beauty has once again captured me.


I have visitors from the Scandinavian sector currently occupying my bed. This includes two dear cousins whom I rarely see. Although they both subscribe to many of the pop icons I can't bring myself to support, it's been compelling meeting them through adult eyes.

......... . .. ...................................................... .. ......

Just before the television was laid to rest for the night, a documentary came on the screen of my most beloved band: Radiohead. My understanding came back tonight of why I began with Kid A, and after taking a good look through their entire discography, why I have stopped with Amnesiac. It belongs in the mind of late night thinkers, to act solely as a soundtrack to unformulated ideas.

It just begs a listen.

:.....:::::::::::: :: : :: :: :::::::.... ....................

My brother and I have recently been discussing how each person, in their own way, is a bit off, emotionally or psychologically.
When I say this, I mean those people who tell stories for longer than is reasonable at social gatherings, not realizing the disinterest of their gracious listeners...those ones that laugh incessantly at any kind of joke, not understanding the obnoxious laugh they own and put others through each time a humorous story is told...those that are irrational when making decisions and rely strictly on emotional energy...those that change their state of mind unexpectantly in an argument and can't employ logic to get them to a rational place once again.

• These are the small things that often keep me up, puzzled by human behavior. When I grasp these inconsistencies in mannerisms, I often see them in myself.

[those little things that make us all strange and make others wonder]

Sometimes giving up has an explanation attatched to it.

Here is one now:

Although there are moments when an idea seems unique, or a person or object is captured in just the right light at just the right angle,

my confidence falls completely apart when I see this kind of beauty.

my answer is music.






Lately, this means A Northern Chorus, Bjork, Ben Harper, Thom Yorke, and Wilco. There's something about laying flat in a dark room with the window open, letting in enough wind to cool and sooth the most delicate and trying of emotions.

But when is it that a song becomes a part of you?

• when the words are known?
• when the song links you to a memory of significance?
• when it becomes the soundtrack to a particular moment?

..... . .. ..............................................

While sitting in an office building this week, in amongst the desks I noticed that no one looks at paper and books anymore. Everything we learn and everything we seem to produce is online. onscreen. And I think it is making us all sick with too much information.

[like this example right here]

The Commodore Ballroom:

disappointed professionals hold up their cellular phones to capture the music.

my friend has fallen for the one with the high cheekbones,

and I, for the blue lights.

Shiny faces and chiming guitars make the night.

......... .

I came to this realization that i don't appreciate stories.
maybe because they give me an unrealistic view of life.
relationships in particular.

I have to drown out the cars with music.
The thing about feeling down is that people want to fix you.
They take on your mess and your ideas.
They want you to be healthy.
be complete.
remove particular patterns.
but I don't know what this looks like.
or how it ought to look.
sometimes i think i'd rather smoke my djarums and die young.

[ just another james dean ]

I've thought about being a recluse.
a writer. a painter.
that or a deaf mute, like Holden suggested.

.... . .. ..................................................................... .
Let me ask my readers this:
what is it that gets you through the day?
keeps you sane?
allows you to feel peace?

Have faith, dear one. You will see greatness.

There are a lot of things a lot of people tell me, or try to tell me.
advice that is.

Advice I don't want to hear, advice I'm not ready to hear.
But tonight I could stomach it, appreciate it even.
And that made it just a precious night.

Amsterdam.

People here sit facing the canals but have their eyes closed towards the sun. The smell of marijuana wafts down every street -
coffee shops take a different kind of business than the name suggests.
And when night comes, the girls are out and the tourists open their eyes wide to the Red Light District.
I'm ill as I walk past the young boys and businessmen peering into the windows. One man enters, the curtain closes.
The lack of sobriety in this place shows by the sheer volume of the visitor’s voices.
Lives seemingly empty and cheapened by this nightlife.

Below me sits a woman with heavy black eyeliner, cheap jewels, polished nails and a colored scarf with white dots.
A full pack of cigarettes is her meal.

Winston Kingdom.

Dress. Ostinato. Labasheeda. 05.26

We are the trees.

I was told I had a pretty voice.
Although he was surely drunk, it was somehow pleasant.
This place has lost a bit of its charm.
Perhaps it’s because the last visit was flawless and unable to be matched.
I saw a darker side of this place, and through a different set of eyes.
As well, having a protective elder along somehow taints the process of light easy travelling and creativity.
Although the company is nice and the drinks are free.

White wine and black cigarettes.