Screaming for Various Reasons

your smile, the clouds and the planes coming in overhead.


daily postcards written by a girl for people she may or may not know

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January 24
dear director, it’s been a year today since you left us for good. a whole 365 days. sometimes i’m amazed we all made it this long - all except one of us, anyway, and he was mostly gone even before you left. today was a normal day. i worked, made coffee, made tea, made crepes and sandwiches and helped people find books, and i laughed and i tried to ignore how my heart felt. the funeral home where i last saw you is only block away. i bought wine, and more cigarettes, and i came home and i did the dishes, and i wondered if my hands shouldn’t be shaking a little more than they were. grief gets weird, after this long - or at least, it has for me. it’s a heaviness in the centre of my chest, this black hole of bad feeling that presses in against my ribs. it’s being totally fine one moment, and then being in tears the next. the house here is empty, quiet. there’ll be partying in your honour on friday, the anniversary of your wake, rather than today. one whole year. it’s been about 54 weeks since we last spoke, since the last time you were in my house, and you played with my cat, and we talked and we watched a movie. i can’t remember what movie, but we sat at opposite ends of the couch and that felt strange, because we always use to sit real close and lean on each other, and i’d hide my face in your arm at the scary parts. do you remember the time we fit six people onto a two-seater couch and it collapsed backwards and we all spilled on the floor and we couldn’t stop laughing? i do remember, though, from that very last time, that in the pile of movies we’d picked out to watch later, there was the 3:10 to Yuma; i don’t know why i remember that, but by the time i was home for the funeral the whole pile had gone and i was so angry about that. i would have kept that pile sacred and safe and untouched forever, if i could. i’m happy sometimes, and sometimes i’m not, and other times i’m happy but then i feel guilty for it, and i get real mad at myself and then i go curl up into a ball somewhere and listen to a record and maybe i feel better or maybe i don’t. sometimes i feel nothing; other times, i feel everything at once. i wonder what you’d think of everyone’s partners; a few of us are dating now, leaving us to explain to these darling folks why sometimes we go quiet when a particular song comes on at the bar, or how we used to do a lot of drugs and how much we lost because we got in over our heads. we did get in over our heads, and i can picture you rolling your eyes at me. we always talked about drowning in the messes we made, or how perfectly our lives could have made movies. but that’s because you were the director. we acted the parts you put us in, and i don’t know whether or not anyone else knows that, or whether you knew that or even if you knew you were casting us into specific roles. but this is life. it is not a movie, it’s not even a mostly plotless art flick. there is no narrative. there’s just hope and love and grief and loss, and holes inside ourselves we get left with - holes we fill eventually, if we’re lucky. and we all used to talk about getting out of here, to fill the holes we had before you left us, but you left us with gaping cavities that we’ve been filling in. i’m going to get out of here. i don’t know who else will. you didn’t, and sometimes i’m mad at you for that, because ou had so goddamn much left to offer the world. you had so fucking much, and i loved you, we all loved you, and we miss you, and we miss what you could have done. we’ll all get drunk at a bar on friday, and we will all probably cry - even if it’s just where no one else can see us, in corner booths with the other people who have the weeps so we don’t make everyone else sad. there’s so little here without you. i wish you could come back. but you can’t. you’re gone for good, you bastard, and i love you still, and i wish it didn’t hurt as much as it does - and sometimes i wish it still hurt more. that’s all there is to it. i love you. i miss you. and you’re never coming home. but i can get out of here, and i will, and in everything i write, everything i say, everything i do, there will be little shades of you - even just a single vowel here or there, or one tiny part of the composition of a photograph. that will be yours. i will put a little piece of you in everything i make, and you’ll always be in the world so long as i do that. i love you; i miss you. love, girl

dear director,

it’s been a year today since you left us for good. a whole 365 days. sometimes i’m amazed we all made it this long - all except one of us, anyway, and he was mostly gone even before you left.

today was a normal day. i worked, made coffee, made tea, made crepes and sandwiches and helped people find books, and i laughed and i tried to ignore how my heart felt. the funeral home where i last saw you is only block away. i bought wine, and more cigarettes, and i came home and i did the dishes, and i wondered if my hands shouldn’t be shaking a little more than they were.

grief gets weird, after this long - or at least, it has for me. it’s a heaviness in the centre of my chest, this black hole of bad feeling that presses in against my ribs. it’s being totally fine one moment, and then being in tears the next. the house here is empty, quiet. there’ll be partying in your honour on friday, the anniversary of your wake, rather than today.

one whole year. it’s been about 54 weeks since we last spoke, since the last time you were in my house, and you played with my cat, and we talked and we watched a movie. i can’t remember what movie, but we sat at opposite ends of the couch and that felt strange, because we always use to sit real close and lean on each other, and i’d hide my face in your arm at the scary parts. do you remember the time we fit six people onto a two-seater couch and it collapsed backwards and we all spilled on the floor and we couldn’t stop laughing? i do remember, though, from that very last time, that in the pile of movies we’d picked out to watch later, there was the 3:10 to Yuma; i don’t know why i remember that, but by the time i was home for the funeral the whole pile had gone and i was so angry about that. i would have kept that pile sacred and safe and untouched forever, if i could.

i’m happy sometimes, and sometimes i’m not, and other times i’m happy but then i feel guilty for it, and i get real mad at myself and then i go curl up into a ball somewhere and listen to a record and maybe i feel better or maybe i don’t. sometimes i feel nothing; other times, i feel everything at once.

i wonder what you’d think of everyone’s partners; a few of us are dating now, leaving us to explain to these darling folks why sometimes we go quiet when a particular song comes on at the bar, or how we used to do a lot of drugs and how much we lost because we got in over our heads. we did get in over our heads, and i can picture you rolling your eyes at me. we always talked about drowning in the messes we made, or how perfectly our lives could have made movies. but that’s because you were the director. we acted the parts you put us in, and i don’t know whether or not anyone else knows that, or whether you knew that or even if you knew you were casting us into specific roles.

but this is life. it is not a movie, it’s not even a mostly plotless art flick. there is no narrative. there’s just hope and love and grief and loss, and holes inside ourselves we get left with - holes we fill eventually, if we’re lucky. and we all used to talk about getting out of here, to fill the holes we had before you left us, but you left us with gaping cavities that we’ve been filling in. i’m going to get out of here. i don’t know who else will. you didn’t, and sometimes i’m mad at you for that, because ou had so goddamn much left to offer the world. you had so fucking much, and i loved you, we all loved you, and we miss you, and we miss what you could have done.

we’ll all get drunk at a bar on friday, and we will all probably cry - even if it’s just where no one else can see us, in corner booths with the other people who have the weeps so we don’t make everyone else sad.

there’s so little here without you. i wish you could come back. but you can’t. you’re gone for good, you bastard, and i love you still, and i wish it didn’t hurt as much as it does - and sometimes i wish it still hurt more.

that’s all there is to it. i love you. i miss you. and you’re never coming home. but i can get out of here, and i will, and in everything i write, everything i say, everything i do, there will be little shades of you - even just a single vowel here or there, or one tiny part of the composition of a photograph. that will be yours. i will put a little piece of you in everything i make, and you’ll always be in the world so long as i do that.

i love you; i miss you.

love,
girl

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January 16
dear awkward boy, love grows, sometimes, in the farthest places, and nice thoughts grow like flowers in our hearts. my heart might be a little dusty, but it’s yours. our home won’t be empty, and it will be full of light. love, girl

dear awkward boy,

love grows, sometimes, in the farthest places, and nice thoughts grow like flowers in our hearts. my heart might be a little dusty, but it’s yours. our home won’t be empty, and it will be full of light.

love,
girl

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January 5
dear friend it’s a whole new year. i keep forgetting it’s january and starting to write ‘december’ on everything i need to date. i don’t really know what this new year will bring. 2011 was a weird year; when i think back, a lot happened - people died, i moved home, i traveled a lot, my sister got engaged, i found a good job. but at the same time, it feels like nothing happened. i don’t feel like anything’s changed. i used to live like i didn’t have very long to do so, and now i think about the future, and that means i spend so much more of time being boring. i still get sad, but happiness feels a lot more fleeting. maybe that should have been my resolution for the year, getting back to quick living and doing things, throwing parties and being reckless. but i don’t really know many people around here anymore, and i don’t know how sad i can be about it. is it really love if you’re terrible for each other, down to every single one? i need some new ideas. i need to fill my sketchbook and finish all my rolls of film. i’m working on it. love, girl

dear friend

it’s a whole new year. i keep forgetting it’s january and starting to write ‘december’ on everything i need to date. i don’t really know what this new year will bring. 2011 was a weird year; when i think back, a lot happened - people died, i moved home, i traveled a lot, my sister got engaged, i found a good job. but at the same time, it feels like nothing happened. i don’t feel like anything’s changed.

i used to live like i didn’t have very long to do so, and now i think about the future, and that means i spend so much more of time being boring. i still get sad, but happiness feels a lot more fleeting. maybe that should have been my resolution for the year, getting back to quick living and doing things, throwing parties and being reckless. but i don’t really know many people around here anymore, and i don’t know how sad i can be about it.

is it really love if you’re terrible for each other, down to every single one?

i need some new ideas. i need to fill my sketchbook and finish all my rolls of film. i’m working on it.

love,
girl

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December 29
dear friend, it’s snowing, as it has been for almost 48 hours, i think. the snow hasn’t piled up too much, just a few centimetres to provide some contrast the cool winter at home with the sharp heat of the summer i spent away. there are no leaves on the trees here, and the cold has got me sick, so i can’t smell the pine needles. i never seem to be able to make up my mind about whether or not i like christmas; this year’s was alright, all the family being around christmas eve. we played games and got drunk and laughed a lot. christmas eve is always the real celebration here, since my sisters all go to their boyfriends’ families on christmas itself. i finally have my own laptop again, so i can do work with my photos and update this thing as often as i’ve promised, till it ends. then i’m going to have to work real hard at figuring out what comes next; what comes next is always the problem. i should write more, i should take more photos, i should go more places, see more people, do more things. what comes next is always the problem, and even though it’s not too cold, i don’t want to go outside. love, girl

dear friend,

it’s snowing, as it has been for almost 48 hours, i think. the snow hasn’t piled up too much, just a few centimetres to provide some contrast the cool winter at home with the sharp heat of the summer i spent away. there are no leaves on the trees here, and the cold has got me sick, so i can’t smell the pine needles.

i never seem to be able to make up my mind about whether or not i like christmas; this year’s was alright, all the family being around christmas eve. we played games and got drunk and laughed a lot. christmas eve is always the real celebration here, since my sisters all go to their boyfriends’ families on christmas itself.

i finally have my own laptop again, so i can do work with my photos and update this thing as often as i’ve promised, till it ends. then i’m going to have to work real hard at figuring out what comes next; what comes next is always the problem. i should write more, i should take more photos, i should go more places, see more people, do more things. what comes next is always the problem, and even though it’s not too cold, i don’t want to go outside.

love,
girl

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December 13

a notice, and a thank you to all of you

the past almost three years have been a rollercoaster, and i’ve enjoyed writing postcards for those of you who read them… so this is a decision that took me a while to make, and i deliberated for quite a while before coming to any conclusions.

on february 1st, this blog will officially cease to updating. at the three year mark, this postcard project is over. i’m looking at starting another art project - and i’m open to suggestions about what kind of thing i should try my hand at next.

for the next few weeks, i’ll be trying to update at least once or twice a week. it’s been fun, guys, and if you can think of any suggestions for my next art project, feel free to drop a line in my ask or formspring.

thank you and i love you all.

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December 9
dear friend, this is the white board that was on the fridge last christmas, at my mum’s. i miss that christmas, kind of; i got to come home from a far away place, and i was vaguely exciting to my family and my friends. i am really bad at christmas, and at birthdays, or other things where you’re required to give gifts. i do not mean i am bad at giving gifts; usually, i can find things for the people i love that perfectly suit them, that make them really happy. no, my problem lies in waiting to actually give them their presents. i am really, really bad at that part. i’m absolutely atrocious at it. i found a birthday gift for my ti loup - her birthday is in february. i already gave it to her because i was way too excited to wait. it’d be nice if gifts weren’t really expected at christmas. i’d like to just be able to find and buy things for people, and then give them to them whenever i wanted to. no expectations ever, from anyone, just nice surprises. life would be kinda nicer like that. love, girl

dear friend,

this is the white board that was on the fridge last christmas, at my mum’s. i miss that christmas, kind of; i got to come home from a far away place, and i was vaguely exciting to my family and my friends.

i am really bad at christmas, and at birthdays, or other things where you’re required to give gifts.

i do not mean i am bad at giving gifts; usually, i can find things for the people i love that perfectly suit them, that make them really happy.

no, my problem lies in waiting to actually give them their presents. i am really, really bad at that part. i’m absolutely atrocious at it. i found a birthday gift for my ti loup - her birthday is in february. i already gave it to her because i was way too excited to wait.

it’d be nice if gifts weren’t really expected at christmas. i’d like to just be able to find and buy things for people, and then give them to them whenever i wanted to. no expectations ever, from anyone, just nice surprises. life would be kinda nicer like that.

love,
girl

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November 13
dear friend i got a good job, the other day. i work selling books at an independent cafe, and there’s live music on mondays and local artists can hang their stuff on the walls. a good job - or, rather, a job you don’t hate - is supposedly half the battle, isn’t it? but i’m still worried. i mean, i feel so bitter. i feel lonely, and scared, and i’m angry when people try to get closer, sometimes. friday night, i went to the pub a block and a half down, and a bunch of my high school friends were there. i feel like an alien with them, now. i dress ridiculously and put on a smile, but none of them know me, and none of them get it. i don’t even want to be alone with most of them; what would we talk about without the diversion of group antics? the trouble lately with writing an honest, no-lies, no-holds-barred blog is that i want to hold back. i don’t want to lay myself out sometimes. i feel like i’ve been broken in a few places, and it’s hard to hold myself together. the glue keeps taking too long to dry. i don’t know. i’m a bit drunk. i don’t really know what i’m saying - that’s a lie, in part. i am a bit drunk, and i think i kind of do know what i’m saying, but i don’t know where i’m going with it. i’m happy, and i’m sad, and i’m hurt, and i hurt people. i don’t know why any of you read this shit sometimes. but i love you, each and every one of you, and i hope to the stars you find your happiness. and i hope that you keep it, cause i didn’t keep mine. love, girl

dear friend

i got a good job, the other day. i work selling books at an independent cafe, and there’s live music on mondays and local artists can hang their stuff on the walls. a good job - or, rather, a job you don’t hate - is supposedly half the battle, isn’t it?

but i’m still worried. i mean, i feel so bitter. i feel lonely, and scared, and i’m angry when people try to get closer, sometimes. friday night, i went to the pub a block and a half down, and a bunch of my high school friends were there. i feel like an alien with them, now. i dress ridiculously and put on a smile, but none of them know me, and none of them get it. i don’t even want to be alone with most of them; what would we talk about without the diversion of group antics?

the trouble lately with writing an honest, no-lies, no-holds-barred blog is that i want to hold back. i don’t want to lay myself out sometimes. i feel like i’ve been broken in a few places, and it’s hard to hold myself together. the glue keeps taking too long to dry.

i don’t know. i’m a bit drunk. i don’t really know what i’m saying - that’s a lie, in part. i am a bit drunk, and i think i kind of do know what i’m saying, but i don’t know where i’m going with it.

i’m happy, and i’m sad, and i’m hurt, and i hurt people. i don’t know why any of you read this shit sometimes. but i love you, each and every one of you, and i hope to the stars you find your happiness.

and i hope that you keep it, cause i didn’t keep mine.

love, girl

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[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

shyrunsdeep:

I’ll never date a virgin again

Lyrics by [variousreasons], fucked with by David Huber:

Chocolate milk and alcohol in your coffee/to make it sweet and bearable/like you think your life should be

Get off my mind/or get me off/you know better, he fucks you better, yeah yeah yeah fuck you and whatever

You look like hell, girl, with your new words and your old ways, when i get back home, i will sleep on the floor/i can’t take the smell of you anymore


Keep your eyes on the prize horizon/forever and ever amen/ I hope we both drop dead/ I can’t focus with an empty lens

“i’m tired of your bullshit artistry/so i’ll dig at you complacently, and hope that I don’t survive, and hope I don’t survive

we made plans together/i’ll keep you in the new ones/but only as an absence/ or how to divvy up the books when you’re gone/forever

so hey, this is a song that david wrote. i was involved by sending him some stuff from one of my journals. the tune is great and david is a fantastic songwriter. i’m so pleased to have been involved in this, even in some minor capacity.

i know i’ve linked to his music blog before, but i really can’t recommend his music highly enough, so i’m going to link all of you lovely readers again. please go listen to (and follow!) Rawkward Yell.
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November 1

dear friend,

sometimes i don’t have pictures. sometimes, everything sucks beyond the thousand-word mark. sometimes i sit and i wonder what would have happened to the people i knew if i’d behaved differently.

when i was eleven, a woman - a girl - came to live with us. she had a daughter who was two or three; she herself wasn’t even twenty. she didn’t live with us anymore, after a few years; she was a heroin addict, and a stripper, and she had an abortion, and my mum couldn’t handle that - or she couldn’t handle the fact that she lied about the abortion.

and then one night, in the car on the way home from somewhere, we heard that she’d just been arrested for being an accessory to murder. she was 23 at the time.

my mum tried to adopt the daughter, but we weren’t allowed. i had helped to teach the girl to read, and we weren’t allowed - she was, instead, going to be sent to live with the parents of her father. her father had sexually abused her so badly that she needed reconstructive surgery every few weeks while she lived with us.

this shit hurts. i hurt so much some nights that i don’t want to be alive. but i guess i have to. you can’t change the world if you’re dead. you can hardly change the world at all, but you can’t do anything if you’re dead.

my mum took in other people - she helped one of them get through university, and the other one was one of my best friends. she helped those people through their lives. but it still doesn’t make it any easier when that kind of thing happens.

earlier - less than twenty minutes ago, probably - i looked up that first woman, the one i was talking about at the beginning of all this. she lives near my grandmother. she helps with a group for women who want to get clean. there’ll be no names, nothing specific, written here - there never is.

everything hurts. even the good things hurt. and right now, i can’t deal with it. i don’t know what to write. i don’t know what to show in pictures. i hurt, and sometimes i feel like nothing can fix that, not even the good that’s out there. i want the hope.
i want you to find the hope.

love,
girl

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October 27
dear friend, the nighttime is the best time, even if i can’t sleep, if i stay awake in my bed staring at the ceiling. i’ve been sad again lately, and sleep-deprived. i have anxiety attacks more often now, that fatal-feeling breathlessness. but i’ve been drawing and talking and writing, too. i fixed a story i’ve been trying to write for years; i just made it simpler. it’s less melodramatic, too, i’m sure - even if it’s still sad. sometimes sad is important, for me. it’s life. there are good bits, and there are happy parts, too. it’s like light and shadow; shadow lends detail and depth. without the dark, light can be meaningless. love, girl

dear friend,

the nighttime is the best time, even if i can’t sleep, if i stay awake in my bed staring at the ceiling.

i’ve been sad again lately, and sleep-deprived. i have anxiety attacks more often now, that fatal-feeling breathlessness. but i’ve been drawing and talking and writing, too. i fixed a story i’ve been trying to write for years; i just made it simpler. it’s less melodramatic, too, i’m sure - even if it’s still sad.

sometimes sad is important, for me. it’s life. there are good bits, and there are happy parts, too. it’s like light and shadow; shadow lends detail and depth. without the dark, light can be meaningless.

love,
girl

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