Sometimes life is about being quiet.
And sometimes, life is about being loud. About being so loud that the blood rushes through your ears, it drowns out everything and anyone who tells you to stop. It's about taking control and abandoning yourself and everything you ever knew. It's falling flat face first, it's jumping higher and breathing deeper and screaming at the top of your lungs, exploding outward and expanding upward.
Sometimes, my life is about being loud.
And then afterward, I stay quiet a long time.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Twitter in Toronto
Okay...okay...so picture this. It is 11:45 at night in a humid, sticky Toronto night. I'm riding the metro, a packed car, surrounded by a hundred people in all their best party clothes, short skirts this, vests and ties that, looking for a night on the town, hitting up clubs and bars. There's me, book out, sketching out a scene and scribbling some dialogue, legs propped up on the seat in front of me.
I'm in a city of what, 4 million people? Totally alone. Nobody says hello, nobody says anything to anyone who isn't their friends. They don't even make eye contact when they jostle you, or step on your sandal feet, or when you hold the door open for em. Well maybe some of them do, but certainly not on a hopping saturday night in the core in Toronto, center of the goddamn universe.
I'm totally alone.
Headphones in, listening to a lonely guitar wailing on when my phone vibrates. You know, in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at it, and read your message. And at first I laugh. You're such a geek Nicole! You know how this twitter stuff works. Two years! I almost laugh out loud. Then I get to the end, your "I miss you."
Now I'm not saying I teared up. Maybe I blinked just a little too hard after that, but the whole weight of the world, of all the touring for the last two months, of all the big city this, wide open sky that, near misses with cabs and transit and everything else later, well maybe I just blinked a little too hard right then. And anyway this girl glances at me, and is like
"Hey? Are you alright?"
I look up, pull my headphones out, "Me?"
"Yeah, are you...?" She gestures to her eyes, and I take a quick swipe at what is sweat, really, because it's super hot all week here, and it rained this afternoon and I'm sticky, and gross, and yeah.
"Yeah I'm good, I'm good."
Then she points, this girl, like mid twenties, at my cell phone still out. "She must be someone special."
"Yeah, she's my friend, two thousand klicks away." I hesitate then, and there's a lump in my throat. And then, in the midst of all this stage managing, and all this 'art' and all these people...the first really true thing out of my mouth today. "I miss her too."
"Oh yeah?" The girl smiles, then puts her headphones back in. "You should tell her so."
So yeah. Yeah.
I'm in a city of what, 4 million people? Totally alone. Nobody says hello, nobody says anything to anyone who isn't their friends. They don't even make eye contact when they jostle you, or step on your sandal feet, or when you hold the door open for em. Well maybe some of them do, but certainly not on a hopping saturday night in the core in Toronto, center of the goddamn universe.
I'm totally alone.
Headphones in, listening to a lonely guitar wailing on when my phone vibrates. You know, in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at it, and read your message. And at first I laugh. You're such a geek Nicole! You know how this twitter stuff works. Two years! I almost laugh out loud. Then I get to the end, your "I miss you."
Now I'm not saying I teared up. Maybe I blinked just a little too hard after that, but the whole weight of the world, of all the touring for the last two months, of all the big city this, wide open sky that, near misses with cabs and transit and everything else later, well maybe I just blinked a little too hard right then. And anyway this girl glances at me, and is like
"Hey? Are you alright?"
I look up, pull my headphones out, "Me?"
"Yeah, are you...?" She gestures to her eyes, and I take a quick swipe at what is sweat, really, because it's super hot all week here, and it rained this afternoon and I'm sticky, and gross, and yeah.
"Yeah I'm good, I'm good."
Then she points, this girl, like mid twenties, at my cell phone still out. "She must be someone special."
"Yeah, she's my friend, two thousand klicks away." I hesitate then, and there's a lump in my throat. And then, in the midst of all this stage managing, and all this 'art' and all these people...the first really true thing out of my mouth today. "I miss her too."
"Oh yeah?" The girl smiles, then puts her headphones back in. "You should tell her so."
So yeah. Yeah.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day
She grimaced for a second, and he pretended not to notice. It was easier that way, simpler. If you pretended not to notice, then you didn't have to bring it up. If you didn't have to bring it up, then you didn't have to have a long and awkward stammering discussion about it. It was easier that way, simpler.
It was a cold, grey day. And for a moment, he closed his eyes, taking it in. If he forced himself to, he almost believed for a second being in a different time and place. And not at this precipice moment alongside her. She was silent, and for that he was thankful. Had been silent the entire journey, as though the weight of the things that had to be said were a collar around both her neck...and his.
How long they stood there, together and apart looking out he could not say. Finally she reached over to him. She took his hand in both of hers, seeking...holding. He felt her squeeze softly, it was a question there, unspoken. He could not muster the response. His hands were neither clammy nor dry, as though they were not his hands at all entirely, but the hands of another man in his place. He wanted to open his eyes, he knew she wanted reassurance, but he had none to give. She gave up after a breath, her hand slipped from his, and the sound of rock beneath her boots announced her retreat.
Still he felt nothing. His heart was heavy, laden with unspoken thoughts. His mind was still sifting and sorting through all the possibilities, each one more indistinct than the last. Finally he opened his eyes, having searched and come up with nothing. And he discovered his cheeks were wet with tears. When they had happened, there was no memory of it. But still the dampness crept down his face, unbidden, but for once, not shameful.
A crack of thunder made him finally look up, a long way off a storm brewed. It seemed a fitting thing. Finally he knelt, and lay the small bundle of wildflowers atop the shrine. They were fresh, hand picked that morning. She returned to him, sword and belt in hand, it was time, and there was no more for it. He took it and bade her go with a hand gesture, seeking one final moment of silence before the coming night.
"Goodbye," and then, "Happy Mother's day."
And then he strode away into the dusk, leaving behind only a memory of tears.
It was a cold, grey day. And for a moment, he closed his eyes, taking it in. If he forced himself to, he almost believed for a second being in a different time and place. And not at this precipice moment alongside her. She was silent, and for that he was thankful. Had been silent the entire journey, as though the weight of the things that had to be said were a collar around both her neck...and his.
How long they stood there, together and apart looking out he could not say. Finally she reached over to him. She took his hand in both of hers, seeking...holding. He felt her squeeze softly, it was a question there, unspoken. He could not muster the response. His hands were neither clammy nor dry, as though they were not his hands at all entirely, but the hands of another man in his place. He wanted to open his eyes, he knew she wanted reassurance, but he had none to give. She gave up after a breath, her hand slipped from his, and the sound of rock beneath her boots announced her retreat.
Still he felt nothing. His heart was heavy, laden with unspoken thoughts. His mind was still sifting and sorting through all the possibilities, each one more indistinct than the last. Finally he opened his eyes, having searched and come up with nothing. And he discovered his cheeks were wet with tears. When they had happened, there was no memory of it. But still the dampness crept down his face, unbidden, but for once, not shameful.
A crack of thunder made him finally look up, a long way off a storm brewed. It seemed a fitting thing. Finally he knelt, and lay the small bundle of wildflowers atop the shrine. They were fresh, hand picked that morning. She returned to him, sword and belt in hand, it was time, and there was no more for it. He took it and bade her go with a hand gesture, seeking one final moment of silence before the coming night.
"Goodbye," and then, "Happy Mother's day."
And then he strode away into the dusk, leaving behind only a memory of tears.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Constant Satellite
He traces a finger long up and down the ivory, the moment of artistry must speak for itself, must be given the time to uncoil and make beautiful it's own moment in time and place. It must be given space to have life, that it lives with honesty and integrity forever.
He sits at the bench, one foot tests the pedals that he knows so well, and still his fingers run up and down the keys. The moment comes.
A flash, and he hears emotion, it sends shivers down the spine, it pulls his index finger to the starting place. His eyes close, and his head tilts ever so minutely.
The first note, the second, clear as a bell. His left hand rests, and then begins to play as well. He sees nothing and everything at once, from behind closed lids.
A whisper...and the words come in a dream.
hey love
is that the name you're meant to have
for me to call
look love
they've given up believing
they've turned aside our stories of the gentle fall
but don't you believe them
don't you drink their poison too
these are the scars that words have carved
on me
hey love
that's the name we've long held back
from the core of truth
so don't turn away now
I am turning in revolution
these are the scars that silence carved
on me
this is the same place
no not the same place
this is the same place, love
no not the same place we've been before
He pauses, hesitates, the music consumes him, burning up and his voice chokes. He is the canvas now, and the music spiraling around the room is his paint, beautiful, distinct. It rings from every surface, it lifts and takes hold of its listeners. His eyes open, and he is far away, with fingers still dancing, with music and song spilling from his mouth, but what he sees, they cannot profess to know.
For a second, a glimmer, an instant that transposes forever, she sees a tear at the corner of his mind's eye.
hey love
I am a constant satellite
of your blazing sun
my love
I obey your law of gravity
this is the fate you've carved on me
He closes his eyes, and as the piano goes silent, and the music dies, the applause takes over. The words and talking, "where did you learn..." "...what song is" "how did you?"
He rises, and as a shadow disappears. But shadows have memories, and he can't get the image of her out of his mind.
Hey love,
I am a constant satellite.
He sits at the bench, one foot tests the pedals that he knows so well, and still his fingers run up and down the keys. The moment comes.
A flash, and he hears emotion, it sends shivers down the spine, it pulls his index finger to the starting place. His eyes close, and his head tilts ever so minutely.
The first note, the second, clear as a bell. His left hand rests, and then begins to play as well. He sees nothing and everything at once, from behind closed lids.
A whisper...and the words come in a dream.
hey love
is that the name you're meant to have
for me to call
look love
they've given up believing
they've turned aside our stories of the gentle fall
but don't you believe them
don't you drink their poison too
these are the scars that words have carved
on me
hey love
that's the name we've long held back
from the core of truth
so don't turn away now
I am turning in revolution
these are the scars that silence carved
on me
this is the same place
no not the same place
this is the same place, love
no not the same place we've been before
He pauses, hesitates, the music consumes him, burning up and his voice chokes. He is the canvas now, and the music spiraling around the room is his paint, beautiful, distinct. It rings from every surface, it lifts and takes hold of its listeners. His eyes open, and he is far away, with fingers still dancing, with music and song spilling from his mouth, but what he sees, they cannot profess to know.
For a second, a glimmer, an instant that transposes forever, she sees a tear at the corner of his mind's eye.
hey love
I am a constant satellite
of your blazing sun
my love
I obey your law of gravity
this is the fate you've carved on me
He closes his eyes, and as the piano goes silent, and the music dies, the applause takes over. The words and talking, "where did you learn..." "...what song is" "how did you?"
He rises, and as a shadow disappears. But shadows have memories, and he can't get the image of her out of his mind.
Hey love,
I am a constant satellite.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Sunshine of the Spotless
"This is it Joel...it's gonna be gone soon."
"I know..." The words spill out of my mouth, I want to say I don't know what I'm saying. All my life, I've been the fumbling kid who daydreams in the books and talks only when necessary, a titch too loud, and with just enough silence to cover that he doesn't know what he's doing. Holding on to moments, that may or may not have been. As though what could've been and my memory have mixed themselves up.
"What are we gonna do?" She looks at me, she watches me. There's something different in the way she see's me, something idealized, and I know distinctly that this isn't really her, it's what I want her to be. But that's not really true. She's everything.
"Enjoy it, and say goodbye." We run...along the side of the beach. Moments I remember, fading slowly, drifting away like ashes on the wind. We relive these memories, until...
"What if you stayed?" Her voice drifts out through the house. It calls me back, and I don't remember it.
"How? I'm already out the door?" I want her to be rational, in the midst of nothing making sense, and I realize how foolish I have to sound at this moment.
"Can you come back? Can we have a good-bye at least? Let's pretend we had one." She appears at the top of the stairs, warm eyes behind a sheen of tears. I want to hold on...I want to clutch the moments tight in my fingers, and never let them go. I want a lot of things, a lot more things than I or anyone should deserve. She walks down the stairs. Across the memories falling like broken glass and takes my fingers in her warm touch. "Bye Joel."
"I...love you." And it's gone, all I see are flickering lights, tearing past a glittering night car-ride. I want to hold on to the memory, I want it to stay in my head, burn it forever into my brain, a moment, a second, even a hesitation and it's gone. And it disappears, and I can't even pull her name up. Can't even remember if I loved her or not, or who she is. Moments lost.
The blur becomes a pain in my heart, a wrenching without knowing why.
"I saw you talking to someone pretty!"
Was I?
"Yeah man, who was that?"
She was. "She was..." She was. I don't. Know. "...just a girl."
And it's gone.
"I know..." The words spill out of my mouth, I want to say I don't know what I'm saying. All my life, I've been the fumbling kid who daydreams in the books and talks only when necessary, a titch too loud, and with just enough silence to cover that he doesn't know what he's doing. Holding on to moments, that may or may not have been. As though what could've been and my memory have mixed themselves up.
"What are we gonna do?" She looks at me, she watches me. There's something different in the way she see's me, something idealized, and I know distinctly that this isn't really her, it's what I want her to be. But that's not really true. She's everything.
"Enjoy it, and say goodbye." We run...along the side of the beach. Moments I remember, fading slowly, drifting away like ashes on the wind. We relive these memories, until...
"What if you stayed?" Her voice drifts out through the house. It calls me back, and I don't remember it.
"How? I'm already out the door?" I want her to be rational, in the midst of nothing making sense, and I realize how foolish I have to sound at this moment.
"Can you come back? Can we have a good-bye at least? Let's pretend we had one." She appears at the top of the stairs, warm eyes behind a sheen of tears. I want to hold on...I want to clutch the moments tight in my fingers, and never let them go. I want a lot of things, a lot more things than I or anyone should deserve. She walks down the stairs. Across the memories falling like broken glass and takes my fingers in her warm touch. "Bye Joel."
"I...love you." And it's gone, all I see are flickering lights, tearing past a glittering night car-ride. I want to hold on to the memory, I want it to stay in my head, burn it forever into my brain, a moment, a second, even a hesitation and it's gone. And it disappears, and I can't even pull her name up. Can't even remember if I loved her or not, or who she is. Moments lost.
The blur becomes a pain in my heart, a wrenching without knowing why.
"I saw you talking to someone pretty!"
Was I?
"Yeah man, who was that?"
She was. "She was..." She was. I don't. Know. "...just a girl."
And it's gone.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Motion Above
I'm restless. Knew that all day. Packing life into boxes, trinkets here, trinkets there. Pages of text, carefully sorted away, tucked away and archived. Things I'll never look at again until the next time I move. It's an existence where I can get through an entire day without speaking a word sometimes, left to my own devices, in the solitude of my own mind.
My feet carry me before I know where I am, and I'm surrounded by trees, music between my ears, a pen and paper. I'm walking, without knowing why. My feet carry me onto the bridge, and the roar of cars does nothing to dampen the noise of murmurs in my mind. Up and down, once more, across the bridge, restless, pacing over a kilometre. An old man jogging laps back and forth, a girl with red top who is rollerblading, and a boy on a bicycle that looks at me strangely. I imagine that lost in my own thoughts, I must make for a strange sight. I stop halfway down the bridge, and on an impulse lean on the fence. Their existence falls away.
The sun is already dropped below the horizon, and splashes of red are disappearing into the dark. On an impulse, I've already pulled myself up the guard-rail and am sitting above a sheer drop of a 100 feet above the river. Why? Why not. I think for a moment that I might even stand, staring out over the water and the green and the blue.
I'm not suicidal, I'm just looking to fly.
Hello up there.
The girl in the red top with rollerblades. She pulls up alongside me.
Hello down there.
You're not...thinking of jumping are you?
Am I? No I don't think so.
No.
Then what are you doing?
What am I doing?
I just came to get a little...a little perspective.
Ah. Aren't you, you know, afraid you might get knocked? Or lose your balance?
I'm alright with that.
Oh. I'm Rachel.
I'm Lester. How do you do?
I guess I'm good, I was just curious about you.
I would be curious about me too.
What do you mean?
I have no idea how I got here.
Oh. Are you drunk? Or high?
No. I'm just...thinking.
Oh. What are you listening to?
This? Just sort of a post-rock band. You?
I'm listening to Matthew good. What's post-rock?
Sort of futuristic rock music, usually without lyrics. It's like having a movie score in the background.
I see. Hold on a second.
And just like that, she pulls her self up to straddle the fence next to me.
I'd ask if you feel safe doing that in rollerblades, but it's something of a moot point isn't it?
Hah, too late I guess hey?
Yup.
And we sit like that for a long time, and I listen to my post-rock music, while we watch the color bleed from the open sky.
My feet carry me before I know where I am, and I'm surrounded by trees, music between my ears, a pen and paper. I'm walking, without knowing why. My feet carry me onto the bridge, and the roar of cars does nothing to dampen the noise of murmurs in my mind. Up and down, once more, across the bridge, restless, pacing over a kilometre. An old man jogging laps back and forth, a girl with red top who is rollerblading, and a boy on a bicycle that looks at me strangely. I imagine that lost in my own thoughts, I must make for a strange sight. I stop halfway down the bridge, and on an impulse lean on the fence. Their existence falls away.
The sun is already dropped below the horizon, and splashes of red are disappearing into the dark. On an impulse, I've already pulled myself up the guard-rail and am sitting above a sheer drop of a 100 feet above the river. Why? Why not. I think for a moment that I might even stand, staring out over the water and the green and the blue.
I'm not suicidal, I'm just looking to fly.
Hello up there.
The girl in the red top with rollerblades. She pulls up alongside me.
Hello down there.
You're not...thinking of jumping are you?
Am I? No I don't think so.
No.
Then what are you doing?
What am I doing?
I just came to get a little...a little perspective.
Ah. Aren't you, you know, afraid you might get knocked? Or lose your balance?
I'm alright with that.
Oh. I'm Rachel.
I'm Lester. How do you do?
I guess I'm good, I was just curious about you.
I would be curious about me too.
What do you mean?
I have no idea how I got here.
Oh. Are you drunk? Or high?
No. I'm just...thinking.
Oh. What are you listening to?
This? Just sort of a post-rock band. You?
I'm listening to Matthew good. What's post-rock?
Sort of futuristic rock music, usually without lyrics. It's like having a movie score in the background.
I see. Hold on a second.
And just like that, she pulls her self up to straddle the fence next to me.
I'd ask if you feel safe doing that in rollerblades, but it's something of a moot point isn't it?
Hah, too late I guess hey?
Yup.
And we sit like that for a long time, and I listen to my post-rock music, while we watch the color bleed from the open sky.
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