In every way, we're all just not meant to be alone. That's what i truly believe in human nature. To have interlocking bodies, to have empathetic minds, to have this need to connect with others whether it's through music or laughter or sleeping in the same space. And even though at the beginning of the night, we are hopeful and beautiful, every night spent alone is a night denied it's opportunity.

Being sad is a natural order of the pitfalls of happiness. They never warned me why the heroines never run away in stories. Wish they had. I know how to end my "talking and fucking" story. You write what you know, i fucking know exactly what i wrote.

How lonely does a person get before she sleeps with just another boy just to sleep beside just another body?

I wish we could all fastforward to the good parts in life. Like Emily's kyle crying story, like the Broken Social Scene show in december, like laughing so hard it hurts to laugh. Like jason collett, spoon, belle & sebastian, the decemberists -- the first five songs you played on guitar.

smoking cigarettes makes me feel more of a rush these days than smoking a bong

where did she go when he took away the rush?

yeah, i wished that was blake.

but you've been through such much more than a fucking boy. This is what you need to do. Play the guitar without imagining what it means to the boy and believe in what it means to you. Write what you feel because something beautiful always comes from something ugly. Oh, I know you're gonna be the anyone's because they always get me like that. Just anyone.

It's not like I have anything better to do. Than write more short stories and poetry towards attachment odes and boys who tell you you give fantastic head because it's all you know to do. I'll get on my knees so easily and run away from love so brutally.

don't die out there
that's your advice
right now, thanks but no fucking way am i dying out here in this screaming cold and alone ALONE night,
don't die out there
baby
that's what it means to be alive
these days anyway
don't die back home or i'll have nothing to come home too.
no comforter on my back
or ecstasy laced on crack
the first five times, from the start
i'll always remember them fondly because me and you:
marshmallows
everybody broke me up for a stir and a cause
freeverse poetry on bookmark art
yeah in hindsight the awkward is always more painful than the living
why is that?
i'm going to crash.

free love.

You know you are in THE CLEAR when picking up a guitar
bracing a smile against THE GLARE of
the internet
reinteprets our tabs
another asian girl comes and goes like i come and i go
look for something real tomorrow

you?
made it clear it was over
when yes was my favourite answer and red was my season's colour
there was a day in the leaves
on the slope and my feet in heels
dangling
where did afternoons like that go?
getting high around the dogs and the men walking up the steps to my upskirt shot
i learned to live with cheap flattery when i was sixteen in a basement with fluorescent lights and the nights were always darker then when nobody had yet held my hand
dangling
like slipping on ice
i learned to get high and close my hands and feel something, just something, JUST ANYTHING,
GIVE ME ANYTHING GIVE ME SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING
he did

did i forget how to hang up the phone?

don't let it get you down and if you're down you better learn to punctuate your sentances and
stay down
i like a steady rhythm in everything i do
the grass was on that day's side and the sun refused to do me blind
blue skies, blue eyes, you were all the colours that i never wore in my black and white
what is it about a girl in a man's shirt that gave me away?
it's just that my tits get rejected by my skin
it's just that i am allergic to all forms of alcohol
it's just that i don't feel the high or the blush or the

questionnaires that win ipods and ten dollars
Chicago is coming to town, the city of
i can still feel the rain drops and the music of our hands when we danced later that night on an excess.
think i can sit here and write the rest of my life?
i could lose the will to waste time any minute now, or even ANY SECOND NOW
give me a sec.
he says i'll be right there tonight to talk about vegetarian lovers and the love life of many others
maybe
you're a fucking liar
maybe i'd rather fuck another guy

she says
the last thing i wrote was the lit exam

he says
i like 2 rite 2

i say i hate you all motherfuckers
who need me to convince you to PICK UP THE SLACK

do it yourself
you want some meaning
some direction
some pussy
some motherfuckign bragging rights?

street cred
personal sense of satisfaction
a black and white singles ad
on the backcover of your bestseller

groupies who like self-declared celibacy
and lesbians
the purple-haired crowd at the back of clubs
moshing like fucking
to poetry readings last new years
YEAR OF 2008

publish for the recognition
or unpublish for the ambition
artfucks!
get all the ass either way

you see them once every so often along the subway waiting line
it makes human contact
in the way a picture is not taken or a swing is not swung
or
drunk and stoned in a corner of the convenience store
buying candy for love

see how amazing it is to be a writer?

do it yourself
and you'll be the first.

my bed is a dirty mistress who never lets me get anything done
the way jenny lewis could have been a daytime drunk
(who never gets things done)
it's the same thing as alcoholics who drink off their alcoholism and sleep off their
inhibitions
i sleep because my dreams tell me to forget
my dreams
and going back to sleep means another two hours, another TWO HOURS OH MAN of new
oppertunities
NEVER QUITE GOT THAT SPELLING RIGHT
to dream.

spell check will save our lives in the end
but it's just the start i'm worried about every morning
sitting down to alnighters
waiting for double spacing
and 14 pt periods on a 12pt page
tricks the whores in college will pull to get more more more
for less
never worked a day in advance of pay day
except that i don't have a job or much less a career or an ink blot on last year's resume
i should be a life coach.

four am is not a hard place to live

as long as we agree that once a month i wake up
without poetry.

google the meaning of life
or how to roll a joint
with an automatic roller
stolen goods
from your ex-bestfriend who stole your bestfriend
herself from yourself
well,
say to yourself, repeat to yourself, consider to yourself
that is has been a full two years TWO YEARS OF
the kind of friendship that gives your money no eyes and their eyes no money
taught me that the best things in
life
don't last
longer than two years.

maybe i should just stick to the internet
and rolling joints by hand.

gender
race
and
sexuality

or

lawrence ferlinghetti

today

I can't remember what this blog is for. Something omni-important, whatever that prefix should suggest and now I have the obligation to summon GOD AND POEMS IN CAPITALS LETTERS onto a web page that the greats of the past would insist had betrayed the even greaters of the further pasts.

he touches my shoulder as if the past two months happened
as if we didn't regress the moment i turned around and walked into the old cafeteria of our old life.

later
(months later)
he holds my face as he kisses me and talks about regrets in his life:
should have made more time
that's it actually, he has that one regret when he asks
HOW AM I SUPPOSE TO GET OVER YOU WHEN YOU DO THINGS LIKE THAT
when i get on my knees because i don't know how else
to make sure
he would keep wishing that he had made more time
for me on my knees, on my back, in my mouth, over my soul

but watching him sleep, i left him there.
missing me
and my knees

he is looking for love in all the wrong moments.
and I, the wrong moments, mean all the love to me.

there will always be more boys and girls for the lonely
and the rapists.
more lies will be told than lyrics
i'll probably steal another sweater or two
plagarise another poem or four

the makeup industry has taken my creativity from one canvas to another and the body shop has changed the way my vagina smells.

I'm eighteen and tired of the fuckery and the feeling
if he could sit beside me for another night i'd take that chance
end up on my knees
with a hand to help me up when i slip on the ice outside when it's winter and global warming gives us a week left to live. I feel the most alive in the brittle-bone wetness of Toronto's favourite smoothie season. Slush streets. Sabre-toothed lions are discovered on days like this.

Discovered alive and extinct.

words that are nice sounding

I should write something
they all said
once i wrote many things
in a bookstore
on a bookmark
over a book of grammar mistakes
and rhetoric retakes
i'll write a book alrady written about another bout of
posmodernism by a postsecondary
student (another word for sociopath and hobo)
This is why i should write only on typewriters
no erasing means no backspacing
no shortcuts means no delete and all

because I sleep through three classes out of five
and because every morning
i wake up
dreaming
of a softer world
where the boys are named blake and
the boys who are named blake fall in love so easily
with the better half
(MY HALF FOLDS IN HALF)
tossing and turning until six am
to sleep in until
to wake up
dreaming.

Do you want to hear my plan?
see I go to school
it's expensive: full of expensive books, profs, uggs, girls and
dreams.
my dream is easier than than the girls though
and in three and a half years
all these expenses will go to the horizon
where my last four friends jumped into the lake,
let me drown,
because i swore i could swim.
I can.
so my plan?
i don't have one, sir.
Bukowski made me this way when he didn't give a shit about listening to
my plan.

if you let me live with you, i'll cook.
CAN YOU COOK?
no, but
would you rather i break penises again?
because those are two things about us that i'll remember when i'm 37 and so are you
until minivans or drug fictions
either/or
until the rest of the elliott smiths are dead
and the world has no choice but to publish me instead.