenly, rising. You make your way out of the elevator, and a warm dark gust of incense perfumed air greets you after the door has been unlocked and the beads have been parted; you enter, you are home, you are whole.
A little jazzy purr ripples through the candle smoke and kisses your ears as you prepare for the meal. Your apron is tied steady, the cutting board in position. You toyfully test the blades on your thumbs (still razors) as the sudden vastness of time and space before you unfurls itself, unencumbered by the dead weight of xxxxxxx. Or xxxx.
You pause, and consider xxx and xxxxxxxxxxxx as well. You had cooked [for] all of them, less a display of affection and more a platform for you to perform. Suddenly the White Light is bearing upon your eyes, blindingly, the curtain has rose and everything else is in shade, you tremble, as the refrigerator pours itself on you, the. Star! The only one there! The only Being worthy of its sparkling gaze. You begin to See The Meal You Have Been Created to Create, filled with gratitude you part ways from the beast, arms laden with the dismembered bulk of the meal. Every item is carefully placed. The liquids are poured now. It is all gently set by your knife. The milky din of the jazz and the candle hugs your sides as you twirl, time suspended, the breathe of a figureless audience bated. The mis en place is assembled.

Hot Pickled Onion Sandwiches

-Gingerly place paper thin slices of red onions in body temperature apple cider vinegar. -Weep silently, leaning against the newspaper covered hallway as the red rings pale into the frothy pink of a severed artery.

Only listen to lambchop. Stop feeling [important/unimportant]. Stop telling people you make out with about the health benefits of raw onions.

Several notes learned in an airport 

1. Love letters are silly. Never indulge 
2. Rule one is silly
3. Your feelings don't matter. (this only applies to you, schizoid, because you keep them locked up in a little Nic, far away, where they forever remain unscathed, untouched by the hand of every Vancouver man. Parenthesis complete.
3. Beach house is perfect right now. You will calm down in seven seconds flat. It will be magical 
3. There are twelve different types of carbs hiding, and twelve more that are in plain view 

3. Stewardess. Love em or hate em? It depends on what type of credit card yøu have, I think 


3. Plan your escape 24 hours before the return flight boards. 

Which one of us is free.

Every year this happens.
"It's me again! Oh hello mirror." I'm sitting on my bed, looking at my body. Its naked. I've spent the past two weeks in a flurry, hurriedly exercising (IF YOU DON'T TRAIN INSANE, YOU REMAIN THE SAME!) spreading honey over my body, painting parts of myself, removing hair from other parts. I've crunched, and plucked and exfoliated and provided ample amounts of moisturizer to everywhere. I'm sore and clean, and I kinda feel brand new. As if the cold, dreary sludge of winter that I let get caked into all of my pores had finally been sloughed off, as if the outer protected shell had been released and here I stand now, at my tentative best.

I think I'm ready finally. I quiver in my bed smiling maniacally Upward into the darkness. 
My empty tummy groans but it's worth it. 
There are only two sleeps left. 

I start to become uneasy, tossing and turning, flinging an arm/pillow; it becomes hot suddenly. 

My passport, sitting at attention on my nightstand consoles me. 

"It's okay! Just rest. Just BREATHEEEEE. You're alright." I am clearly not alright, I am weary and sad I realize.

"No one will even question it! They think you are a lesbian anyway!" I flip over away from the nightstand, slamming a pillow Over my ear. Yet I still hear it.

"They were all ALONE at one time! They were all lost man! The beginning of their careers were milestones on the journey, not the starting point."

I start sobbing silently. What the heck does that dumb little booklet thi-

"STOP FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF! Everything is incredible right now! It is about to become more incredible-er if you would just hush your mouth and fall asleep, just let it happen."

I slowly calm down, and eventually roll back, eyes pointed towards the planes.   

I snorted in disgust so hard that I farted so hard that I ripped the seam in my jeans so hard that everyone on the sky train is now peering at me in the relative silence.

Phases of Loneliness - A guide for the groping. 

Part One - Are you even actually lonely? Sometimes we manifest the gaping hole of uninhabitable solitude that is loneliness in our hearts when dealing with vague and unquellable symptoms. Perhaps you should use this simple symptom checker to asay your mind, and bring awareness to the actual issue. 

1. Am I cold?
2. Am I wet?
3. Am I hungry?

If you answered "yes" to questions 1 through 2 - Congratulations! You are not lonely! Just damp, which, come to think of it, isn't that great either. So, yea, I suppose just good luck with that.

If you answered "yes" or " no" to question 3 - you have an eating disorder.  

If you answered "maybe....?" to question 3 - YOU ARE lonely. Please proceed to the next section for helpful tips on suppressing this unpleasant emotion.  

Part Two - Phases of Lonliness - or alternatively - Suppression: An Arc of Acquisition ...





....:;.:.:.;:..;.:;.…;;.;

Well, I made a new plan! For the new year, maaaaybs.

Im just going to exercise.  And stay in my apt, and maybe sometimes leave. Only if I have to! Hahahahaha. Hahahaha. I have a little sippy cuppy that holds the most perfect amount of beer/tea. I have the sound of the rain. Falling down and etc outside my window.
I might have more......but it's exhausting to recount everything. I'm just thankful enough for right now, and don't want to look too hard at what may be missing now. 

Bad date ends with blood everywhere

Fucking artists. If you are friends with one, you will probably, at one point,  have your your eternal solitude broken as they gallop along with you to east van, ears turned to the left, as you hunt out the abandoned warehouse that the kids are hanging out at that night. By hanging out I mean, in a cloud of expensive cigarette smoke (which is rank) people ranging from 16 to 47 are dancing badly, drinking shitty beer, having to scuttle past the Amazonian/androgynians in line for the washroom.........beards are frizzing out and scraping your body all over as the humidity is high, and the square is low.  

I don't know if any of that made sense, because it shouldn't. 

Anyway, so I remember being in this place, and really enjoying myself..... - Because the music is so good, and the people are so beautiful, you're brain can actually process these horrific conditions as enjoyable - when all of a sudden a Talker strolls up to me. He starts talking, in the middle of the room where the dj is. I am directly in front of the dj. I have a hard time dealing with shocking and obscene behavior, so I cold shoulder him and float away, taking a drag offered to me by a bisexual girl dressed as a flapper, and then crawling over two twinks caressing each other horizontally, escaping to the back of the stage. I felt like we were all on a stage, except we were the audience too. 

It is hard to dance in public unless you are caught in the shoestrings of the party beast, the beer behemoth. And I wasn't really drunk that night,so I fake danced in the back for a bit. Time continued, the dj kept on, gorgeous, and eventually another talker approached. Except this time, I was obliged to ....maybe not social norm but definitely a response. 

It was this older grey haired/ no haired fellow, with a face that was jolly, although you could probably see visible bones if you were to look down his clavicle. He was friends with my friend, and had slept on our couch a few weeks prior. I remember that morning vividly, I had emerged at one point, as Brian slept in my bed, and had bantered with my roommate and the jolly fellow briefly while I made tea. We watched this YouTube together, it was of a girl dancing in the street, to this song. It was his girlfriends daughter, 12, and we were discussing pedophiles etc, was it weird that she was wearing so littles clothing? Etc. To me, it was so devoid of commercial sexuality, it couldn't possible be dangerous. 

Anyway, so here he was... Chatting to me. I couldn't hear him. All of a sudden, my body had to piss. And I thankfully went, surprised when he asked me to re confirm that I would return after and chat with him some more. 

I emerged from the toilet, which was dirty. It existed though, which is amazing in its own right....   Anyway I came out and he was waiting fore me there, a full 180 second walk from where we had last parted.

Anyway.  Next I'm at the Waldorf, in a room, where there is no sink because it's been removed, and books and records are cascading over it..... Miniatures are everywhere..... And I remember I was just bleeding everywhere and he was laughing. Because his face was full of blood and he liked it. And then I slept, and then I went home. And as we walked down the hall, there was this boy, in front of 132, fetal position, ground. He was asleep, and he was bleeding too. I wanted to help him, vaguely I remembered something about vomit and rock stars under the age of 27. 

It was so strange, both of us covered in blood at the same time, so close to another in physical proximity. Except he can tell his friends the story of that night, and I'm not sure if I want to tell mine. 

That moment of bliss right before you realize your fake personality is ONE HUNDRED times worse than your real one.

Sooooo Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Texty text text tappity tap screen swipy whooxoxoxo can you tell yet that this text is forced, and the face of the sender is completely devoid of emotion/Christmas cheer/ tears of friggin love and hope?

I feel an appropriate sense of joy and happiness right now, moderately enthused..... Probably going to take a nap. All of this holiday fakery has rumbled my slumber bone. 

I hope I may write here, without causing offense, a paragraph about a thought I had two weeks ago, in lieu of some countdown/recap situation about last year. It all started with my phone, in my hand, loneliness personified, a bottomless pit of shame and regret forthcoming, inputting; send. It seemed to cease not, the banter and the late night phone calls, .....The coffee date that was rescheduled and cancelled, proposed and accepted over the span of one million texts. That is an actual figure folks. 

And then, I suppose something dramatic happens here or whatever, immediately before I SLEPT WITH HIM. WILLINGLY! And then it became clear....... So many truths that have fogged over again since then. The main truth, I think, was that I am actually not that interesting, and clearly could not even  friend zone a puppy dog if I had a penis.  Soooooooooooo yea. This was hard for me to take. ........... So ooooooooooooo I decided to drop. 

The Dom Bomb. Of friendship.  

It's hard for me to go back to that day, but to my best recollection, I was just walking down Robson when I had the thought. It came unexpectedly, cluttered in with the anxious thoughts I was having about coming back to my apartment from Jacobs, clutching a coffee, hair in a swarm, piled on my head like greasy nylon.  It was awful, walking along all midday Mary shame walker amidst stylishly dressed asian girls with puppies. The thought billowed up, soundlessly encompassing my mind, like a cloud of soft, silty, insanity. It was Time, 12345766899    End text. The text to end it all.

"have you ever heard me fart or poo" 


I sit here, on my little wooden stool sobbing, trying to type the details, but it is useless to try and explain.