2.2.10
28.1.10
22.1.10
homeless at your wake
Leave your shell for the men who roam.
Pick up sticks, the coffins of the playground.
Like mankind through the ages
you've moved,
leaving behind frail porcelain figures
that wane at your wake.
Poems follow you like rivers,
writing your path in the sand.
Hands draw your reflection as they whittle away the clouds.
Camels sip at puddles as they form behind you--
drinking your thirst for their lives.
After this they'll go without water forever;
their tears forming tunnels in the molten leftovers of your design.
Some would fight time to pull you back.
We follow your coffin like lost soldiers on the Saharan plateau.
Pick up sticks, the coffins of the playground.
Like mankind through the ages
you've moved,
leaving behind frail porcelain figures
that wane at your wake.
Poems follow you like rivers,
writing your path in the sand.
Hands draw your reflection as they whittle away the clouds.
Camels sip at puddles as they form behind you--
drinking your thirst for their lives.
After this they'll go without water forever;
their tears forming tunnels in the molten leftovers of your design.
Some would fight time to pull you back.
We follow your coffin like lost soldiers on the Saharan plateau.
19.1.10
Photo Contest
View - Travel tips and inspiration - British Airways High Life
I entered a photo contest! head to the link and vote for me.... first contest ever. thaaaaanks
I entered a photo contest! head to the link and vote for me.... first contest ever. thaaaaanks
15.1.10
14.1.10
P.K
Today my world is crumbling a little...maybe just breaking off around the edges—falling into obscurity. The granite that held it so solid has shifted, and underneath i only see black nothingness.
The world is so grotesquely unfair.
I wanted to see you—i needed to see you, to tell you i love you, to tell you i see you. But i couldn't or i didn't try hard enough and now i never will. You aren't hiding around the corner on the wet cobblestone streets. You aren't waiting for me to find you like a big game of hide and seek. You just aren't anymore.
When i think of you, i think of light. I think of the universe and all the little pieces that become so inconsequential when you look at the larger picture—how they seem so irrelevant from far away, but up close they're integral to all that we know. This isn't a comparison. You always were relevant you always made something, said something, did something to love. With a gin in your left hand, you conquered the world with metaphors and assonance—you drew parallels to vertical eternities and sipped with a lemon.
You have changed the world and I'm so frightened to see it wither away without you. You are a beauty beyond ages, stronger in spirit than most are in ephemera. I'll miss you, along with so many—and those who didn't meet you will never understand the magnitude of what they missed.
Bonne chance, à bientôt.
12.1.10
8.1.10
friday night
it's 9pm. i'm drinking a beer and doing my fiction homework. i'm completely naked under a bathrobe after taking a shower that's been due a couple of days. the giant owl on my desk stares back at me over his right shoulder, unflinching, while the sun never manages to set behind him.
i occasionally open my mouth to curse tess, the new teacher who assigns too much homework. i haven't yet had the chance to tell her that she shares her name with my dog.
i occasionally open my mouth to curse tess, the new teacher who assigns too much homework. i haven't yet had the chance to tell her that she shares her name with my dog.
6.1.10
underwhelmme
i am underwhelming, at best. a classic underachiever. coasting on passable talents, cultivating--nothing. i follow whims for a couple of footfalls and get distracted by paw prints in the sand. they lead me to dead ends dammed to all heights, waterfalls on every side. even when i turn around, something is stopping me--"a person who can't even regress?" it's absurd, but i'm her.
to everyone else in the world, i'm full of potential. untarnished, unbridled, bursting potential...that never seems to dissipate, but never goes anywhere either...that one who is plugging away at things as they come.. working her way toward something, never sure what. still, after all this time, not sure what. i could... so many things. i do.... nothing. not yet, not ever it would seem. those fucking beavers in my head building walls so high birds dare not cross, nor snowflakes, or clouds or any manifestation of great height that might overcome these walls. nothing may pass.
i lull in my cradle full of porcupine spines and thorns with no roses, i rock so hard i cling for my life, though never manage to fall out. i twist in nightmares of dreams gone astray--plundering angels searching for prey--never me, but always almost... like a curse that hasn't quite worked out the kinks, trying to wreak havoc but only managing a mild form of blindsided torture. i exist.
underwhelming, at best.. and for what? who wants to procreate with an intellectual circus--undecided and untamed, unruly, unkempt and potentially disastrous. these things are fun to watch, from afar. but from inside, a whirling dirvish of dissolution. of unknowing, of fruitlessness and laziness. going nowhere but round and round caught in dust, disgust and indecision for ever and ever. and ever.
to everyone else in the world, i'm full of potential. untarnished, unbridled, bursting potential...that never seems to dissipate, but never goes anywhere either...that one who is plugging away at things as they come.. working her way toward something, never sure what. still, after all this time, not sure what. i could... so many things. i do.... nothing. not yet, not ever it would seem. those fucking beavers in my head building walls so high birds dare not cross, nor snowflakes, or clouds or any manifestation of great height that might overcome these walls. nothing may pass.
i lull in my cradle full of porcupine spines and thorns with no roses, i rock so hard i cling for my life, though never manage to fall out. i twist in nightmares of dreams gone astray--plundering angels searching for prey--never me, but always almost... like a curse that hasn't quite worked out the kinks, trying to wreak havoc but only managing a mild form of blindsided torture. i exist.
underwhelming, at best.. and for what? who wants to procreate with an intellectual circus--undecided and untamed, unruly, unkempt and potentially disastrous. these things are fun to watch, from afar. but from inside, a whirling dirvish of dissolution. of unknowing, of fruitlessness and laziness. going nowhere but round and round caught in dust, disgust and indecision for ever and ever. and ever.
2.1.10
what happens...
here's zipper looking regal:
here's me taking a picture of myself in a mirror:
here's april watching me take a picture of her in the mirror:
here's a lame sign:
here's me taking a picture of myself in a mirror:
here's april watching me take a picture of her in the mirror:
here's a lame sign:
31.12.09
27.12.09
evidence
december 27th, 2009: 12:47am
victoria is colder than montreal.
(computer is on montreal time)
victoria is colder than montreal.
(computer is on montreal time)
21.12.09
sookephile:
a person who has lived in sooke for an extended period of time, such that they have become a sooke-ite or extreme representation of the town we all pretend not to reside in.
people are weird here.
..like the man we met on the galloping goose trail who told us a story about how he threw a rock out to sea in the middle of winter and his dog went to fetch it. the rock caught on a floating crab trap (or sunk nearby), his dog grabbed the styrofoam marker on the trap in his mouth and started toward shore. unfortunately the styrofoam became lodged in the dog's mouth and the dog began to sink along with the trap. the man watched his dog as it disappeared from view amidst the encroaching waves, then tore off his clothes and dove into the cold sea...
..or the man who shared a story with my mother in a coffee shop that ended with:
santa went to make himself a rum and coke, but someone had finished the rum. suddenly, there was a knock at the door--santa was in a terrible mood--it was an angel. the angel said, "hello santa, i thought you would like this tree for christmas" and santa said, "i'll tell you where you can shove that," and that's how the angel ended up on top of the christmas tree...
...gala and i phoned stephen harper from her cell phone last night while walking along the inner harbour. we asked him to stop logging vancouver island's old growth forests for lumber and stick to second and third growth forests. seemed reasonable.
we also asked him to consider us as he makes decisions that will impact our future. to not forget that it is us and our children, not him, who have to live with the consequences of his rash, momentarily profitable choices in ruling our country. we asked him to call us back when he had a minute. it seemed like a good idea at the time.*
..finally, the first night i arrived back in sooke coincided with the annual fire department's *treat*. every year they decorate the fire engine with christmas lights and drive down the roads in sooke accompanied by santa clause and handing out candy canes. this year, they had an escort truck. it arrived before hand with what looked like santa clause in a body bag stuck to the roof. dad and i were initially disappointed until the rest of the brigade showed up. mum made this video:
*later, he prorogued parliament so i guess we got to him. coward.
people are weird here.
..like the man we met on the galloping goose trail who told us a story about how he threw a rock out to sea in the middle of winter and his dog went to fetch it. the rock caught on a floating crab trap (or sunk nearby), his dog grabbed the styrofoam marker on the trap in his mouth and started toward shore. unfortunately the styrofoam became lodged in the dog's mouth and the dog began to sink along with the trap. the man watched his dog as it disappeared from view amidst the encroaching waves, then tore off his clothes and dove into the cold sea...
..or the man who shared a story with my mother in a coffee shop that ended with:
santa went to make himself a rum and coke, but someone had finished the rum. suddenly, there was a knock at the door--santa was in a terrible mood--it was an angel. the angel said, "hello santa, i thought you would like this tree for christmas" and santa said, "i'll tell you where you can shove that," and that's how the angel ended up on top of the christmas tree...
...gala and i phoned stephen harper from her cell phone last night while walking along the inner harbour. we asked him to stop logging vancouver island's old growth forests for lumber and stick to second and third growth forests. seemed reasonable.
we also asked him to consider us as he makes decisions that will impact our future. to not forget that it is us and our children, not him, who have to live with the consequences of his rash, momentarily profitable choices in ruling our country. we asked him to call us back when he had a minute. it seemed like a good idea at the time.*
..finally, the first night i arrived back in sooke coincided with the annual fire department's *treat*. every year they decorate the fire engine with christmas lights and drive down the roads in sooke accompanied by santa clause and handing out candy canes. this year, they had an escort truck. it arrived before hand with what looked like santa clause in a body bag stuck to the roof. dad and i were initially disappointed until the rest of the brigade showed up. mum made this video:
*later, he prorogued parliament so i guess we got to him. coward.
3.12.09
rfb
rain falls around your shape, cutting patterns in the darkness to keep you dry.
the stars stare as you walk beneath them--
the path you wander, even they can't make light of...
and daisies paint your picture when they dance in the wind,
amid grass tendrils that reach over our heads.
we are the best, at our worst--
making collages from nothing but skin,
and even that we shed, eventually.
xo
the stars stare as you walk beneath them--
the path you wander, even they can't make light of...
and daisies paint your picture when they dance in the wind,
amid grass tendrils that reach over our heads.
we are the best, at our worst--
making collages from nothing but skin,
and even that we shed, eventually.
xo
25.11.09
i'm just killing time until i die.
all of this is a ruse.
use me/ i'll use you too--
in fact, let's all use each other until
we're all used up and nobody has anything left to give.
the menial doodles that take up this life/
words working side jobs to pay for the night.
{none of us has money--
but poor is cool these days,
it means you don't give a fuck.}
i'm hallucinating a stereotype.
it moves slowly past my arm on the edge of the precipice i call my desk--
nothing gets done here.
just shadows pretending to be shadows,
following a darkness of thought that moves freely around the abyss.
all of this is a ruse.
use me/ i'll use you too--
in fact, let's all use each other until
we're all used up and nobody has anything left to give.
the menial doodles that take up this life/
words working side jobs to pay for the night.
{none of us has money--
but poor is cool these days,
it means you don't give a fuck.}
i'm hallucinating a stereotype.
it moves slowly past my arm on the edge of the precipice i call my desk--
nothing gets done here.
just shadows pretending to be shadows,
following a darkness of thought that moves freely around the abyss.
22.11.09
16.11.09
it lingers behind you, round clouded corners, brandishing your dreams...carrying the weight of your worries and following your shadow through the day..
you pretend it isn't there, isn't following you from dusk, but you know it won't leave anytime soon. and even as you deny its presence, and ignore its attempts to grasp your attention, you tingle when it's near; you know that eventually, you'll have to give in.
you hold out for weeks and months, you think even perhaps a year... but no, love's sneaky like that. it jumps you when you think you're done and turns you on your head.
you pretend it isn't there, isn't following you from dusk, but you know it won't leave anytime soon. and even as you deny its presence, and ignore its attempts to grasp your attention, you tingle when it's near; you know that eventually, you'll have to give in.
you hold out for weeks and months, you think even perhaps a year... but no, love's sneaky like that. it jumps you when you think you're done and turns you on your head.
8.11.09
scars...
little lessons to carry with and remind you along the way...
...like the new, purple-ish one i earned on my leg (about the size of a dime) from hot oil last week. reminding me not to drop things into the pan, but rather to place them gently. or like the small shiny one on my left knee cap that tells me, still, that practicing long jump in a gravel courtyard is a risky endeavor... and the faint blip on my eyelid that taught me that ex racehorses don't get reprimanded like the rest--because they will react quickly and knock you out with their nose bone somewhere in to a tree... and lastly, one deep one nestled in my eyebrow, reminding me not to try climbing up japanese innertubing waterslides (i'm sure other ones are okay), because japanese hospitals are scary, so disinfected.. and because it hurt.. there are other scars, too, but these ones i will never forget..
...like the new, purple-ish one i earned on my leg (about the size of a dime) from hot oil last week. reminding me not to drop things into the pan, but rather to place them gently. or like the small shiny one on my left knee cap that tells me, still, that practicing long jump in a gravel courtyard is a risky endeavor... and the faint blip on my eyelid that taught me that ex racehorses don't get reprimanded like the rest--because they will react quickly and knock you out with their nose bone somewhere in to a tree... and lastly, one deep one nestled in my eyebrow, reminding me not to try climbing up japanese innertubing waterslides (i'm sure other ones are okay), because japanese hospitals are scary, so disinfected.. and because it hurt.. there are other scars, too, but these ones i will never forget..
3.11.09
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