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22.11.07

It's only November

I woke up today.

I want to go home.

9.8.07

I live in a van, work in a bar, and shower at a guy named Jody's house.


I used to complain that you lived too far,
Now we live in a van in your neighbours backyard.

3.7.07

I can live. But I don’t own houses or anything. Some months there isn’t any money. You’re always trying to work out problems in your life. If everything is fine, then there’s no sense of really being involved in writing poetry and music that explores your life or the feelings about yourself. I don’t know what you’d write if you had no material to work with. You accumulate a lot of shit over your life from when you’re a kid, and you try and use it to grow something. I don’t want to be a professional; doing everything regardless of fallacy. - Billy Childish

We have to go to Ontario to find my dictionary. We need to look up the word bondable, which actually means:

5. A duty, promise, or other obligation by which one is bound.

Does another corporation own you? The law?

Slacker means:
1. one that shirks work or evades military duty
2. the waste left after the melting of ores and the separation of metal from them.

I want to know everything there is to learn. I want to take all of it and keep it and understand it.

"Ask for work. If they do not give you work, ask for bread. If they do not give you work or bread, take bread."

Sept. 19, 2006

It's as though I had no choice. Not because of Georgia or anything, but because it's just what I'm supposed to do. I don't make the choices, they make me, or that thing my dad always says, about my mom. The way she goes along with people, saying "Yeah, yeah, I can do that" and then turning around and thinking "Now how the hell am I gonna do that". It seems the only way to force yourself to use everything you have to make a way.

Also, I can't write now that I'm settled.
Nothing is occurring to write about.
So something must occur.

We were lying naked under covers, our noses touching, hot breathe.
"Are you going to play guitar for a living?"
"Yes."
We fell asleep.

"I was looking for a job and then I found a job. Heaven knows I'm miserable now."
- The Smiths

What do you do with a headstrong girl? Send her to Canada, or better yet, get her pregnant and marry her. - Elle



What is a home. A bed, a window, a blanket, a pen, a drink.

Nowhere is made somewhere because I have it in my hand.

My home spills out onto the floor everywhere I go, but I gather it and keep on. Sometimes I lose pieces, but I'm none the wiser, and more come back to me. I don't know if I'll ever find something more reliable to carry my home in, but maybe. This one's floppy and made of black leather.

Maybe it's the way you walk
Or the chill of your shoulder
Or that we both feel sick when we're sober

13.6.07

March

Grace: the refinement of a soul through time.

The bathtub was scrubbed
Windows too
But someone knocked the china dolls off the windowsill
Whitey won’t be happy
I said
I’m not happy
I thought
The things that make us crazy
Crying on the couch
May be the last thing we need
But the only thing we have

I was up
I was eating popcorn kernels
Trying to save the world
With words
I think you were crying
You would be had you’d been awake

I can kind of remember how it went
I was sitting in the shade of a tree
On cracked patio stones surrounded by dying grass from too little rain
Like a child on the hard ground
It was you
And this house
I hope
Cause a cat ran by
And I’d like a cat again

a lullaby


June 16th of last year I wrote:

Box of wine

The room was a prison of hot breath and heavy blankets
I sat up from the bed
Not careful of waking you
Moved the sheet that covered the window to one side
There were heaps of leaves being blown about tree stumps, shaded from the midday sun
It was too late to be sleeping
I wanted to be out there
I thought I’d escape, and tried the window
But you had already pulled me back in
Under the wool blanket of your hot breathe and sweat

June 16th of this year I write:

I just got a blog!