She Does Good Things For Me

I like her. A lot.

True.

Why don't

I ever

write anything

when I'm

bloody happy?

Banjo Romance

 I'm looking to fall in love with a banjo player.

Canada Day

 Canada Day has got me thinking about what it's like to be an immigrant.

 If, hypothetically, I moved myself and my family to Russia because I believed we would have a better future, and the people there would treat me the way us Canadians treat our immigrants, I would wish I would have stayed home.

 Oh Canada, I wish you'd remember how compassionate you once were.

Individuals

 Still trying to be the best person I can be. Still eating, sleeping, working, laughing, creating, reading, visiting and enjoying myself. Still listening to what people are saying. Still watching what they are doing. Still negotiating with myself when I wake up until I go to bed. Still wondering, planning, expecting and arriving where I will be next year or the year after that. Still planning my vacation as soon as I figure out how long to work for it. I've always wanted to see Coney Island.
 Things that you think you're worried about always seem to grow smaller and smaller the more you decide to write about them.

"Play it, Sam"

 I haven't seen a good, good movie in a long time. Casablanca is quickly becoming my new favourite.

Things Your Hairstylist and You Should Consider

 A few things to consider when you're visiting your hairdresser.

1) you are paying for their artistic vision as well as their creativity and personality.

2) you are not the hair stylist and as your opinion is more than strongly important, your hair stylist should recognize your needs and create what is best for you; find a hairdresser who does this, but keep the amateur critiques on the art to a minimum.

Hamlet

 I wish sleep these days would come easy. There is a lot of knowledge, a lot of information I will never obtain in this lifetime. I'm beginning to understand, as natural as it may come to others, this is the reason to wake up in the morning; to look for those mental or physical hidden doorways you hadn't seen before. An even better reason to wake up in the morning is love.

 This is where I'm letting in a little more love. I tried to end my life four nights ago. I gashed my wrist with a razor. Luckily, a close friend of mine came to check on me after I had assured my family that I loved them and was going to bed. My sister called 911 as my friend tried to put pressure on the wound. I can't believe that I had actually asked him to stop, I asked him to let it bleed.
 What I can't get my head around is that there was love, right there with me, my reason to wake up in the morning... and I wanted to cop out? What makes me the 'damaged one'? I just can't understand how I can be so giving and caring to everyone around me and yet still try to perform the most selfish task known to man.
 I am talented. I am loved. I am insightful. I am creative. I am great with people. The list goes on! I am all I'd ever want to be for now and I'm only going to get better. This experience has definitely been my wake up call.

 To all my family and friends, I am sorry that I did this to you. From now on, I will try my best to give back what I take.

 I love you all.

A Mantra, Though More of a Country Song

I'm giving up drinking for the first time
I'm giving up that much of myself to you
'cause it seems to me no help
When I'm drunk, I'm not myself
And now I'll never have to say these those things again to you.

I'm learning to climb up from the bottom
If there's anything to learn, I'll learn to live
'cause if someday when you're not here
if there was something you've made real clear
it's that there's nothing more important than the love you give.

Now it seems to me that others can have their drinks and have their fun,
and while others have learned their pace, I could never stop at one,
It's a long and sad excuse
How my head obeys abuse
to myself, It's not a choice of 'walk or run'.

There are two sides to every story and two sides to this kid
One side lives the life that his parents never did
But one side can't tell the difference
between death and pure existance
and it's the fight between those sides which can't be hid.

So I'm giving up drinking for the first time
I'll be giving much more now of myself to you
Because I'll have to learn to deal
with what myself and others feel
and so I'll be giving much more now of myself to you.

5 Hairdressing Words I'll Use Most

5 Hairdressing words I'll use most (either in my head or speaking to the client) are:

1. Texture
2. Product
3. Connection
4. Movement
5. Style

Shipless Sands and No Real Title

MY LOVE IS ON HER WAY HOME
FAR FROM THE SHIPLESS SANDS
INSIDE OF MY MIND
TO RECALL AND REMIND
WHAT HASN'T CHANGED WITHIN ME
"YOU'LL HAVE TO SEE ME OFF AT SUNRISE -
SO MAROON
BEFORE THE SILVER SHINING MOON"

SOME WRITERS OWN THEIR PIECES
OTHERS WAIT TO STEAL
WHAT HAS BEEN WRITTEN BEFORE
THE NEXT GENERATION OF WHORES

MY LOVE SUBSCRIBES TO PAYPHONES
SHE'S AN ANCHOR IN AN OCEAN
FILLED TO THE BRIM
LIKE A BITTER BOOTLEG OF GIN
SHE'S A MARKET TOOL FOR SAILORS
SAILORS IN THE BACKS OF SHOPPING MALLS
IN THEIR SUITS
AND THEIR FINE ITALIAN BOOTS

I CAN'T BE BOTHERED HERE
I'VE STUMBLED UPON MARIGOLDS
AND MOTHS
BUTTERFLIES
SEEN THE TREETOPS AND BLUE SKIES
STILL, I'VE HAD TO BEG THE QUESTION:
AFTER ALL MY WICKED WAYS
AND USE OF MY TIME,
WAS I GOOD?
WAS I KIND?

...NOW WHO AM I TO YOU?



 The lyrics above are the finalized series of words stuck in my new (almost recorded and very much practiced) song. Thank you Justin for helping! The lyrics are very much written as a poem. I fear the listener/reader will not catch everything I want them to, being as it is a concise poem and even more a fast paced song. Or perhaps it is ironic that it feels short, for the everyday listener does not have a very long attention span.
 The following version is the original, to give you a little more insight in how it developed, along with my personal interpretations and notes beside it.

MY LOVE IS ON HER WAY HOME  ('my love' is just the muse/character i'm referring to in order to make this narrow this topic down into an example.)

FAR FROM THE SHIPLESS SANDS
INSIDE OF MY MIND ('shipless sands inside of my mind' - undisturbed; self-preservation; idealism; etc.)
TO RECALL AND REMIND  
WHAT HASN'T CHANGED WITHIN ME (a muse, bringing out a stubborn opinion)
YOU'LL HAVE TO SEE ME OFF AT SUNRISE
SO MAROON (this is where the imagery comes in)
BEFORE THE SILVER SHINING MOON

SOME WRITERS OWN THEIR PARAGRAPHS ('paragraphs' felt too long in syllables and was changed to 'pieces')

OTHERS WAIT TO STEAL
WHAT HAS BEEN WRITTEN BEFORE; (what is orginality?)                
THE NEXT GENERATION OF WHORES (we've began to endlessly fuck our inspirations for theirs)

... AND YOU ARE ALL OWNED. (prices, name tags, advertising, plagiarizing, consumerism, politics, etc.)

MY LOVE SUBSCRIBES TO PAYPHONES (all that 'owned' business)
SHE'S AN ANCHOR IN AN OCEAN (aren't we all?)
FILLED TO THE BRIM
LIKE A BITTER BOOTLEG OF GIN (here, I'm starting to introduce images of an old world to a new one; bootlegs, anchors, oceans, subscriptions, payphones, shopping malls, market tools, etc.)

SHE'S A MARKET TOOL FOR SAILORS
SAILORS IN THE BACKS OF SHOPPING MALLS (sailors = businessmen and whathaveyous)

IN THEIR SUITS
AND THEIR FINE ITALIAN BOOTS (fine italian boots! old world meets new world... and we're still thanking the italians for great footwear.)

... AND SHE IS ALL OWNED.

I CAN'T BE BOTHERED HERE
I'VE STUMBLED UPON MARIGOLDS
AND MOTHS
BUTTERFLIES
SEEN THE TREETOPS AND BLUE SKIES (imagery in a serene and safe place.)
STILL, I'VE HAD TO BEG THE QUESTION:
AFTER ALL MY WICKED WAYS
AND USE OF MY TIME
WAS I GOOD?
WAS I KIND?  (Through possessions, consumerism and all that, don't we all really want to be remembered for something else?)

... NOW WHO AM I TO YOU? (throughout the poem, I've pointed fingers at the poor 'my love'.)

... I AM NOT ALL OWNED. (i think that here i just wanted to tell myself that i knew there is more to life than blogging... ha.)


I am needing a title for this song! Any ideas? Tell me what you think.

Taken For A Fool

 I am so excited to talk about The Strokes' new album Angles. The Strokes have never let me down yet.

 I'm not exactly sure why, but many of The Strokes' songs seem very relevant to fit my most common moods.

"You get taken all the time for a fool.
I don't know why.
You're so gullible but I don't mind.
That's not the problem.
And I don't need anyone with me right now.
Monday, Tuesday is my weekend.
You get taken for a fool all the time.
I don't know why. "

Imagery In Writing

Bob Dylan has never written or said anything about trailer parks...


in noticing, it makes me feel like I've outsmarted him.

"Devil's Red Horns"

 The other night I wrote and recorded this song called 'Devil's Red Horns'. I won't post it on myspace because I don't believe it's for everyone to hear. This particular song got me in to some sort of strong headspace which took some time to shake off completely. The song includes electric organ, drums/bongos, distorted vocals, and reverse vocals. A real kind of tribal sound. I wrote it in the kind of blues progression lyrically.
 While writing the lyrics, I had thoughts of my childhood imagery I had thought to be the devil (bull with red horns and black cape). Politics and war and subjects that have made their way in to my life these days, so that made it in to the lyrics as well. I think I may have succeeded in almost scaring the listener by making it as sinful as possible.
 I think it might just reveal a much more darker side of my artist.

 Enjoy.


I saw the devil's red horns when I was seventeen
I heard him call me by my name into eternity
I saw the devil's red horns when I was seventeen

I touched the fire in the pit of hell when I was born
I chased that red pointed tail into the yellow corn
I touched the fire in the pit of hell when I was born

I saw an angel turn away from God when he was wrong
He plucked out both his little wings like a fly in Vietnam
I saw an angel turn away from God when he was wrong

I saw a Moses on a mountain take what he was given
And by this notion he had proven 'lying for a living'
I saw a Moses on  mountain take what he was given

I seen a triple six written in blood under my wrist
I didn't know that God had cared so little like we did
I seen a triple six written in blood under my wrist

I put my firstborn in the army and said, "We're going to hell,"
I hope the sneaky fucking rat is somewhat treated well
I put my firstborn in the army and said, "We're going to hell."

I saw the devil's red horns come to greet me by the grave
I saw the devil's red horns when I had misbehaved
I saw the devil's red horns come to greet me by the grave

I saw the devil's red horns.

Mr. Schellenberg

I'm writing to tell
you that your
friday nights
suck and your
saturday evenings
leave me feeling
more lonely than
a monday morning.
At least I know
what most people
go through on
those days.
Howcome you don't
live with me
anymore? The
best excuse I may
have thought yet
is to blame those
procedures you dwell
on to your
selfishness. I'm
hoping you're finding
some new establishment
comfortable? Why
were you apartment
walls never decorated
before? I saw some
new spices and herbs
in your cupboard.
Who's the chef?
Truth is, I don't
believe your
tattle tales anymore.
Someone told me
something that kept
me awake for hours
the other night and
still you complain
that your bed is
too big. I've
wondered if you've
wondered about
my plans this
coming summer.
Here's a person
to sit on those
kinds of chairs
you may or
may not have
wedged through that
narrow staircase.
Here's a cheap drink
to indulge in while
I sit here in this
cathedral of some
sort throwing ten
dollar bills at the
bartender. Here's a
kiss for you and
that horny drug dealer.
Indulging is waiting.
Though I don't much
appreciate you patience
anymore.

1/13/11

With Uninteresting Women

When colors are raging
in and out through her cocktail dress
and (fluorescent lighting can be so unflattering)
waiters, waitresses are not really waiting
they're busying themselves about
in a real rush
I'm not sure whether to pay attention
to her lips moving or
whether to tip our waitress
or go to the bathroom
lift my wine cup up to my mouth.

Maybe I'd like her to say something
interesting
nostalgic
provocative
insincere
polite
coincidental
hopeful
...or shout!

She likes getting high and reading
the Farmer's Almanac
of July, twenty years ago.

From now on I will consider quite heavily
on how to waste my time
some other way.
I'll get another job. Sleep four hours each
day. Make more money to
spend at more fancy
dinners with
uninteresting women.

1/11/1

"Lovely Night"

 I wrote and recorded a new song today. It took five hours to get the right recording, but I've finally settled on the one you can find here. It's my music myspace. If you have the time, check it out, let me know what you think. I really enjoy it.
 I inserted a fragment of my poem 'With Uninteresting Women' in the recording. You can hear me recite some of it in the background.




Lovely Night

What's the difference? What's the harm?
Can I take you by the arm?
We're drowning in your living room
a little drunk, but so are you
If I don't fall asleep, I'll walk
They're playing music up the block
Where I'm sure they'll wait for me
I could use the company
See, there's this feeling in my bones
it loves me most when I'm alone
it's like a spring torn in my heel
now you can tell how grey I feel

Oh lovely night

Just like the flipping of a coin
if it turns up heads then you could join
I'd like to watch you watch your dance
(alternative ideas of chance)
'cause I can't dream the night away
because tomorrow's not today
I'd like to take them by surprise
it's time to give ourselves a try

Oh lovely night

So come away with me awhile
We'll shake our heads, we'll have to smile
I only want what I don't got
If you're the dream then I am not

"The Balloon Man"

            
                                                        "The Balloon Man"  2011

  Acrylic. Not once did I use a paintbrush. I used any objects I could find, including a toothbrush, Q-tips, a sponge, a pen and a glass jar to name a few. It's my best painting so far.

You Belong In Montreal

I’d put you away

I’d paint you an island

Far away from it all

I’d take a deep breath

Try making you smile

But you belong in Montreal

I’d hold the door open

I’d shatter the mirror

Nail my wrists straight in to the wall

I’d dig up the earth

I’d swallow the sky

But you belong in Montreal

I’d live for the moment

I’d start standing straight

I’d most likely stand pretty tall

I’d buy you a house

I’d buy you a ring

But you belong in Montreal

I’d bathe you and feed you

And clothe you and love you

Make most of your enemies crawl

I’d say the right words

I’d help calm you down

But you belong in Montreal

I know I’d be honest

I’d try to stay clean

Through the spring, the summer and fall

I’d warm you in winter

‘Neath your parents’ fire

But summer belongs to old Montreal

I’ll always be near you

I’ll always be yours

Waiting and waiting to call

I’ll miss you forever

You’ll stay close in mind

But you belong in Montreal

My girl is happy

My girl is gorgeous

My girl walks down through the hall

My girl is precious

My girl is loved

But she belongs in Montreal

September 18, 2010

I've Failed My Pen Tonight

I’ve failed my pen tonight

I cannot write, I cannot write

I’ve thought of many things to write

But not tonight, not tonight

I’ve thought your heart was full of sorrow

Before the night turned to tomorrow

I’ve sat in wonder; beg and borrow

Leave my blankets more tomorrow

I know it’s late, I know it’s late

My work is done; in the morn create

Down the driveway, through that gate

I know it’s late but I can’t wait

My Friends Are Depressing Me

There is nothing more special

Than the help of some friends

To get you by when you need it the most

And their comfort in words

Some I’ve already heard

Are a scratch in the back of my throat

So they dance and they laugh

Toss a drink to the past

And now she is no better than he

But I feel so perverse

I can’t feel any worse

My friends are depressing me

They choose great success

Almost more than the rest

Of the kids I had known years ago

It’s unlike them to say

What they do everyday

It’s unlike me to not really know

Though I tend to their needs

And I treat them with trust

I gift them my home with a key

They’ve all been to college

And I’m blessed with their knowledge

Still, my friends are depressing me

They talk about things

The way Sinatra sings

Whirlwinds, perhaps dynamite

They drink coffee grinds

From metropolitan times

And they stay up almost every night

I don’t mind the company

When things grow quite quiet

I don’t mind the coffee or tea

And I don’t mind the sarcasm

Kindness or cruelty

My friends are depressing me

October 25, 2010

Oh My Maria

Well, I woke up in the desert with a grin upon my face

I had a vulture tie me up and so I begged him for his grace

I said I’ll trade you eye for eye until I leave without a trace

And at the moment, very clearly, I began to see that place

As something I could roll on over to the side of my own bed

And realize the desert and the vulture are just inside my head

And so I dreamed another dream and listened to everything she said

I settled down to fall asleep and wait for cause to take effect

Oh my Maria.

Oh my Maria that’s some sugar pill you made me swallow whole last night

I made myself remember not the width nor not the height

And concentrate on little colors scattered ‘cross the smoky floor

I don’t want that tunnel vision, I don’t want those pills no more

Please understand me when I say this, I don’t mean to cause you harm

If it’s true that we saw heaven with that needle in your arm

Then why the hell are there so many bruises pasted on your neck

I’d gladly say you had a problem if the cause did not effect

Oh my Maria.

Oh my Maria, have some coffee and I’ll give you something good to eat

You’re tired, yes I know, but if you’d get up on your feet

We still got plans to be arranged, we’ve still got people we could meet

We’ve got our favorite songs to listen to on shuffle or repeat

I know a place that has good breakfast and a drink to wash it down

They’ve got a table by the window; you can see the whole damn town

I’m gonna leave just for a while, when I return, then you’ll get dressed

Everything is fine and dandy if the cause does not effect

Oh my Maria.

Oh my Maria is a woman and a raven on her own

She’s got a metaphor with numbers that she uses on her phone

She’s a target and a customer for dealers back at home

She can’t say no, she can’t say no, she can’t say no, she can’t say no

So as I get back to the motel she wasn’t breathing; she was dead

I tried to wake her up but she insisted in that bed

‘cause she had choked on her own vomit, her eyes rolled in her head

and so I called the ambulance and said the cause had took effect

Oh my Maria.

Oh my Maria things were great, why didn’t I see the problem then?

You were as vicious as a gambler spending all that you could spend

I wish I had a better story, wish this wasn’t the way it’d end

Wish I had someone to talk to but I guess now that depends

On how it feels in maybe three years, maybe five years, maybe ten

I’d done something about it then I’d see you once again

But now there ain’t no going back and this is how I will reflect

Everything is fine and dandy so long the cause does not effect

Oh my Maria.

I Saw A Woman For Her Flaws

[Journal Entry]                                                                                                               Oct. 26, 2010

I saw a woman for her flaws.

I saw I had the same.

I thought it was beautiful.

And you really cannot do any wrong.

I’m taking off passed pretty portraits of rights and wrongs. Some lefts were spotted, too. A scandinavian dressed in an anishinaabe headdress swallows gun shells. Smoke left scurried door outward. Sound check would not be for another hour. Early. So I induced more than I knew I should have. Poetry potluck. Seems people are more aware of what they don’t have than what they do. Bag of potatoes in the cellar. I remember my grandmother’s cellar, though not my real grandmother. I wouldn’t enter it by myself for fear of hairy monsters and getting trapped alone in the dark for hours. What I didn’t realize is that parents would very quickly see your absenteeism and locate you. This never occurred to me then. They wouldn’t notice now. My mother of abundance is scared of spelling errors, so she fails to write as much as she would actually like to. My mother of abundance is not a biological mother. I say this because I’ve come to understand that in this lifetime mothers are abundant. It’s fathers who are harder to find. Daddies even more. I hate her singing because she needs to be louder. I want to accept her creativity but... I’m a critic to her poetry. Does that make me a shadow artist? She sings too quiet when she NEEDS TO SING LOUDER. “House of broken dreams, blah blah silent screams”. I hate it because I used to write that shit. Stop getting angry. Understand.

Indecisive

The bird

sat down.

I don’t think it made

a difference

where it flew.

An Elaborate Vine

Rhyme and climb, you sleepy vine

Come down from that bridge so far

Roll and flow, now watch it go

Like the streets filling up with tar

Swirl and twirl, perhaps or probably curl

Around until tightened my neck

Shake and remake, the willing mistake

A tree sprouting up from the deck

Rhyme and climb, you suicide vine

I know where you most likely are

Travelling Scarf

this girl (i’ve seen her in backgrounds of blue)

knows nothing about

the rest of the girls (who also have been seen there, in backgrounds of blue)

who all wear certain traveling scarves.

i’ve definitely known one

or two or maybe a few more (internet helps)

who’ve worn that traveling scarf.

it’s a color to ask a question

and the question

is never

really

a good

question. (the scarf sits on a background of blue, feeling quite teal)

the answer sucks, actually.

it begs too many questions

for any kind of lover (i had thought about mounting her a few times)

or affectionate bystander.

it asked me once

who they were.

i had to laugh.

fuck their hands

waving their question marks (backgrounds turn white)

and pretending

that someone else

has to know

who  (alt + ctrl + del)

they are.

1/3/11

This Is Sarcasm

While I wait for things to appear in time

The tip tapping with this foot of mine

Smile surreal, homemade reel to reel

My eyes connected but I can not feel

The lives of others are changing

The thrill of youth is still hanging

And present time is a happy time

Scorcher

She comes to me with points of view

That I have never seen

Exchanged for words I’ve never used

Locked somewhere in memory

I’ve watched her carefully undressing

For the night would soon be long

In a little room above the town

And the sun to be gazed upon.

She danced and twirled in my mind

Refused some sort of joke

Though bits of humor pour out like wine

Blowing kisses; just like smoke

Her angel skin and eyes as bullets

Chase me back to where I belong

Mistook me for some sort of poet

And a doorway to be leaned upon.

The mattress dry but her palms so bare

The winter window broken

Halfly chosen words, halfly closing eyes

And the room left halfly open

Friends seldom seen and have no voice

Mutter love in quiet song

Leaving her and I to talk of choice

And a future to be dreamt upon.

She pardons me with a gift of truth

That not one love can recreate

And the aching in my heart of youth

A bad seed tries to duplicate

My fits of anger are often blamed

On the ones not with me; gone

And sometimes passed to others same

My closest to be prayed upon.

Indifferent schemes of loneliness

And an idealistic passerby

Cannot come close to what they’ve missed

When they pass both you and I

Have faith in most you’ve seen and heard

But do not base it on

An empty column, word for word

And the times to be read upon.

She tends to those who are often hurt

Her presence then, she will bless

A muse for those who have no words

But a bookshelf to confess

She will never trouble me with the ways of the world

When most everything goes wrong

‘cept maybe those who’ve seen our love

and our son to be cared upon.

Obligations

It’s hard to know, it’s hard to say

I had a lot of things to do today

But that waitress won

And I gave up

She refilled

My coffee cup.

Too strong to drink, too thin to chew

Today I had some things to do

But what’s the use

To treat myself

When I’m doing things

For someone else?

The Vehicle

I learned to drive taking the wheel from my father’s loose fingertips. He laughed, somehow knowing that I was not fully aware of the places it would take me.

           

Most of the time, I don’t need a vehicle or loose fingertips to get me anywhere. Not anymore.

           

Suddenly I came to her doorstep, not really sure if I was to knock or leave a letter in the mailbox. I think I may have done both.

           

Under a pale incandescent light (which had become the nightlife for fellow party bugs), she opened the door. I was invited in kindly. She teased me with her smile.

           

Grabbing hold of the loose finger tipped wheel once again, I soon realized I was chasing something I could never catch. I think for a moment now, there may have been the same thought process shared and entertained between us.

           

Never to be reasoned with or pursued to a full potential. Now, I need a vehicle.

Written for and about a close friend’s twin sister. She now resides in England, without a vehicle.

Eight Homemade Haiku's

“The tip of my tongue

not once does it follow me

to the end of time.”

“The wretch in my life

comes and goes as he pleases

and that wretch is me.”

“Winged dogs and fairies

trapped inside of this small mind

and indulges you.”

“’It’s my favorite,’

she sighed and counted her steps

away from the blue.”

“An audience sleeps

tick tock tick tock tick tock tick

small words of prayer.”

“My trapezoid broke

into twelve different pieces

between the furnace.”

“In absence I laughed

but you were not present to

witness my laughter.”

“Fried fish and grease tea

walk upon the broken bridge

and deliver John.”

written september 20th, 2010