The way you say "The fuck?" is endearing to me. It plays in my head sometimes. 

Calibri

I am your

one note song.

I am ugly,

but devoted.

Like a mole,

I try very hard to dig deep

Into the darkest recesses of your heart.

One day, I will plant a seed there,

Kick up my hind legs and drown it in mud.

A time will come

When you will wake up on a Sunday,

wander to the kitchen,

and stand there a minute, blinking and thinking of eggs.

Crisp toast and runny yellow.

You will look out at the bright blue

and suddenly feel a sharp twist

in the centre of your gut.

It is not, as you would be prone to believe-

hunger.

It is a funnyfeeling.

It belongs to the witchery inside your head.

A word will bubble through to the surface.

Clear, and plain.

Like Calibri.

And you’ll think,

Oh.

I went running today. The blood thudding in your ears, the breath that comes out heavily through your nose, the strands of hair that come loose from your tightly put together ponytail- bring with them a certain kind of magic. I left with the semi permanent crease in between my eyebrows, thinking about my massive to-do list, and the insecurities galore that inevitably creep up on me most days. I ran for around forty five minutes and wandered into completely unknown territory. I came across a certain Sugarbush Park, a bunch of goose-shit, a decomposing squirrel(?), and some very red leaves. When all your concentration is focused on just breathing, and ignoring that stitch in your side, and just getting to the next bus stop, and the next, and the next... it leaves very little scope for thinking. I blanked out blissfully for the most part. The stray annoyances from my day wandered into my head, but the sound of my footsteps chased them away.
I came home panting, red-faced, with aching legs, and happy.

The Food Alphabet with Writers

Longtime readers of this blog will know that I blog only about events of a personal nature. Occasional fiction. General wonderings. The contemporary events, and matters of deep cultural significance are what I skip writing about, simply because I don't think I can write about them with as much coherence as they deserve. These are saved for mulling over with friends accompanied by endless cups of chaa, or rants over the phone to the mater- but essentially they don't turn up here.
Things that do turn up here would be brethren of this. And of course, there is the lifeisadarkabyss emo-ness.

Children broadripple is burning
And the girls are getting sick
Off huffin' glue up in the bathroom
While their boyfriends pick up chicks

And darling, I'm lost, I heard you whispering
That night in Fountain Square
The trash-filled streets made me wish
We were headed home

And there was love inside the basement
Where that woman used to lie
In a sleeping bag we shared
Upon the floor most every night

And darling, I'm drunk
And everything that I have loved has turned to stone
So pack your bags and come back home

And I'm wasted, you can taste it
Don't look at me that way
'Cause I'll be hanging from a rope
I will haunt you like a ghost

And if my woman was a fire
She'd burn out before I wake
And be replaced by pints of whiskey
Cigarettes and outer space

Then somebody moves
And everything you thought you had to go to shit
But we've got a lot, don't ever forget that

And I wrote this on an airplane
Where the people looks like eggs
And when a woman that you loved is gone
She was bombing east Japan

And don't fucking move
'Cause everything you thought you had to go to shit
We've got a lot, don't you dare forget that

And I'm wasted, you can taste it
Don't look at me that way
'Cause I'll be hanging from a rope
I will haunt you like a ghost

- Broadripple is Burning - Margot and the Nuclear So and So's

"Ah but you got away, didn't you babe,
you just turned your back on the crowd,
you got away, I never once heard you say,
I need you, I don't need you,
I need you, I don't need you
and all of that jiving around."

Today is a Chelsea Hotel kinda day. Lie around with a few irrepressible toes sticking out of the blanket. Trace circles on the back of your hand. Begin to think about forgetting. Goodbyes don't always come with a warning, do they? Sometimes they sneak in quietly while you're halfway through a sentence you've forgotten to finish. They slip their hand into yours and whisper, soft as a sigh.