Stained

A simple nudge and the glass is tipped, relinquishing its most coveted substance. It seeps from the bedside table to the sheets, engraining itself upon them;irrevocably intertwined. In a hastened panic, you seek to absorb of it what you can to control the damage, but to no avail. The sheets are stained. You try to wash them, bleach them clean and despite your efforts to erase the stain, it stands strong. In a vain attempt to forget the occurrence, you fold up and place them in the bottom of the pile, apprehend a new sheet and place it delicately upon the mattress. Seemingly unscathed, continuance of human ritual is necessary. However, the same listless rituals lead you back to the point of origin, changing the sheets. Time and time again, haunted by the sights, the sounds associated with the incidents occurrence, until you end up picking up the stained sheet. Back where you started.

seems

Seems is a very dangerous word. So indefinite, and so unimaginably infinite. It delicately places a blindfold over truth, a plague so effective, and so manipulative yet remains so innocent.

Please?

"I am fine, I am fine, I am fine, I just need one hundred dollars"-Machester orchestra.

Save a life, I need this guitar in order to continue life on this earth.

Transit

The road detangled itself before the under-appreciated Burlington Transit bus.Complicated networks of streets and avenues unwound like yarn before my eyes. Who knew a bus ride could be so tantalizing, yet so subtle. Beneath the roar and hum of the bus, a profound silence revealed itself. In that instance, I took note of the public who utilize public transit, all of whom were so discouraged by the rain which pitter-pattered against the cold steel box. Encased in this little capsol the public revealed their true colors, and emotions. Hidden from the scowling eye of society, they divulged themselves.

Those who almost excrete confidence struggling to contain themselves. Constantly twitching, opening and closing their cell phones in hopes that the friction created would manifest a message in their inbox. A 30 second high until insecurity sets in once again.

Old women playing with their hair, grasping anything and everything within arms reach to reassure themselves of their existence on this earth. Young men glancing back and fourth between other men, not because of homo-sexuality, but because of a need to belong somewhere.

The immense silence which seemed to span hours came to a halt as I realized my location. Nostalgia then ensued

Glass of Milk

So, today, a typical gloomy gray day in Canada I woke up from an almost transient dream. I felt as if my actions carried out in my dreams had some sort of effect on the outside world. I could have sworn I made some prolific discovery and asked my mother about it, only to be shot down in an instant with her quick(and accurate) reply of "no". That aside I continued my normal school routines. Wake the fuck up, shower, hair, shoo my cat from the toilet, and put some clothes on. I then cautiously entered the dining room to find my cat "cash" slowly dipping his paws into my milk as if he owned that glass of milk. I softened my every foot step as to surprise the feline, and catch him "white pawed". To my surprise, I had ended up behind cash without him being aware of my obvious presence. In two swift motions I was able to apprehend him, and toss him(gently) to the floor. The tension between the cat and I grew, but brought some levity to the situation by flicking the milk in his face. I anxiously grappled my fork and knife, and cut into the Blueberry Eggo waffles, then; Dissatisfaction. They were cold and brittle. I like my chocolate bars that way, not my Eggos.

So I ended up at Bateman, had my morning cigarette, and made my way into the deserted school. There is nothing more serene than an empty highschool. It's usually packed with kids bustling about, selling drugs, skipping, studying, or making plans. Not that I don't love the motion, but the serentity is much appreciated.


Anyway, I'll finish later, I have to leave Music.