Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Puppets.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
A Hundred Times
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Words
Monday, August 8, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Between your conscience and mine
Saturday, July 2, 2011
She comes and goes. Chapter 4
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
She comes and goes - Chapter 3
Thursday, June 2, 2011
She comes and goes. Chapter 2
The winter drizzle made the day a lot cooler. The past few days have been such a bust. I ventured out for a bit, bought supplies, indulged my photography needs, visited the bookstore I had spied a couple of blocks away from mine and even went to the fish market. I don't like fish. I cannot stand the smell. Reminds me of my mother and that dank, dark kitchen and my mother in that dank, dark kitchen, weeping to herself. Her tears must have flavored many a Sunday brunch, or that late Friday supper. She never did speak much. Always watching and waiting or waiting and watching from corners, quick to jump to orders, even mine. I loathed her self-deprecating manner and her quite bustling. It grated on my nerves like some loud, obnoxious music. How I hated her. And then she died, in that same dank, dark kitchen and that was the only day I remember crying. I didn't realize it until I saw that her face was tear stained and for a moment I thought she was crying at her deathbed as well. But I digress. Fishes. That's where I was. I had gone to the fish market to get fish for my pet cat. He's quiet for the most part, to the point that I sometimes forget he's even there until I notice a lump moving about on my couch under my black parka. A black cat under my black parka, he hates being photographed. I found him nibbling on one of my lens caps the other day.
After so much activity, I had been waiting to get back to my little, white window, with the chesterfield bare stool next to it. The telescope was a gift from an annoying ex girlfriend. She wanted to take it with her when she left but I managed to haggle it back from her. She took my television instead. At about 11 a.m. today, I finally spotted my lovely, walking into her living room. Her long legs dragged across the room in a lazy conversation with the floor, her white negligee stopping right above her thighs. Her black hair was mangled and fell in heavenly curls around her bare shoulders. From here, it looked like she was glowing like a lone street light on a deserted road. It looked like she was waiting for someone, because she kept looking at the door and she wouldn't sit down or stay still. And it had to be the boyfriend, yes? Because a woman like her could not be single. He walked right in, he must have the spare key. And she fell into his arms like a pack of cards. I'm not sure what I was supposed to feel but all I felt was a strange sense of euphoria at seeing her feel this happy and loved. They proceeded into the bedroom then and there my viewing pleasures ended because my scene was blocked by these huge red curtains. It was infuriating ,to say the least, but I doubt they were going in to the bedroom for a heart to heart conversation. I wonder if they'll ever fuck in the living room. I'm not sure I could watch. I'm not sure I want her to fuck at all. She needs to be kept in a long glass case, safe from the filth of this world, and nothing should touch her ageless beauty except the touch of my lips against hers.
I don't want to write anymore. I'd like to wait for them to come back out now.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
She comes and goes. Chapter 1
Any onlooker would have thought she had been brutally kicked in the face by some member of the Russian Mafia, but I knew better. She's recently picked up painting, with an enthusiasm I find quite endearing to behold. I only say recent because of how her hand ever so lightly trembles when she's about to dab the brush along her canvas and the way she practices in front of her mirror to tie her hair elegantly around a pencil thin brush with paint smearing. Last night, she fell asleep while working on a self portrait and while usually she feels the need to wash her face at the basin when she wakes up in the morning, today my lovely decided to go out for a walk. She did not take notice of their eyes following her like ravenous wolves and she walked in an even pace, never slowing down, never picking up; her bosom rising and falling to meet the cold wind of the winter morning. She didn't venture further from her street. Our street. And then she stopped suddenly, her heels digging into the pavement, but the rest of her body wasn't paying attention, so she tumbled around a bit before she could manage to completely come to a halt. Not elegant, no. But she melts my heart, she does. And she had only stopped her unnatural morning walk because she had caught her reflection on the bakery window. Face marked in blacks, blues and triumphant purples, her favorite color palette if I discern correctly, she really did look badly bruised. And to my rapturous delight and to the street walking frails' surprise, she burst out in peals of laughter that just descended onto the street like runaway music. I had never heard her before, and while I captured every note of her mirth onto my memory, she walked back into her apartment still giggling to herself, clutching her dress with both hands, her sandals slapping the ground in merry tandem and I just had to sit down and catch my breath, or I would have fallen and broken my head for want of oxygen. Good things are to come this way, I know.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Getting back to the middle.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Dreaming Shows Good Things.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
You don't know how lovely You are.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Never Too Late
Monday, April 11, 2011
Hungry days and Horny Nights
Friday, April 8, 2011
Keys and Stones.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Dazed and Lonely.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Almost Dawn - Twilight Haikus
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
My psycho heart etc. etc.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Permanence
It’s all stop gap, my heart
Split second reverie
And a canoe shaped moon.
It’s only survival, at best
Paper cut love
No nonsense, no.
Its quite a revelation
Deep fears
You know less, every time.
It’s however no mystery
This patience
We are just passing by.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Friday Night Blues
Elmo (this cat I know) likes to sleep a lot. He's still a kitten, so I guess he needs it. I, on the other hand, don't need as much. But on a Friday night, I find myself on the bed, with my laptop, staring at a screen littered with people I don't really give a fuck about. And Elmo's looking at me, wondering when I'll shoo him off the bed. Honestly, I just let him stay because I need the company. This cat business really makes me feel like an aging spinster, but that's not really true, is it?
Friday, March 4, 2011
Long Division.
Some impasse this turned out to be. Between cold, dead words and warm life there’s this little crack where I managed to get myself wedged into. There are no epiphanies here, only choice revelations of amoral overtones. And I have been no saint. No siree. You can rejoice now but only there’s this question of sleeping business and so forth and so on. You get me?
Ofcourse not, you’d say or I’d think you’d say but that’s not what we’re talking about. I thought I’d write you a poem, one of those Neruda-esque heart warmers, beat skippers, mill of the run types. But that’s all been done and said and whispered in ears too many with little results and much ‘too many’ dismay and sorrow. We perform our way through life not knowing we’re on stage, not realising that we’ve created scenes that we have to probably stash away in the deleted scenes section of the blue ray disc edition. But YOU are no deleted scene, my love. You are the disc cover, if I could be straight with you here. With you around I know where I stand, centre of the universe, centre of you, centre life. You are shiny, new and quite the collector’s item and you’re all mine for now. Get me?