I found it while I was on the Skytrain, listening to dummies and roads and thinking of what was. And 2010 and my long hair and the things and changes that stayed constant. And repeating all the funny ways in which that really didn’t work out as expected at all. Thinking about the word that gave each of us away. I am not sure how to describe the dialectic that seems to define moments like this, moments when the silence is deafening and I can no longer understand what’s going on. Sometimes it feels like nothing can feel these voids. And I wish like someone else would describe pain as well as Sherman Alexie, who can treat it wish to much lightness that all its weight comes crashing down. You’re reading the sentences and everything seems ok and then it just hits you and you remember how the simplest things often make the least sense. And then I shift back to Richard Powers, who takes the contradictions and twists them and keeps twisting until they start to look like life. And you realize that you’ve experienced it all and you’ve lived it and you’ve been told that this is what life looks like. You think that there must be more and that if you tell people about it they’ll think what you’re saying is profound, but really all we want is the waitress to come by. There’s music, too. There are lyrics and sadness and the bass and the goodbye. When I come home and begin to write like this I know how odd it is that you stay as my constant. I call it antisynergy, he tells me. Okay, keys, cooperate. We’re going to listen and we’re going to talk. The walls are built around this, you know. Overall this year has been amazing and now it’s one in the morning and I’m still thinking of the beat drop and my piano.