Good lord I just love life. Infinite projects. Pick one, drop ten. How to do it all – this is always, always, always the refrain. But the reason I do anything is out of love. If I appear to be busy with a packed schedule, it is because of love. Love moves me to action.
There’s a sense of scatteredness in my thoughts, in my actions. A little here, a little there. I know the benefit of a direct, focused, magnifying glass to filter the light. Burn lines into life. Carve it out. This is always the refrain. Just focus, focus on anything.
But there’s a thrill in the rush of everything. There is so much love in the ten projects that there is not in just one. There is this eagerness to try things. Love.
I’m this ball of energy and reality slows me down. It is hard to practice slowness. Doing dishes takes as long as it takes. Driving to school takes as long as it takes. I know I know I know, you’re still my love. The dots of 2004 still connect, the autumn air in Toronto, Tegan and Sara in the ether.
If there is anything that I am always trying to convey in words, it is that this is it, my friend. This is it. The big show, the big joke, the big bang, the big kaboom, the big ending. If my sentences are too linear, the feeling is gone. I’m not just trying to connect with your head. It’s the lifeblood. Words that flow like feelings. Now isn’t that something.
Because reading is telepathy. Subject and object blurs. I am in your head, I am you. That’s the thing. Moving pictures are outside of you. Everything around you, objects. But this text does not just live on a screen in front of you, it gets inside. In a way like music does. Writing and music, there’s the love. Because all I ever wanted was to lose myself, while existing as a self all the same.