Plea to a Long-Lost Editor

You used to edit for me and I miss it

Especially hearing
"Damn, I like that line.
I wish I had thought of it."
Best compliment ever
You know, I never really knew you
But now I lack an editor and I miss it.
You probably would have edited this piece out



But Could You Elaborate?

It's nothing bad.
I meant I wonder if you see me in the ways I see you
Stop still and notice the shadows of the blinds, fractured glints through your hair
I mean more than the beauty and the aspirations
This is not meant to be a puzzle
You shouldn't take things so seriously
The curve of your shoulder arches into a wave across your back
Your one eye opens
I'm not just fucking with you.
Your body is a puzzle
I piece
I only meant that I look at you like poetry



"You're a Slave to Money, Then You Die"

Well, yes of course I want it. How can I not? How can I sit here in Waterloo, Ontario, writing for a university magazine without it? I can hypothesize about fleeing, but it is ubiquitous. Run naked into the woods to escape it. The thought of being free – free from the desire, the work, the reward, the desire, the work, the reward – is tantalizing, but a fiction. Your talent is a lovely cog that fits plainly into the machine of your life. We’re built into this, what could anyone else expect? Oh yes, it’s evil and it’s a trap and it’s a corruptly spun lie to convince you of your need – but we obey, and we fear falling outside the blueprint.
Let’s just ignore this thought. Perhaps we can exist and function alongside it, and not be defined by it. Let’s do other things. Let’s paint and act and scrapbook and have children and photograph and start working out to find our purpose.
I need some money for paint.




You look like someone's ex-girlfriend
or abusive uncle
or best friend from high school that they haven't seen in years
You look like someone's dead grandmother
or coke-addled son.
All I'm saying is,
someone saw you today, and had a bad day


"Do I have douche bag magnets in my pockets?"

What I came to realize is that you
like me better depressed.
You really do.
You like me better when I'm depressed without you.

Copyright © a contemplation (Emily Jones) 2013. All rights reserved.