a poem

virtuosity

the cellist's fingers fly freely from string to string
plucking something that was pulled forcibly
from the digestive system of a cat
and creating a pattern of sounds that follow
accepted rules of harmony and counterpoint
to please humanity's natural sense of order

the pianist's long, thin hands leap and soar
up a keyboard once built on the suffering of elephants
to crash hammers against wires strung tightly
like the garrote around a mafioso's neck
and create fluctuations in air pressure of varying size
and we revel in its beauty

the lead guitarist's muscular arms beat and subjugate
a glorified bread paddle with strings stolen from the earth
pulling electricity from lines strung above our heads
to steal from the black man, les paul, chuck berry
and he smacks us in the face with a power chord
while we rip out our neighbour's septum ring

the singer
purity
pulls notes
from her own
throat
and sends them
out
into the world
for good or for bad

he's a buffalo soldier
in the heart of america.

i'm done my math exam.

i was hoping for some overwhelming joy, but alas, not yet. maybe when i get my mark back. then i'll be reassured and happier.

a poem

to myself (35) from myself (16)

i stand naked
on a winding road
of a cool january
night
full moon

which one of us is right?
just remember
that i'm as sure that i am
as you're sure that you are
where do we get our proof?
now
which one of us is right?

does experience teach
or does it corrupt?

you're different than i am.
but which one of us
is right?

rhianne

in a way, i idolize this.

in another way, i hate it.

and then i ponder the merits of my hate.

i love it ... for it embodies the glee and freedom and independence and happiness i desire. and then i hate it for the fact that it exists seems to trivialise the fact that i feel none of this. i am melancholy, dependent, and chained to any of a thousand heavy burdens.

but which is greater? lightness or weight?

"compromise! conformity! the elite! all of which are american dreams... all of which are american dreams..."

i once was an anarchist.

i suppose now i feel that anarchy is just as justified, if not more so, than any other political system, but is just as fundamentally flawed.

i realize now that humanity is fundamentally flawed. if i wish to work out my many lives and secret sorrows, i must die.

by being human, i will have difficulties.

but my old difficulties, my overwhelming desire to overthrow the government, free mumia, and get justice for leonard peltier. oh the old difficulties. my tears wept for students in tianmen square. where have they gone? they were so much simpler.

my days of unrequited love. my desire for the unattainable. i miss them. i honestly do.

for those of you pursuing love, cherish what you have. or, rather, don't. simply pursue. for the pursuit is the true pleasure, the driving force which will dominate your life. like heroin, unrequited love is an addiction.

"whin yae're on thae skag, all yae worry aboot is scorin'. whin yae're off it, ye're suddenly overwhelmed by a score ay worries - women, money, fam'ly"

i have love.

marvelous, multifaceted, alternating-current, both-ways, glorious love.

now what?

i ponder why i love. i ponder why i exist. i ponder the truth of love. i ponder the principles on which i live, the principles on which i have founded my very being for my piteous sixteen years upon this mortal coil.

i am liberated from an unbearable lightness, to a multitude of the heaviest burdens.

i find myself confused.

i find myself wondering about the reality of love. does it exist?

i feel it.

but is it just hormones ... telling me to reproduce? do i live on false pretences, is my every movement and my daily thought pattern simply my mind's manipulation of chemicals to further the lifespan of my species and help us to evolve into something greater?

or is it true love sent from god to bind a man and a woman together in holy matrimony?

or is it somewhere in between?

"if i am not with the girl i love, i love the girl i am with."

tragic, and incredibly thuggish.

but sadly perceptive.

for me, out of sight, out of mind. i do not dislike anyone for any reasons of myself, but only for those imposed on me by society. i doubt my feelings for one person, simply because i am more acutely aware of those i have for another. society tells me that i should love one person alone, and thus i negate my love for all others when i am with one.

i do detest my hand being forced ... and being induced to fall out of the hypothetical and into the realm of the practical. i use pseudonyms.

female persons A B C and D

i am with A and love her more than B C and D.
i am with B and love her more than A C and D.
i am with C and love her more than A B and D.
i am with D and love her more than A B and C.
i am with all four ... and love whichever one i happen to be speaking to at the time.

i thus amend the saying.

"the girl i am with *is* the girl i love."

and i know not how to remedy this situation.

should it even be remedied?

is it worthy of a remedy? or is this a fundamental element of human nature. if i attempt to remedy it, will i simply be forcing a square peg into a round hole? is this why i will be unsatisfied and melancholy when i am forty-five years old in my house in the suburbs with a dog and 2.4 children?

fidelity ... or betrayal?

i want to betray.

it is my fundamental desire.

"Betrayal. From tender youth we are told by father and teacher that betrayal is the most heinous offense imaginable. But what is betrayal? Betrayal means breaking ranks. Betrayal means breaking ranks and going off into the unknown. Sabina knew of nothing more magnificent than going off into the unknown." milan kundera

but what, then, of my dependence on others? i want to build relationships, i want friendships, i want to create links .... and once they are created my overwhelming desire is to betray them and move on. the very moment i am certain of unconditional love and of true significance in the life of another person, i begin to shrink away and look for an unrequited love which i can pursue.

the womanizer, tomas, plays by a rule of threes. "you may see a woman three times in quick succession and never see her again, or you may see her for long periods of time at intervals of three weeks."

i see a mother's love and feel disgust.
i see the absolute love of a true friend and feel awkward, overly significant.
i see the uncertain love of an unattainable lover .... and wish to create that bond, only to betray it when it becomes too real.

again, i must become a buddhist.

and the overwhelming simplicity of the human experience rears its ugly head as i find myself unavoidably distracted by naked women on television.

why must all my inspiration be concentrated in a few ounces of fluid between my legs?

*sighs*

sadness is infinite.. joy is fleeting.

or is it the other way round?

"hahahahah!!!! i died my hair!!"
"dyed i mena"
"mean"
"hahahahahahahahahahah"
"oh man!"

... maybe it is more than just hormones.

......... or maybe i'm still wrong.

but i'd like to hope not. and i'd like some certainty.

if you left it up to me, they'd all go in the sea
with the guns and the disease
and the industry of weasels,
singing,
sell to them the killing gem, attack to get it back

i am a buddhist ... it's my only hope ... i want nothing ... i want nothing ... i want nothing ... i have no desire ... i want nothing ...

cross through the border states to the wrong side, wrong side
and look away, virginia

spend every day like the past is a bridge crossing twenty years
whispers away, not too much, get your poisoned tongue out of my ear
here's a fact you cannot rise above
we'll have problems, yeah, then we'll have bigger ones.

from damage to damn control,
you wanted to go alone
i never said no, i never said no
i never said no, i never said no

spiteful confrontations, child separations
just another to present to get past
the man was very helpful but i knew he wouldn't stay
there used to be a baby but the baby went away

it doesn't make me cry to hear Dylan say,
"most likely you'll go your own way,
and i'll go mine, i'll go mine"

... i think i want to be 22 and independent and sure of myself ... i want the present to be the past and i want to have my own car and my own apartment and i want to be outside of the swirling mess that is teenage angst and i want right now to be the good old days that i look back on. that's what i want, and i'm not going to be very happy till i get it, and i'm not going to be very happy when i get it, because i'm going to want to be 16 and i'm going to be wanting to live in the past i remember.

nothing exists; what's the real point?

there's too much beauty in the world; why can't i just sit here and be a part of it, why must i remove myself?

because i want to be unique, that's why.

fuck.

do you hear

i'm an ass.

what's wrong with me?

am i an unfeeling bastard?

i guess so.

but then why do i taste the fresh saltine glare of new tears?

what's the point?

why am i alive?

christ; i need something.

no, i don't.

let it be.

a poem

cat's broke

the running flow of cool water feeds life
fur and lifeblood not to be bought or sold
pow'r warmth and heat-borne industries of strife
tragicomic tableaux of deathly cold
the feelgood masterplan, the preacher's kind wife
underground, pressurized space, growing mould

what to do ?

...

i love you, but i do not want to become you.

people like you because you are amazingly perceptive and incredibly deep, people like me because i am an optimist - when i am with you, i am no longer an optimist, and i'm not perceptive enough to be interesting. you make fun of whatever you see and i go along with it ... and alienate half the people i know.

i'm sorry.

i can be the best friend you've ever had, but i can't solve your problems and i can't even begin to try. and i don't want your problems to drag me down. i can pull you out of them, so long as i'm standing on solid ground - but when i'm in the muck with you, we only drag each other down.

*sighs*

peace be with you.

a poem

random thought

create chaos
bring ruckus call destruction
.000001 of one percent of the population
survey says:
fuck off
unsure of which thoughts to express
such are those which run through mind
self-centred poetry
the epitome of self-pity
irritated reckless abandon gives way
hopeless loathing of inane crumbling lack of talent
where will you go when i get out of prison?
better fucking hide
there's something sharp and heavy in the middle of a corn field
with your name on it

mindless seduction
heartless destruction
pillaging reduction
hopeless lacking in function

daddy where have the sheep gone?
the furry doggy took them away
TO BECOME GOD DAMNED CROWN ROAST OF LAMB
so that the fat capitalist pigs can chew on the honeysuckle
fleshy fat furry
ovine creature
warmth that once held life flows down
a greasy well-line throat of lining up soldiers marching
in rows of skunk striped nazi felonious colonizing bastards
the communists might have had it right
where are you now senator mccarthy?
more pickled than anything in my fridge
corrupted body and soul by your own mind
(and exponential value anaerobic bacteria)

revisionist useless
snake rotted toothless
save your precious icons they're going fast
i saw a gypsy peddling your christ
thirty five cents on a street corner
real working limbs
real bleeding wounds
all the salvation, half the obligation
a petty notion where is your real belief
will he save you on the wings of angels? get your own wings
and he'll boost your with his own perhaps
otherwise you'll be chatting with charon
as he rows you across the river styx
corrupted hands and feet rotting corroding your soul
truth and beauty are down there at the bottom
amongst the torrid, undulating flesh
beauty? truth?
there may be both in chaos or perhaps
order
order
order holdeth all and that brings me to my next point
where were you that night?
the communists had it right
stalin killed my mother she was like no other
woman
she brought me into this world and that cocksucker brought her out of it
i will never forgive him
where is my compassion for a holy idea
trotsky tell me please where's the truth as i feel strawberry jam
make its gleeful escape from my dear mother's veins
you can't tend to the mote in your own eye when stalin is eating it for dinner
your face is a cobblestone
COG!

who's the immigrant now ; i've been here for years
your political systems?
mean nothing
i knew how to measure time and how to talk directly to god
and look up his nose and pick his brain
i understood and you took it away
communist, capitalist, it doesn't matter
when you're running up the steps of quetzalcoatl's temple
with something heavy and sharp in your hand
and you stop my human sacrifice
by introducing an eight inch piece of rock to the soft flesh
under my solar plexus
a vestal virgin tastes the jam as my heart quickly forgets its sweet smell
my soul in steam would rise if it was cold
but since it's not
i'm here
on the flat ground
blood
trickles
down
1,000
stairs

i didn't know who jesus was.

livegrenade - BREATHE

my friend steve's web site.

i wish i could make something that looked this cool.

thought.

a true friend is someone who you like who likes you. anything more is a bonus.

i was so tired five minutes ago.

*additional sigh*

hmph.

hey, i'm a nasty egocentric person, okay? i've always got some motivation. deal with it.

i can't sleep now.

christ!

i'm going to try, anyway.

where's the herbal supplements!?

*further sighing*

eek!

hmm...

a life without friends is.... fucking hell i'm going to bed!

we'll address this later.

*sighs*

there was no time or location
there was really no info at all
no date no place no time no rsvp
but it said,
you are invited
by anyone
to do anything
you are invited
for all time

- the dismemberment plan

listening to half the music on my computer, watching nutso independent movies, trying to find public service videos about sex...

playing the dear xbox, watching nobody show up...

driving from my grandparents in the snow...

going for long walks, falling down, standing up, trading gifts in the living room while most of my family was long asleep, waiting by the petro-canada, buying ugly sweaters...

going to the movies (ocean's eleven .. hmm!), getting picked up by your sister's friends who told me "we're getting sean DRUNK!"...

fetching you from your house after church, making pizza (shitty!), calling your mom who asked if you were drinking, watching erin brockovich and pondering the sociopolitical implications of julia roberts' cleavage...

sitting bored at the cottage...

driving around town with "hot richard" as we call him...

drinking bright green 'kool-aid' and hitting the sauce rather hard, watching shawn and rob both break the same chair, avoiding pot fumes, going for another walk, having a little interlude in the back of gerry's van...

visiting the jubenvilles...

making more pizza...

watching billy madison, watching your brothers kill things in the Sims, listening to White Town (oh sheeyit!), sitting in your room discussing life and the world and trying to fix your crutches, playing your brother's guitar, running into your hydro pole...

sitting bored at home...

picking stacey up at quarter to 4, making a microwaved sandwich, watching kassya and stacey fight on the floor sitting in my room discussing basically everything, having a rave, watching Trainspotting, walking over to william street, running to TD Bank with sean and getting money but fearing muggings, falling off the wagon, racing up the parking lot, spitting, getting the police to come, downloading rap music, talking to wyatt, observing hair braiding, watching bits of pulp fiction and mel brooks cheese, cooking up mr. noodles at 4am, trying to sleep and failing, making french toast, getting haircuts...

planning camping trips...

playing computer games, learning about the mating capabilities of blobs...

watching russel crowe deal with his schizophrenia

and having two weeks surrounded by alot of people i love, some that i don't, and living properly outside of a textbook.

thanks everyone.

every time i see you falling, i get down on my knees and pray...


what are these eyes, that can look on a junkie with compassion and a smiling child with smoldering hatred?

"Fuck," he commented.

being secure and being open about your insecurity ... almost the same thing.