let it die
Wednesday, June 16, 2004 5:35 a.m.i dont know why i wait. i have no right, no claim, no real reason. it is no longer mine. but i sit and wait nonetheless, wait for something to not happen, ever. and then paranoia becomes the only rational response for me.
I just have to look to my right, and i can see the beginning of the dawn, that bottlecap fortune coming true. it has been quite a while since i have seen those cotton-candy pink clouds coming over the horizon of apartments and office high-rises, and so many phallic smokestacks punctuate the air, stiff middle fingers to the early morning commuters and street people.
I realized that i dont sleep anymore; i merely lie in my bed, eyes closed, breathing, awake, for who knows how long. there was once a thyme when i would have gone off about how free that makes me, that i can exist in the moments between thyme, in those shadowy corners where others fear to tread. how i could be and do anything during those times. i used to think that. now it is a miracle if i even leave my room. i have not actually spoken to another human face to face in what -- two days? instead i skulk around in my own apartment like a thief (why are you sneaking like a thief?), avoiding probably freaked-out roommates while not accomplishing anything -- literally. i havent eaten in over 36 hours i think.... cant remember. but i feel steeped in euphoria, in a bad way .. too sad to bother breathing. fuck.
still, nothing is a mistake. it was the right decision, even though it makes me want to disappear quickly and plan for it, but we both know all my plans turn to dust, because of cowardice. which is why there will be no plan, just suddenly i will convince myself i can fly, and i will hurl myself up into those pink puffy clouds.
i want to become the cat's paws under my door. at least he knows how to signify that he wants attention, wants to be loved, wants to be held. but not me, no, never, i wouldnt dare.
i think i am becoming teen wolf..
hope that you are breathing softly..
listen: ..
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let it die
Monday, June 14, 2004 07:16 p.m.one day flows into another, even the light and darkness have no longer any meaning. you slide into the filthy space between emotions, and the walls cry bloody tears thickly. in this space you take refuge, because nothing can reach you there, nothing can touch you or affect you. once in a while you stick your hand out, to see if everyone is still breathing, and it hurts you.. not quite a burning, or cold, or a scratch, but you cry and cry and cry until blood runs from your own eyes in solidarity with those barren walls.
you lose so much blood that you become even paler and translucent; there is no more food in this space, this darkened alley between anything real and important. you wonder why you are afraid to hurt, why you stay inside, but your mind is too foggy. there is nothing here but a shuddering emptiness and you dig yourself deeper inside it, burrow close to it for comfort. see the contradiction? well then, leave this space if you crave comfort; vacate the vacance, step out into that intense swirling moment of absolute fear, (in)complete, naked, glistening, unfurling, stretching, you are light if you just let it; you can fly, but not in the way you thought. let the asphalt burn your feet, let the wind make whispers in your ears.
you can be whatever you want. there is no such thing as destiny.
listen: motherfucker=redeemer.. gy!be
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acid rain dance
Wednesday, June 9, 2004 6:28 p.m.SOFA KING HOT. i now wish that i was a nudist, so i could go out there with naked impunity. maybe i will wear the fig leaf, or a sock. never mind.
when you have no job, who wants to go out looking for one on a day like this? would rather just lie back and let the day pass. and have multiple showers whilst thinking about the people (lots and lots of them) who dont have that luxury. not even enough water to drink.
the lack of rain is nice for a little while. it makes the catharsis of a deluge that much more satisfying, for everyone. i wonder if we walk around holding so much inside, holding it quietly in a tight round little ball, holding it like some valuable possession, lest that someone snatch it away from us; and we wait for the rain to come, for that typical release, for that final period to end this sentence, even if this time Venus makes it burn us all a little, it should be sweet, because it is a letting go, and the letting-go's are always sweet, always painful.
i dont drink enough water, but i am willing to let it fall, barely used, down a drain. and i wonder why the dizziness overtakes me frequently. and i wonder random things like if she has had the baby yet.. i should find out. i should do a lot of things. but will i?
Those Bay street people must have been really stressed today. Boo hoo in their grey suits, while i bet people living on the streets die of dehydration, crawling towards the fountains that us 'regular' people dont want them to drink from. I have never seen anyone die of thirst... but i know i will somethyme in my life; and so will you if you havent already. if you look closely you can kind of see it beginning: the blank expressions on our faces, downturned and trodden eyes, shot with blood, invisible lines pulling us toward our destinations, oblivious to anything else; slowly dying of thirst for something real. forget it. that is all stupid metaphor. the only question is how to avoid the guilt of passing by a street person asking for some change. i need to know. if i actually kept count, i bet i have given well and above the average person. but it is not enough, never enough, not even a solution, its a salve for my conscience, right? but is it still a salve if the two dollars i give means a meal for the young girl? i dont know.
You dont know either.
listen: cat on the wall .. PJ Harvey
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i heard an air-raid siren
Tuesday, June 8, 2004 02:54 p.m.it certainly wasnt an ambulance, or police, or fire siren.. that much is for sure. then it died off. today was the Venus transit. its magnetic field is very weak, and so the solar wind from the sun blasts Venus' atmosphere far into space; in fact, far enough to reach us here. The atmoshpere is made primarily of sulphuric acid and ammonia. It has not been widely reported enough that many scientists are warning people to stay indoors for up to three days afterwards to minimize exposure to the toxic chemicals coming from Venus. my throat hurts, but i think it is just a coincidence.. or i am overreacting. and there have been recent studies showing that each time Venus passed between us and the sun, shortly after there have been huge pandemics that kill hundreds of thousands of people: influenza was one of them, the Plague another. symptoms started around 30 to 40 days after the transit. so we should just wait. i am actually thinking about getting a SARS mask thing, especially when it rains, like it is supposed to today.
and another thing: the two transits of Venus (next one is 2012) form a Pentagram.
but enough about doom. The skies have not darkened, things look hazy because of the humidity and smog, just like always.. everything is normal. but... there might be a 'terrorist' attack at the G8, hell will break loose. right now, the BBC is in high-level meetings concerning some huge story, apparently having to do with the unprecedented global naval deployments recently. we are not ready to be cast adrift yet.. i fear even worse tyrants will take over, or at least the organized militias in the US. after all, they have all the guns, and the social movements are still too fragmented and not organized enough. an attack would be bad for the movement.. would give whoever seizes power justification to crack down even more on dissent.
this much is clear: i am paranoid. it must be the heat..
listen: welcome to the jungle baby! .. hella
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new
Sunday, June 6, 2004 2:50 p.m.well, all new layout.. really though, the old one seemed cliche or something.. too much crap on the page.. i like the minimalist look of this, though i will be adding links soon. so even though i still have to get a few bugs out (why the fuck do i need THREE 'br' s to make ONE line break?), this will pretty much be it.
not much has changed since the last time i posted. i still eat a lot of peanut butter on my toast.. thats just how i like it. havent written much lately; in fact if i write here then you can assume i am writing elsewhere -- that should tell you how prolific i have been over the past month. and the poetry contest, i almost completely fucked that up: i sent in the entries with NO entry fee, like the dumbest of asses. so i had to send them in AGAIN, super-express post (which cost almost 30 dollars) along with the fee. that sure is a lot of money to spend on a massive long shot, if you ask me. i am sure the judges were shaking their heads in disbelief thinking, 'wtf? why bother?' well, probably not the what the fuck part..
yesterday i went to Gwendolyn MacEwen park for a benefit poetry reading, where all the bigshots in the poetry world came to honour Gwen's memory by reading some of their favourite poems by her. Atwood, Bok, Rosenblatt, Bowering were there, among others. I was disgusted when people wanted to get Bok's autograph, at a fucking memorial! hes not a fucking celebrity. it was to raise money to complete the casting of a bronze bas-relief of Gwen, and to put it in the park. If you think about it though, Margaret Atwood could single-handedly donate the 15 grand needed to get it finished (why does it cost that much?), she is wealthy enough. instead she leaves it to working (in my case non-working) stiffs to give 30 dollars a piece. i mean, shouldnt these big time poets be getting together to raise money for something worthwhile, like helping homeless people find homes and food and a livelihood. have they lost touch with reality that much? sure, a monument to Gwen is a nice gesture, but it isnt necessary. people who knew her personally, and people like me who were touched by her poetry and spirituality can remember her in their own way, personally. i say if we create a monument for Gwen, then fine: we create monuments for everyone who has ever died. sure she was extraordinary, but if you look close enough, there is something extraordinary about everyone.. monuments are just a way to beat 'regular' people down, to diminish them in the shadow of our great leaders or thinkers or visionaries; to convince us that we need to look up to these people. get off your fucking cross/pedestal.
still though, it was a nice time.. and i still liked "Julian the Magician".
tonight i am going to see do make say think, in a church no less. should be fun and cosmic. on tuesday i am seeing hella, and then from the 10th to the 12th, North by Northeast with Sarah Harmer, Feist, the organ et al. Phew a lot of links..
Venus is coming..
listen: dr. hooch .. do make say think
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yawn
Tuesday, May 11, 2004 12:12 a.m.i slept in until 3pm today to find a beautiful day awaiting me, so i went to the park behind the AGO -- the one notorious for drug dealing (at night, that is), and sat there to work on my poems. at first i was distracted by everything (why seclude yourself to multimedia in your room when outside has more sensuous sensory pleasure?), but then i was able to focus. today was the day i was supposed to send off three poems to the competition, alas i slacked. so today was the day to get it all done, to refine and perfect, and actually to create something entirely new, since all i had was two poems selected.
well, despite the heat and the guys smoking doobage behind me i was able to get everything done before i became exhausted (or dehydrated or high) and had to leave. the newest poem, "bloodless stain", actually was part of another poem that i am still werking on (having trouble 'ending' it), but it didnt seem to fit. i determined it didnt fit because it was its own organism, apart from the original. so it branched off and amazingly i was able to finish it in my barren room. all i need is a paperclip (these contests and editors in general HATE it when submissions are stapled together) and it will all be in the mail tomorrow. then the terrible waiting, the horrible horrible waiting. maybe i'll forget about it like i did with the variant...
and there are two more unfinished poems in the works at the moment. i have tried to fiddle with them today (see above), but it just hasnt been werking properly, so another day for them i suppose.
things will always be up in the air when you say "soon" to me, or even "later"...."soon" means 'later', "later" means 'much much later'...i should know that by now, but i always get fooled. i wish that i could have you for a day, instead of the fading hours of night, in the darkness all the thyme, during which we fall into unconsciousness, and then you must leave quickly the next day. just because i dont sleep doesnt mean i can be accessed at all hours with a smile. it doesnt werk that way. hopefully something good will come of this, for instance the patching up of things with maredeath. but anyway i needed the day to get things done.
i found myself holding out for the possibility that Julian wouldnt be crucified.
C.
listen: King Rides By -- cat power
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incoherent radio static
Thursday, May 6, 2004 05:52 p.m.well. here i am in yet another place. a place with a window, and a kitchen, and a bathtub.... and three females. yeah a few days ago i moved into a room, two houses away from allice, on the second floor. its kind of nice. i am learning how to cook again, how to live again, in a sense. but i havent really slept in my own bed yet. thats what happens when you live two doors away from bliss and a larger bed.
i will train myself to leave this place at least once a day. and so far i have done that -- its nice living so close to everything essential. the only problem is i dont have a phone, so it appears i am isolated a bit; no more phone calls from allice during her breaks at the evil place. i will certainly miss them; i already do, actually.
there is a literary contest, deadline may 15th, and i have yet to send anything in. i havent even looked at the four poems i wrote a couple weeks ago, while my room in rez was empty of material objects and slowly filling with the sand of inane chit chat. i will have to spend extra money just to make sure my entry gets there on time, plus the 20 dollar entrance fee. it appears as though i have caused myself to fail: if i dont win, is it because of lack of skill or lack of time spent revising or lack of motivation? now i will never know. but there are other contests; this one is just the earliest.
its my dads birthday tomorrow; he will be 47. i dont talk to him that much; not as much as i should anyway. and sometimes i dont really care, but other times i feel really guilty about it. and not for any philosophical reasons like he might be dead tomorrow; for normal reasons, like he is the reason i am able to live here right now; he is the reason i was able to go to school. so it feels like i am taking advantage of his resources. thats why i will pay him back somehow, someday.
now, to the poems.
listen: incoherent radio static
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lame duck; geese actually
Wednesday, April 21, 2004 06:43 p.m.another long wait before another vague entry. o well.
no job yet, havent really looked, but things are looking up in a way or two. i will be living only two doors away from the legendary (and very hot) allice for the summer. and I have a bathtub, and windows, and three Asian girls, and a cat to contend with. as of yet i have no way to get my things down there....yikes.....and i feel very bad for backing out on Cam; he seemed to take it well, but was kinda sorta counting on me for the money seeing as he is very poor (he's a musician -- they are always poor). but i told him that i would help him in every way possible to find someone suitable for his place in evil e-tobicoke.
i hope tonight will be fun...i think so. a big late dinner with the incomparable chalawitch at the helm. and perhaps wine and good company. very nice.
i went to the very small and disappointing anti-occupation rally this past sundae. took some pictures with my crappy-ass 300k pixel digital. the rally didnt draw enough people to take the streets, so we were to stay on the sidewalk. but i managed to sneak across the street right up to the konsulate. here's pictures:
and today as i was leaving campus, i spotted two Canada Geese, just sitting, lounging around, feasting on the abundance of green grass which happens to be the only nice thing about this place. when i returned home i grabbed the "camera" and had a little photo shoot. obsoive:
seriously i dont know why i am posting these, as they will soon be little red X's once more than two people show up here. well, thats what you get when you steal bandwidth from geocities and you are too damn cheap to pay for image hosting. bah.
C.
listen: Sirens -- girl nobody
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not really vindication
Thursday, April 15, 2004 03:16 p.m.i just want to think so because i am dramatic. today i did something that i should be doing every thyme that urge compels me: i woke with words floating around in my head, playing with them, shifting them, changing their meanings....so i actually wrote them down. wow. what a concept. and if it ends up a poem, well then it will be yet another step, because i usually tell little (or "special little") stories with my pomes, but it seems like this one would be an experiment in words, in word play, for the hell of it. i never thought that i could do that. we'll see, wont we?
So today is the 15th, the launch of version 7 of the greenboathouse website, where i actually have something published in the variant project. so here it is for your viewing pleasure (or displeasure), as vaguely promised. maybe mine will be selected for the broadsheet. that would be nice, but being realistic, i think mine ranks at best 3rd out of five, meaning that i think there are two other poems up there that are far better than mine. that suits me fine; in the middle, for now.
at the end of this month i will be moving to fucking etobicoke for three months! at night the place seems on the edge of a dark abyss, but really its the lake. maybe you could come over and watch the sunset with me somethyme. only three months, at 500/month. if i didnt get a job, that would eat up exactly half of my savings, not including food and other pseudo-necessities. so i would really like to have a job. and this thyme i am not going to be timid like i was when i first started at no skills, terrified of being fired. i will work as hard as i want, i will declare my unwillingness to be treated like a slave, i will carve out small places of autonomy from the bosses, i will lie, cheat and steal if i have to, in order to stay alive. and i guess i will have to travel far to saturate the TTC with my words; so be it...
C.
listen: Say -- cat power
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Saturday, April 3, 2004 09:57 p.m.
everything is so much more boring here. ahh barrie. nothing to remind me of my impending failure quite like this place. time is so slow here, it just sticks to you and wont let go. and all i think about is the absurdity of the day previous:
MAN: You shouldn't have quit me, baby.
WOMAN: Yeah, well you shouldn't have hit me.
From the greatest movie of all thyme, Kingpin.
I find myself wishing i was home, solitary, or perhaps with the one who so callously branded me yesterday. This loneliness is not right, or normal for me, at all. but i feel it sinking in deeper with each minute passing thickly. my overreacting mind plays with visions of a revengeful partner partaking in forbidden activities with abandon, finally abandoning all pretense, that is. on first look, it would appear that our little deal is not working, what with all the violence.... but i suppose i need to step back, take another hard look, perhaps get a second opinion....but who would i dare show this macabre play to? it would undoubtedly confirm to them the degree of my insanity, how much i am really out of touch with what it actually looks like.
it seems that all bets and gloves are off. i felt recently in one of the frequent battles, that i am tired of playing the doe, sick of being so passive and conciliatory. i almost allowed myself to wake the aggressive beast in me, that wants to win at all costs. i wondered where the simple, righteous person went, the one who merely wishes to clear his name, to defend himself, to regain control over his own person and nothing more.
instead i am left with the passive mute, and the murderous megalomaniac.
where art thou?
listen: .....
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"Mount Peasant"
Wednesday, March 31, 2004 06:56 p.m.Between Summerhill and Davisville i noticed the clever eradication. The necropolis called Mount Pleasant was missing its letter elle: MOUNT P EASANT but the truth still remains i think that the rich were buried there, not the weary. o well. it was still a hope.
The empty spaces always say so much more.... A poem forged from each colour of the rainbow must be written someday. And I dont want to forget the green umbrella -- "caught red-handed in its sway..." and the seats on the TTC that lie to you. The fuzzy red texture makes one think of regal comfort, that one could sink everlasting into some furtive luxuriation, right there on the scummy bus. But then when you sit, you feel the lie that your hoping eyes could not see properly, and the seat is a torture chamber. Incense. I am collecting the used toilet paper rolls, or more accurately, my single minion has hoarded them for me most excellently. The thyme is almost coming near. But now i hunger ...
listen: to your own breathing
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weak nuclear force head
Saturday, March 27, 2004 12:29 p.m.this thing i submitted i cant remember when (but somethyme before january 31 i presume) to a publisher's website was one of five poems selected. i was very surprised, actually; i kind of sent it in on a lark. but i guess they liked it. they call it an 'exercise' for poets or something. its called "Variant". they give you some written passage, from anywhere really, as a 'trigger', then you write your response to it, in poetic form. so i happened to already have a poem that kind of fit what the trigger was, so i sent it in; and it was selected. it will be officially posted on April 15, even though i have a top secret temp link (which you might already have, if you are superspecial).
It was very bizarre, though, having to write a short biographical sketch in the third person. i have never done that before, it makes me feel all pretentious; but really it must be less pretentious than expecting someone else to spout praise about you. and i had to tell them how i came up with the poem; this was a little embarrassing, because the poem i submitted was written spontaneously in an email one day. and then i forgot about it for months until suddenly i woke up remembering the words on my lips one morning. but anyway, the two who chose it probably think i am a sexual deviant or something, i am sure the poem brought to mind blow-up sex dolls or something, since the trigger was this: "Now we are persons breaking open. The real is not enough to pleasure us." and the poem speaks of plastic skin. but take it as you may, i suppose; their twisted interpretation probably werked in my advantage. if they figured it was about a real person they would have thrown it in the trash can.
so now they (the two editors) are in the process of choosing one out of the five that will be put on broadsheet (wtf that means i am not sure -- maybe actually printed on real paper?), and the poet gets 10 per cent of the print run. so i wait. and hope. and pretend that i wont be devastated when i am not selected. boo hoo.
greenboathouse books
listen: Mannequin Republic -- At the Drive-In
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glappy
Tuesday, March 9, 2004 08:22 p.m.marija and i are going apartment-hunting together next friday....yay! some progress! now all i need to do is look for a job, and maybe even actually do skool werk, since i havent for weeks on end. but now when i am alone, i am always looking up writing resources, and i am always thinking about pomes, and the project. i used to waste my thyme and not accomplish anything -- now i am still ignoring skool, but at the benefit of something i care about.
i have to keep reading and keeping myself informed, so that my mind can start flowing with article ideas again. i used to be in that kind of mindset, i know i can rediscover it somehow.
but in the meanthyme, once again during my english lecture i werked on a pome: really, i think that i have created about four original werks in english, just because i hated what was being taught -- i would go off somewhere else in my mind as a result of a certain werd uttered by the prof. today i brainstormed for about forty minutes, writing more about being in the underground, commuting. though i admit i didnt get exactly what i was hoping for, since it seems to be turning abstract rather than political: i want to inspire subversive thinking, i want you to be thinking about classes, about history, about struggle, but without being cliché.... and with the werds and combinations i was coming up with, i saw it becoming more and more distant. o well. i dont have to use any of what i wrote today. or i can use some and continue to modify it.
i really want to get outside though. perhaps i should have went out with you tonight. it would have been a nice change i think. perhaps next thyme, if it ever presents itself that is....
its hard to actually have anything to write about when you sit alone in your room; as you can see, i have avoided writing about that completely. but there is the very scary potential of runnung dry, since i am here so much. its high thyme for me to start wandering again, observing the wrecked patterns of life in the city. if i think of all the different perspectives that Sam Javanrouh has, in his various pictures, it makes me want to find that here, with words. perhaps i will write something about The Reader. but i would need to see him with mine own eyes. and what about The Archer? or The Wishing Tree? These are all on my mind. I want to be inside that sculpture, i want to feel the marks left on it by noman, i want to be everywhere he has been and see everything he has seen -- its all here, in this city.
somethymes amnesia would be a blessing.
listen: Thinking of You -- A Perfect Circle
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No One Has Ever Looked So Dead
Saturday, March 6, 2004 12:39 p.m.man do i feel great. and by great i obviously mean 'like puking up internal organs and then making soup out of them'. yeah, thanks maredeath, i better not get obsessed with it.
i had immense trouble sleeping again, FUCK. so i WAS going to actually go out today, go to the International Women's Day March actually, and look around the city this thyme with very observant eyes, so i could push forward on the new project. but i seriously feel worse than i look, and i look like a mutilated baby. fuck whats with the awful imagery today?
"I think I'll go out and act anti-celibate, and throw grenades at a Christmas choir...."
so what will i do whilst i wait for the thyme to come to see a certain person whom i happen to miss more than i miss toast.... and i why do i even miss toast? i have an entire loaf of bread in my fridge.... anyway. we must remember to take it easy and slow -- we dont want to fall into that all-too comfortable trap, right? we have to reestablish our autonomy, so that we can be GLAPPY together. glappy. our new werd. and i like how you wrote 'werk' rather than 'work' to me this morning; it made me smile. thanks.
i guess i can actually 'clean' my room (its actually starting to feel like my room again since i finally slept in the same bed here for at least two nights), and wash dishes, and have yummy toast, etc etc.
so bye then.
listen: Allison Krauss -- The Stills
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was i productive today?
Saturday, March 6, 2004 02:29 a.m.hard to say. i slept in until about 3pm today, then i didnt go out anywhere -- as usual (what would i do? who would i see?) -- and i planned to clean up the disarray that is my room. didnt really get to that. i mostly sat around thinking about writing (haha a title of one of my pomes), and what i realistically thought i could accomplish. i dont think i have the stuff to get published right now -- i dont even have enough poems for a lousy chapbook. and the contests that i will be submitting to dont reach deadline until the summer, so its just a big waiting game.
the solution came in the form of someone else's idea: a clever idea, that i am sure i had thought about once or twice before.... one of my wishes is that poetree is not just the domain of the pretentious upper-crust socialite: it should belong to the people and so should be readily accessible. this guy calling himself the "guerrilla poet" writes quirky (but in a crappy way in my opinion) poems, then posts them all over his city, in public places, for regular people to see; sort of a DIY version of the TTCs "Poetry on the Way" thing. the sad thing is that this guy has this cool idea, but his poems suck ass, in fact suck ass so bad that i think they would be eligible for that TTC program.
so i thought: good idea, terrible delivery. it seems like he's using the term "guerrilla poet" in much the same way as ad firms use the term "guerrilla marketing" -- in a suck ass kind of way. why cant the poems be about raising class consciousness, about rebellion, or at least an attempt to get people to look at things differently. the 'guerrilla' has a pome he puts on a bar on a subway, and its about whether or not people wash their fucking hands....i mean, we already have those kinds of messages: i can just picture that poem of his, and then right next to it an ad for that Purel disinfectant shit.
anyway, so i am going to appropriate this idea, and do with it what he should have done: foment insurrection, rebellion, kill your masters, class war, etc etc.
ahaahaha i just had a thought: if i were any kind of visual artist, i would paint a picture of Jesus masturbating and call it "Jesus Fucking Christ". That seriously makes me want to puke laughing.....i need to laugh somethymes, especially now with this heaviness in my heart...
"...and a drop of rain could split my heart in two..."
C.
listen: Leech -- Incubus
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stabbed-heart city
Thursday, March 4, 2004 09:56 p.m.i think i will move all of my pomes. somehow they seem less intense with that fucking clever geocities banner popping up all the thyme. i swear, i have like four different banner killing scripts up there, but eventually they find another way to get through.
i dont know why i even wasted my thyme writing this....oh right. i miss her and it kills me to think about her, so i must distract myself.....
edit: here they are, ad free. go to town. not really though.
C.
listen: No Cities Left -- the dears
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archive is being a bitch
Thursday, March 4, 2004 08:21 p.m.it looks so empty here, doesnt it? story of my life.....
listen: paper doll -- lisa germano
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