I just want to trap
spending time with me
cuz what’s mine is yours and yours is mine
Sometimes I feel like I have no friends. Like when they desert me to do better things with their lives (I’m projecting here, duh).
Then I remember that they’re all just globe-trotting, ass-kicking, cool as shit em-effers.
And only a skype or ichat click away.
Seoul, San Francisco, Vancouver, Los Angeles loves.
I’ve just realised that I’m only friends with really white people and sharks.
You’ve just realised that I take screenshots of video chats like a creepy nutso-n-so.
I just miss you, is all.
I struggle with this.
I’ve always gone after what I wanted.
In the end, I wasn’t
what they did. Not really.
But it would be nothing, nothing, without a woman or girl
pissing in your urinals
cuz everything you can do
I can do better
When I fall in love and subsequently fuck it right up, I go looking for the exact same things in other men.
It’s like ordering the same combo meal from McDonald’s. Time after time.
And regretting it
Let me tell you about travelling. It’s lonely.
To be ready, jet-set at the drop of an Expedia confirmation may seem like a cool job, and if I have to think about it, it really is. But ask me how I feel and I’ll tell you that “I don’t know, I don’t have the time to consider these things” because it’s easier to pretend that too much is going on in my life than to admit that I am completely, emotionally wrung dry.
You basically take your usual hipster non-committal nonchalance and put a giant, erratic, ticking clock on every relationship (romantic or otherwise), multiplying any sense of isolation ten-fold.
I meet someone. And I have to declare:
“There’s only one thing you need to know about me. And that is.
I will leave you
Which usually lends to the other person behaving in one or two ways:
1. Like a total dick. The I can do whatever the fuck I want with you. It doesn’t matter. You’re leaving anyway.
2. In fear of attachment. Making it known that I’m not going to emotionally invest in you. Cold and infrequent.
They both suck.
When you operate every day knowing that someone you’ll grow to care for and like is actively suppressing your significance in their life, it FUCKING SUCKS.
When you relate to people knowing that you are merely transient, not important in their grand scheme of things, well, it essentially nulls the point of relating at all.
It makes me feel like shit.
So you have a good cry and chalk it up to the experience, the situation, the occupational hazard and move on to the next city.
And then you have to do it AGAIN.
So for people to assume that I’m always running away from something, taking the easy way out, that it’s always easier to leave than to be left behind… no.
It’s not that. Ultimately, I do have a choice.
It’s just that no-one has given me a reason to stay.
Not even tried.
My mailing address is of a factory in downtown LA.
I don’t live there, although metaphysically, I might as well. I often wonder if people assume it’s just the 747th house on the street.
All that I have, I can fit inside a suitcase and a stag bag.
And the only thing I’m tethered to is a wireless broadband card.
One day she’s wearing Tevas painting the word “PEACE” on the sidewalk with mud on pixie sticks at Camp Nanaimobar
And the next you realise you’ve just creamed it to a minor muttering “your shoes are off-brand” on the corner of Queen St. and
Note: Ontario has a mental health issue
Photo manipulated and jacked from Sam’s iPhone uploads on facebook
P.S. Holy hell do I miss you, Sam!!
“You’re going to have to take two pounds out of your luggage, ma’am.”
“I’m about fifty pounds lighter than everyone else getting on this plane.”
I proceeded straight to the gate.