je m'excuse

&

[xanshian]

epistemology

[xanshian]

my coffee grows cold as i wait for a bus that never comes the silence of snow on a busy street stranded in the ephemera existing on the edges of things a frequency unrecognisable to most i occupy this strange place alone or sometimes with rare others who too can sense the vibrations of the stars, the earth as it tilts beneath our feet, the ferocity of sunlight and its absence like a plant i am nurtured or starved by my environment: the delicate balance of existence it might sound less but i give more, burn brighter teeter on the corner of illuminance an enigmatic being neither here nor there but caught in a stratospheric purgatory and before i am aware, seeking earth or sky, an effort to belong not knowing, never being told that this here is irreconcilable; lonely in its magnanimous splendour

[xanshian]

dark days.

[xanshian]

in the morning the heavy curtains of sleep upon my eyelids i am every memory we shared with the rain and the streets still greasy from summer my limbs in traction against the bed sheets old and loved      and loved upon this empty bed a signifier of  the space we asked for or gave ourselves

the hard wood floor the mirror stained with candle wax  which splashed in pools as it fell a waterfall of paraffin on glass

a new moon       a full moon        and space

[xanshian]

light & dark | from the longest i’ve taken to shoot a roll of film | nov ‘15 - aug ‘16

[xanshian]

remember that time you walked home in the dark your hands smelled like candy canes it was summer

you passed the door to the party you went to late on canada day you found yourself on the bed in a mess of bodies kissing her

he said he’d met you at a party once you on the bed kissing her

he’d wanted to join but the mushrooms wouldn’t let him

on the corner you turn into a depanneur buy a litre and a half of water because it’s cold and nothing you know is cold anymore

back outside        doors on the street stand open revealing the anatomies of lives which spill across thresholds        wounds open to the heat

we’re not supposed to see inside you think as you gaze at the people in their habitats

a man on a bicycle passes behind you and you feel him stare catch him look back as he rides away

in your apartment it is empty as always the fans churning hot air in waves around stale rooms

you might take a cool shower or lie still in your sweat which soaks the bed adding to the stench of late summer

it’s the hottest year on record         they write

you remember before when you all said bring on the heat

you had no idea then what was to come

[xanshian]

today i am homesick for all the places i have loved

[xanshian]

there is no part of me that does not miss travelling

[xanshian]

on a patio by the pool i chain smoke      dip my toes in cold water      rub the sun on my skin where it is fresh

i've been naked trying to forget      you

i've swum the width of one lake twice      and the length of another soaked my body under a layer of ink        water sifting a glassy sun weeds clutching from a lake bed deep

i've held tiny fish in the palm of my hand as they struggle to life watched children capture frogs and place them in sandcastles below ground

i've imagined you present and gone i've imagined you with someone else i've imagined you alone

[xanshian]

in the kitchen i smear a layer of coconut oil over my hair take honey from the cupboard       and warm it between my palms

(the conversation turns to wes anderson)

*

out there across the bridges in a nuclear household       a new baby wails tucked in a nook between arms and a father's broad chest in a house with an attic and a yard

on the metro home i make eye contact with a man look away       and catch him watching me in a reflection spliced by neon lights and the undercarriage of a city's heaving concrete

in the street a friend stops me to speak of metaphysics       parallel dimensions       and pyramids

the moon might be hollow you know

there isn't much i know       i know now

[xanshian]

the ontology of anxiety.

[xanshian]

outside by the bonfire i hold a cider between my hands surrounded by strangers you inside  playing god        i

never knew you            until you stripped the colour from your hair your skin        translucent the clarity of light        before water and air siphoned        wavelengths to define shapes and outline us

without colour you are pale as winter

winter when we watched desaturated forms below my window         strangers in a void reaching  

islands of man passing        in the distance

[xanshian]

on the bus two rows behind      a girl and a boy sit intertwined           her index finger in a jar of peanut butter        circling

i am fascinated by misanthropes the unfortunate you            who taught me my fractures      let me dry in desert sun                 turned the gas on high and walked outside while i disappeared       into layers of sediment the red earth      of before and                           now

[xanshian]

epistemology of self. 35mm hp5 plus. nikon fm. montreal, late winter.

[xanshian]

it is strange when other people write of your heartbreak; as if it is at once yours and theirs, existing in a fictive history which both and neither of you can claim as your own. this is how i feel about my mother’s poems of my grief at losing tessa. they are frighteningly accurate portrayals of my experience of loss, and equally insightful of her own. it is rare that something so intensely brings me to tears, over and over again, until i am empty of anything but space to feel anew.

[xanshian]

we trade wine for an apocalypse that never comes place coins on our tongues

in our mouths chrysanthemums      bloom

medusa upon the river styx      is ferrying the dead

[xanshian]

i will buy you       a regular cup of coffee

on       a painfully long excursion

i’m going for the bondage gear and the varsity jackets you say