and I wish I could tell you / I had the worst little dream


swipe right

Online dating is like a sewer: I’ve always been aware of its presence, vaguely understanding of how it works and what it’s for. But until you rip off the manhole* and dive face-first into the abyss… until your senses are dulled by the stark change of environment, and you realize everything that made you comfortable** doesn’t exist anymore***… until you your knees buckle under the weight of a hundred new social constructs raining down**** as if every member of Hitler’s advancing troops on Poland were replaced with Rip Taylor clones*****… until you grasp around in darkness, unsure of what your hand will touch but all things considered you’ll take anything… I think I’m over the sewer metaphor. It’s not coming across.


grand theft whatever

I wish we could keep score. A running total of miscellaneous data to analyze, reflect on and ponder. Imagine:

Times cursed
Hats worn
Most pain felt (physical)
Most pain felt (emotional)
Hugs given

Would you be able to find patterns? Would you want to?

Hearts broken
Number of scars
Cars driven
Cars stolen
Times you heard AC/DC come on the radio, said”Awe, fuck AC/DC,” and then changed the station


brain droppings

Nothing sucks like when one of your favorite artists releases a new album days after your four year relationship ends and it’s chalked-full of tracks that describe your exact state of mind, each song creating a unique cocktail of emotions including but not limited to: overwhelming sadness, equally unjustified yet defiant hope, trepidation, lament, melancholy, headaches, nausea, diarrhea and night terrors, regret, mild to moderate crying, punchable confidence, and the strong resentment to scientists in general because time travel has yet to be invented.

When the airplane’s nose finally aligned west, the engines roared before a sudden burst of speed sent the vessel down the runway but then quickly upwards, mocking man’s limitations as we engaged in glorious flight. I left quickly, bags packed and emotionally shattered ass on an airplane within four days of the decision to go home. After the hours stuck in traffic on the highway, the goodbye, the four hours and 742 cigarettes outside of the Pearson terminal waiting for my delayed flight, the realization of the length of time left to endure stuck in a turbulent metal cylinder between two dudes seemed daunting. An intrusive thought struck, and I silently hoped that if the plane was going to crash that it happen earlier in the flight.

I haven’t read a newspaper or website in three weeks. I have no idea what’s going on in the world. It’s kinda nice.

I don’t sleep; I just watch TV

The issue of Rolling Stone that I just threw out because it had been sitting on my toilet for 3 months has a feature listing songs that famous musicians’ felt most influenced them and their work. Since I can’t sing* and will never be famous enough to be saddled between a five star review of the most recent U2 album and advertisement for sex-cushions and thus have little to no chance of gracing the pages of a mediocre publication in a dying media format, I decided to do what any young** scribe should do in the year of our Lord 2015: take to the internet and announce my opinions to an unsolicited audience that’s barely paying attention.

Outside of food and oxygen, I’ve long since felt that music has kept me alive. Sometimes I wonder slash kick my past self in the face for not seriously pursing an instrument when I was younger. Film school made sense at the time, and while I always enjoy a good flick or series, I find myself less inclined in recent years to deconstruct what I like about a particular show or analyze WHY it works; music has never lost that appeal, partly because it’s so easy to consume a four minute song compared to a two hour film. Why didn’t I get a guitar when I was 13? I was in choir in elementary school, singing all sorts of bullshit at recitals and practicing harmonies and pitches and other such musical terms I’ve long since forgotten the definitions of. I don’t remember why I quit, or why I never became one of those kids*** who brought an acoustic guitar to every social gathering. Maybe I could have been the next Jason Mraz. Think of the money! Think of the hats!

Anyway, below are five songs by five artists I deeply admire and I guess in some way shaped who I am- if you discount all my experiences, friends, family, morals, values and education. There’s also some words I put together. Share yours in the comments, all six people who will read this post.