Current Residence: Toronto
Favourite genre of music: Indie
Favourite photographer: John Argetsinger, Diane Arbus, Nina Reid
MP3 player of choice: Ipod
fair enough.fair enough. by fashionablyinsane
There is snow in the yard-less so than in previous years, and yet another sign that the earth is an irregular, imperfect place. Boots in the hall are stained with salt and wet with slush. Jackets have been thrown on the floor. If you follow the light you'll find a family absentmindedly watching television reruns as a fire slowly dances in the hearth. There is no Christmas tree. There are no stockings or lights. No one could say whether this is the result of laziness or disenchantment or something else altogether. The question is unasked.
There is a boy, a girl, and a mother. None of them is thinking anything particularly interesting. In fact, none of them is thinking much of anything. Outside-not at their doorstep, but not too far away either-there are people dying in waiting rooms, being betrayed by the ones they loved, signing their rights away for a shot at something they never succeed at. There are things that would break their hearts if the knew. But they don't. And while they are
When the static speaksThe radio is serenading the empty dirt roads with static through the country. I am alone and I think of you. Static and the odd piece of conversation stumble into my car: " and now we go to " "The situation is being monitored " "another three have been found dead "When the static speaks by fashionablyinsane
Mostly there is the gentle buzz I am told is the sound of the big bang echoing so many billions of years later. I like to think that somewhere in the remains of that most grandiose of gestures there is some wisdom to be found. That there is a code to be broken that could offer me all of the sentiment and answers I have so desperately sought.
I would like for the static to tell me to do it all, that the world is wonderful, that we are flawless and immortal in other forms eventually. I want to escape the universe with its constant pained whispering: "Don't Just don't."
I am so small. Tiny. Miniscule. Microscopic. The stars and planets and galaxies laugh at my limitations. But the static is whispering