tea for two

I will never understand why people make a huge fuss about the transition to a new year. Time is just one long permanent straight line and we will never live to see it loop back on itself. Apparently clocks run slower in regions of lower gravitational potential.

The point perhaps, is that the people who weave in and out of your life will be the same regardless of the hands on the clock quivering in anticipation at 11.59pm. I will remain the same. Time is but a parenthesis in an unending sentence which meanders on and on but never really gets to say what it wants.

Tonight the air is a little warm. I'm guessing it'll be slightly more chilly where you're at.

Copenhagen, to die in your arms would be such a heavenly way to die.

re-dream

christmas in berlin

i am in a hotel corridor. i walk along the corridor and it is bathed in a dim yellow from the highly mounted lamps hanging from both sides of the wall. the carpeting under my feet feels soft and is blue in colour. or red, it doesn't really matter. the smell in the air brings back vague recollections of ikea. clean and airy with pinewood undertones. i am holding someone's hand. that someone is much younger and much smaller than i am. the face is as clear as glass at this very moment, but like all dreams will slowly be rendered unrecognizable. i walk from room to room pressing on each individual doorbell, asking the guests inside if they know me. none seem to recognize the face staring back at them through the narrow space between the frame and the door which is restricted by the door chain. all of the people inside tell me the same thing, that they're sorry and that i should keep looking. i continue pressing doorbells. i persist in the rapping of wood till my knuckles thin and turn white. there is a hope that these opened doors will eventually be accompanied with someone smiling in recognition. i reach the end of the corridor. there are no more rooms, no more bells to ring, no more sad bewildered strangers. i see one last door against a drab empty wall where paint has begun peeling off at its sides. above the door there is a single dimly illuminated sign which spells out the word EXIT.

padraic revisited

split me open at the veneer
take everything you see
i’m letting out the emptiness
so plant your roots and remain

the words they’re all lost at sea
anything tangible would fill these _____
they’d fit but never for very long
linger for awhile then outstay their welcome

disembodied thoughts drift unconnected
can you string meaning from disaffected feelings
you’ve been educated you’ve been told
these fractions form part of a w(hole)?

breath warm and palpable on the cheek
feels like august through the streets
oh staccato lover, why so brief?
but permanence is _____, permanence is me.

I remember reading somewhere that Denmark is the happiest country in the world. Completely plausible considering you can wake up in the morning to something like this:

by Mario Reisner

dear catastrophe waitress

These events are not in chronological order for the neurons in my brain fire randomly triggering disparate and mostly incoherent memories that fade and dilute unless written down:

Upon arriving, I think it was at the Harbor Front Center if I'm not mistaken, I see a French woman(at least I think she's French, I'll never know) leaning against a rail, reading a book. I remember thinking that I wouldn't mind reading my entire trip away.

I'm going to switch to a stream of consciousness now although all events have happened in retrospect: I find myself in a cab heading for the hotel I'm going to spend the next five or so nights in. It's pouring outside and the seventeen minute journey takes place in silence. At one point, the cab stops at a red and the rain falls rhythmically on the dashboard merging all the colors from the different lights outside into one softly luminous blur. I almost dissipate here but the car lurches forward jolting me out of my self indulgence.

A woman smokes a cigarette a few benches ahead of me. The morning air is cool and breezy on my face. An Auster lies open on my lap. I'm supposed to be reading but I realize that I'm completely content doing nothing.

"In my head there's a greyhound station, where I send my thoughts to far off destinations."

I'm walking around a strange city when suddenly you come up to me and say: Stand up straight at the foot of your love, I lift my shirt up. I'm taken aback for a second before saying: If you keep a record of our failures then I will document our love. At least I imagine the scene being played out but in reality nothing happens and I just keep walking.

"Shakedown 1979, cool kids never have the time."

The lyric which keeps looping as I'm surrounded by the crisscrossing of different and completely foreign lives: Stay Inside Till Somebody Finds Us, Do Whatever The TV Tells Us, Stay Inside Our Rosy Minded Fuzz.

Suddenly the day goes numb as all the freeways and buildings blend and shade into one another and through this obscure and unfocused mess of thoughts and sounds and images I realize I'm leaving.

in a city you can't remember

And I think it would be impossible to leave here. Especially if all you've known your whole life has rendered you unprepared for something like this. Maybe this is only good because it's a beginning. But all beginnings are the ends of something else.

Then again, perhaps we only work in these brief moments. If we never get accustomed to each other we will never have to let each other down. There's got to be more to love than some sterile permanence right?

all photos from fys

There will be an infinite amount of time after we die just like there was an eternity before we were born. All we have is this barely noticeable in between. I think if you were to touch me, I'd just dissolve into molecules.

there are places and in them you are likely to find people. but fall in love with places for places are permanent.

i'm wide awake, it's morning

And you don't have to worry or think too much because we have no immediate control over the future at this point in time and after all the future will happen on its own regardless of how we try and shape it.

Maybe we are perpetual lines that follow a specific and unique trajectory and perhaps our lines have met before, just grazing slightly as we almost pass each other unnoticed but still, even back then there was some residue from your life in mine.

What's your favourite colour? I've never thought about it, I keep changing my mind because when you have a favourite anything you only end up getting tired of it don't you? Who's your favourite person? That's a trick question.

We're both in a plane and all of a sudden both the engines just give up and we start plunging thirty thousand feet in the air. Would you tell me everything you ever wanted to tell me at that very moment? Or would you just hold my hand, tell me our worlds would be alright and then recline in your seat and close your eyes.

These are snippets of dialogue from the head of a person who doesn't completely trust his memory anymore. Don't be alarmed, we have our looks and perfume on.

Rub the last remnants of sleep induced images from these eyes. Breakfast? Yes, please.

via ilovebreakfast

pilot

New beginnings never really do begin at the start of anything, there is much that has come before which I realize cannot be dismissed with the turn of a page or the folding and storing of a memory. I guess this is an attempt at something different, something lighter, less personal and because of that less dreary I hope. The day was spent on the road between home and somewhere else and then back again. Yamagata's Sunday Afternoon playing through the speakers on a sleepy Wednesday afternoon. I kept turning the volume lower and lower each time I replayed it until her voice was reduced to a barely audible whisper. Good music has always been the best companion on journeys like these. The optimist inside of me says: I want to travel all over the world, to the most picturesque of European cities where everything will look like the movies I keep watching to fuel my wanderlust. Soft orange glow and a deep focus to everything, the background and the foreground merge into one, flooding my senses. As I'm dreaming I feel like someone both young and old, slowly coming to the realization that past experiences and memories coupled with future hopes and dreams merge into one single present: Waking up begins with here and now.

Disjointed(but hardly random) lyrics which have stuck long past the afternoon:

"You're scared cause I feel like home"

"Oh we're so disarming darling everything we did believe, is diving diving diving diving off the balcony"

"I love you I've a drowning grip on your adoring face, I love you my responsibility has found a place"

"Daylight licked me into shape, I must have been asleep for days"

"On dit qu'au-delà des mers, Là-bas sous le ciel clair, Il existe une cité, au séjour enchanté."

"I am yours now so now I don't ever have to leave, I've been found out so now I'll never explore"