i'm hot. stop talking.

emily/saintmodesto talks feelings like nobody else. here's a smattering [if you will] of pretty words that came right out of her little head/heart/fingertips:

+"My heart is big and I am small."

+"I thought that I was the loneliest person on the planet

then I started listening to other people and realized they're all lonely too and I thought it was strange that everyone is the loneliest person on earth so why can't we be more kind"

+"I love you like a character in a book,

one who will never change because your soul

is pressed forever in the pages, but

will also grow as I grow"

i know. and she takes photos too.

anyway, while we were in new york last weekend, it was too hot to move so i was looking at this and then we drew some pictures. highlights include tegan and sara, robot sex, and stephen dunn so click click click to see it big.

now you're lit up by the city

this is how i start everything; i’m apprehensive. it’s been more than a month and my thoughts come slow, slow.

i don’t always say things with the intensity that i mean them. i tell stories better face-to-face; in real life, i’ve got my hands and my eyebrows to move around when the right words are lost somewhere down in my knees, afraid to be pulled up into my heart or even my stomach.

but this is a story. all i can write is my thoughts so sink your eyes into the words and then, face-to-screen-to-screen-to-face, maybe we’ll connect.

that’s how we did it. for some of us, it started with riese’s words. all of us voyeurs, we saw our thoughts staring us in the face more beautifully than we could have ever thought them. i read people as much as books and here were both wrapped up together.

it was words and words and words and then an explosion.

there was that part at the beginning where all my nerves were racing around—and not just in my head, my whole body was feeling it. at first i felt little, like i’d have to shout to be seen. but instead, we just settled into ourselves. unseen sparks of something sinking in, my skin was tingling like laughing or like drinking, which we did a lot.

between the incredible chaos, i liked when we walked back to our hotel and didn’t say anything, because breathing is nice sometimes, too.

with alcohol on your side, who can say what’s true? the weekend was quick and so sweet and it wasn’t real life. but here’s the best part: it was real life. every second actually happened.

then the morning came and we woke up anticipating instant nostalgia but instead were filled with a different emptiness. it doesn’t make sense to mourn a beginning. i’m finding out where my holes are and realizing that what we’re making is easing the hollow feeling.