flashforward now.

lovesideways @ 2003-11-14T10:27:00

2003-11-14T18:51:48Z

it's been days, weeks but i still come back to this, i have raspberry tea next to me on the table, bright red liquid sharp contrast with cold white glass and it's the way i imagine the porcelain in the bathtub would look after hours of still blood dripping out of my veins and into the warm water. and i guess i'm supposed to tell you you're wrong about all of this, that it's inappropriate and probably life consuming - older men shouldn't leave their wives for a weekend of fucking one nineteen year old girl, i would rather it be illicit, stolen hours in a rented room or slipping away for half an hour in the back corner of the woman's bathroom, me spread on the top part of a toilet seat and cold wall up against my back. i want to be every cliche with satin sheets and strawberries in the morning, i'll settle for dirty motel rooms and smoke dripping off the walls.

you say you're in love and that makes me want to scream. you haven't been able to stop thinking about me and you're ready to drop everything just for one night one week one year forever. i don't love you, i don't i don't. but it's been so long and i can't stomach casual encounters and it's selfish but five years of only making love makes me itchy and restless. i'm taking steps in being bold and careless and strong but i'm still being held back. i made a rule 8 months ago that i would only sleep with boys who say 'i love you' because it's easier for me to be the one that doesn't care.

lovesideways @ 2003-10-22T03:13:00

2003-10-22T10:22:38Z

and i lost a friend today and it makes me ...

because i think about you and all of those memories - friday nights and creeping into the house, bare feet careful not to touch the lone creaking floorboard and sweet surrender into the tiny bedroom and somehow somewhere finally into your arms. a single bed with four lamps and clitter clatter ceiling fan, sixteen cigarettes, one for every month that went by. the record would spin and i would stare and cry and write and scream - the things you would say at four am and the way every word filled me up when i thought i was drowning and sinking and gone.

because it hasn't been long enough that i can really say that i understand, because in the distance there are flashing lights and red and white, little drips of reality flow into my veins like hospital equiptment tacked into my arm, cold steel and poison that's sweet and falling apart into misery. i miss you, i love you. please come back and tell me this isn't real, that tomorrow will be business as usual and even right now i can picture you in my head, dirty face and bad habits, are you or aren't you? falling in love but only in mono, fingers trailing along soundboards and shiny wood on a guitar.

i hope you're ok now.

lovesideways @ 2003-10-16T11:22:00

2003-10-16T18:22:33Z

i keep coming back and forth, falling in love with you even though it hasn't been long enough and even though this is all just a game. last night, you put my hand on your chest, casually, no, scratch that, you are so serious sometimes that it makes me weak. you look at me with your pupils naturally dialated and eyes huge and green, your mouth soft and your lips softer, this city is a mess with it's eye candy and plastic people and you and i sit behind the dj booth during those long club nights and we hold hands and talk and ignore the world that's falling apart around us. prisoners trapped between promotion and flashing lights, i'd rather stay alone with you in a warm bed with trip hop and candles.

i want it to be tomorrow, next week, i want to quit this day job, i want to get back on the road. i want you to sign that record deal, i want to hurry up and turn on the radio to hear something familiar and not any more of this garbage. i want us to fly and move and travel and it's so close to happening, i can taste it in the rain when we're kissing late at night.

lovesideways @ 2003-10-05T13:33:00

2003-10-05T20:36:05Z

and actually, i was really hurt when you said no.

lovesideways @ 2003-10-03T01:26:00

2003-10-03T08:32:10Z

i was never the kid everyone teased in high school and i feel like a fraud in this new generation of 'scene', all the outcasts that suddenly became beautiful and i want to tear apart their magazines and crush their cigarettes with anger and resentment. what am i doing here? i never lay in my bedroom with hardcore music blaring and seething hatred at the rest of the world, why do you feel like you need to prove something? yesterday i opened up my bag of winter clothes and picked apart three scarves, blue, orange, pink and green. my best friend asks me questions about the past & present, i tell him our friendship means more than silly histories and falling in love. the truth.

lovesideways @ 2003-09-29T03:52:00

2003-09-29T10:57:31Z

thinking about the rest of our lives and canada and the world, i like this country with open skies and friendly people, i love coming back from long trips and i miss walking into the house with you, fumbling with clanking metal keys and laughing about termites and water damage, pretending that we own the place when really, it's just a rental for five weeks.

sometimes i want every day to be an endless pop hook, i want every dream to be about the road and those tiny bathrooms at the back of the bus - i like the idea of four and a half meals a day only consisting of junk food and soda pop like the americans and actually, i hate everything else, i hate everyone but you.

lovesideways @ 2003-09-26T03:14:00

2003-09-26T10:24:48Z

sometimes it's disgusting hot lust and violence, angry spur of the moment words on paper fifteen days too late, blood and sharp fingernails, teeth scraping down the side of your face and breaking kisses only to scream out obscenities and "i fucking hate you i fucking hate you", on and on, shouting vulgarities i didn't know were in my head and thump thump thump because my fists are pounding into your back. terror mistaken for passion and my legs around your waist and fucking fucking fucking like you're going to explode and i'm going to split apart and it doesn't matter what i think you want, thirteen twelve eleven ten and it doesn't matter it doesn't matter, age of consent is twelve eleven ten keep repeating because it sounds better every time. i can see single drops of sweat off your forhead and each one stabs deep into my eyes, blinded momentarily with salty liquid and my own experiences feeding into my brain.

afterwards i'm crying and you say there was a real connection, real love and we should be married, we should be together in that old house down on sixth street, like last night and the night before except it was different then because i wouldn't fuck you and now i have. age of consent is eleven ten night eight seven six five four three two one hate you fucking fucking fucking. age of consent is fourteen in america.

lovesideways @ 2003-09-25T14:06:00

2003-09-25T21:04:37Z

little secrets, time machine signals and oh, fate! certain movies playing on the airplane, five seconds after i've finished writing your name eight hundred times, not in ink because it's too permanent but with my fingers against the soft leather seats. posters and promotion walking down the street during the afternoon and late at night, on my way home i walk by crowded bars and i see you inside, onstage, alive. i like running into you at random places like the train platform or from parallel cabs, i pretend not to know you and later we laugh about it like it was all a big joke.

lovesideways @ 2003-09-21T17:25:00

2003-09-21T08:26:46Z

because you're loveless and tired and backwards and i'm alive, globe trot all over six continents and swimming in oceans and feeling brand new. video shots of me + you equals life and death and dramatics and these new excuses and picking up and dropping doesn't make any sense, my paragraphs are broken up, sometimes i write and then cut and paste so nothing is sensical, you're reading this and pretending not to and don't think i dont' know, i'm only letting you because i've got nowhere else to go. airplanes and pretty girls and small children manipulating large vehicles, black and white and that new mod couch, crowded smoke filled bars with teenage boys fucking in the bathroom and sweaty vinyl dripping into my eyes and ears and lips and tongue. underage jail bait dirty ballads used condoms falling in love nothing everything you and me we're dropping out.

pretending to be dead, pretending to be alive. it doesn't matter anymore, don't you see?

lovesideways @ 2003-09-15T18:21:00

2003-09-16T09:21:56Z

i'm trying really hard to be in love in love with you, i'm trying to remember lips and skin and the last time i woke up with our hair tangled and kneecaps touching, five weeks, thirty days, eight years? i don't know anymore, i go to different cities and wander hotel gift shops and trail my fingers down silk and steel, i don't know what i'm looking for but it's inside and outside and yellow and pink and green and blue. sometimes i find a family of pay phones, the warm plastic with bright letters and the foreign words telling me to insert the proper coin value, i don't know the currency anymore because it changes every week. whirling the telephone wire between my fingers and across my face and pressing the silver buttons reminds me of video games and grey and red old school game boy. bleeps and bloops make me think of your eyes. game over makes me remember your smile. these days, the post man is my best friend, he speaks volumes to me and every morning at eleven am arrives shining in blue armour with parcels wrapped in brown paper and dirty white string, just like fifteen years ago because that's what's hip now. letters and packages are piling up against the kitchen sink, i don't open the envelopes because i can't stand to read what's written inside. i miss you.

lovesideways @ 2003-09-14T20:47:00

2003-09-14T11:52:15Z

because actually, i think i love you i think we're perfect like childhood romance stories where the boy always gets the girl and they live happily ever after. distance and countries and time and currency, fifteen barriers and london bridge is falling down. the walls are up and sky scraper high, fear and loathing and you make sure i know who you're going home with, you want me to know that you've got her spread and you're fucking and i'm not and it's good and you're not.

fine.

lovesideways @ 2003-09-05T01:24:00

2003-09-05T08:28:03Z

double rye and cokes, airline hospitality and the stewardness in first class, she wants to know your name. slight turbulence, scribbled letters on motion sickness paper bags and those crowded bathrooms, confined space thousands of feet high in the air. sometimes i think that this lifetime is infinite, precious moments that spin and drop up and down forever, like stars at three in the morning, two hours later and the sun about to rise.

i don't know what this means anymore.

lovesideways @ 2003-09-04T14:44:00

2003-09-04T21:47:13Z

i used to think that love was violence, passion, blood red, black eyes. surely anything calm & pretty signified indifference and irrelevance and sometimes i was sure that the harder you fucked me, the more you would need me. in some ways, i was right.

these days it's lonely, walking into my tiny bedroom with the big windows and a strange city beneath, i wonder what you're thinking about, what stage you're on, what girl you're with, are you happy in the mornings, do you still draw in the alleyways?

lovesideways @ 2003-09-04T01:34:00

2003-09-04T08:39:20Z

because we're both trying to start our own revolutions, tiny bits of philosophy and truth, maybe a new religion, maybe it's all just everything and blank. our latest project is a single yellow notebook, four different continents and words scribbled in, a paragraph at a time. i write eighteen sentences right before the plane takes off and express mail the day later has you drawing diagrams of love on the already worn pages.

a new experiment in living, i call you from different airports and i ask you what time it is, do you lock the doors at night? our conversations are sneaky, clandestine romance dripping off every syllable. i'm tired of the road already, i don't want this life.

writing is energy, i cleared out the reading list because it felt so incestuous, i'm back again and i feel like experimenting.

lovesideways @ 2003-09-02T03:19:00

2003-09-02T10:21:43Z

everybody already knows what you're going to say.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-24T23:14:00

2003-08-25T06:19:54Z

we're at a standstill, you & i. laying on the floor with cigarette smoke floating over my face and it doesn't even matter, i write write write incessantly about love and hate and every other human emotion and it doesn't even mean anything, it's just letters words ink screen typeface, you don't know what's real and neither do i.

and when you don't call for three days in a row, it makes me like you more than i should and when i ignore you completely it makes you crazy, violent, up against a wall with my thighs wrapped around your waist and up and down and everything comes tumbling out, punishment in the form of physical release and it just keeps on going until we both collapse, exhausted from five point eight minutes of real honesty.

i like how certain words taste on my tongue.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-21T12:08:00

2003-08-21T19:08:59Z

+/-
i have stopovers at three different airports, two continents and yes, i've memorized the country codes, i'm tired and it's jet lag, i've got you in my radar and i wonder what you do when i'm away for weeks at a time. i wonder if you're still awake when i'm not in our bed, if you're thinking about me and missing my scent and it doesn't even matter, this is the here and now and i won't change.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-19T12:51:00

2003-08-19T19:56:45Z

because you're so vague and i'm so tired, i'm bursting with everything and my insides are leaking out, onto the bed and on the floor, dripping and slick and red and white, light pink like the soft part of my brain or maybe just tanned and golden, the colour of my skin because i spend all day in the sun. my heart is about to explode, i can't explain but it's all just so much, like not being able to breathe or think or move or feel, fifteen minutes of gasping and stuttering and then an endless eternity of black silent bliss. death by asphyxiation, death by chocolate or love or drama or pain - people like you & me, we're just not meant for this life.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-18T01:17:00

2003-08-18T08:26:14Z

we take tabs of ecstasy and swirl them on our tongues, wash them down with malt liquor and laugh for hours because it's all so highschool, we're fifteen years old again and everything is passé, we're floating flying the world is noisy, our lives are at crossroads, our hands can't stop moving. in amd out and around and behind, grey sweatshirts and five in the morning, laying in bed and whispering secrets, change of location and each sentence trails off, endless, abrupt, words don't mean anything.

we sit on the beach for six hours tonight, half a cigarette each because we're both trying to quit, we don't have any willpower, it's always we we we. watching the water and the pacific ocean looks never ending, until the sky starts to fade and everything suddenly becomes darker and deep blue like your eyes, almost rain and we watch the sun set, we dig our feet into the sand and i wonder what the city would look like with no electricity and only the moonlight dancing shadows across the streets.

i wonder who else is feeling what i'm feeling. i want the whole world to be in synch, dancing and screaming until our lungs are weak open tatters of blood and guts and everything else. i want it to be tomorrow next week five years from now, i want to be eighty five years old when there's finally nothing else we need to say. round and round lets not stop moving.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-15T14:48:00

2003-08-15T21:45:56Z

happiness is onstage, drunk and stoned with your best friends stumbling with cheap beer and empty pitchers flailing all around the room. a mess of microphones and dirty jeans and an off the shoulder hot pink shirt, david bowie & queen helping you belt out 'under pressure' and when that last chorus comes around, all you can do is scream out the words and hope for the best. that's infinite, that's happiness, that's everythig, what's yours?

lovesideways @ 2003-08-14T01:20:00

2003-08-14T08:23:58Z

it's familiar, brand new, something out of those children's books, love sideways, upside down, the title track the latest single off a played out record coming out this fall [knock on wood.] i'm falling upwards spiraling naked, hustling for cheap tricks and tumbling down plastic slides metal swings, singing, screaming, alive & well. i don't care what you think or do, minus slick poetry, plus scatterbrained five line four chord lyrics and excuse the poor structure but these days i'm flying empty fantastic exploding finished.

kissing, hot tongue, playgrounds and children, people in love.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-12T12:05:00

2003-08-12T19:15:03Z

001. i wish i didn't hate you, i wish i was happy. sometimes i think that i'm never going to get out of here, locked in this room & suffocating choking on my own words and thoughts. an excess of drama and guilty feelings. i have the mental capacity of an eight year old, i wish i could still have birthday parties and favour bags instead of this, grey and drab. i think i would like a vacation. i think we should run away together.

002. i like reading about drug induced passion and light forms of schizophrenia. i don't want to be involved but the disease is fascinating, i also think i'd like to watch an OCD patient fall away into nothing, lather, rinse, repeat and on and on and on. when i was thirteen, i was obsessed with psycho-analysis, i liked to self medicate. three years later and a steady diet of pills, five years later and i consider myself 'cured'.

003. beauty is nothing. east hastings late at night, a wrong turn and in the zoo. hooligans, crimminals, the streets are full of heroin addicts and five dollar hookers. walking past in expensive jeans and a prada bag, styled hair and i heard someone whisper at me "that girl looks clean." i smoked cigarettes and didn't make eye contact. hailed a cab after i passed the seventh dealer.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-10T23:16:00

2003-08-11T06:21:33Z

i want to write about you, sit down in front of you and make you pour your stories out, on my lap into my hair down my chest in my stomach. because i know you used to hold her down, twist and squirm and god, the power. falling asleep in dangerous company, stealthy hands and fingers prying, you're the king of the world and five ten years later you still relish every memory - don't pretend that you've got a hard on over me, i know your fantasies and you avoid my eyes when i'm burning into you. i should feel sick and i do i try. you told me too soon too late.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-10T16:34:00

2003-08-10T23:39:21Z

leonard cohen writes:
"... i am frightened and alone. i lit one of the snakes. from the little cone a writhing ribbon of gray ash bubbled in coils on a corner of the yellow table until all the cone was consumed in it's own extension - a hideous little pile of skin, gray and black like a blob of birdshit squeezed like icing. carcasses! carcasses! i want to swallow dynamite." - chapter 22, beautiful losers.

i woke up this morning and i didn't care, not about anything. lazing about the house, bare feet on hardwood floors and ignoring the sounds coming from upstairs and downstairs, nothing else is important. i purposely avoid your eyes and your smile, faltering only for a few seconds and then back to my normal self. it's like being on the very edge of the world, back so many centuries ago when the world was still flat and you could fall into space, i like the idea of tumbling endlessly into black.

lovesideways @ 2003-08-10T01:08:00

2003-08-10T08:15:05Z

i'm sick of trying to fake this obsession, holding hands and i'm dodging your lips and your tongue and god, your hips are beautiful, flamenco rythms and smooth and slim, an artfag's dream and in the form of a fifteen year old, are you really in your twenties? full room, sweaty and hot, i try and lose you in the crowd, your arm around me and i fuck every other boy with my eyes, in the bathroom, straightening my skirt smoothing my hair before coming back to the table. it's a new challenge and you've got no idea at all and yesterday you called me, the day before and five years ago too and i'm just disappointed lately, i'm just tired of showing up on rooftops on doorsteps, i like your collarbone and the way my head rests against your chest but i hate your smell, i don't want to be protected.

i have a new idea and lets splash our heartbreak on the front page of every newspaper, every indie zine or even on glossy pages, kids eat every word up, fifteen dollar magazines imported from here and there and there oh, the editorials, your face splashed pale and bold, my eyes cheap and our fingers entwined, the topic of discussion over ten dollar pitchers of watered down beer. tired.