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"