Saturday, May 31, 2008

picker

i was wondering about the future
and then that fear came slowly without notice

i am
constantly inconsistent
with my appointments and intent
considerably unaware
of the importance of dreams once dreamt

apathy controls me
perpetual to no end
but the spark ive been holding
shows dimly only for a moment

for the winners its no contest
failure is an object
something to reject
what i perceive can never fool me
for i've seen how the lines get tricky

and the story line keeps weaving
with themes im not conceiving
my intrest went missing
its simple yet deceiving

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Deserve

The term "drunk male-prostitute"
Gets thrown around a lot these days...
But I'm here to tell you that hash anthems,
And waking up to Rush, particularly "Closer to the Heart"
BLARING on the CBC, at, I shit you not,
Seven in the A.M.
Makes me feel proud to be a Canadian.

It's easy love
Like the office copy-girl.

Nationalism always blooms late,
Like the Yard's apple trees, this spring.
I hope that when I move to America,
There is flora all around,
And I can forget my nervous heart.
Know that I can lose the dividends
In a stylish car-chase scene.
I want to fit your family like moccasins made during dreamtime.
If we fight, we can sweat it out, I swear.

Roll me in pancakes,
Let me tend to the flocks.
And if the opportunity presents itself,
An exquisite murderama?
All night sleeping bag hide-outs,
Blink at me animal child.
Sweet as a mass grave for diabetics,
And figs in my eyes, and jingle bells stuck in my throat,
Stop. Look.
And Listen.

Monday, May 19, 2008

Posture

"You should always be mindful
Of your presence" she says.
"Never tell strangers anything
And make sure you keep clean....
Hey," she continues cheerfully
but I'm not listening to her voice.
Her old hands rustle my breeze
dried curls. I clear my throat.

"Off you go. Good luck.
remember to stand up
straight!"

She kisses me on the cheek.
I lurch from her firm position
In the middle of the driveway
And crane my neck to offer her
a sincere smile.
"I love you," I mouth

Slowly Opening the door of a silver station wagon
I get in. Sit down. Key. Ignition and drive
In the opposite direction

The rearview mirror frames my mother
Waving a clouded hand back and forth.
For a second I think I see shadows
Blurred and riled frantically, rushing
From her In all directions.
I drive away.

I’m going nowhere now.
In the suburbs I drive
circles in cul-de-scas.
Windows down with the air on
Full blast, listening to the radio,
I hum quietly to the road.

Don’t live inside yourself
Get on pills
Get a shrink
Get some advice
You don’t need to hide
From the problems of today
That were not named before your lifetime
But you are still left to sort them all out.
Bi-polar disorder, ADD, chronic pain, clinical depression,
Having to go to college
In order to be taken seriously.

You are not alone
So get off yourself,
Swallow your pride
And go back home.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Handsome Taps

Your eyes were brown,
Like a long-standing appeal to a chocolate rabbit.
We could have been hardwired, corn-fed,
The way we set rigid with our agendas.
The bar glared around at us, pulsing ugly light.
A primal beat is underneath the gritty brown scales of it.
Undead hookers wearing “Hello My Name Is:…” stickers
Plastered, masterfully, over the contours of otherwise bare breasts,
Lean long and sigh.
This is where I start your education.

The feeling of flipping shit.
6/8 time, now -
If I am a two ton cloud, and a vial of Special K
You’re my authentic Sioux head dress,
And the way we’re about to fuck this up is everything in between.
You make my ego bleed like key-holes in a haunted house,
I'm oozing girlishly.
Our lives are merging to make a towering children’s fable.
Reckless, we play JENGA
Drunk and blindfolded.

Make me count your rings with my lips,
I haven’t been so good,
That I should be left exempt.
I'm working the laundry room pro bono,
Leather laps up like most others.
And I’ll be half of anything,
That doesn’t really need me.

A life jacket you decided to test in the bath tub…
Soon you’ll know
If you got your money’s worth.

Two Short Works

"Upon Returning, I Can't Believe This World is Still Turning."

Children still eagerly await approval
though showing it in their own way.
Birds still talk across ponds about
who's got the biggest worm.

This place where frightened raccoons
perform satanic rituals in the snow
and squirrels call in seance
their lost brothers of the road.



"Mystery and Sex"

Are you the the type of gentleman
who finds himself fighting off complex sexual urges
or opening your mind to them like an opportunity?
Is it your shame or your pride?
Do you give yourself the benefit of the doubt?
Are there men who make you feel that skin-crawl giddiness
and does it make you love anyone any less?
Does the love of your life feel that tickled-pink butterfly belly
for other women?

Who taught who how to fuck and in what way?

im goin back

im goin back


late night
i recall some terrible things
friends who have came and left
for them i am drinking again

i couldn't believe
what i heard
another friend
who thought he knew it all

so im goin back
to where im from
i remember summer suns
never setting
only rising just to burn out
prematurely

imagine this
you spent all night
havin' times
but the memory
always forgetting

as we knew it
time was never ending
the race was already over
and im always fucking losing

so i guess ill keep on drinking

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

"I had too much to dream last night"

I’m walking through the streets of downtown Winnipeg. People are sparse, and there a bunch of Italian style shops lined up along the streets, painted pastel colors. I’m with my Grandmother and my Sister, and we’re shopping, stopping in at quaint dollar stores. In one shop there piles and piles of mechanical birds, all made in different styles.

The kindly female clerk keeps winding them up for us in a friendly demonstration of function. Little metal ones hop around and clank happily on their flattened display perches, feathered birds fly in programmed circles, making electronic tweets, and calls. I get bored, and tell my companions I am going to look around on my own, and will meet them later.

I wander around the streets for a while, and see a man who I met once, and who I know helps to organize ‘the Street Youth of Winnipeg’ in a gallery of graffiti he has created. He smiles and asks me for money for a Tall Boy. I give him two dollars, and keep on walking, without wanting to talk anymore. He turns away from me, overjoyed, and hurries off to the nearest vendor “around the corner.”

I enter a comic book/head shop I have seen in my dreams before, when I was younger. I believe for some reason that it is called “The Dungeon” although I don’t remember reading any sign that says so. There are two employees in the shop, one is clearly based on my Uncle Dwight, who died of leukemia when I was twelve. The other, is an actress from the movie Spanglish, which I was watching before I went to bed. She’s the tall blonde, arrogant witch.

The moment I enter the store, the female clerk, whose name is Deborah (just like in Spanglish) immediately begins following me around, very closely and conspicuously, it is obvious that she expects me to steal something, although originally, I have no plans to. I admire a particular line of DC alternate comics, where they recreate classic characters like Wonder Woman, and the Green Lantern with different more literal concepts. I see the one issue that I own, and begin looking for others in a vain attempt to expand my collection.

The issues are all lined up on pegs on the wall, instead of being placed in bins, I slide issue after issue along the pegs, finding only one issue which I don’t possess. It is about a minor character from the Green Lantern called “Maryan” who is a blue skinned purple haired alien, whom I have always had a crush on. I snatch the issue up, and buy it immediately from the male clerk, who is indifferent, or preoccupied. I can feel Deborah’s breath on my neck.

I hastily exit the store without examining any of the interesting looking drug paraphernalia, only to see a “SUMMER SALE” table set up, just outside the door. There are beautiful dyed glass pipes that are formed into Greek mythological figures. I look back in the window and see Deborah’s back outlined in the reflective glassy surface. I remove the jean jacket I am wearing and carefully place it over a pipe which is made in the likeness of Pan, little cloven hooves and all. I wrap the pipe up quickly and gingerly in the denim, and book it.

Immediately Deborah is behind me, chasing me and calling me a thief. I stop to confront her, and reason with her. I tell her I am sorry and that I will give her back her pipe, I find the entire situation very humorous, which infuriates the clerk. When I unwrap Pan from my jacket, he is broken. She begins to cry. She explains to me that she is the only one vested in head shop half of the store enterprise, and that she’s going to call the cops on me to make an example of me, for losing her money, and making a bad name for her business. I don’t feel guilty, but annoyed. I communicate with her in a series of obvious lies.

“I’ll level with you, I’ve stolen a few chocolate bars here and there, some gum… sometimes, but listen, I don’t need a record over this. The only reason I stole that from you was because of the way you intimidated me when I was in the store, treating me like a thief, following me around so aggressively. Come on, that’s just bad business.” She weeps uncontrollably. “How about, instead, I work off the loss of this pipe at your store. How much was it?” $100.00. “All right so I will work that off ok, I’ll help out, does that sound fair?” Sniffling, she agrees.

I wake up.

In another recent dream my friend Will T. is a twelve foot tall French revolutionary, who is arguing with a carpenter about the dimensions of my desk, which he is having altered to fit his needs. I also axe a femme-bot in half from the comfort of a front door landing.

Friday, May 9, 2008

Driving Pigs Off A Cliff

Children, children, behold
In your grace, I have here
The first and only Viral Marketed Soul!
It walks like a man
Looks kinda like your granddad
And spits forth sense
Paid for by big business
Gather round and listen for a spell
This aint like a thing you will ever be told!

A salesman in a pale yellow suit hands an clay-faced looking human a sweaty coca-cola, perspiring in a red burning sun. His audience, a growing crowd of kids, whisper amongst themselves about what the man just said. “What’s Feral Barketing? Is that some kind of dog?” “My pa told me the soul is in the stomach!” “Does that man smell of my granddad and is this about science class?”

The tall ancient looking thing takes hold of the wet beverage, pops the tap, and takes a long curious sip…

“LISTEN TO MY LIPS,
DARK BROWN AND SUGARY
KIDS, CAN YOU GUESS
WHAT THIS IS?”

“Coca-COLA,” the children shout with decibel-topping glee!

“WRONG. IT IS AMBROSIA
THE NECTAR OF THE GODS
IT WILL MAKE YOU LIVE
A MILLENIA. SO TELL YOUR
PARENTS STRAIGHT AWAY
THAT A NICE LOOKING MAN
TOLD YOU THE SUSTINENCE
YOU DEMAND IS FIT FOR A
KING.”

A number of the children break off from the half-moon shaped group and shout off onto the sidewalks leading toward their homes in the suburbs. The remaining children, skeptics at heart, stand around staring at the two loud-talking beings as if looking for some slight sign of being redeemed.

Not sold, kids?
Well how bout I try
A different kind of
Magic medicine...

The yellow jacketed man smiles to reveal a set of dagger looking teeth as he reaches in a pocket deep within his jeans. After a bit of a struggle, he procures and all too appealing box, packaged to advertise a platinum selling videogame. Growing uneasy, the kids begin to grind their teeth. Some of them salivate as they wait for the man to hand the tall talking mannequin the chic looking square object. It looks at the cover art and turns. It reads the box closely and opens his mouth as the crowd comfort him a winter kind of silence.

“UNLOCK A BLOCK
AND TICKER TAPE DREAMS
A LITTLE BLACK STICK
TO GIVE YOU FAMILIAR
FUNNY FUN RESULTS!
LOOK AT THIS SCREEN
BOYS AND GIRLS, AND
TELL ME WHAT YOUR
PRETTY PREPUBESCENT
EYES SEE!”

“SUPER MARIO PARTY DS!,” They reply in a warbling scream.
“THAT’S TOO EASY!”

But the giant mass of apricot colored flesh shakes his head, and points up, to the cloudless sky.

“NO’OO, MY FRIENDS
THIS IS A BIBLE
HELD TIGHT IN MY HANDS
EVERY NIGHT BEFORE YOU
GO TO BED
TURN THIS ON
AND SPEAK A PRAYER
TO YOUR MAKE BELIEVE FRIENDS…
DUKE DK, SIR LUIGI, DUCHESS PEACH, AND MARIO THE KING!
THESE ARE YOUR PASLMS
WRITTEN DIGITALLY
THAT LIGHT BLUE IN
THE DARKNESS. THAT
IS YOUR LORD WRITING
HIS NAME ON YOUR CHEEK.”

All but one in the sliming crescent shape flees to their parents and boasts aloud the majest of their new imaginary friends to the animals of the forest. A girl, no older than the fingers on her hand, stands alone glaring at the wasp looking man. The sun is setting and she watches him claw, swiping at the beads of sweat that leak from the top of his hairless head.

Little girl, he stammers
I see you have not followed
The rest of the children.
But, without a doubt
I’ll have you running
And hollering to your kin
When you see what can be done
With my artificial man!

The man fiddles with his hands and bows slowly to the girl in the lilac patterned dress. He advances slowly toward the dull toned sentinel and stares blankly at its skull as if about to mutter a world-ending secret. Seconds pass while the man stands before the thing he wants to believe is human when finally, reaching up toward the sunset, he grabs hold of the colossus’s head and whispers slowly into the shell like labyrinth of it’s earlobe. The girl continues to watch as it reanimates itself to life.

“I SEE YOU GIRL
WITH RIBBONS TIGHT
WRAPPED AROUND
LOCKS OF GOLDEN
STRANDS IN A FIELD
FILLED WITH DAISES.
YOU PICK OUT THE DANDELIONS
AND A WARM BREEZE PRICKS
AT YOUR HEAVILY FRECKLED
FACE. YOU LOOK UP TO SPY
THE DIRECTION THE WIND
BLOWS IN WHEN YOU SEE
A THING SHAMBLING
TOWARD THE PLACE YOU
STAND. A SHADOW OF A
HUMAN ADVANCING. AS
LIGHT SHINES ON IT YOU
NOTICE A BOUQET OF ROSES.
YOUR SPECKLED CHEEKS
ARE FLUSHED AS A MAN’S
SHAPE BEGINS TO FORM.
TALL, DARK, HANDSOME.
LIKE THE ONE IN YOUR DREAMS.”

The lines of the girl’s sun-drenched face begin to contort and shape itself into the early phases of a grin. The toneless giant continues…

“YOU RUN TO HIM
GAYILY AND FULL OF
GRACE. YOU JUMP
INTO HIS ARMS AS
HE RECEIVES YOU.
KISS HIS FACE.
HOLD HIM TIGHT.
WHISPER…
YOU ARE THE
MAN I WILL
LOVE FOR ALL
OF ETERNITY.”

Almost to tears, the young child beams with delight. She has never heard anything more beautiful than the sermon the tall man spits. His metallic voice echoes off the tops of distant trees as he chirps proudly,

“THIS MAN IS REAL.
ALONG WITH MANY OTHERS
AND CAN BE FOUND
AT MATCHMAKERDOTCOM!”

The girl’s bright fa├žade turns a cadaverous gray. She looks beyond the man, dropping her jaw, but not a sound comes out. With a shaky hand, she points toward the pale-yellow man and gazes toward the hulking mass he claims as his associate. She tears up and mouths a minutes worth of words and turns her back to the man, walking off toward the sunset. He wonders what she said when the robot breaks through his train of thought and repeats rather deafeningly,

“HOW CAN YOU THINK EVERYBODY
WILL BELIEVE IN OBJECTS
YOU ARE PAID TO CREATE?
I MAY BE YOUNG BUT YOU
DON’T KNOW A THING
ABOUT TRUE LOVE
AND BELEIVING IN
INTANGIBLE THINGS.
YOU ARE A BEAST
WITH EYES AFLAME.
YOU ARE OBSESSED
WITH THAT BURDEN
YOU TRY SO HARD
TO HIDE YOURSELF
IN.”

Startled by the velocity of his partner’s voice, he grabs hold of its cold hand tightly and mutters to the empty sky the first few things that come to his head …

Don’t worry, friend.
You are not a beast.
She was lying!
You are nothing
But a blessing
To my heart and
my line of work.
So get in the car
And let's drive ourselves
To another country town.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Recently

I had a dream I was a male midget in a white cashmere sweater, with frat boys.
Hid pot in Ikea shelving units.

Discovered Covered: The Late Great Daniel Johston


After watching "The Devil and Daniel Johnston," I went searching for more than just the copy of "Yip Jump Music" that I had come to know and love. This is a collection of covers of classic Daniel Johnston songs done by some likely (Bright Eyes, Eels, Calvin Johnston) and some unlikely (Tom Waits, M. Ward, Guster?) artists. A few are weird and generic, but I wanted to share the M. Ward cover because it is absolutely heartbreaking. Give it a listen.

Saturday, May 3, 2008

things we hate to admit

Im all alone
enjoying peace quietly
not knowing why i am sitting here
not knowing what i am staring off into
the middle distance as they say
reminders of comedians
they are nothing more than that
a comic
ive noticed their demeanor
and i understand
that everyone should recycle

but its different in other realms
of art and of science
some stand on their toes
ready to give insult to injurie
although their own misfortunes
would bring a hardier laugh

you see, no body wants to hear about their own pitfalls
unless its a shit joke.

more things we hate to admit.
and they've come along way
its easy to pick others apart

"Well, I'm sorry"
"I didn't realize"

i see how your faults are my own
i dont have my own reflection
i dont see myself

just the people ive come to meet
with friendly greetings
they want to take
my time away from me
like i keep my thoughts away
its okay, only for a while

most of us wont miss them anyways...
how romantic?

Friday, May 2, 2008

Artificial Man

I first learned about hell
On a trip to the big city
I'd just arrived
When my daddy pointed an said
“You see them manhole covers in the middle of the street?”
Beneath em run rivers en rivers of all kinds of things
Garbage and cigarettes
Big rats and who knows, thirteen foot crocs!
A giant cistern of material posesions'
Done left behind by people
Not like you or I
Cause we don’t live her son,
We’re on vacation.

See them people
On that side of the street?
There, sitting, about to git
heself a shoe shine
From that malt-colored nigger.
And that group of women there,
Laughing as they sip their expensive
coffees? All them people shoppin,
lookin for sumptin well,
it’s all their problem!

You see boy, Hell
Is made up of these streams
Much like the ones flowing
Beneath our feet.
They consume everybody’s sin
Till they aint nothing left of em
And if you’re not careful
You can get swept right in
An never come back
I know some ah them even forget
About their own children
An go father others....
No, hordes of kids,
With illegitimate women!"


For weeks his description
Haunted me
And then years went by,
Well beyond my first communion.
An I’d tell them other acolytes
What I’d heard that one time
I’d left town. Realizing
The city sat on top a world o’ sin.
"If we wasn’t careful,"
I’d say
"We’d get swept right in."

We made a pact back then.
We aint ever leave our parents
Nor the farms and small towns
We was growing up in.
We’d promised our parents
We’d never led em to decay
Like them city folk
On top of their rivers
Of diablerie.

An I’d never seen my parents so grateful
As when I told them I’d stay close
An I still remember my father shush me,
Telling, "A life without sin
Is one the good lord intended."