and right now i'm so in love with you

it's late.

i've wandered aimlessly with tendrils of hair snaking loose from my poorly constructed bun for the last fifteen minutes. too hot to sleep, too tired to be qualified as awake, i feel that perhaps i'm missing out on something.

i don't smoke and i'm craving cigarettes.

there has to be an explaination for this, some way to describe it. does anyone have a word for this?

so you thought you might like to go to the show

when i move my hair, small granules of sand fall from my hair and coat my pillow.

heat like a blanket is once again coating the landscape, hanging from the sky like a heavy wool blanket on an invalid's lap. there's no escaping it- breathing feels like work and moving is a forced action through air thick enough to cut with a child's plastic play-knife.

the only way to escape such weighty heat is to dive deep.

i've already spent time diving deep into waves which pushed back with relentless force, curling in on themselves and sparkling aginst the pale blue coloured sky. next i will dive deep- very deep, i think- into my squishy and somewhat squeaky wreck of a bed.

i'll dream in technicolour and i promise i'll think of you.

going to chicago

it seems that once again i have been seduced by the dark side.

i woke up late for work this morning- it's secretly my day off but trying to convince the elderly persons of the area that i shouldn't sell them fish is considered more than a traversty, it's simply unspeakable. in my blundering and bustling around [once i'm late i'm late and cannot be arsed to care really] i happened to make the strongest pot of coffee known to man.

might i say i'm highly enjoying it and am completely wired after just three sips.

upon the fields of barley

for a few seconds, as i drift home, i flick off my lights and let the darkness of the highway overwhelm me.

it's lined with silver, tall pines on the right. the shadows cast by the moon are so intense that the concept of an inky shadow suddenly makes sense. the wind blowing in my window has dislodged most of my hair, forcing blonde tendrils to defy gravity and stick to my parted lips and glassy eyes. wax-paper encrusted pasta slides along the passenger seat, making slight snapping noises in the wind.

it feels like magic.

is it getting better?

i rotate my left foot slowly in counter-clockwise circles, creating a plethora of minor noises with the bones in my feet. my marmee, draped across a couch the colour of mud, laughs and says i sound like her.

"i feel old sometimes." i tell her. but that doesn't quite capture what i'm trying to say.

my mind has been burned with the stolen idea of a petrol sky. i imagine flames and that shine of iridescence around the edges before the fire consumes even more and that intoxicating, thrilling and absolutely terrifying smell that large fires produce.

today i will be lost in my mind.

i take a wife because life is beautiful

i like the way damp soil sticks just enough to the roots of weeds that it necessitates shaking, and hence mud-flinging, to keep a garden in good shape. i also like the way damp soil sticks to my legs, highlighting the rivulets of skin which compose the surface of my body. i like how soil digs deep into the cracks in my hands and imbeds itself under my nails.

i like the muddy footprints i leave in my bathtub.

is it the truth or is it a lie? i think i'll let you decide

four days.

four days of near unbearable heat and humidity, the majority of which i spent on my knees gathering bruises to my legs like wildfire will take to dry brush. paint managed to find its way to the spaces between my toes- from the smallet to the biggest. i spent a good deal of time just thinking- thinking about a lot of stuff here and there.

i thought about how i haven't mailed anything to one of the best persons i have ever met in almost a year. she reminds me of blackberry pie with ice-cold vanilla ice cream melting beside it. when i think of her, i remember a million happy moments which include everything from popcorn at the drive in to long days at the beach topped with warm food to midnight confessions to chocolate cake on her mother's kitchen ceiling.

fours days gave me four years of memories.

i'd think i'd like to fall back into it i think.

in dreams begin responsibilites

a quick geography lesson:

wiarton is on the west side of the bruce peninsula, a small sliver of land which runs between georgian bay and lake huron, bodies of water which make up part of the great lakes system of canada and the united states. georgian bay can be as placid as a pond and more ferocious then the ocean- and it's always, always freezing cold.

there's a local saying that the ice in georgian bay never melts- it just sinks.

the weather here has been unseasonable and nearly intolerable for the past three days. it's hot, it's humid and it's entirely uncharacteristic. it's also impossible to escape, this brooding weather- it hangs from everything like strands of wet wool.

tonight i went down to the breakwall here in wiarton to stick my feet in the water in an attempt to escape the tendrils of heat which were gnawing at my temper. once my feet were in, i made the executive decision that, despite the water instantly numbing any body submerged in it, i should really just jump the entire way in.

standing on the rocks, waist deep in frigid waters, contemplating whether or not to take that last jump forward which will reneder me nearly incapable of either drawing breath or exhaling, something catchs my eye.

it lumbers under water, passing me slowly on a determined path, like some sort of monster of old. a carp, a salmon, a renegade lake trout, i'm not sure which, but it's the final factor which convinces me to dive forward.

i exhale.

i need you to elevate me here

my great grandmother was a genuine psychic.

the police in scotland would sometimes come to her when they simply couldn't find any leads in a case. she was often used to find missing jewelry and the like, however, once the police came to her with a case involving a missing child. as the family story goes, she sat for a while, cried for even longer and told the police not to waste their time, because he would be found in the morning beside the river. when pressed, she further revealed that the boy was already dead.

the next morning the body of the drowned child was found just where my great grand mother had indicated it would be.

that's morbid yes, but it's a prelude to revealing that sometimes, more often than not, my instincts are exactly bang on about certain situations, especially involving people that i'm attached to.

my poor bubble has found herself in a situation which, she is convinced, is the end of the world and entirely horrible. i'm having the hardest time trying to convince her that it's not an issue with me- that, quite frankly, my gut and my heart already knew what she is so desperately worried about and i had already come to terms with it.

bubble, can you hear me? [just like in tommy, i'm singing that outloud].

i say it far too often, and that may dilute its meaning to others, but it remains entirely true and entirely heartfelt when i say, with perfect clarity and truth that honestly my tuesday, it's all good.

besides, i have a new secret love. and just because it's luke skywalker doesn't mean you can laugh.

no, seriously, i mean it- no laughing. he may not have those sexy stylish pants that han solo and [i've become convinced] all corellians must have, but he does have that air of 'wow, i need a haircut using something other than a bowl' which really, just makes me melt.

not to mention the impressive light saber he wields.

perfect shiny and new

my stepfather has a fleet of vehicles.

no, seriously. part of that stems from the fact that his business necessitates at least three of them, but mainly, i'm pretty much convinced that he has a serious and somewhat dangerous affection for chevrolet astro vans. there are eight of them parked in my backyard right now. granted, two of them are pretty much stripped and have been entirely undrivable for sometime now, but they're still there, and tom still owns them, so i'm going to count them.

[there's also a honda del sol, a restored chevy malibu chevelle, ali's honda crv and kevin's hyundai something-or-other, but that's beside the point]

i drove a nineteen ninety chevy van to death- literally. three times actually. i learned to drive in it, i hit a deer with it, i moved to schoolin it, i went to the drive in in it, i brokedown on the 401 with it, i added a shitload of miles to it- i pretty much lived in it, and all in the short space of a few years. when i killed it again last christmas- and i mean KILLED it- i was sure that that was the end of my van driving days.

tom bought a new vehicle last week.

a nineteen ninety five dual toned black and white extended cab chevrolet astro can with paseenger captain's seats, air conditioning, console and tilt steering.

i think this is a type of hell i shall never escape.

i'm going to wake up yes and no

i had the most intense dream last night wherein i was trying to sleep under a beautiful wodden kitchen table. the stipulation given to me by someone [tuesday? justin maybe? someone from school anyways] was that before i went to sleep i had to blow out all of the candles in the room before i fell asleep.

there were a lot of friggin' candles.

spend all night losing sleep

the first day of june, five hours in the sun, one can of black spray paint, various artists, a vacuumm cleaner, tealights, swiss cheese and pesto, two dead mice, a star wars book, talking with tom on the deck, a new mirror, a favourite picture finally hung on the wall, smashing news from my kate, a phone call from candy, a toad on my foot in the garden, a mom-made breakfast and a cup of exotic fruit green tea.

man, could today have gotten much better?