August 2011
7 posts
4 tags
Listen
Things I Found Gentle Today
Asian woman who sat next to me at the metro stop. She was wearing a hat and shades underworld and was carrying a trolley filled with goods in filled paper bags. But I noticed she smelt nice, which was a surprise, and then I felt bad for thinking it was. It wasn’t like Chanel nice but like laundry on a fall morning but still with a hint of moth balls but still, nice, really. I noticed the...
March 2010
2 posts
“For your records, we are in love!”
January 2010
1 post
December 2009
2 posts
Love is love is love
It happens rarely, it happens all the time, it happens never. But when it does, you could not imagine recovering from losing it.
November 2009
2 posts
When I think about you, I think about winter.I think of driving in your car. Of the snow on the windshield window. A mint in my mouth. Waking up in the dark of winter. I couldn’t recall if it was night or day. I think of our long hibernation. The cold wind comes around this time of year, I think of you. I don’t pull away or push towards it. I smile and think of the time I was so close...
September 2009
2 posts
The Library
Remember when I dragged you into Munich’s public library? You were kind of cranky about it; “it’s just a place filled with books,” you said. “Precisely,” I said. I went in anyway, I thought I would be stepping into the Enlightenment, globes and maps galore,revolving staircases crawling up to the highest of ceilings, a glow of dusty light. It was quite bland and...
August 2009
3 posts
Oh, Bob.
Then take me disappearin’ through the smoke rings of my mind, Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves, The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach, Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow. Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free, Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands, With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,...
Papercut Heart - Ian Sullivan Cant
and all the time a job a home a sink to leave the dishes in and go to bed at nine. no one’s breaking through the palace gates to shoot the royal family.
I’m not feathers and hollow bones, or a skylark in a poem. I can fly away like a torn flag in the wind.
Are you attracted to picking fuck-ups off the shelf? Or are they all the shelf offers?
Put art in a headlock, and give it a...
June 2009
7 posts
Let’s let love kick the shit out of us.
I believe that remarkable things have happened and will continue to happen.
You amaze me.
why I love sharing my music
Herbert is run by three gentleman from the corners of their hearts. They bought peach-coloured roses for the gig and assorted them in vases around the cozy venue. A venue that is decorated mostly by their grandparents’ old furniture. All (whoppin’ 60) tickets were sold, and everyone from college dudes to the town’s sheriff was there. He later patted me on my shoulder, leaned in...
May 2009
16 posts
my architect and his song
You build things with your hands. Like the house you and your father are building together. And the willow tree you had to cut down because of your obnoxious neighbour’s garage.
I hummed songs to myself and skipped over stones. I laughed more than I have in years. I wondered what had happened to my little self. You twirled me around lamposts and held my waist up as I reached to kiss you.
Your...
Something I'm pretty sure I already learnt along...
Sometimes you just have to accept that life’s tough. That you get disapointed. That you are at times unimpressive as well. There are no magic words that can be said as a quick fix. I think you have to accept your losses, hope you did your best, and soldier on.
Easy, right?
“He could no more describe the feeling he got from her than you can describe a...”
– Carried Away, Alice Munroe
Jolting, right down to my bones.
Ciao, bella
This time tomorrow I will be back in beautiful Firenze.
If Prague smells like a delicious teenage boy then Florence smells like the neck of a bourgeois lady, one with locks of black hair and a lavender blouse. Oh, and she is prone to carrying about a white umbrella on particularily sunny days.
Third time, and it can’t get old. I cannot wait to be back. I learnt how to wear make up there. I...
Listen
April 2009
12 posts
There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.
“Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry,” answered the painter; “and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. Perhaps you will hardly believe it.” Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from the grass, and examined it. “I am quite sure I shall understand it,” he replied, gazing intently at the little golden white-feathered...
It’s been 18 years and I still sometimes think you are out there breathing.
I do not think about it much, but a conversation comes along every now and then that makes me pause. I do not think I have written about you once. If you riffle through the diary of the nine year old child you may find words with question marks. I wonder what kind of person I would have become with you around. I wonder if...
Praha
It smelt like an adolescent boy. That sweaty, excited, tintilated scent. I made a few Czech friends and listened to jazz and wandered through some dusty book stores. I bought a Hans Christian Anderson book illustrated by Jiri Trnka. It may just be one of the best in my collection. We wandered the colourful streets and had beer in gardens. He had read Murakami, I introduced the gifted pianist to...
