May 08, 2008


not quite ready to talk about job news. all in good time.
have realized that clean breaks are impossible, and that for the most part, it's bad habits I need to break, not some ill defined aspects of my personality and identity. thus, changes are ongoing and it's important that I keep up the progress but it doesn't need to stress me right the fuck out.

resultantly, writing on skytrain again. snippets, mostly, in the moleskine that used to be denoted for marking up breakdowns. extracts follow:

...skytrains pair compression of distance with removal of personal space; windows ground passengers while reminding them of how far it actually is. add windows and suddenly everyone faces outwards (or steadfastly ignores them, to focus in, down, away. motion brings sickness, some times.) Been doing this so long that it's become prosaic.

  • passing over and by an elementary school; peer down to vignettes of playground life - swings, balls, pecularities: one boy bounces a ball across a netless but fenced court and across from pitcher stands another. he wields a hockey stick half again his height and swings a lumpy arc as a building passes between us and resolution never comes.
  • skytrain cops embark; doors slide shut behind them with a synchronicity that belies repetition and possibly weariness. Fares checked to find that everyone obeyed the law, today - are they relieved? Underutilized? Restless? Cop shows have taught us nothing, I think.
  • sidenote to above: utility belts aren't nearly as awesome when in the actual world.
  • argyle sweater, tortoiseshell wayfarers, selvage jeans (cuffed, possibly with a square), suede wallabees, and ipod touch. Two-day beard, slight frown (with the way the world is, or what shuffle hath wrought?). Torn, here; do I want to hit him, or hit that? I am a terrible person.
  • guy at door, and i want to make this about his shirt. four vertical panels one tequila/two/three/floor, each portraying an knockoff Speedy Gonzales, prompting me to think "wuss". More interesting is the wearer than the item, though. Sunworn creases and careful goatee; chin up and eyes down as he looks out the window - sunset over the industrial zone between downtown and northeast vancouver. Grimaces as we slide into a station, shape of his shoulders suggesting a prior trespass, and as the doors whir open he casts another tentative glance and steps out. Paths here aren't crossed as much as they're tangents. Transit turns us all into loops.

It feels overwrought, more than a little clumsy and with a tendency to repeat tone and form. At the same time, it feels really good to be putting things out again. T-Shirts remain the final frontier; I think I can hack having an Exacto knife handy at all times, now, so I think it's time to make the shirts I have promised so many for so long.
last thing: this muxtape thing is some fun. I am (obviously) here:

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