feelings bank

draft

there's a starmaaan, waiting in the sky. he'd like to come and meet us but he thinks it'd blow our minds yeah a staaaarmaaaaan waiting in the sky. he told us not to blow it, cause he knows it's all worthwhile. he told me: let the children use it, let the children loose it, let the children boogie

------ cms

this city was just too small for the one who left me behind. I cried (real) tears before he got into a car and drove away, but they were the selfish kind; how could I cry for him? In fact, I celebrate and the greatness to come of him; it's the one trapped in perpetual responsibility for whom I shed a tear. I will miss him like a rock by the creek, like a boy in a tree, like a brother in arms

----- fuck gossip

I don't mind being generally distrustful of the world at large, but it is another thing entirely to be distrustful of the people in your closest ranks. Recently I have been forced to explain my words to those who were not around to hear them in their proper context and subsequently, the merit of my character has come into question. It has been tiring to redraw fault lines and elaborate the backstory for someone else, certainly with coworkers and especially with friends who should know (or know me) better anyways.

----- workload

Janelle is making boustiers and I am filing freedom of information acts. the world is unfair.

----- lipstick lesbian

The word 'fierce' was flung this direction for the first time in my life. It was a first-year, crying in a bathroom over some boy who didn't care that she thought he was cute. I advised that there are more important things to worry about and then she said it... 


----the hivvy

in the paper will be an article I wrote about the HIV/AIDS walk & I don't know what to think about it. I never seem to have time to let go of my features for a couple of days and get back to them, like a good journalist would. I wonder if I am going to receive angry letters from the queer community about referencing the hypocritical/creepy nature of parc l'espoire or facting the HIVvy inappropriately. time will tell. I need to do a better job about the upcoming violence against Aboriginal women in Canada piece, which is coming up in two weeks. I also need to drop everything and finish application letters, fuck. Why do I want to be a journalist again?

---- tears

I have spent the last two days crying & should probably just admit that it happened.

I'm sure you know how these things work: there is just that one, little, pathetic thing that finally sets it all off, but once it's off, you couldn't stop it if you tried.

When it happened, I left, turned round the corner and openly bawled in the streets.

I howled with the dogs in the parc, sobbed in the Dep (poor Dep guy), sniffled sitting on winding stairs—BAWLED. Once collecting the sobs into intervals laced with breath, I somehow summoned myself to face the party inside, which was followed by a b-line maneuver into to a shower to cry further as the scorching water hit reddening skin, to my room, to hide away, to cry while people danced in my kitchen. ha!

It feels good now that it's out. I believe we humans can only deflect so much for so long before we cash out.

LOCO (emo)

Brome Sweet Brome

I have alternate titles. many others. they were rambled and recorded while being incredibly early and baking under autumn sun on the side of a highway. standing in dusty gravel with my bike in a bag to the left of me, I listed them off one by one, laughing into the little recorder: Brome Sweet Brome. Bromeance. Beauty and the Brome. When in Brome...

The wind, cars rolling by and other psychedelic effects are completely audible and saved to an MP3, which means that journalism is still looking a lot like Hunter S. these days. Before that really begins, I took off for a couple of blissful days with bests. The agrestic charms of the Eastern townships are beyond my ability to describe so a list shall have to suffice: piled rocks, glass windows, cut lawns, rolling greens, apple trees, cow eyes, rows of corn, (comfort) creeks, quiet nights, clear stars and wallpaper to die for. Brome. Brome. Brome. It felt like home.






what walk?












This stream right here is perfect. The tumbling water, the cascading white bubbles, the fish in the brook, the layered rocks, the freshness and surge of coolness on feet. I love this creek; it told me some secrets about the future and broke my heart with stories of the past. Some tears may have slipped into that creek, before being taken up in strong brown arms, but even this was good.





"soft & hard & cold & comfortable"
vs. "little and beautiful"




okay, THIS is where it all got freaky-deaky. Before our epic 10k walk, we passed a little store in town called 'Grandpa... il était une fois' It was this amazing vintage place where I scored some gem leather sandals and this shirt dress, which matched literally every last pattern in the cabin. I spent the entire night camouflaging my way into curtains, throws and wallpapers, laughing like a madwoman. It worked with EVERYTHING. It even matched the rocks...








Right?? Maybe you had to be there...
SO Brome!
LOCO