take good care of, good care of you

midnight rain.

there's nothing quite like it.

i've driven in the dark

today when i was biking home, the laughter of children echoing and rebounding off of warm red bricks and deep shady maples, everywhere smelled like lily-of-the-valley and lilac.

with a sky blue sky

i can feel all my bones this night.

there's a cool wind seping in from beneath my balcony door, hinting at deep sleep, reminding me of nights in the past, crawling into my cold bed, the sheets crisp, sleek, quiet like cold ice. but there's also the smell of lilac, the slap of flipflops, incoherency summed up in thier juxtaposition with the way everything feels.

for the first time in almost eight months i bought new music. i baked bread, roast, and swept the floor for the fifth time today to the beatles, lost in memories of barbeques with my father. sometimes, we'd get together, just he and i, and make a ham dinner with scalloped potatos. often it was james and dad and i, with steak, and corn on the cob. and caesar salad with mushrooms.

the mushrooms always squeaked in my teeth, their texture fighting with the crisp of the lettuce and the smooth yet grainy presence of the dressing.

i also bought the new wilco.

its first spin is making me dizzy, lost in memories of second year for some odd reason. it's difficult, hard to comprehend, hard to even explain or voice what exactly that year was. i tried to record it, but there's still a feeling, something missing from everything i wrote about it. i think it's like and old sock slipping into an old shoe. crunchy, worn, full of pulls resting in a moulded, cracked, definitive berth of such distinctive individuality that it cannot ever be replicated of fully explained.

it's late, and my toes are cold.

[the smell of lilacs is driving me batty. i may have to illegally liberates some from a bush near here, let them fill my house with their distinctive perfume. it makes me think of reggie, gone for more than ten years, but who i see all the time. and always with the smell of lilacs].

this is the way that we love- like it's forever

four flights. stacks of blankets. scrapers. spanish cursing. pizza. hockey. long rambling talks with an amazing number of people. dirty socks. underpants in the oddest places. cleaning up after cleaners. spitfire sneezes. glebe mania. noon-time nap on first lanark. mystery bruises. mystery cuts. live on live. chanting. wilco. breakfast smoothies every damned day. the smock i mock but secretly love. treasure hunting in my pockets. stolen soap. grade eight children. the smell of lilacs.

yeah, yeah that might about do it.

off to chase forever

ummmm, a list?

a- i don't think there's enough words to fill up some of the spaces sometimes.

b- i have this weird mark on the side of my neck that i am ninety nine percent sure is actually a minor chemical burn. however, it unfortunately looks like a ridiculously large hickey. and i received a lot of flak for it. i don't know what to think. if it IS a hickey, could the person who attacked me like a grade nin vampire reveal himself, please?

c- my balcony is clean and i am so happy. all i need to do is find furniture.

d- biking up a hill at midnight while intoxicated is perfectly doable. in fact, i think i might label it as downright exhilirating.

e- i found out this morning that my grandfather sold his house, as did my aunt and uncle and that they are all moving to a smaller town where they will all live together. man, i have memories of my grandparent's home. the red shag carpet. afternoon lunches. barbeques. getting trapped in the basement room. leaving my cousins trapped in the basement room. the scariest cold room ever. [seriously, it was in behind another oom, entered from a closet that was so small and narrow even the kids never picked it for hiding in when we played hide and seek. the light switch was above the door and sideways and if it had been a long time, i always forgot about it, and searched madly while the smell of damp and cold and metal and preserves seeped through me, chilling my back. gramma always kept orange crush. it's the only place i ever drank it. ever].

f- i am going to be ridiculously late if i don't leave in the next ten seconds. curses.

stand here till i fill all your heart's desires

the days have blended into weeks, permeated by the drone of vacuum cleaners and the smell of bleach solvents. occasional snippets of real life seep in around the edges in the form of a swift bike ride to work, a pizza and cheesecake party, wine, laughter, mad gesticulations and hockey, ninety-six dollars of groceries and grocery related paraphanaelia [and yes, i needed that mop sponge], cats rolling in dirt and a strange lack of music.

there's so many treasures left behind in res.

it's so early and yet so damned late.

my room is an uncomfortable temperature.