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on the news, a man said i did not exist! he said he would not acknowledge my body, my blood! he said he would not acknowledge the ways his words unraveled me! i shouted at the television (even if the words went to nobody). i said, “there's nothing wrong with my body, sir!” but he didn't hear me—he was too busy setting the world on fire.
so here i am again crying at what i don't even believe in. here i am again not knowing if or when i'll see my far away friends. god i want to bear-hug so many people that i can't!
on the news a man said, “she asked for it.” he then gave a definition of what he called “consent”—he said, “she was wearing clothes that clearly showed what he sought, and so he got her drunk and took her home. haven't you learned yet that this is what friends do? and boys will be boys, men will be men, this world is not for you!”
on the news a man said, “another one gunned down! but hey, we're here to help you, as long as you stay on the ground.” they only saw his skin, so soon the bullets hit, and now a widow makes the beds at night for her frightened children who have to watch officials say they saved us from a villain, and that a uniform once it’s worn protects from retribution!
so here i am again crying at what i don't even believe in. here i am again not knowing if or when i'll see my far away friends. god i want to bear-hug so many people that i can't!
in the meantime, we're filling buckets with water. i guess we'll put out the fire when we're done getting warm on the embers!
the noise in my head feels louder or perhaps i've just become quieter. all i know is it's all i can hear: a voice that says i should disappear! see: they want to erase us! or at least put us in cages! and then call it a nation! well, i'm losing my patience!
oh, please don't go to the movies! or, if you must, then let's sneak in for free and we'll leave before the ending.
you know—so we don't have to watch ourselves die!
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3. |
another war
04:52
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we returned home, you with a raincoat, me a permanent cough. put less and less clothes on, could not decide whether or not we wanted to walk to the ends of the earth, or if perhaps we’d rather rest in our own backyard dirt.
our neighbour gave us cherries after every full moon. i sat and sucked the pits as you sharpened your harpoon. you sang a sudden soliloquy of sorrow: "must i arm myself with this weapon again tomorrow?”
the weather station blared that another war would be coming: some scattered clouds, a little sun, and then it would be storming. i tried to plan our escape while you went off to fight—gathered what i could: some tenderness, some twine.
i set to task, quilting a patchwork of memories: a swath of cloth, a fold untold, a riot of reverie. it came in bursts, i kept what worked, at least i was occupied. you fought the fight then every night i held you while you cried.
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4. |
why fit?
04:03
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i get a late night call. she cries into the speaker. she says, “if i can't make myself a home here, i guess i don't belong anywhere! am i still a stranger getting on and off trains? will anyone ever know my name? will i find my place? i feel like something in me will never be good and i can't shake it.”
the map gets larger as you get older, and there's a pin here! here! and there! there! where are we going? should we keep roaming? there must be ways to find comfort in the question mark, in the no answer, in the constant dark, so why do we still want to fit when the world just just just just just just rejects us?
well, i'll always be there to answer your call.
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5. |
her dog
03:28
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so we’ve got this bruise, these bruises. i feel like i’m tied up. i’m so useless. fuck it. a body’s just a bag of shit. i know this. i know this. i know this. i argue in my head now. i barely sing. i used to be more interested in hollering. i saw her walk her dog like she never hurt me. i still haven’t said a word to anybody.
sometimes i can manage. sometimes i can’t.
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6. |
fire/housework
03:03
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what he called “fire,” i called “housework.” what he called “song,” i called “unheard.” what he called “heat” wasn't enough for me. what he called “thread” wasn't what i said.
i am trying to say what i mean but this humiliating sobriety is making it hard to come clean—i am left with only debris.
if i walk the wood, do you follow?
if i walk the wood, will you follow?
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7. |
it does not get better
04:01
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it does not get better. it just gets heavier.
the days grew darker, shorter. our own worlds weren't enough to help us stay above the weight of what the world really was. i saw it in your face every day when you returned: that no amount of stargazing would undo the hurt. i wanted to save you but i was also stuck. if i cannot save you can we still be in love?
if it does not get better will you still stay here?
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8. |
liturgy part three
10:16
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she said, “i'm not satisfied with being surrounded. i need you to break skin. i need you to break skin.” i said, “all of this could be avoided if i had a shovel, if i could dig out of this body i am in.” she found me again in the library digging up rhymes for a sonnet. she said, “don't focus on the meter. just try to be honest.” so of course a pattern formed of “i promise! i promise! i promise!” i said, “i promise! i promise! i promise! i won't let anyone bring you harm again.”
between a gallop and a trot is a canter! and a light that is lit is a lantern! and a speech that cannot reach remains just words and they reside by your bedside and they will stay there, unheard! except at night when the light's out and you drift into dream and even there you'll be too scared to tell them what you mean! see: a river isn't done until a river is done! how can i go another day without swimming to the sun? how can i go another day without saying what i want to say? i bite my tongue and worry: will the worry go away? i tried to be like him—all cuss and spit—but something in me broke! i still need privacy especially as i grieve so please let me alone!
i almost confessed but immediate regret made me quell my voice. i got closer and i shook him as the violence overtook and i said right in his ear: “what is it like to not want to die?”
(“and we all will sleep at the bottom of the river…”)
“i promise! i promise! i promise! i won't let anyone bring you harm again.”
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9. |
speaking in flowers
02:56
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"my heart's in my hand, and my hand is pierced, and my hand's in the bag, and the bag is shut, and my heart is caught." - jean genet, "our lady of the flowers"
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10. |
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i wanted to reach out—ask for help, ask for help, ask for help, ask for help. sure, you might respond, but when i’m like this what can you say to make me calm?
my body needs a reason to rally itself but instead of inspired i am overwhelmed by the task put forth: which is get and stay well. it can’t be done! it can’t be done! so i imagine a “farewell”: fill my pockets with stones until i am heavy as i move close towards the estuary. the waves start licking at the bottom of my feet; i dip them in, say to the stars, “please, consume me.” i made a portrait of this moment ten years ago, knowing then that this feeling i would not outgrow. now i try to imagine something else in its place, but once it’s there the feeling seems impossible to erase.
is there a way out?
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11. |
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the days grew brighter, longer. we left the house again. we lost our keys, scraped our knees, and forgot our plans. i had a dream you laughed at me when i asked for help, but you were there when i awoke and your warmth, i felt. still every day nothing changed—i was locked in my head. but you stayed here and dried my tears on your sleeve and said:
“if it does not get better, at least we’ll be together.”
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12. |
wrong in my chest
04:18
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so: how did it start? what set me off? or is this just how it's always been but sometimes i'm better at keeping it in? and then my heart begins to beat again—but the kind where it feels like something's wrong in my chest! i give too much, i give too much, i give too much, and then it's gone.
we all start out as strangers, and we all will be strangers again.
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13. |
if i disappear...
05:17
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if i disappear, i'm lost...
i looked up at the stars! i felt the limits of my arms crammed with an archive of almanacs, while you, my protector, put your arms on my back! i was wearing the thinnest sweater in the history of sweaters! please: tell me the history of sweaters, the history of being warm! i looked up to the clouds! i felt the language in my mouth! soon on my tongue was a trove of text! i sang it to you then in our arcane dialect! oh amanuensis, did you get this? let's delve into the atlas so that at least we don't have to forget all the places we've put our heads! i want to remember it exactly but it can't be, so cross the crags and valleys if you can't find me! i want to remember it exactly but it can't be, so cross the stars and galaxies if you can't find me!
i want to be found so badly...
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14. |
no wires
03:46
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unplug me from this. i want no wires. let’s speak face to face so the words cannot be traced. unplug me from this. i want no wires. we can be electric still. come closer and we will be.
we are we are electric. we are we are electric. we are we are electric, now. without wires. cut the wires! need no wires. cut the wires!
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15. |
earth to ursa major
07:45
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oh friend, oh my friend! call in sick, tuck me in! i'm so tired. it doesn't matter how much sleep i get. it may never get better but try to hold hope at center that if we call the bear in the sky we might hear the stars reply...
...so i’d like to propose a watermelon! earth to ursa major, beckon: let’s not wait to get into heaven! we’ll grow our own glorified garden! if their history is to ignore us, we'll sew our memoirs into their songbooks! then they will sing—despite their confusion! and as they sing, they will have proven that even without grasp, even without reason, a song still goes on, and as such, the meaning! don't worry, dear, my little star scratcher: they can try to break us, but we'll never shatter!
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16. |
awl/leather
05:50
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home is where the heart attack was. he’s fine now, but it came as a shock. for a second there, i thought he was gone, and even just that second felt far too long.
home is where you came with good news. we fell asleep, cats at our feet, hit snooze—and before we knew it, it was noon. i went to work again and daydreamed of the moon.
i was delirious, but i said i was fine. my friends would invite me out, but i would decline. she brought music back into the house so i stayed in and sang with all of the lights out.
now we hum our own soundtrack! gather lilacs in pitch black! he says, “though the dark feels like forever, hold my hand and remember what he taught before he died: it’s the cracks that let in the light!”
i have the awl, you have the leather! so let’s start pricking holes together!
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17. |
jordaan mason Toronto, Ontario
a confused human being singing songs about being a confused human being
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