Vancouver

I always want to disappear when i'm in vancouver. I want to be anonymous, but i feel painfully self-conscious when i'm here. perhaps it's derivative of self-counscious childhood and teenage years. Perhaps, i know vancouver, and i feel it knows me. I don't want vancouver to know i'm here. I keep my head low, and my hood down as i walk through the rain that melts onto the cement. I never look around to see the faces on the bus when i get on. I don't engage in the life that Vancouver means, but i feel that the vibrancy of Vancouver leaks into the house from the rims and edges of windows and doors, the rancerous odour solidifying before my eyes to strangle me before i should die.

I’ve tried to start new lives in other places, but here I am back again, under the subjection of Vancouver. Beckoning, I refused. I have an image of a world that has not been peopled. But it has yet to reify.