Conversations When It Is Quiet, Act II, continued...

Me: Holy shit. This is worse than i thought.

Conversations When It Is Quiet, Act II

Me: This isn't going to be pleasant.

Me': Who the fuck said that this was going to be pleasant?

Yeah, You Know What I Mean?

No.

Oh The Demons Come, They Can Subside

Where am i? What time is it?

Feels like life just passed me by but time did not.

Or maybe instead of drinking at lounges with open windows and ordering bottles of wine at late-night, upscale pizza joints, i should look and see where the fuck my life is.

But there is sunshine in these days, and patios are so inviting, and dress-up foolishly parties and dress-up to the nines museum launches let us run around, and dinner parties on my little patio are begging for me and my friends, as are the tickets to music festivals and to the other side of the country. And any bar or television beckons me with hockey playoffs.

But i should calm the fuck down and sort out this mess that is my completely directionless day-to-day, which has actually become my life.

Packed and All Eyes Turned In. No One To See On the Quay.

i don't think i can do this anymore. Or at least, i can't feel like this anymore.

Bring It.

30.

Space To Breathe It, Time To Savour All That Night Air Has To Lend Me

New Year's eve, sitting at home at 9pm, i realized i didn't want to see people i know and instead, went out to a local haunt to meet people i don't know.

Tell Me Where You're Goin'

Thank you for being such a bright, smart, and amazing guy. i will always remember the late night drinks and smoking and long conversations and running around the cold streets and getting lost from the crowds.

Shine on, buddy. You will always be a cosmological force, the star that you are.

...

http://prohab.ca/

Since You Got Me Up

i have been spending a lot of time alone these days and nights in my apartment, which is feeling more and more like a dark cave lit with many ugly candles. i just sit and stare, and then the oven clock tells me that half an hour has passed. This doesn't miff me, because i just wrap the knitted blankets around me tighter and keep staring, and then soon it's time for bed.

Sometimes, though, i go out. i have really only seen a handful of people on repeat, and though they get me out, they don't seem to mind visiting me in my cave either. They are also clever enough to know that i am less creepy and disconsolate when they bring a bottle of white for safe passage.

And i am oddly surprised at the company that keeps me now, these very different people that have wandered in and taken me in. The cosmological congruency i think, is that we have all been terribly good at being terribly aware of being terribly unsuccessful in meaningful relationships. So bottles of wine go down, tears are spilt, bad Chinese takeout soothes us, and we bond over terribly terrible memories and the terribly good ones too.

Then it's time for breakfast in the rain.

It's summer. Sometimes, i do go out, and the sun does shine. So do my raddest of the rad friends.

weekday night gardens and ship fries


gardens at a glance


through the looking glass


tarp runner and folk fest buddy


main stage night tales


lanterns weaving in the dark


trail leads to me


let's dance



horseplay and tomfoolery


Sunday morning gospel jam

...



mountain strolls and lavender

...



amusement and skyrides

Entering the New Beast

Image heavy,

OR

Music and snuck-in gin and little bottles of flavoured vodka, being a wing girl, naps on hills, getting lost and spending a night in a campsite on the other side, no balance between cold and sunburn, ignoring media duties, smoking a plenty, and being with awesome people that i will never meet again.


morning hike in


the gorge in the sun







new friends share drinks and drugs, oysters and avacados



favourite stoop


the only warm place is at night, with Z-Trip


a gentleman's maintenance



limited daily breakfast


slipping through, the time has come


we're heartbroken



sneaking into the range life of Pavement



rain at midnight in the Booka Shade



gots all kinds of sweets for a soul man


Marlboro country outside the Honey Buckets



sunshine last


a Band of Horses steals our hearts


Neon Indian fucks us up



the boys and free beer and avocados



as dirty as white gravy

Running Away From The Belly Of The Beast

i have nothing elegant to say. Instead, i will remember not showering for 4 days and sleeping for a collection of 16 hours like this:


leaving Vancouver in a car of strangers


welcome to America, assholes


meatloaf and jambalaya


accent sardine can lined with pbr



field of fucking dreams for 4 hours



10am cocktails


This was the beginning. The rest was even more surreal because i didn't realize where i was or who i with most of the time - wandering and healing in the pits and crowds.