Time to add noisylights to your friends list.
Every so often, I need to switch things up a little.

I jumped on Erin's bandwagon and made a photoblog!

I am going to try to take a picture a day. At least, approximately.
Get my money's worth of my fancy Olympus cammy.
So everyone add noisylights for some artsy stuff, blog-style.

(xiv) why I hate february

my secret. stiff straight backs around a square table. four. an empty chair. twenty-odd years. apologies. denial, confusion, nightmares. for weeks for weeks for weeks. and everything falls into place. her blank eyes, my blank mind, my heart an empty room. I bet his face is just like mine. writing letter after letter to him. no address. no name. just love, love, love with nowhere to send it. letting in, breathing out. a dark dirt road, slush and snow, swingset. a bed heavy with liquor, my sleepy confession. a car in a driveway, I want to hold your hand. I want to tell you everything. I want you to make february warmer.


(xv) the butterflies have migrated

for the moment we are
nothing more than actors
hand in hand and we
throw our voices out
as far as they can go
farther than our
eyes can see
I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I can't breathe.


(xvi) toronto song

I am listening to charming songs
and your heart is steadily beating along
through your sweater
and the city scent,
warm right to the
white of my bones.
I might be falling but I am not sure.
tell me all of your secrets,
tell me with song,
with pretty poetry,
with sticky flowers,
hot sand, dry leaves.
I will cover you in coffee kisses,
fill you up with air and raging
butterflies.
I'm going to stay if you want me to.
if I'm shining, it's all for you.

(xii) marie antoinette
(or, what I learned from the french revolution)

knowing everything you know
about loneliness
& happiness
& smiling beautifully,
what else
but bravery
could be left in the end?
bonaparte died of heartbreak
as the dauphin before his queen.


(xiii) act 3, scene ii
(or, keep the car running)

and so you find yourself at the water's edge, frozen up shut, and all you can feel is sorry for the fish and cold in your old shoes. you woke up this morning and it felt like a beginning. you cried all the old out, cried your broken heart out, the keys in the ignition knew where to take you so here you are. covered in fog, shivering, shy in your sweater, the world eerie beautiful with its blurred edges and softened lines. this is the view from your old bedroom window. now no where feels like home. how many promises are made in a day to ourselves, how many lies are repeated to keep ourselves sane? how many times did you repeat his name in your head, struggling to make him feel real again? space and time are everything. today is the day the world surrenders denial. today is the day the world opens its clenched fists and says, I never promised you anything.

(x) it is nine o'clock & I'm speechless

I might not be the best idea
but how could I argue
with a
desperate left turn
when you seemed
so
certain?
I can't ignore
the warmth of your skin
compared to mine;
my pallor,
your smile.


(xi) my sincerest apologies to the liberal party of canada

j'espère que tu me garderas proche à ton coeur et a ton esprit car ce mois avait toujours l'intention à briser les miens. la froideur la tristesse j'en ai eu assez. qu'est-ce que je voudrais sont des jolis mots des souhaites des embarassades une poche chaude pour mes mains froids. je ne veux pas de l'amour. j'en ai eu assez de cela.