Weekend Poetics

‘Been on a downward spiral lately. But I’ve made this silly promise not to write emotional stuff, coz, y’know, who really wants to read that sort of stuff. However, since I am the first person to undermine my own commitments, I’ve decided to flex the rules a bit through these mindless stories:

***
I’ve revived my nasty habit of smoking. I’ve been off the stick for more than two years when all of a sudden, the urge came back. With a vengeance, I must say. Most of the contrived poetics I’m usually in involve a lot of smoke and a lot of indistinct thoughts. Like this one time, I went up our roof deck one morning where everything was white. The walls and ledges, all white even the sky with all the storm clouds. A typhoon just went by, after all. It felt cold, and I’m sure I looked just as pale, morning hair and cumbersome steps on the wet floor and all. I tried to keep my balance the whole time, and as I walked up the overhang, everything felt a bit muted. Like a 90’s scene in some Nordic village, I lit my cigarette and puffed out white smoke into the sky. I resist these moments much, except maybe for the forced crackling of the damp leaves under my weight. I realized I don’t like intensity.

***
Hoodie’s popped. Walking through the streets of our village reminds of how I’ve always been reluctantly urban. I’m trying to hold on to the little reminders of what/who I was pre-depression. I’m sure I walked a lot. Tonight’s no different, I guess. I was on a mission to buy wine. Acigarette on one hand, and my earphones pumping Beach House and Broken Social Scene: quite a pathetic attempt to recuperate summer considering the saturated roads and the random drops of water from the trees above. Nostalgia’s a big bitch, and the sadder thing is the irretrievability of re-discovered meaning.

***
Got back to the apartment earlier than I intended. Sun’s out a bit now, and my wing chair in the living area is getting some heat. I took my shirt off and sat there. I thought I’d make a good subject for Dianna’s photography. A big wreck in an elaborate cinematographic setting. Light like this doesn’t come easy. It’s always either you compensate or you capture. Plus, the smoke made this haze that hovered over me much longer to be unnoticed. We have a high ceiling, and a very empty space. I sat there trying to fill the place with my thoughts projected on the big white wall across, but nothing ever comes easy.