I’ve recently become more familiar with the textures of the sidewalk and the ceiling of my bedroom. From a mental hammock comprised of suspended webs tangled around social puppets shoulders and Pinocchio's noses, sleeping on hold and 80's movie theme songs of happy and exciting romances becoming the dry eyed call waiting dirges distorted from a lack of sleep. (I want you to want me) With 3 walls failing and the forth one broken You asked if I was a free man now. I didn't realize I was free until I was captured. A smile sharpened on a hard heart leaves a dull mind you couldn't spread memories of butter with. But its great for poking holes in the emotional hedges you've trimmed all these years. And I haven't seen it since they've passed, But I remember your face with P. Sherman, 42 wallaby way, Sydney as my Hail Mary. Autumn leaves last not less than half as long, but are just as pretty as their more vigorous counterparts when covering forgotten Bugattis. Natures blood running thicker than oil. My eyes turn to security cameras noting brightly coloured hexagrams running through the dark. Myself as the passenger, Johnny 5 in the drivers. Telling me about how Progressive runs the world digitally, it's all about the Flobots. She said I need space. So I dropped the universe on her lap. Then one hit platinum, the other one hit single was left on the shelf mixed in with daddies old Doobie brothers vinyls. Telling myself ill buy a little more time, evil evil woman, but water from an old tap is what keeps me warm on most nights. I found my self lying, alone. Not to strangers or my mother. No, That time has long past by six or seven sentences. Lying about how everything will be alright, or maybe it won't. I don't know which is better. So I think of something simple to realign my seizured sanity. My breakfast, bottle of cough medicine, spoonful of Nutella, and a line of orange juice powder helps my eyelids remain alert and able to make it all a part of a healthy fast break to the car. Outside the sky is clear and all I see is aeroplanes, where did the stars go? (Door opens) My loose noose zip tie lies On the passenger side where I used to ride With Jonny 5 (Ignition.) I invent a new word as the rounds per minute of the idle engine matches the beats of my not so idle hands striking the disconnected horn. Spazifist; Noun. Someone with the lack of gumption or heart to hurt to anyone, really, but deep down wanting to demolish everything in sight, just to see what other things look like when they're past their breaking point too.. Rooted in the young English Spaz; That kid on the playground no one likes playing hopscotch with anymore. And Fist; The only swing that hurts more getting on it than getting off. See also, Masochism. See also, Violence, like Kokanee (Domestic) See also, Stockholm Syndrome. See also, Mr. Incredible. Heroes use their fists too. All this, coming from a someteen boy in a city that's booming economically and not from terrorist attacks, fields full of golden food and salt mines instead of land mines. I don't even have to worry about being raped or kidnapped walking down the street! Why am I so panicked?

Bottoms up. Down the hatch. I'm half as good when I'm coming back. More fair than fairweather, but I do well with diversity. And that little bit of mix is easy, free, And you would've never met any of these people if it wasn't for me. I'm the one who brought you here, I'm the reason you're invited. I've been close at heart since 10th grade, remember, when you decided you wanted to be in with the cool guys, and the cold ones? Because they liked the older son. Not you, the youngest of two who looked up at your brother, cared about his opinion more than your own Mommas words, Or the feeling of cold porcelain on your naked skin that brings back soothing remnants of mother birds coo. You realize you've gotten more hugs from a strangers toilet bowl, than from your own father, as you kneel languid, hoping that your heaves are heard by the right people. Fast forward a fortnight and a half 'nother long weekend out havin' a blast from the past- Get back on your knees! You can only have fun when I'm around! I'm the one who picked your confidence up off the ground and puffed it up so you could talk to that bimbo, that jock, the sleaze ball who just talks so much damn talk with the dreamy eyes. Where would you be without me? Without your old pal? Stuck in the cafeteria with a lump in your throat, too scared to make friends no doubt. I am the puppet master and you will obey me as long as I give you the illusion of self worth and pretend independence. And as the creator of courage, you can be sure that if you ever forget THIS.. No one would even notice the light reflecting off of your skin, and only see me. The last missing piece of a million part puzzle that everyone's looking for, dead centre in the elegant tapestry of your life, and upon me they will remain fixated, no matter how much you scream at them, with all sincerity, that I am just a part of you that you tried to bury underneath the skeletons of old friends in your walk-in closet. My leaden strings are only as strong as you are weak, and at this point you can't even stand up for yourself. Or by yourself. You're beside a shelf of books looking down on you from their unreachable plateau so far above. But you can feel the judgement raining down on you, like you're the Macy's day parade and everyone forgot their umbrella. So stay down, and sleep fast little baby. For when you awake we shall have to be apart for a short while. But be still, lion in a strangers den. I'll be back. I'll be back once you've told all your friends you'll never even think about me again. I'll be back when your father finds out you got what's her face pregnant and she wants to keep the poor soul. I'll be back when you spend the rest of your adult years coasting through life with a wife and kids in a home you barely remember outside of the back of your eyelids. I'll be back for you, whenever you need me, just drive around the corner to the usual spot and we'll connect once more. And when you finally gather up the courage to throw me out the door, I'll already have a hold on your kids. When they're with me, they'll act like you did. I helped get one into the hospital, remember? Until the day you die I will have control over your life, as long as you pretend the strings are there, making you waste away like your weekends fine dining after a shot to the stomach lining. And you will be mad at me, baby, I know you will. But that just makes you want me more, you little freak. You always want me back around the middle of the week. So I'll just sit here 'til the weekend, in the shadows on your shelf. Until you decide to uncork your little hell, and bleed me dry. And drink me up. But by and by, I'll be here again when you need another cup. And another. And another. And another...

Sometimes when I dream, I paint pictures about worlds Where Cute volleyball girls with crop tops Date nerds in sandals and gym socks that are totes awks. Where Tomohawks are symbols of peace, And Tony Hawks are not just heroes to a niche. In the worlds I dream of A man is not defined by, her interest And A woman is not defined by, her pinterest. Where I am not my own biggest critic, And My goals aren't so ridiculous to hear myself say to the mirror. Where I can ask the time without being told to get a new watch, when I never have one, Or Can ask for thyme without being told its quarter past nine In the worlds I dream of, Tiananmen square is like a Pythagorean theorem. Just a lot less boring, And easier for Football coaches to explain in math class. Where The amazing race is a marathon in potato sacks. And the only way someone can prove their alpha status is to face facts And win the gnarliest game of underwater checkers you will EVER see. Where Asian parents let their youngest sons Have sleepovers so they can have friends that remember them beyond the moment you drive by their house. Where White parents encourage their youngest son into doing what he loves And being proud of him because he's trying, Instead of pointing out how he'll never have the right girl if he misses church too often. In the worlds I dream of, Bieber and Selena together would mean a whole lot more If they were the lead physicists at NASA. And learning a second language would be as easy as learning the alphabet. Que pasa with my dreams these days? I read subtitles in the worlds I dream of, And in those worlds the unspeakable symbol of purity that is the dove, is only matched by... A velociraptor! Just imagine the soap commercials! In these worlds of which I spoke, dinos are our friends and man is it dope pulling into class on a pterodactyl. In the worlds I dream of I see my perfect girl, not talking about that guy that she's with in the real world, with the spray tan and arm curls. Where Freestyling is a super power And football is something you hide from your friends so they don't think you're a loser. And people don't just say you should talk more, but make you feel welcomed And comfortable in the back pocket of the conversation... Like your cold hand in your high school girlfriends ripped khakis. In the worlds I dream of, I understand what NWA, CCCP, NYC, and OCD, really STAND for, instead of the letters they use to better define their ideals. their ideals. Their Ideals. Their IDEALS. In the worlds I dream of cameras give back parts of your soul And sex is a part of a relationship that fills empty holes in your heart, instead of making them bigger And if I was black you would have NO idea what I was about to rhyme with that last part. In the worlds i dream of, equality goes beyond the bounds of who pays for the first date And every English prof treats you like the next Arthur Millar And you BELIEVE them. In the worlds i dream of, grandparents are treated like royalty, And their baked goods are a gift from heaven. And you think about them even When it's not your birthday Or their funeral. In the world I dream of, this huge chunk of rock we call a country is actually as accepting as the commercials tell us we are, And my own voice doesn't reverberate as a sour note through my skull and amplify my self hate. And I don't feel guilty for not understanding how to make someone who doesn't speak English comfortable, Or your cell phone screen tans your skin the colour of your last instagram pic so everyone will know what you look like with truly #nofilter. And facebook likes feed families, destroy corporations, And cure cancer. And in the world I dream of, no one ever goes so far as to say they understand just so they can get into someone's pants. Or boost their status among vegans. Or because they've truly felt hunger... after not eating for 10 hours. In this little world I've created, no one thinks Worldvision is some hollow joke about the life and death of bloated babies in Africa, but as the unified projection of how we can improve our planet beyond who has the best business, card, or car, but the biggest heart. Where I dream is really deep in the tight pockets of my blue jean brain, So I have to wiggle for SECONDS to grab my two cents out. But since the penny isn't really in circulation anymore, I should be smart, get a head start on a friend with the same brand of blue jean brain. Maybe make some money off it. Trade our thoughts in for a nickel and round it up for profit. In this world. Where I dream.

Do you know about that one? To me, that one is more than a double X. A graceful girl, lovely lady. To me, she's not just the opposite sex. On the surface of the sun for example, it's over 10000 degrees. So that's probably why I start sweating when she sits down right next to me. That little ray of sun shine with legs walks all over my mind like Jessica Simpson in booty shorts and cowboy boots. Every where I see your face my day is brightened like you pierced the veil of overcast clouds In the same way you pierced my heart when you first said 'Hey.' I can still feel your breath tensing up my shoulders. Your smile amps me up like the time I discovered cup holders, and the sound of your laugh weighs me down like loose boulders. Like a modern day atlas for my own little piece of sky. Somebody call Chicken Little, cause its looking like this goose is fried. The sky is falling along with the thunder. But that's okay, because the wonderful way the rain sticks your hair to your face, it looks you're at a James blunt concert and everyone there's singing 'You're Beautiful.' Have you ever noticed, how how the trees seem to breathe, when they bend beneath the wind from a strong breeze? Their leaves like firecrackers in the autumn sky, and day or night soft explosions cover the landscape as far as the eye can see. And within this forest, where every breath smells of the sea, amidst the birds and the bees, I see you. Mother natures youngest daughter bathed in freckles and dressed like the most adorable hippy I have ever seen in my life. You make me want to dance so badly that the harpies of hell at the bottom of my stone well of a chest would bust out their broomsticks and try to sweep away my feelings, yelling for me to stop expressing myself. Because you've kick started my heart and it's bringing blood to my mind for the first time in years, causing my thoughts to create warming words with weight behind them. Not just empty breaths that carry the remnants of havarti and ham sandwiches. This isn't how its supposed to be. If anything is possible, it shouldn't be this hard to seize the girl of your dreams. And dream girls are dropping out of the sky, like little porcelain angels with hardened wings now too tired to fly. And you've flown a marathon trying to keep yourself afloat with the rest. But if you fall flat on your chest spread eagle I'll do my best to collect the pieces, And with what's left of my sanity I'll crazy glue them back together. Everyone kept telling me this would happen. That I should've taken a picture. It lasts longer than porcelain angels can fly. But in my mind there is no possibility you will ever die, see. Because long before I'm gone, and my childrens, childrens, childrens, grandchildrens bones twist into dust, to the vast WiFi of the universe, I will upload a pic of us and trust that 486 billion light years from right here.. A weird alien with 6 arms and eyes where its mouth should be will receive the mental picture I posted prior to their existence. And it'll think... 'Whoa. Whoever chose to show this, sent this picture out of focus!' But after a little more speculation, it'll think.. 'Holy Moses, my brain is dynamite and this picture is the fuse that blows it! And even if the throes of death, close to closing off my lungs take my final breath today I can honestly say, I have never ever seen anything like her before in my life, and never will again.' And that is what I have in common with this six armed eyemouth. The fact that, at least once, I have experienced beauty of another dimension. Now.. What I'm really trying to say is... I really appreciate who you are and what you've done for my universe. Although I feel sick bottling up these thoughts, the only thing that helps Is if I rhyme and write some words.. Like.. You're the Christopher Columbus to my emotional South America. You've discovered a new, already existing land, and brought it to the the attention of the public, and painted it as something it never was, but always will remain. Forever as you spread news to the masses beyond my not so virgin shores, and it's driving me insane... That you could never know the truest extent of these aboriginal feelings. Because the conquistadors of your friendship pillage and plunder, while hugs and bright smiles like Dexter's scalpels cut me asunder. And as for these affections we've left untranslated.. Well.. Darlin' you could slice 'em like a cake. With just a smirk. But I feel you will never fully understand why, and neither will the rest of humanity. Because 'Heart' is such a strong word, and I'm tired of taking body parts and turning them into needless verbs. Because I have crushed hard like spiked crush soda at a summer camp staff party. And it doesn’t take Sherlock or a Hardy boy to notice I'm sneaking glances. Like illegal aliens across the border of judgement. And this fiesta of one is tired of grasping onto undercarriages and being launched on raunchy mattress'. I just want my sympathetic Green card. But the social paperwork just overwhelms me because of that guy you.. Call your man. I am skeptical things will work the way I want them to... And trying to write happy song when you're alone seems a tiny tad moronic. So I'll shout out my frustration 'til I'm speaking supersonic. About how even if I could only see you for one more moment, and never see you ever again, I would sew my own eyes shut. So that the rest of creation would remain potentially beautiful, and out of the realm of not quite good enough in comparison. I'm sorry if this uncomfortable, I really, truly am. And if you never want to talk again I get it girl, but damn if I didn't at least say something. That part of me has died. I'd rather feel awkward and have to drag around my damaged pride. So I hope school's great, and if we never talk the same, I know you'll be alright. But, now that this was brought to light, I guess I'll finish with... Goodnight.

My best friend has the coolest name. You really ought to know. In 19 years it hasn't changed, Much. Xavier, the leader of the X men, always my elder. He eleven, myself the most imperfect little ten. Back in the day's when a pinky swear could seal a deal, or unlock a heart. We found ourselves the new kids at a school claiming to house the advanced class. But really only rooms that held socially ridiculous 6th graders who knew how to BS their way through problem solving. We got along from the start, because he had this bitterness like baking chocolate. And I love baking chocolate. He was such a smart ass, and from my view it was hilarious. With the load of lip we gave, I thought for sure Mrs. Flaherty would bury us. Surely sir we were the newest tiny titans of the Hill, bringin' happiness and sass. But then your wife got a job, and now our fun just wouldn't last because the job was in Prince Albert, of all the god damn places. And your son, my friend, had to pick a bunch of fresh new faces. As fresh as they can get in Prince Albert... I knew he'd be just fine though. He's got a genius little mind, though. He's gotten a little bit behind, though. His problems were all mine, then lo and behold high school came. Not the opening scene to an 80's classic about self discovery, but a prison with a fancy name. Never did he really feel challenged at that school. It seemed like the thing to do was nothing. Little did he know what could've stopped him from becoming the thing you came to hate so much. You coached his gymnastics, if I remember it correctly, and his attitude was terrible. And for you it was big blue house, after a year it was unbearable. Afterwards. He and I walked and wandered with nigh a clue but where we were. We talked and pondered about life and dodgeball, but never her. That girl that blasted his heart asunder like her 'I'm leaving'. Was the brunt of the death star beam and He was in Alderaan places. And even though you knew this, over the last few years, you put my brother through a mental hell. Never did I hear you offer to help him through it, just caged his mind while he divided it amongst different cells. Your mouth devout in doubt. Full of put downs and get outs. So he closed in and I reached out, before his suicidal thoughts KO'd him in a fixed bout. With a troubled mind and too much booze, a spare dime, and shit to do, you'd think you'd find the time To figure out what he was up to... Now just yesterday, or I guess just earlier this morning Xavier sent me a facebook message. And the words that were adorning it; You cheated. 'I don't really know what that means man. You're gonna have to be more detailed!' You cheated? This kind of thing happens to the pretty people in movies, there's no way this could really be happening to Xavier. You cheated. Some roles were meant to be modelled. But I cant see a scaled asshole gathering dust on my study desk. You cheated?! You're practically my second father you selfish prick! We went fishing together for God's sake! How could you do this to M.... Her. My soul turned into a saxophone solo. The one that plays in the background of the rejection scene in that 90's sitcom. I probably looked like the stupid kid from the show too. A man, acting like a boy, trying to act like like a man, wrapped in boys clothing. My mind became a highlight reel of slow zoom out travel shots. Dirt road roller coasters. Clouds like continents. Trains like loading screens. Where the loud overdubbed pop music keeps the brake squeal away. My heart glimpsed medusa. Then sank. And I'm not a very accomplished swimmer, so I let it sit at the bottom of my pool of boiling blood, and thought about the statement for the longest 20 seconds of my life. You cheated. The lump in my throat extended to my fingers. I won a score of staring contests against the little vertical line in the chat window. Xavier could smile again. I couldn't form a coherent sentence. This was the news that lifted the weight off his mouth. And onto mine, briefly. Then another message appeared weeks later. She's the one who cheated? ... I'm sorry. There's so much I still don't understand. But I finally figured it out Xavier. I remember where we were. All those years ago after the laser beam breakup. All those cold nights before yesterday. All those thunderstorms we couldn't share We were somewhere in each other's hearts. But after that, the labyrinth was swept, the maze was sealed, without a pulse The dusty cellar doors were locked. We'll have to open them up again. Promise it won't happen again? Pinky swear?

I remember it was bible camp when I was eleven, or 12. Everyone wanted a partner for the banquet that never came. But I asked you, and you said yes. I can still recall your smell. But camp ended and I felt like something was there, we dated over MSN for a month, because you lived in Waldhiem.. Or Warman.. Or Whatever. But your ex moved back to town. The one who'd said forever. And our fractured relationships type-cast was too uncomfortable. A crutch quickly.. Cast off. I shed one tear under my sheets, then drank in Nintendo screens to help me forget that, I was a mistake. Then there was eighth grade, when you were the only one to pay me any attention. You were my first kiss, my first held hand, my first cuddle, my first crazy... Just crazy. Our one month came along during a lovely lazy Saturday. I was 13, of course I forgot. One pissed phone call, and I hung up, My patience wrinkled and dry as my hands after washing dishes. Next day on facebook what do I find, A torn Kodak signifying the end. No skin off my knee, I was glad you were off my back. But I was a mistake. Then ninth grade rolls around, and we've known each other since sixth grade, Through that mutual friend who lived across the fence from you. You were shy and artistic, but I REALLY started liking you when I found out you liked Mario Kart. And Donkey Kong. And Super Smash Brothers. And since my life was boring, basing our relationship off of another's seemed logical. We texted every other day for 3 1/2 weeks almost. I think we touched shoulders once or twice. Then I got a message one day in my besties basement. Barely beginning to bring me to terms with what was happening. I was suffocating you, I suppose. But you always said the most... I was a mistake? Then grade 10, I found out you were willing to come into town to watch Disney movies. I loved Robin Hood, so we watched it, and I used it as an excuse to yawn my arm around you. Your shoulders were country raised, and broader than mine, so it was kinda awkward. Then there was the cuddling, way to quick for you. After a shrug, we had snack and you left Saskatoon, reminded of a near rape experience with that older guy a few months ago. I could already tell I was a mistake. But you liked horses, and dancing, and I thought that was cute. You and your friends were always more mature than I But I made my fart jokes for cheap laughs, just to see how long I could make your smile last. Your commitments overseas approached rapidly with the tide you rode out on, and I was coming on too strong for the amount of time you had left. I saw you dance once before the sea took you. I won't forget to breathe anymore. I was a mistake. Then I saw you in the commons. With that same mutual friend from before, and we were introduced. Little did I know that the relationship that was produced would shake you from your crumbling foundation and cause your tears to wash away the sandy structure of sanity you had left. I was a mistake. Then we met at Denny's one time and you shared some baked goods. One thing lead to another, and we ended up kissing on your basement floor. But I was an asshole, and never gave credit where credit was due, Reminding you of a relationship that deeply hurt you. I was a mistake. Then I started texting you after high school, desperate for some affection. And you were still a few years behind, but I couldn't fathom how responsible you were. French immersion, top of the class, canoe club, all that jazz choir. But you were busy and I was obnoxious And I was a mistake. Finally, it was your 20th, and I dressed up all nice and picked you up in my shitty Cav, with the rust spot trim on the yellowed eggshell white. I ate like a pig and you just had an appetizer. This meal was for you. I should've seen it coming.. 'You make me feel special, you treat me well and it hurts to see you go, but...' I was a mistake?! Happy fucking birthday.

I know I am the kind who moves on easily from minor personal tragedy. Yet I tend to wallow in its wake anyways. I find the feeling of it to imbue me with a bitterness I can only find in baking chocolate. It makes me feel powerful. And I do enjoy my baking chocolate. And while I know that mucking around in my own self doubt weighs me down like the tar the dinosaurs found so inescapable, all I have to do is reach out and grab the edge. I can do that whenever I want. Opposable thumbs. I'm better than a dinosaur. And that feels great. And though I know I'm the type to move on easily from relationships gone dull. I often seem to hold on to them just a bit longer than I'm supposed to. Because even though I know that squeezing a rose so tight that its thorns invade my skin will break the rose itself, I know that I'm not ready to let that rose blow away into the wind. Because I just got a hold of it. It seemed so drawn to me a moment ago... And I know the day is fast approaching, my father's slowing steps show me every day, but I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. So I'm eating more and more bowls of sugar coated hot air and throwing out the contents of my stomach more and more often to try and capture the last minute feeling of being six years old for one or 12 more times. Because i'm being preached to about the concept of my personal significance by the people who seem to know so little about their own. As though going through university without any idea is the best one to have. And a $40,000 dollar idea is better than finding one across the alley, or at the top of a hill at 3am. But let me tell you somethin' Mr and/or Mrs. Preacher. I may not know a lot of things. But I do know this. The ant that sprints around the jungle of my lawn is a pawn in the food chain of my back yard, yet it is part of something bigger It is not insignificant. The teamwork we've formed through merely being neighbours and enjoying the same brand of alt rock playlists is astronomical. And everyone who tells me that I'm a teenager and it'll pass, has obviously felt the same way before. And there's probably some wisdom in that. But it's my turn to scribble a passage in 'The Book of What Can and Will Be', Not, 'What Was and Should've Been'. She is not insignificant. And even though I say the opposite to myself everyday. Through good times and better. And even though I was told I was being unrealistic when I finally believed in my ability to go the distance for someone I care about more than the skin on the bottom of my feet. And even though in the grand scheme of all things, or just hers, I may not play the biggest role, though damned if I don't try. I am not insignificant. Because pop music and Disney movies wouldn't lie to me. A score of years listening to other people being told they're beautiful wouldn't deceive my ears on a minute by minute basis. The building blocks of so many young minds couldn't be made out of papier-mâché and tissue boxes.. Could they? 40 g's is a lot! 100 more could buy a home. 5 could get me across the world and back. And 1 could write an album and make himself a million. But I don't want any of that. I know all I need is a walk down the street to the swings. And that smile.

A young man. A sleepless dreamer caught up in the throes of his own thoughts once again, can’t get it off his mind. He was learned well about it through school, but still he cannot understand why it eludes him so. Every time the hunt seems to be over, it sparks to life yet again as the goal of the chase flits off into the distance, the hunter caught in his own traps. They latch on tight, and for every one he removes, he swears under his dry breath he will stop using traps to capture his prize. Yet he picks more pieces of his own flesh out from the bindings, every time he finally thinks he got ahead of the game. ‘But this one… this one is different.’ Repeated, comfortingly his mantra, whatever it is it always seems more right than the last. He realizes this. But this time he’s serious. The hunt came to him. That’s never happened before. And that’s exciting. After giving up on it a few short months, the smell of the forests, animals, and sweat were washed away. He seemed a new person, to this, his ultimate goal. The roles were reversed. He could feel his prize draw closer with every day. Then, it finally came. His patience had paid off. There it was, the most beautiful animal he’d ever bin in the presence of. It was as though the fact he was even near it was a reward. It’s scent was intoxicating. Nothing could compare to this moment. He racked his mind, trying to draw some familiarity to this feeling, but he found none. His only movement in his shocked state was a slow one. He extended his open hand, as though he hoped it would be taken with gently clasped fingers. His arm was there for what felt like years. The feeling of accomplishment like he’d never known could exist. The air around him quieted. His strifes and delights alike were on the other end of the universe. He could barely focus on his outstretched extremity. He knew what was within his reach. His eyes wide, he could but move his hand down the top of the head, along the outline of the neck. His fingers ran through the long hairs, much like he had in fields of soft grass when he was so much more a child. So caught up in the moment, it took him a few more to realize it had ended, prize retreating from his reach. He moved slowly, then quickly, the hunted continually moving away from his grasp. He cooed, called, yelled, panicked,and wept. Nothing brought the marvellous beast within in his reach. Yet it did not leave his sight. He ran from it in frustration, yet it was there every time he’d turn his head. He pretended to ignore it. Still, it persisted. Eyes, not on him, but the sky. Always the sky. Always within sight. As if pointing him towards something greater. He would do other things, become preoccupied with trivial pursuits, but it was there, looking to the horizon, And all the young man could do was wonder; What it was looking towards, When, if ever, it would return within reach, and Where it was going to be when it eventually left. For that is where he would find peace. And that is where he would go.

I tend to over-anticipate things. The more excited I get about something, The more flat it ends up falling. Quality, Quantity, Time, Distance. I always seem to be more prepared than I need to be. Always, except for now. Walking down streets that comprise most of who I tell myself that I am, I seem surprised at the vomit splattered cement stained glass windows spidered and shattered into the shapes of make believe continents, on these streets I’ve seen a million times on my way to church or another suchly related function. I got so caught up in telling everyone how the side of the river I grew up on was so much tougher than theirs, I never really stopped to think that maybe that exact thought is what’s keeping these old walks the way they are. ‘Look, but don’t touch, It’s dirty’. How could I allow myself to be so judgemental yet so distant from the community? Everyday I read about making a difference in the world I live, yet I don’t even want to make nice with the neighbourhood I spent so much time growing up around. What kind of person am I to say these things and not actually do something about them? The kind I’d always feared? Seems like it. I’m not ready for that.

This is about a movie. This is about Her. The place to begin seems to be cast amongst the infinite data of the universe. Near impossible to find amidst the expanse of everything that’s felt in this small amount of time. An adventure, starting from dragged feet and downward gazes, lost amidst thoughts of things that were, things that lead to here. Right. Here. Commentary provided by; the voice that has that little bit of rasp to it when it’s trying to contain attention. But there’s no need to try. All the attention is there and willing. Lounging in the back of the mind, on the shore of one mans understanding. The precipice of everything and nothing. Standing, waiting for a door to open. Attention to give, knowledge to receive. knowledge is power, and more Knowledge makes one powerless. That realization is upon you before you even realize you know you don’t know anything. You get anxious. The good kind and the bad kind. There are words to be said, tears shed, voices raised in frustration. But none of it is enough. Others have said it, cried it, shouted it better. Even they can’t do it justice. Like an ocean, ebb and flo. Like a storm, perfect and terrifying. Like a forest, still and vibrant. A cozy sweater, wrinkled, a little smelly, Comfortable. Even nothing is too much to say. The silence between laughter, Lifts astronomically, Then drops catastrophically. ‘Finity’, is the gravity. A breath between sentences brings confusion and questions about why it’s even happening. A book has a cover if not to attract you to it, then to remind you that it has an end. Other people understand what is going on. A channel well travelled by men and lady alike and not at all you. Community through perceived loneliness, just have to look up. Hands, freed from pockets and Get out of bed! Get up! Get up! Look outside the walls of the skull. Everyone’s here with you, and you’re there with them, going to the moon and back a million times with thoughts about that one thing your mother probably did or didn’t say 6 years ago or yesterday, about the shoes you were wearing. Work, becomes fun, becomes work, becomes longing for what comes after work, becomes appreciating the moment so much, that you lose appreciation for it because you just can’t wait for the next one to begin. That next time, where a smile will be shared singing silly song lyrics. The brief eye contact when saying goodbye that makes the focal point seem tilt shifted in an infinite number of megapixels. Every detail of what’s being fished for on the beach in the back of the mind is right in front of you. And is real. Unbelievably real. More than anything you could have ever imagined. Ridiculous to some. Acceptable to others. You can hear the street moving beneath you. The pen strokes of important documents filed on neatly cut paper. Dust floating so crisp and vivid like children at a birthday party. The little things allow for passage through big moments. Anchors, to keep sanity from floating through the wounds of vital organs retreating to the earth through the feet or out the throat. She’s leaving. No. Running. It can’t be stopped. Neither can she. That’s why you love her. She needs this. To be a part of something bigger. A necessary part of whatever this is… This.. Life. Brevity declares beauty on special occasion, and however brief it may end up truly being, the time shared is so heart wrenchingly beautiful you can feel vomit fighting against the urge to swallow the sadness signifying that it needs to be over. For now or forever. Now you know a little less about the universe. Now you know about a movie. Now you know about Her.