It was over https://overwhenyousaidwhat.com It was over Wed, 26 Apr 2017 22:23:03 +0000 https://overwhenyousaidwhat.com en Launch Party http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/Launch-Party Wed, 26 Apr 2017 22:23:03 +0000 It was over 168922 <img width="298" height="300" width_o="298" height_o="300" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/293c0af52eb0d520ea050149b5443658ddfed829b7dcb78d53d25223f0103870/topos_blue.gif" data-mid="209448" border="0" data-scale="17"/> Topos Press Launch Party &amp; It Was Over When You Said What&nbsp; Book Launch Honey’s,&nbsp;Brooklyn April 25th, 2017 readings from Mitra Kaboli //&nbsp;Madeline Coleman //&nbsp;Drew Nelles // Artemis Shaw //&nbsp;Anny Oberlink //&nbsp;Kira Josefsson // Julie Alsop thanks to Max Pearl for the music _______________________ About Topos Press <img width="2592" height="1936" width_o="2592" height_o="1936" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/915a2f8ced1e7277ce08b6e232285572681c3ecf095c506cc4ff1f3120aefb85/Launch0.jpg" data-mid="209440" border="0" data-scale="61"/> ______________________ Kira Josefsson about It Was Over When You Said What, and reading a piece by Julie Alsop“the new you is not interested in being or becoming or maybe you are becoming something but that thing you are becoming is a smoker” &nbsp; <img width="2387" height="1845" width_o="2387" height_o="1845" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/503a2cefab9e5ef9f87b0296a3f8cc118c0b3f47083d3d86e09192b7a35b78f4/Launch3.jpg" data-mid="209441" border="0" data-scale="60"/> ______________________ Madeline Coleman “What came later was better, then worse; we undulated in and out of focus, too close for our eyes to adjust.” <img width="1936" height="2592" width_o="1936" height_o="2592" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/178edba808139c31160122da2d2e392b58570de0c1e1f4b073cb103f2c1e867e/Launch4.jpg" data-mid="209442" border="0" data-scale="45"/> ______________________ Anny Oberlink “and is it us,or is it me and you,or you and me?”<img width="3264" height="2448" width_o="3264" height_o="2448" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/0b52ea6e77b2c87572b75aa00be344d1a6c26ae0b330081b186bbf2a8effd75a/Launch2.jpg" data-mid="209443" border="0" data-scale="61"/> ______________________ Artemis Shaw “Are you wondering if cheating on your girlfriend bars you forever from getting respectably paid and ethically minded employment?” <img width="3264" height="2448" width_o="3264" height_o="2448" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/c5158fed49da6ae38afcdd40554ac597f9305d3dae6824d9d098120cb3fbefae/Launch.jpg" data-mid="209439" border="0" data-scale="60"/> ______________________ Drew Nelles “The metaphor was too obvious, I said. The wounded bird. We tried to save it but it was dying anyway. If this were fiction nobody would buy it.”<img width="3264" height="2448" width_o="3264" height_o="2448" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/d3ca3564b8b2cf6b7de3e410b2881c77c0f0520e2f5887d691fdc63d52b7d99d/Launch6.jpg" data-mid="209444" border="0" data-scale="60"/> ______________________ Mitra Kaboli “I’m clutching my tissue like a Roman rosary praying I pass on my sickness to him.” <img width="3264" height="2448" width_o="3264" height_o="2448" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/3f1485143fa12b0160f4778ad41ac976561c9e919e768eb8ad5d26fb9de99a70/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" data-mid="209445" border="0" data-scale="60"/> ______________________ Kira Josefsson“You said, I like the way we look walking together down the street. I often thought about how we admired and desired ourselves in each other.”<img width="2448" height="3264" width_o="2448" height_o="3264" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/9f1dc857b1e2134a312ce1ad582b38c9a21e1694718b3038b5e409c99a664d6d/Launch7.jpg" data-mid="209446" border="0" data-scale="45"/> ______________________ Thanks to everyone who came out on this rainy night, and much gratitude to all contributors. We love you all. &nbsp; xo Kira, Anny, Julia and Sara Back to homepage Topos Press Launch Party &amp; It Was Over When You Said What&nbsp; Book Launch Honey’s,&nbsp;Brooklyn April 25th, 2017 readings from Mitra Kaboli... The Book http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/The-Book Thu, 20 Apr 2017 20:48:48 +0000 It was over 167048 <img width="5000" height="3378" width_o="5000" height_o="3378" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/87d093f8f6ebce826ed4664bd9db08dd60fd416c425f977411ec9b8360e1d224/IMG_2133.jpg" data-mid="206302" border="0" /> Do you believe in life after love? The end––that protracted period of angst when love runs out––is an integral part of a relationship, one that reflects and refracts how it started, too. Why are we so afraid to say out loud that “forever” rarely is? It Was Over When You Said What is a book and a website that collects the work of 13 writers who furrow the texture of the months, days, and heartbeats when they realized they were over. The design tries to reflect this messy and confusing period by drawing inspiration from the body. Starting with the naked clingy embrace on the front cover, overlaid bya vegetable dye pattern that made to resemble vessels and veins criss-crossing underneath the skin. The book then opens up to a risograph printed interior where big brush strokes in red and blue overlap and intersect the text as the reader is taken from one break-up to another. Mimicing a heartbeat taking the oxygen in the texts and then leaving them, blue. <img width="2448" height="2477" width_o="2448" height_o="2477" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/f32d57970c7cbf2fe939ece5360dfee3c1933633f45fe2ccf20339116fd3d343/Over_woCOVER.png" data-mid="206305" border="0" /> Do you believe in life after love? The end––that protracted period of angst when love runs out––is an integral part of a relationship, one that reflects... J.S http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/J-S-3 Wed, 04 Jan 2017 21:32:23 +0000 It was over 133269 x J·S Love,pushed out by the next renter. x x J·S Love,pushed out by the next renter. x Love letters http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/Love-letters Wed, 04 Jan 2017 19:03:43 +0000 It was over 133221 x <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/ec8710323ff72253d5456343e9eb7be636e4f3794137803b744e3a67f978b326/PAtterns-red4.png" data-mid="148028" border="0" data-scale="15"/> Dear Anna Leocha, it’s possible that every time we meet we talk about the themes of this book, and you are always so wise about it. We thank you for the calm poise you bring to those discussions and for your contribution to this book, situating love and the end of it in cities. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/d3f84236cd450de9689b0aa6dc6d868ba569c91fba0e783c278ab3d5b926dbeb/pattern5.png" data-mid="148029" border="0" data-scale="12"/> And Jeff Sanford,who is beautifully sincere and intriguingly self-sufficient in at least three languages plus poetry. Thank you for letting us print some of your words here, and for giving us the title of the book. <img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/8fe66b83c0b1bde253a4db829782638998e48bc41314bb533dbaf447aaf0ce7f/Over_patterns_6.gif" data-mid="148030" border="0" data-scale="29"/> Thank you Tommy Pico, who is not just generous and kind, provider of velvety giggles on yellow nights, but a genius poet too, for letting us print an excerpt from Junk. Truly, lines from you are wild and reckless and funny and sad in the most magical way. We are thrilled about your debut book IRL, out on Birds LLC. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/b9078c7eef2f57ff22c01d14da70e7babdf6398aa8d69d8aba538c5f7cdaae06/Patterns-red1.png" data-mid="148031" border="0" data-scale="14"/> To Artemis Shaw, wry and steady. Being around you is being in good hands, whether that is as a spectator of your films, a guest at your rousing parties, or, as we have now discovered, an editor of your writing. Thank you for bringing us some of the awkward comedy that is the difficult uncoupling of strong feelings. <img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/a62d28bfe32dfd1b6206806e9ed78ff4b22d90712243430b311ccdd7a030fee2/Over_patterns_2.gif" data-mid="148034" border="0" data-scale="29"/> Thanks Drew Nelles, surehanded writer and solid presence, for capturing the hazy endpoint, when nothing more can be done, no matter how unclear the reasons are, and no matter how hard you try. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/d4cd38adb9118510abc9be6bbf9d979efd881973dda36a30252683a7df1645be/PAtterns-red4_1.png" data-mid="148035" border="0" data-scale="15"/> All the love in life to our dear sister-wife:the magical Mitra Kaboli. For catching our tears with laughter, for receiving our dumb sad post-breakup texts and responding in kind. For your charisma in person. In radio and in writing. On dancefloors. At 3 a.m.s. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/6fe7e8aa7a3deb5b33931517296db8c08e7f42e458d20917cf9cbc67b015ad93/PAtterns-blue1.png" data-mid="148037" border="0" data-scale="19"/> Dear RKO, what a treat to discover your writing in addition to your films, and to find it so effortless, just like the warmth and brilliance you bring to every room. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/74f7466c51e3a34ddee7659910716842266f96452c77948fd8a1ce7eb45dc2e2/pattern8.png" data-mid="148036" border="0" data-scale="17"/> Anny Oberlink, constantly in motion fixing, improving, and organizing, whether that’s a film screening or perfecting the bookstore that’s become such an important place, and so solidly multi-talented that this quiet and cutting piece came out fully finished in just a day, like some kind of jewel. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/3053b5d2abfc19ef60d27dd64165dbfd8576c874570487fc2878da2cde161fcc/PAtterns-blue3.png" data-mid="148038" border="0" data-scale="14"/> Madeline Coleman, person of striking integrity and sharp jokes. We thank you for your constant willingness to listen and give advice, just as we thank you for the deep care you brought to not just the intimate portrait you wrote for us, but also in proofreading the entire book... <img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/f8f6f51671fc43a3f3be0242c8ebcd29dcc42863ac71db7f70e5c26450ed9e0a/Over_patterns_3.gif" data-mid="148042" border="0" data-scale="23"/> ...together with Amelia Schonbek, whose wide-reaching and curious mind is a source of constant delight, whether it’s expressed in thoughtful reporting or exhilarating conversation. It seems like every corner we turn in our friendship shows a whole new horizon, and that is a special thing.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/be0b1dc2a47a11130e16da30cff27244205b976babd9a4ce18ea48009c8fb680/PAtterns-group-5.gif" data-mid="148043" border="0" data-scale="30"/> Dear Mayan, sweetest West Coast babe, carefree and beautiful. You capture the essence of everyone you photograph, bringing out the best in everyone you meet, because you always bring the best in you. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;<img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/13d5c58404c0a434e169a60f290873b4a8a602313fe5c48bc90abbf667940fe8/PAtterns-red2.png" data-mid="148045" border="0" data-scale="24"/> Maggie Prendergast! With genuine and upbeat enthusiasm, there’s no project or adventure you won’t dive into with all of your heart. We are so grateful for the illustrations that tie this project together. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/6fe7e8aa7a3deb5b33931517296db8c08e7f42e458d20917cf9cbc67b015ad93/PAtterns-blue1.png" data-mid="148037" border="0" data-scale="19"/> Dearest Sara Duell, one of a kind. We can’t think of a better and more trustworthy designer, but of course it goes far beyond that, in that you are a fundamentally and exceptionally good presence in any situation, and have a glittering ability to make things special with the smallest means. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/1d5fcce7665715df6451030f54a56d4789e30a256eb963abec7fedb944af4108/PAtterns-red8.png" data-mid="148044" border="0" data-scale="25"/> Thank you, Julie, for co-discovering and co-creating perfectly aligned philosophies and turning it into something outside of us here in this little book; for your joy and for always being down no matter what. Julie-time is impossibly dense in that it is both nighttime and daytime and that fullness bleeds, an excellent model for life. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/a8fe69fbf3a8658d6359dc7c3d6ebd68cebb7ac979278f5ddcadf2c9458fb32f/Over_patterns_10.gif" data-mid="148033" border="0" data-scale="27"/> To Kira, co-editor, whose unflagging empathy, generosity of spirit, and lightness envelop me on good&nbsp; and bad days alike. May our spastic techno dancing reverberate from Montréal to New York and beyond, and as lovers flow in and out of our lives, may the love between us and our beautiful peers only strengthen over time. x x Dear Anna Leocha, it’s possible that every time we meet we talk about the themes of this book, and you are always so wise about it. We thank you for the calm... M.C http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/M-C Wed, 04 Jan 2017 19:03:34 +0000 It was over 133220 x <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/dee56e616ccaea37958a9a54aad07f3fd61b9d079f9a29ada6b3837f98f1839c/Couple.png" data-mid="148026" border="0" />This photograph is my proof. There was that afternoon, when things were still good between us, and she embraced me, and we were so happy. It did happen, she did love me. Look see for yourself! Duane Michals, This Photograph is My Proof, 1974 M.C They asked me for proof and I began to assemble it: gas bills, power bills, the lease, the renewal, the second renewal, and the tax returns. I photocopied these at work, snatching them from between the other pages that fell into the printer tray. At the apartment we were hostile in a new way, or maybe I was hostile only. But I had to keep looking if I wanted to stay. I wrote to friends, coworkers; asked them for evidence. Most of all, I desperately needed pictures. Small photos arrived on the butts of emails: us laughing on a mountaintop. Arms around each other under a tree. Embracing in a driveway. I saved them all. It really is called evidence—that’s the word they use. It wasn’t my first time putting it together and I knew what they wanted to see. I isolated the images into separate PDFs and forced them through the office printer. I collated us, on paper, and I sent us away. While I waited for an answer, our real life fell apart. Like two sides of an elastic pulled further and further away, when we snapped back together, we fell shapeless and slack. For years there hadn’t been a space that was mine, and I didn’t try to make one; somehow, I forgot to. In the end I tortured both of us with it, sitting at the table with my headphones on, ignoring him, angry. We circled each other warily. And yet I couldn’t forget that still in a drawer were the too-dark pictures taken by a friend a few years before: me clutching the license in my leopard-print coat, him in his green one, nervous, smiling, waiting in line, wearing boots and no rings, kissing in front of the nondenominational altar. I told my parents by texting, “Just married!” In the murk of the images, you can just make out the white lily I held in my hand. If those photos aren’t clear, well, the moment wasn’t clear, the month wasn’t clear, the year wasn’t clear. What came later was better, then worse; we undulated in and out of focus, too close for our eyes to adjust. After all of it, lying in my new, lonely bedroom with our sent-away evidence still pending, I wondered and cried. When did it start? Or when did it end. How do I follow it back. In my new room without you, a stranger’s TV reached me always. I spent nights tossing painfully till the sky circled back to dawn. I went looking in my memory; I went hunting for proof. I watched again as he photographed me in a red bikini, leaning on his dad’s old convertible in the summertime, mugging and laughing. I saw him ahead on his bike, too fast, me sweating behind. Him driving our things across the Whitestone; seeing the skyline for the first time, that moment, at dusk. Hanging around the restaurant ’til I finished my shift. Staring back with dead eyes while I screamed at him. Flipping a pancake. Fixing my bike again. Turning away and saying fuck off. Ignoring me. Holding me. Lying on our bed beside me when it finally ended. And then, in his car, both of us adrift, before I went inside and it became completely true. I was sleeping better when my answer finally came: evidence accepted. I called him with the news. My relief, which I hoped might be so cool and empty, was overshadowed by something stickier, lintier, unpleasantly warm. This wasn’t what we had imagined when we started. Officially, we were real; unofficially, we were real. But between the documents and the photographs and my green card and the love we might always feel, there was something else. It started invisibly. But then it grew up between us, and soon it filled the frame. <img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/7bce8eee2fc1f3a23516bb79eb7908d5d29c37514b86b698ccad7e7b3bd61432/Over_patterns_11.gif" data-mid="148027" border="0" /> x x This photograph is my proof. There was that afternoon, when things were still good between us, and she embraced me, and we were so happy. It did happen, she did... A.O http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/A-O Wed, 04 Jan 2017 19:03:20 +0000 It was over 133219 x A·O <img width="2560" height="1244" width_o="2560" height_o="1244" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/cd3a85e45ebc55b7c5c8b13087f086ff23ec0a13ce038d62949303595a03faad/Hands-1.png" data-mid="148021" border="0" data-scale="61"/> And you? Me?Me.No, you.Myself now.And us now? <img width="2560" height="1244" width_o="2560" height_o="1244" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/183e6c1aa21a63bc5a8d94bee5bd2ae12fc027f486bb0cf0d1de9d695b2372ec/Hand2.png" data-mid="148022" border="0" data-scale="62"/> When you become them and they become you,and you don’t know whetheryou are youand when you are themor when they are theyand what is you and what is themand is it us,or is it me and you,or you and me? <img width="2560" height="1244" width_o="2560" height_o="1244" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/11206cccac3b54fb3085de3269c163cdc3fea96ce8ae99d6ccc3670723f5e5f0/HAnds3.png" data-mid="148023" border="0" data-scale="63"/> they want to call me mybut they don’t want a distinction between themand something that is theirs <img width="2560" height="1244" width_o="2560" height_o="1244" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/28d2b6c8d5c710b0be15328591f0f148f7cdd2b4c2ef82a0f79b6af0657b6edc/Hands4.png" data-mid="148024" border="0" data-scale="62"/> a we and us is only wholeif the mes are complete,and when an I and a mecan look beyond themselves <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/ff778796f2b834b94e30d1759cdb9ac6cfcb39f936ccd49486326753e22aafd1/PAtterns-red8.png" data-mid="148025" border="0" data-scale="43"/> Illustrations based on Godard’s La Chinoise. The first paragraph is also from the movie. x &nbsp; x A·O And you? Me?Me.No, you.Myself now.And us now? When you become them and they become you,and you don’t know whetheryou are youand when you are... R.K.O http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/R-K-O Wed, 04 Jan 2017 19:03:09 +0000 It was over 133218 x <img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/d7479747373d885cd9b7355b7b35d69d6a28364dc6ab916347be0d2a5b58fe64/Over_patterns_12.gif" data-mid="148019" border="0" data-scale="75"/> R·K·O We would’ve split up over winter breakafter 4 months long-distanceand I would’ve bought some Rocky Road®would’ve blasted some Fleetwood Mac: “I know I could’ve loved you, but you would not let me.” You could’ve walked me home, like Seventeen said you could:could’ve pointed your feet toward mecould’ve raised your eyebrows upcould’ve angled your crotchlike the Calvin Klein® models.You could’ve protected me with your framecould’ve found little ways to touch me,could’ve drunk me in for seconds too long. This could’ve been forever, or we would’ve settled for right now. I would’ve bought my first issue of Cosmo the day afterI would’ve seen your dick for the first timeand you would’ve told me to use my mouthand you would’ve looked at me smug-likeas you tongued what you thought was the spot.I would’ve moaned like the movie-women whocome right when the movie-men mount them. I would’ve walked home, a part of what they said it would be. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/a97e5d65e07a3d27b3000fac18bbb490d378a1565207370082e8d69e134eae94/PAtterns-blue3.png" data-mid="148020" border="0" data-scale="25"/> x x R·K·O We would’ve split up over winter breakafter 4 months long-distanceand I would’ve bought some Rocky Road®would’ve blasted some Fleetwood Mac: ... Z.K http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/Z-K Wed, 04 Jan 2017 01:30:02 +0000 It was over 132973 x<img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/337ca943e0ef24a2b507453e4283b52638625a97468f8ee12d11983e57e2464c/pattern9.png" data-mid="147390" border="0" data-scale="60"/> Z·K When I saw you in the metro, thorny smile instead of hi,I knew then that you wouldn’t want to mend itbundled, a weary snowman, your face hollow in a movie way later, I laughed and told my friends that if you were gonna kill me it would be with a big sharp knife,there would be many wounds. I have been killed in a dozen dreams,they are typically dopey disappearancesyet I love the variable color and consistency of blood the hue is always remarkable, unexpectedwe talked about it under the awning when the rain fell in sheetsblood is different on birth control, thinner and less seductivedark and muted in hospital bags, shiny and fast on the surface of the skinthey were talking about sex and I was talking about mortality but we were talking about beauty I laughed out loud with my friends:it’s “a rough patch,”of harsh gravel, or grass that isn’t mowed? I’m easyto love, to forgivenessI love people who have hurt me“get your keys back,” he warned will you continue to scuttle through my life?the crab is my astrological sign, not yours now there is silence and snow,both clean, sentimentalthe wall and the memory of it being your bluebefore you came in, when we were trying to fill the house and I rolled aroundon the mattress with floral print,we had a home and they came over and we drank in the unmade bedand talked about who we suspect to be selling out incense makes it hard to breathe as I try to smoke your ghost outI see your objects before you took them,the display of holes in the walls are letters to your absence at the bar, “Stayin’ Alive” played and then a J.Lo song, then “Hotline Bling”all betraying the moodI wept quietly as I archived visual details,dull burgundy against tealdistracting myself by collecting cues to interpret laterI gave my tears permission to run free,itchy little streams, better theater, a better visual all the drama I have seen offscreen:her punching him in the shower with a puffy winter coat onthe slut-shaming in the doorwayhis cut up face and excusesthe array of objects flung against walls every time it’s simultaneously flat, yet always never-ending in the scenefinding curve and texture laterinfused in the bodies, objects and spaces that bore witnessthe pink tulips on the mantle, the photographs of the pretty Holstein cows emotions are meticulous in artless so in life. but in Kids, I know you’re aware they beat him up to the twang of upbeat Daniel Johnstoncheerful, rigorous, dissonantthe sky is bright and unbrokenhis young face glows wet and warm from bloodemotions confuse each other in the most real way here I wish I could tell you that the song was made for the movie, named for Casper, played by Justin Pierce, who committed suicide in a Las Vegas hotel.and that Larry Clark said his funeral was the worst day of his life,“a full-on Catholic wake with the open casket and all theseskateboarders in their fathers’ suits.” instead I hear this from someone else who has taken your placeas he who shows and tells,confused when I return the favor. the gin and tonic was lemon-less and warm. <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/12c47ca59fe7bc26a062f08bcd69dd77f499802685438e7f5d0b21ee36661f5e/Patterns-red1.png" data-mid="147389" border="0" data-scale="28"/> when I walk home from meeting you, I cue myself to cry againa vapid mix of glamour and powerthe white fur coat, the alabaster night,it’s all rehearsed, trite, necessary.the scene plays easyI call a friend after the tears run dry your kid face is etched into my psyche as vacant,symbolic of your not seeing me.it’s true I demand a lot of my friends. at the bar, you asked me if I knew what yelling wasyou could get one of the men at the bar to show me if I wantedyou told me you had been abused in every wayand used your fingers to indicate how many waysthen you asked me if I thought that you were going to flip the table over and hit me this was after we laughed at how dumb it was to toast bread at your sister’s fancy houseall the unnecessary mechanisms for mundane tasks,the exhausting ways of the Calgary elite this was after you showed me the colorful mural you made for her babyit is hopeful and simultaneously urgentyou are using a color palette akin to Henry Darger but I don’t tell youI have congratulated you too many timeswe will keep things from each other now <img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/6a307e00cc5a9c9914b7d6aeeb9274eb092c54f35ac92e27d91c548c9827aa45/Over_patterns_13.gif" data-mid="147388" border="0" /> x x Z·K When I saw you in the metro, thorny smile instead of hi,I knew then that you wouldn’t want to mend itbundled, a weary snowman, your face hollow in a... J.A. http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/J-A-1 Thu, 27 Oct 2016 16:37:04 +0000 It was over 116515 x<img width="2000" height="1000" width_o="2000" height_o="1000" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/2c4ded1eefad8ec2e6cbde52e8c3f5239be697baf01c0ab37a4fc3c1dc3991b5/lighter2.gif" data-mid="121587" border="0" data-scale="31"/> J·A Outside the diner allen lights up and says i love smoking and i say i love smoking too&nbsp; &nbsp; and then we talk about allen’s girlfriend who is also a friend of mine cause that’s how love works like a web and how she does not love smoking does not love it enough to hold it to her lips over and over and say i love you forgive me my suffering i love you n over like this &nbsp; this is a new year a new you one where you are not doing the work of living or healing or the &nbsp; heavy lifting of spiritual enlightenment or whatever it is that you’re supposed to do to be better and forgiven &nbsp; the new you is not interested in being or becoming or maybe you are becoming something but that thing you are becoming is a smoker &nbsp; You smoke reds? YeahMe too! Fuuuuck—(this wasn’t supposed to be about you) someone who likes to carve up the day with a still moment with a moment that is not productive is not reflective is not&nbsp; imsorryforgivememysufferingimsorry is not anything is not anything other than a stopping. or maybe a stooping like a stooping down like on your knees like hey man life is suffering but it’s cool right &nbsp; it’s cool it’s a good look i like this look&nbsp; this look this death look &nbsp; that looks neither forwards nor backwards as if i couldn’t shore up time as if i couldn’t go back and fix it&nbsp; &nbsp; as if i just have to keep nudging forward n forward forever n ever amen in perpetuity but i guess you gotta be responsible for whatever black smoke comes out of your puckering//suffering mouth &nbsp; huh allen’s girlfriend told me about taking ayahuasca at a wedding ceremony in the forests of brazil with a dear friend from middle school who married a brazilian trash king and went to live in a commune with him cause love works that way too like a spreading&nbsp; &nbsp; around the globe sometimes &nbsp; which is neat it’s neat i like it she said &nbsp; when you took it you saw the three yous and there was the shitty human-you with a body that’s like life is suffering i have a hole i need to fix it i want a cigarette&nbsp; &nbsp; and then the emotional-you or honestly i forget what the middle you was but it was not the body-you but it was also not the you-you that was tied up with some divine voice that looked neutrally and objectively and lovingly at your life and forgive yourself your sins &nbsp; which is a beautiful thing it sounds beautiful at least id like to try it i guess i am bathing myself in smoke my absolutions come quickly and without thought and then i turn em over &nbsp; &nbsp; we begin again&nbsp; &nbsp; you got a light man cause im on the chain yeah&nbsp; im on the chain &nbsp; amen <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/107d27c6846bbd0ed016c1d2850530d5f339d4c1a371b1ce6fd32256e9f371b4/PAtterns-red8.png" data-mid="121588" border="0" data-scale="41"/> x x J·A Outside the diner allen lights up and says i love smoking and i say i love smoking too&nbsp; &nbsp; and then we talk about allen’s girlfriend who is... J.S. http://overwhenyousaidwhat.com/J-S-2 Thu, 27 Oct 2016 16:37:02 +0000 It was over 116514 x J·S i. It was over when you put me on the Amtrak,toward Washington. You stood at the platformand I went down the escalator. A piece of pinkgum on your leg, stuck from luggingmy suitcase through Midtown in July. It was over before I came, in bedwith mono and a hundred drugsa thousand miles away. Feverish,pale, eighteen. You lugged my bag five blocksbecause the station had no storage,and when I said, “Bye”I couldn’t pointout the gum. When I said, “See you in August,”you said, “What?” And it was overbefore it began. <img width="2560" height="888" width_o="2560" height_o="888" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/a6e661ed154b6c2f75cc54c88d5df866cbd33e25ab96a8863c98ab6b0b1aaaef/Over_patterns_5.gif" data-mid="121586" border="0" /> ii. But years after that, it wasn’t over. It wasn’t over when I saw you, “sorry,so stoned,” on the museum balcony. It wasn’t over in a cramped Union Sq. caféwhere I stared at anything but your face. When I wept on the train or vomited Smacksthat were all I could eat one week in France,writing to you with “Ingrid Bergman” on where I’d gone to trace your path. Or when my therapist’s window faced that same café,half a decade later. Like death, like work,it was never over. iii. It was so over. I never owned a bar to tell its pianistto avoid mention of you, I never sang, I never did a heroic thing.I kissed you, caught mono anddied inside, down an escalator,entombed on the Amtrak. It was beyond over. When I emergedthe whole world lookedat my face and said, “What?...It’s so over.” <img width="2560" height="1600" width_o="2560" height_o="1600" src_o="https://cortex.persona.co/t/original/i/cfb814ca8ab870df66de5af29e76bafea7ac78881a4173785bdab35ade77a02c/PAtterns-blue5.png" data-mid="121585" border="0" data-scale="38"/> x x J·S i. It was over when you put me on the Amtrak,toward Washington. You stood at the platformand I went down the escalator. A piece of pinkgum on your leg,...