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Apr. 16th, 2010

truth

hi.

 i'm not going to keep this journal anymore. i'll write all of my entries - english, russian, gibberish, in the other - 
snusmumrika.
so don't be surprised if i add you there, don't be alarmed by all the russian - it won't all be incomprehensible.

it's time to draw things together, even though it's spring, it feels like the dead of winter to me, the sun a mistake - too bright, too warm. it's fitting that our house is always cold no matter how warm it gets outside. i pull the blankets to my chin and watch the pine trees outside. 

i hope you are all well, no ghosts are haunting you and the road is transluscent-blue into summer. 

Oct. 19th, 2009

truth

Alas,

this livejournal is on hiatus. For an indefinite amount of time.

I just don't have the energy to write anything in an online journal anymore -
it was fun while it lasted, I wish I could keep it up.  I will miss more of you than you know and some of you I will miss all the more because we've lost touch in the wide real world. I wish you all the best.

So long -

m.

PS - as always, I'm reachable at marraskuu.tuuli@gmail.com and my cell. If you need the number, ask and I will send it to you :) 

Mar. 4th, 2009

writing

Various things

the apartment is empty. for the first time in weeks, i'm alone, listening to my highway rushing by like the ocean, listening to the careful shadow-steps of things too overwhelmed by all the humanity around to move carelessly, like they did before.

i took out underwood from the Uninhabited Room today. It's surprising what a few months of abandonment do to a living thing like a typewriter. It's rusted in places, stuck, it won't move farther than the first letter, and a spider made a home between the keys. cat hair caught in the spiderwebs. It looks like it's been left out in the rain, not sitting in the corner of a room - but then, when a room has been abandoned as well, shouldn't everything inside it become fragile.

there are bits and pieces inside of me that feel like that, abandoned, too fragile to touch, so I tiptoe around them, past them.

it's only been a couple of months since I left Wood, but then, since i left him, i felt like years passed  - and why shouldn't time affect him just like it has affected me. I'm all he's known, my words, my touch, my fingertips pressed intimately against the ribbon, leaving traces of ink on the world.

i've been drawing strange animals all over the walls. it feels like something this place always wanted, a chance to become wild, to emerge into shapes and colors - shapes and colors dreaming under all that paint.

the world has been so thin lately, i feel like if i think about something alone just a little too long, it will rip and coalesce into something completely different.

Dec. 19th, 2008

writing

what do you listen to in winter?

 i'm in dire need of music recommendations - no specifics, just something you think fits the current season of snow and long nights. 



Dec. 16th, 2008

writing

from 'the city searches for all lost'

  

Theres clarity in winter. At the end of November, when all of fall has slipped away and in the mornings the grass glitters like a thousand stars crumbled over it at night, days shorten. It gets light at seven and dark by four. Everyone seems to be inside, so at night if you are on the street, you are alone with the whirlwind of snow and the sound of wind running past the walls, looking for a single crack to rush into the house, into your dreams, into your stories. All the shy, frightening stories come out in the winter, ghosts and things that prefer silence. If you stay awake, you can hear them wind-chime past your house at night, and in the morning, there are faint footprints on the snow. 

Dec. 10th, 2008

magic montreal

from 'the city searches for all lost'

 vii.

 

the fall was beautiful. waking up in the morning, walking down the balcony steps, on the street the name of which I still dont know, but its between Ash and Hibernia. At the very end of it, where the street meets the wall meets the traintracks, on the wall the graffitti of an arch continues the road into sky-blue country.

 

i suppose, if one was drunk enough, or in that particular state of mind this city seems to offer the lonely, the desperate and the free, one could walk through that door and out, out, while above the freight trains clang with this awful feeling of wanderlust. 

Dec. 1st, 2008

writing

On November- writing

 --there's simply too much to tell. It will come out, eventually, in words and letters and possibly entries, but right now its all tangled up with itself, just like my NaNo novel. Not all of it is good at all, not at all, but I don't want to talk about that, so I will talk about writing.

Yes, I did finish my NaNo novel. I finished it exactly at 50,000 words - no tweaking, no anticipation, i just wrote the last scene, and it was the last word. i was in a 24hour cafe, waiting the night away, waiting for a bus from New York to arrive. just like most things this fall, it came easily because here i have endless time, and yet i have very little time -here-. I make no sense.

That being said, I am going to be submerged in writing even deeper in December. A. and I decided to do a NaNo-like thing between the two of us, since she had exams & couldn't do it in November. I'm also going to be feverishly writing down this fall. Because in all honesty, I am afraid the moment I leave this city, this room, my job, it will all disappear as if it had never existed - it is made of finer, warmer stuff than most of the things in my life, and of thinner stuff too. This fall has been a lifetime all condensed into three months, a lifetime. 

So the 'lost' zine is being put on hold - it hasn't felt right to write it since september, and i know it will. when i get back to the city i became entirely lost to anything and anyone, it will be easy. i don't feel anxious about it, it's waiting for me. In December I'm going to be writing another story that has been waiting for me for awhile, for a long while. we'll see what comes of it. 

I'm planning to squeeze and squeeze myself until the truth runs, all lemony and with pits and such. 



Oct. 7th, 2008

worlds

(no subject)

--the city is an enormous lighthouse, searching the skies in the cold October night for all the lost. i forgot my keys  & i stand on our wooden balcony, the trees holding up other people's windows, & watch the apartment from the cut window in the door. It seems like things move through it -- and later at night, the front door opened while we were sitting in the room, someone walked in--and didn't leave.

all night I dreamt of children turned to birds, old frightening houses, red shoes & pianos. children who got lost in their own storytelling & walked straight into a nightmare.

Oct. 6th, 2008

me

mornings

fall mornings are translucent-cold, a single bird screaming outside the window. When I get up, it is still dark, but I leave into a pre-dawn shivering of the city.

Sep. 28th, 2008

tenderlove

(no subject)

we drink & laugh & talk about Judas and things that should be left alone, Родогощь -
we wear dresses in the rain, in the dark, in the park, on the green-green grass candles fizzle out & we read fortunes from the cards she found in cities - they speak only to her, but i can listen in.
in dreams we run & laugh and play games with passerby and the world bleeds into dreams and dreams bleed into the world - everything is inked poems left outside before the rains came down.

there's a leather jacket on the balcony, drops beat against it, we smoke & I ask our roommates irrelevant questions when they drift in to get something from the fridge.

there's a fierce, impossibly wonderful sadness in the air - - secrets spilling onto the floor, clumsy & desperate, like drunk dances in the dark.

sisternights.

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