Written.
Why easier to write,
Than to converse?
Gives the pen might,
Over spoken verse.
What I wish said,
Easier in text.
Sooner to be dead,
than talk next.
You
I can do naught but access,
until lay you your sweet caress.
For I think not the hand dealt,
When sweet lips I have felt.
My blight on the human race,
erased by your pretty face.
Your body blocking, I cannot see,
finally blinded, by sweet ecstasy.
Broken
Affairs of the heart
at the heart of affairs.
When lovers do part,
souls leave in pairs.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Susan's trip.
A purple ray of light shot through the ceiling and laid an egg on Susan's head. She woke up groggily, brushing off the spiders that covered her hands, the earwigs in her hair.
On the way to work she saw:
- 2 dinosaurs (mother and baby Tyrannosaur)
- A space ship (filled with 16 extra terrestrials)
- 8 leprechauns (searching for their pot of gold)
Work was okay, minus the annoying vampire who wouldn't stop trying to suck her blood and the pirate who threatened to steal her away to his ship.
When she got home, two ghosts handed her a gold coin and a opaque pearl and made motions for her to eat it.
She opened her jaws that housed 99 giants fangs and swallowed.
The next day, she woke up and brushed 3 spiders off her hands.
She took a plane to work.
Work was alright, two men were arguing about a television show, a mummy was looking for its sarcophagus and there were 15 phone calls.
When she got home, a woman and a ghost handed her a yellow pill and an opaque pearl.
She ate them.
The next day she woke up in her bed. No spiders.
She took the bus to work.
Work was work. Some phone calls, people talking by the coffee cooler.
When she got home, a woman and a man gave her a yellow pill and a red pill.
The next day, there were no adventures, no monsters, no exciting discoveries, no wild animals, no pirates, just houses and cars and buildings.
Just boring, predictable reality. Just maddening sanity.
On the way to work she saw:
- 2 dinosaurs (mother and baby Tyrannosaur)
- A space ship (filled with 16 extra terrestrials)
- 8 leprechauns (searching for their pot of gold)
Work was okay, minus the annoying vampire who wouldn't stop trying to suck her blood and the pirate who threatened to steal her away to his ship.
When she got home, two ghosts handed her a gold coin and a opaque pearl and made motions for her to eat it.
She opened her jaws that housed 99 giants fangs and swallowed.
The next day, she woke up and brushed 3 spiders off her hands.
She took a plane to work.
Work was alright, two men were arguing about a television show, a mummy was looking for its sarcophagus and there were 15 phone calls.
When she got home, a woman and a ghost handed her a yellow pill and an opaque pearl.
She ate them.
The next day she woke up in her bed. No spiders.
She took the bus to work.
Work was work. Some phone calls, people talking by the coffee cooler.
When she got home, a woman and a man gave her a yellow pill and a red pill.
The next day, there were no adventures, no monsters, no exciting discoveries, no wild animals, no pirates, just houses and cars and buildings.
Just boring, predictable reality. Just maddening sanity.
Friday, October 20, 2006
the ivanhoe is not a butchershop : a poem
The Ivanhoe is not a butcher shop.
Even on Thanksgiving, when people have ham’s
that they want to cut up while enjoying a cheap pint.
Being a gentleman means asking the owner
of a starving dog if you can feed it your ham.
It’s what gentleman do, how they roll –
Your girlfriend is a heroin addict and you sleep in her car.
She’s left you and your half-a-ham out back, behind the Ivanhoe.
Now you’re on the streets.
I’m only as crazy as you make me, you say.
You used to be successful, had money,
but now all you want is your pride.
forget all that other stuff.
You’re thinking…
how do you get it back? Five to ten, that’s all it will take.
You’re going to sit in jail after
you’ve done what you’re about to.
When you get thrown out of the Ivanhoe,
a ham in hand, while your girlfriend drinks inside
with the keys to your bed, sometimes you just have to remember
that the Ivanhoe is not a butcher shop
Even on Thanksgiving, when people have ham’s
that they want to cut up while enjoying a cheap pint.
Being a gentleman means asking the owner
of a starving dog if you can feed it your ham.
It’s what gentleman do, how they roll –
Your girlfriend is a heroin addict and you sleep in her car.
She’s left you and your half-a-ham out back, behind the Ivanhoe.
Now you’re on the streets.
I’m only as crazy as you make me, you say.
You used to be successful, had money,
but now all you want is your pride.
forget all that other stuff.
You’re thinking…
how do you get it back? Five to ten, that’s all it will take.
You’re going to sit in jail after
you’ve done what you’re about to.
When you get thrown out of the Ivanhoe,
a ham in hand, while your girlfriend drinks inside
with the keys to your bed, sometimes you just have to remember
that the Ivanhoe is not a butcher shop
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
youtube is worth more then your country
well, maybe not more then your country, unless you live the The Gambia.
...or one of these guys:
Cape Verde
Eritrea
Antigua and Barbuda
Saint Lucia
Maldives
Bhutan
Burundi
Guyana
Djibouti
Seychelles
Grenada
The Gambia
Saint Kitts and Nevis
Saint Vincent and the Grenadines
Comoros
Timor-Leste
Samoa
Vanuatu
Guinea-Bissau
Solomon Islands
Dominica
Tonga
São Tomé and Príncipe
Kiribati
It's kind sad..
...how bad i am at geography. i don't know where any of these countries are.
...or one of these guys:
Cape Verde
Eritrea
Antigua and Barbuda
Saint Lucia
Maldives
Bhutan
Burundi
Guyana
Djibouti
Seychelles
Grenada
The Gambia
Saint Kitts and Nevis
Saint Vincent and the Grenadines
Comoros
Timor-Leste
Samoa
Vanuatu
Guinea-Bissau
Solomon Islands
Dominica
Tonga
São Tomé and Príncipe
Kiribati
It's kind sad..
...how bad i am at geography. i don't know where any of these countries are.
Reaching for the Sun.
Four grains of sand emerge from a pair of Swimming shorts, hidden in the back of a bag in the corner of a closet.
A mountain of nostalgia, a left hook, a petal, a kiss.
Memories long forgotten emerge to the forefront in a rush of color. For a moment, You are not in Toronto, you are in Cuba, amid the sun and sky and trees.
Just as you reach, just as you grasp, just as you reach out, it's gone.
The memory is still there, but it has receeded. The vivid view, the perfect eyes, the time machine, it's over.
You barely felt the sea water, the indentations of your feet in fresh wet sand are gone. Bikini clad folk become faceless blurs, tropical sounding music becomes the wind.
You look down at the floor and search for the grains of Sand, hidden somewhere in the carpetting like diamonds in the rough. You search and search and search, hoping and pleading and cursing the poor lighting and eventually begging for just one slight grain of sand to hold, to help remember.
But you don't find it.
You're in Toronto.
And it's cold outside.
A mountain of nostalgia, a left hook, a petal, a kiss.
Memories long forgotten emerge to the forefront in a rush of color. For a moment, You are not in Toronto, you are in Cuba, amid the sun and sky and trees.
Just as you reach, just as you grasp, just as you reach out, it's gone.
The memory is still there, but it has receeded. The vivid view, the perfect eyes, the time machine, it's over.
You barely felt the sea water, the indentations of your feet in fresh wet sand are gone. Bikini clad folk become faceless blurs, tropical sounding music becomes the wind.
You look down at the floor and search for the grains of Sand, hidden somewhere in the carpetting like diamonds in the rough. You search and search and search, hoping and pleading and cursing the poor lighting and eventually begging for just one slight grain of sand to hold, to help remember.
But you don't find it.
You're in Toronto.
And it's cold outside.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
the man has whiteout eyebrows
the man has whiteout eyebrows. he has whiteout on his palms and blood on his fingers.
it is a saturday afternoon, a bit overcast in an east coast kind of way. there's a fog thats fallen over the city and it's been here since 12:30 last night. we've decided to go for a walk, picked up a drink for the way and wondered down through unexplored parts of the city to crab lot park.
it's a hidden park. not so much hidden but unpractical for going to because it's seperated from downtown by train tracks.
we're sitting, looking out into the sea, watching tug boats. I fantasize about being a tugboat captain.
then i take a look down the beach:
a man approaches us. he shows us a small dirty DV tape and says he's been making a movie. it's the man with no eyebrows, except for the whiteout.
i ask what the movie is about and he says "i've been reading her --" and i misunderstand him. I ask what type poems and he corrects me. "Palms. I've been reading her palms, like fortune telling."
he thinks we're with a non-existent film crew, maybe part of his, but i tell him we're with neither. he lights up a spoke, turns to the girl, smiles, says he's had fun, that they should do it again. she agrees, "yea."
they start to walk away, the fortune teller has a garbage bag in each hand, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. there's futures to be told.
it is a saturday afternoon, a bit overcast in an east coast kind of way. there's a fog thats fallen over the city and it's been here since 12:30 last night. we've decided to go for a walk, picked up a drink for the way and wondered down through unexplored parts of the city to crab lot park.
it's a hidden park. not so much hidden but unpractical for going to because it's seperated from downtown by train tracks.
we're sitting, looking out into the sea, watching tug boats. I fantasize about being a tugboat captain.
then i take a look down the beach:
a man approaches us. he shows us a small dirty DV tape and says he's been making a movie. it's the man with no eyebrows, except for the whiteout.
i ask what the movie is about and he says "i've been reading her --" and i misunderstand him. I ask what type poems and he corrects me. "Palms. I've been reading her palms, like fortune telling."
he thinks we're with a non-existent film crew, maybe part of his, but i tell him we're with neither. he lights up a spoke, turns to the girl, smiles, says he's had fun, that they should do it again. she agrees, "yea."
they start to walk away, the fortune teller has a garbage bag in each hand, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. there's futures to be told.
Friday, October 13, 2006
best of all bands starting with dead
browsing for a friends band, typed the word dead on purevolume received some interesting names. First to come up, and fairly mild is the band Dead to Me, a bit melodramtic and they're listed as punk but somehow i think they're not. Then we have Dead to Fall, a hardcore band. Then they begin to progress and get a little more violent along the way. Dead Smiling Pirates, kind of a cute name, then DEAD WHORE DEAD, a death metal experimental psychedelic band, whatever that is. Using two deads in one name is a bit much. It seems to be in though as the next band listed is Dead Bury Dead, this time not in all caps.
Here are a few more:
Dead Poetic (deep)
Dead on Broadway
Dead Hearts (so sad)
Bury your Dead (a bit obvious, no? anti-cremation?)
Dead, Boys, Dead, Girls (lots of dead people, cool!)
Dead! (clean and simple)
Dead is Dead (it is, isn't it)
Dead! Dead! Dead! (so angry, calm downEXCLAMATION)
Then there was 1,492 more and i stopped. To much death. Who said there was a lack of creativity in music these days?
Not I.
ps. DIE
Here are a few more:
Dead Poetic (deep)
Dead on Broadway
Dead Hearts (so sad)
Bury your Dead (a bit obvious, no? anti-cremation?)
Dead, Boys, Dead, Girls (lots of dead people, cool!)
Dead! (clean and simple)
Dead is Dead (it is, isn't it)
Dead! Dead! Dead! (so angry, calm downEXCLAMATION)
Then there was 1,492 more and i stopped. To much death. Who said there was a lack of creativity in music these days?
Not I.
ps. DIE
Thursday, October 12, 2006
potassium sorbate doesn't taste like sorbert
had a nice lunch today. i had: Carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup, caramel color, natural flavors, coffee extract, phosphoric acid, potassium sorbate and potassium benzoate, caffeine, aspartame, acesulfame potassium
oh wait, that wasn't my lunch. that was this horrid "fusion" drink by Coke.
apparently coffee and coke is what has been missing from my life. a promotion team was handing them out on granville today. i recieved a free bottle, took a drink and threw it in the next trash bin. probably the most vile thing on earth.
oh wait, that wasn't my lunch. that was this horrid "fusion" drink by Coke.
apparently coffee and coke is what has been missing from my life. a promotion team was handing them out on granville today. i recieved a free bottle, took a drink and threw it in the next trash bin. probably the most vile thing on earth.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
buddhism and banking
sitting at my desk, my new found religious text in hand. i'm staring at a 45 degree angle (that's what they say to do, so i am), eyes half open, tongue pushed to the top of my mouth against my teeth. i'm breathing through my nose, not making much noise because thats bad and distracting to other people meditating. hands pushed together, raised nose height and then --
my first moment of realization. a thought. thoughts are bad when you're meditating and blogging is just as bad i suppose but george oh well, i'm doing it anyways.
i'm a white male, which means i can't blame store clerks for giving me eyes as i shop, for not getting into bars or from booking tee times at the golf course, but now that i'm budhist allow me to shelve my quest for self realization aside and point the finger for a moment.
the bank! it's a systematic prejudice geared towards those who want not to sell but to search their souls and better themselves.
you see, now that i'm budhist greed has no place in my life, and apparently neither does sex so maybe i'll just take yoga classes, but nevermind that.
greed. i need to be greedy to succeed in the buisness world, it's cut throat, jugulars only, forget the organs. if i want a better job i need to make more sales, that's the bottom line. if i don't, well, forget that new job, the one you might want regardless of the financial gains. self fullfillment right? see, i'm already thinking like a buddhist.
perhaps the whole world is against buddism? installing escalators on every stairway to catch the robes and suck the buddhist's down into the turn buckle, destroying them all, one at a time. maybe i'm reaching, but thats what my freedom as a member of a religious minority.
really though, clearning your thoughts does feel good. passing moments seem cluttered with the useless sites and sounds of the city. advertisements, cars moving past, people yelling. it's nice to be able to retreat away from all of it, even if it isn't in a literal way.
so it's time to return back to my position. to sit at my desk, press my hands together, to stare at a 40 degree angle and ponder my place in this anti buddhist world.
my first moment of realization. a thought. thoughts are bad when you're meditating and blogging is just as bad i suppose but george oh well, i'm doing it anyways.
i'm a white male, which means i can't blame store clerks for giving me eyes as i shop, for not getting into bars or from booking tee times at the golf course, but now that i'm budhist allow me to shelve my quest for self realization aside and point the finger for a moment.
the bank! it's a systematic prejudice geared towards those who want not to sell but to search their souls and better themselves.
you see, now that i'm budhist greed has no place in my life, and apparently neither does sex so maybe i'll just take yoga classes, but nevermind that.
greed. i need to be greedy to succeed in the buisness world, it's cut throat, jugulars only, forget the organs. if i want a better job i need to make more sales, that's the bottom line. if i don't, well, forget that new job, the one you might want regardless of the financial gains. self fullfillment right? see, i'm already thinking like a buddhist.
perhaps the whole world is against buddism? installing escalators on every stairway to catch the robes and suck the buddhist's down into the turn buckle, destroying them all, one at a time. maybe i'm reaching, but thats what my freedom as a member of a religious minority.
really though, clearning your thoughts does feel good. passing moments seem cluttered with the useless sites and sounds of the city. advertisements, cars moving past, people yelling. it's nice to be able to retreat away from all of it, even if it isn't in a literal way.
so it's time to return back to my position. to sit at my desk, press my hands together, to stare at a 40 degree angle and ponder my place in this anti buddhist world.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
this is not satire
A sitcom about Canadian Muslims called Little Mosque on the Prarie will debut on the CBC in January, officals said yesterday. - Reuters
I guess you can't be a nation without a fatwa against you.
I guess you can't be a nation without a fatwa against you.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
on math and happiness
over lunch today, outside enjoying the warmish sun and the coolish fall air a friend and i discussed women. i said that math and women are the only two things that you can’t bullshit your way through. of course with math theirs imaginary numbers and stuff, but forget about that. i already have.
a few minutes later, back inside, my break now over, I read through some emails that had been sent over lunch. On a day where two more soldiers died in a war we shouldn’t be fighting, or at least should be winning if we’re going to bother being over there, there was some good news! :
66% of employees at my work are happy! a three percent increase in happiness levels since last year, double exclamation !!
i thought of math, of the conversation earlier and how perhaps math isn’t so concrete. Maybe nothing was.
my first thought was that happiness seems like a strange thing to be calculating through an equation in the first place and if happiness was just a matter of math then perhaps somebody could give me the formula. (is it alright to put ‘lol’ into a blog post, if so, I just did.) fuck carlin, you’re funny.
Anywho.
it wasn’t so much the news that surprised me. Maybe two thirds of us are happy, but why is this necessary. the reason I come up with is that productivity is linked to happiness and happier workers make for better workers. with my pessimism at work i thought for a few moments. maybe they really care if i come in with a smile on my face. probably not.
i find that sending out a questionaire with the question, are you happy cryptically hidden beneath true and false questions mildly insulting. walk around, absorb the smiles, the emotion thats in the air. you can do it if you try hard enough.
a passing "how are you doing" doesn't really mean you care. it just means you've said hello already earlier in the day and have no other segway into a polite good bye. the answer is always the disenchanted, "good," that people sing throughout the day, all the while hoping it might actually be true.
the later part of the email explains coaching strategies for those who answer, "i'm doing shitily. no really, im fucking a mess."
it's these sanitized approaches to real emotion that office lifes about. sexual harassment means no hugs when somebody might need one, that you can't place your hand on somebodys shoulder or pat them on the back. you're left asking,how are you doing, and as you walk you hear the defeated answer somewhere in the background as the door behind you closes.
I look around. inoffensive art hangs from the walls, people speak with safety, never saying to much or anything. The clothes they wear are distinct but the same, mine included. each day, in the elevator up to the sixth floor a metamorphosis takes place, you change from a person into an employee, void of feeling or opinion.
in a world where a third of the people in a workplace can be concidered good, a success, i think we need a solution thats route doesn't come from an equation or survey.
maybe the answer is more hugs?
fuck noah and his arc
i hate animals. every time an animal is put on the endangered species list i go out and have a drink.
my distain for animals really took perspective one day as a child during sunday school. we were all learning about god and stuff. he seemed okay and i really dug jesus and we were talking about heaven and how great it would be (thats what we always did) and i was thinking about god and stuff.
- i raised my hand. "why did god kill my grandma"
it was a silly question. i wasn't aware that it was just part of the path god had chosen for me so that was alright. we were all given struggles and overcoming them would save our seat in the clouds.
then we started to learn about Noah and his arc. it was at this point that the lines between heaven and hell started to blur.
heaven is open to all god's creatures. this includes animals. so this means that there is going to be animals in heaven. not just dogs or cats (i hate both) but also dangerous animals like tigers and lions and snakes. dinosaurs won't be there since they never existed, so thats good, but still..
also, I can't picture any animals being sent to hell. this is a problem. i've never known a rabbit to be evil, to rape or steal, or do anything else that would hinder it's chances of getting into heaven. and even if he did, he's a rabit, cut him some fucking slack.
long story short: there's going to be a lot of fucking animals up there. remember the movie all dogs go to heaven. not just some dogs, but all dogs.
so now i am left with the image of heaven being a fucking jungle. dogs humping my legs, snakes biting me in my sleep. flies. there must be flies too. we'retalking ALL of gods creatures. all of them.
for the rest of the day that sunday i thought of these things and when the day was done i left the church and never went back.
heaven is bullshit and to be honest, all things concidering, hell doesn't seem so bad.
my distain for animals really took perspective one day as a child during sunday school. we were all learning about god and stuff. he seemed okay and i really dug jesus and we were talking about heaven and how great it would be (thats what we always did) and i was thinking about god and stuff.
- i raised my hand. "why did god kill my grandma"
it was a silly question. i wasn't aware that it was just part of the path god had chosen for me so that was alright. we were all given struggles and overcoming them would save our seat in the clouds.
then we started to learn about Noah and his arc. it was at this point that the lines between heaven and hell started to blur.
heaven is open to all god's creatures. this includes animals. so this means that there is going to be animals in heaven. not just dogs or cats (i hate both) but also dangerous animals like tigers and lions and snakes. dinosaurs won't be there since they never existed, so thats good, but still..
also, I can't picture any animals being sent to hell. this is a problem. i've never known a rabbit to be evil, to rape or steal, or do anything else that would hinder it's chances of getting into heaven. and even if he did, he's a rabit, cut him some fucking slack.
long story short: there's going to be a lot of fucking animals up there. remember the movie all dogs go to heaven. not just some dogs, but all dogs.
so now i am left with the image of heaven being a fucking jungle. dogs humping my legs, snakes biting me in my sleep. flies. there must be flies too. we'retalking ALL of gods creatures. all of them.
for the rest of the day that sunday i thought of these things and when the day was done i left the church and never went back.
heaven is bullshit and to be honest, all things concidering, hell doesn't seem so bad.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
clotheslines and questions
the rain had let up and i was outside enjoying the blue sky. next door lives a chinese family and they had their clothes out on the clothesline, drying in the sun.
i always ruin my clothes in the drying machine. the instructions on our machine is in spanish for some reason. the landlords probably got a deal on it or something so i often look to the clothesline with jealousy when holding another of my shrunken sweaters.
a thought though: it's winter. it is always raining. how will they dry their clothes?
how do you wash your clothes if you can't dry them? they'd be all wrinkly and stuff.
maybe they have some inventive way i haven't thought of like in the oven or on their tv set, one sock at a time.
or perhaps in the winter my chinese neighbors just dont wash their clothes?
i'll keep my eye and nose on their laundry to see if and how they do it and keep you posted.
here's to hoping the weathers good.
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