Monday, November 15

i've moved to http://notesweleftonthecounter.tumblr.com/

come see me there.
tom,

shiela will be the one on platform three with the sign that says, my name is shiela.  she's got a long blond braid and looks a bit like woody allen in the face, maybe it's just her glasses.  can't miss her.  don't make a pass, ok?  just don't.  she's my sister.
dearest,

i am crying into my hands, just, and thinking we must cry a little more, a little harder, a little louder. it's the only way to get this aching out, out there instead of in here, in our hearts.

you know the way a cloud of swifts moves and changes shape, almost folds back on itself and back and back again, as though by wind?  remember how you see in a moment that it's not a cloud but hundreds of birds, and in another moment notice that there is no wind, none but a bird breeze, the brush of hundreds times two for each pair of wings.  i am thinking of moment memories: one, that cloud of swifts above and before us, your jacket pulled up around your ears and the sound of your voice when you said, did you see that?

as for you and i, i didn't imagine our love anything like a beast with two wings, but rather two birds that flew together for awhile, careening, following and folding back and back and back.  we are not one thing, but two that moved together for awhile.  i thought we'd just keep folding and reappearing in new shapes, making new clouds, new winds, slicing through the sky while other lovers watched in awe whispering, did you see that?

be well, my love.  my head is in my hands.

Friday, November 12

you are not awake yet.  you're dreaming and your mouth is a little bit open and i love to watch you breathe like that, when you're sleeping like that.

thanks for letting me love you strong, especially when you're unaware.  i love you strong, sometimes, unawares.
dear one,

the hipsters downstairs told me with their outfits this morning that ugly is the new cool, and uncomfortable is the new black. 

we are unforgivably uncool, you and i.  did you know that?  at least we match.  i knew i'd find you somewhere.  in a raincoat, since it's raining.

unfashionably yours,
gabe

Thursday, November 11

Good morning my little Billy Goat,

When you leave, remember that there's a skunk or two making a home under our steps.  I don't know what to do about that.  I haven't done anything about that.  Maybe there isn't anything we can do about that?  Maybe it's Pepe Le Pieu.  Mmm....smooch.....smooch....mmmmmmmaybe he loves you as much as I do.

A french skunk.  How did they come up with that?  It's gold.  It's also early and my perception of 'gold' is a bit easy.  

xo

Wednesday, November 10

we live in a shit hole.  this place is disgusting.  there is food on the floor, enough to make dinner with if you were into that sort of thing.  the dishcloth smells like pee and mildew, like mildew peed on it.  the cupboard handles are sticky.  the only clean dishes we have available are large spoons and there is now a smooth colony of ants who probably thought they were invited. 

anyone agree?  this is gross.  seriously.  why?
i promise to stop leaving notes.  you're right and i'm sorry. 

terra

Tuesday, November 9

tess,

there will be no room in heaven for me, i know, because i broke your favourite cup.  i will find you another favourite cup.  i promise.  it will be very special and very favourite-like and i will find it and bring it home for you swaddled in linens and and one hundred 'i'm sorries'.  i'm sorry.  i am sorry.

there is a moroccan saying that when you break something glass or glass-like, it means that someone who was thinking nasty things about you just stopped.  i think the opposite happened when i broke your cup.  i think you may have just started.

forgive me.
not yet.
but one day,
please forgive me.
i may not ever have been so angry as i am with you right now.  you know exactly why.  don't ask.  don't speak.  please don't call me at work.  leave me be, and just let me be so angry with you.  it's wonderful, passionate, this rage, and it will pass.  but you should stay away from me for a little while.  like, go sleep on your sister's couch.  don't buy me consolation flowers.  don't weep near me.  don't assume any shapes or shades of pathetic.  don't apologize, not yet.  just try your best to not be around when i get home.  that will be good for your health.  i promise you, i will not.  be good for your health.

f.

Sunday, November 7

i love you like berries love bears: they just say, "come and get it."
mike,

you took my socks.  you always take my socks.  give me back my socks.  all the socks you've taken.  please wash my socks before you return them to me but let that task not delay, by any means, your prompt response to this note.  stay up late to wash them.  wake up early to wash them.  lose sleep.  make sure there remains not even a whisper of whatever fungal activity flourishes on the nourishing plain of your feet.  you could even....buy your own socks!  i dunno.  just an idea. 

please.  give me back my socks.   they're mine which makes it true and sure that they are not, however surprising this may be, yours.  they're not.  they're mine. 

love, still,  roxy

Monday, November 1

dear house,

please whisper to the plants for me while i'm away, they'll whisper back and then none of you will be lonely.  i'm afraid you've got to start it though, as they might not notice i've left.  only you will.  only you notice the frequency of doors shutting, the opening and closing of your window eyelids, the back and forth of socked feet across the cradling arms of your floors, the chorus sounds of voice bells ricocheting between your loving walls.

i'll be right back, sooner than soon--just-- i have to go see about a boy. 

love,
little me.

Saturday, October 30

dear "i forgot",

your pretty clothes are on the porch.  better get them indoors somewhere before it starts raining, which looks like is might be soon.

this perfect end is a perfect beginning.  i hope that becomes true for you too.

peace.  i mean it.  i wish you peace.

love (is a hollow word),
"i remembered"

Friday, October 29

ted,

good morning.

but more importantly, last night you said that being with me was like meeting your maker which last night i took to understand meant that being with me is like conversing with god, which is weird but ultimately flattering.  this morning, however, over too strong black coffee and burnt toast (my fault), i'm thinking while you lie still sleeping, that you probably meant that being with me is like some kind of abstract mortal challenge, a test of will, if you will, of your own sort of late blooming personal integrity, morality and humanity.

please clarify.  immediately.

have a good one (insert slightly harder than necessary, sort of 'bro-type' punch to the right shoulder.  yours).

xo

Thursday, October 28

deep breath.....i'm just going to let you know: i can see through almost all of your t-shirts and it makes my body feel funny.  please either manage your wardrobe accordingly, given this new information, or be my girlfriend. 

i know this is not eloquent.  you are.  usually.  besides the t-shirt thing.  i have no words. 
Hi G,

Leslie missed her flight because she slept in and was still too drunk to fly.  She might stay, and then I would be truly happy.  Don't tell anyone.  Destroy this note.  Shit, that girl makes me feel free.  We're at the bottom of the hill drinking Jameson like heros, watching the sun go down.  She's probably not down yet, when you read this.  Come watch with us.  I bet the sun would wait for you anyway, before she left.  You're just that kinda guy.  Don't make fun of me.  Don't kill my love with shame, just put your shoes back on and come ask me to slow dance. 

B.
Lisa Anne,

Kali is the destroyer.  She burns everything so that new stuff can grow.  This is Kali-Compassion:

You are not a banjo master, and you're not getting any closer to fine.  Please consider the following:  1). I truly admire your effort.  2). You are beautiful and divine and clever and creative but music is just not your language.  3). I can't think when you try and 4). The woman downstairs hates both of us because of your 'calling'.

Admit it, it's not fair to subject your family and neighbours to the pain of your steep learning curves.  I'm sorry to be harsh, but also, kind of not.  

That's love. 
Michael, my sweet,

I didn't make lunch for you today because I'm done with food.  It's boring for me now.  Sorry.  I hate sandwiches. 

You will find, however, that I have packed you a collection of some of my very favourite poetry, which will be my new bread.

I still love you, even if you think you love someone else.
Sweet Prince,

Even though you steal my socks and you never make the bed, even though you wear your boots right into the kitchen and smoke too many cigarettes, even though sometimes you use all the hot water by accident and you shrunk my favourite sweater in the wash, I love you more than seeds love dirt and I want to see your face every day and I want to kiss it and I want to wake up beside you every morning and I want to make you coffee and I want to think of you as home.   I think of you as home. 
Riley,

I’m pregnant.  I’m just going to get more and more pregnant.  You need to get a job. 
Dearest Most Dalingest Bonk Tonculous, 

Mind if I start calling you donkey?  I dreamt of you and short horses last night.  I think it means something.
Dear Suzy,  

Well, you look nice today.  

Also,  I used the last of your milk.  Black coffee’s not so bad, and you’re tougher than me.  Sorry.  I know you’re mad.  Right now, three hours before you’re awake I can imagine your face while you read this and, you’re mad.  Right now, you’re mad.
Dear Schmidt head,

I woke up last night just to watch you toss around a bit.  You sleep like a dolphin.  You sleep like a windy night.  Dolphins mate for life.  Just sayin’.   

Love, Corn Hole, the Greatest.
Hi Sam,

I gave your cat to your ex. She came over while you were at work. She said it was hers. Left her phone number. She’s cute, man. Mind if I give her a call?
Dear Ladies of this Giant Effing House,

Use a dish=Wash a dish
Wash a dish=Dry a dish
Dry a dish=Put a dish away

This is a formula that's been worked out in Geneva. They say it really works. They say that practicing these three easy steps has been proven to lower the rate of domestic homicide in houses of three or more people who are not related and therefore not indebted to one another in terms of harnessing loving kindness, empathy and compassion in the face of adversities and/or slovenly domestic transgressions.

Cheerio!
Mornin' Phyllis,

I won’t be back. I hope someone gives you a pony, or something equally awesome. You’re alright. I miss the road. Got shows to play. Bye, babe. Thanks for all the sandwiches.
Being with you is like riding my bicycle with no hands.
Benjo Bonjo Tambourine,

Your hair is long and disgusting and it’s clogging up the drain, so unless you’d like to bathe in the filth that washes off of my sweet sweet body when I have a shower, I suggest you either trim your do, or deal with our bathtub plumbing.  Pronto.
My Sweet, My Delight,

I know you got loser pissed last night because I found your vomit in the garden, just right beside the gladiolas. Please drink lots of water. Please eat some dry toast. Please enjoy your hangover. You will never have another one again because you’re grounded.
Dear Rob,

Please don’t put the Tupperware in the dishwasher because it makes the lids melt and not fit the bottoms anymore.