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.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
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?
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
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.
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.”
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 façade 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.
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