i have rented a guitar
it is green
and grows resonating
import and fret-buzz between
and with each
strum-uttered phrase
cycling down through spring night's
chirp-laden maze
it sings,
"take me home, country road"
and i think of spurning it.

today i am making kimchee
it has been five years

i have taken to preparing dal again
lately as well
and it turns out quite delicious and aromatic
and is as good if not better than at east is east.

an onion fell
and rolled down the hall
leaving its paper brown shavings
a trail of crackled laughter
they tear and trickle
up the woman's throat
as she races

still melting crystals
drop in quickening passage
begin to head home

stream
of
thought



* * *

wonderful!

a shout
out
and thanks to diddy.

moon sticks astronaughts used to eat

a post for the night.

someone is listening.
thank-you.

now, does anyone know where are
those moon sticks astronaughts used to eat?

could things be better?
sure.
but things could be worse.

just ants underfoot
conscious of an existance
they race to preserve

bliss below

i can't tell if its dawn or dusk
i have just woken up
and as i fall back deep asleep
will i ever wake up

and i am falling farther than my knees
it seems enough
and i pound my head into the floor
and there is abyss below

and as my hands reach the shore
body's beached to sigh no more
tonight the bell tolls beneath the wake
all is not lost

at first the dread i felt was just knee deep
so my kneeling has to cease
but as i breathe it in and out
it suffocates

and i've fallen further down than my knees
its never enough
i pound my head into the floor
bliss below

did i ever show you my best dream?
did i ever get close to belief?
didn't you used to be my best friend?
i can't remember can you help me now?
it had something to do with grief
but i liked it anyway

moon pulls a ribbon
of humble, distrustful clouds
makes black a warning

the bullrush-sliced air
blows past leaves refreshingly
disobey the sun

seers of coldness drop
loosened grip of frozen clouds
crystals of the sky

icing sugar dusts the streets
the city streets with kindness
melting the concerns

holy shit
letterman's sick
weird i was just reading an
old paperback biography
thanks sis
and he was talking about johnny's
days off and guest hosts
and i was thinking if
he'd be doing that soon
and that'd he'd retire someday
and how worrisome it was
when he fell ill
that new year

i tried to write something
last night
but the giant wouldn't let me
you see
everyone once in a while i like
to post a small poem
a unit of time
i was trying to raise my consciousness
the other day
breathing in ocean air
when a little fly flew in my nose
in public
i remember this happened to me once
hiking with my grandfather
he turned around and saw me
abash, which still stings a bit
picking my nose
and didn't believe my gestures
that it was a fly
we didn't speak the same language.

from now on i will
keep aware of the fire exits
at the next band i go see.

finally watched Stop Making Sense on DVD before
sending it to a cousin. great movie. great sounding too.

i have always had a crush on Tina Weymouth.
i have always had a thing for musicians.
i didn't know she sang.
actually i think she sings like Mary Timony.
always had a thing for her too.
had the pleasure to see her perform in the
old Zulu store once.

think of the sea-life
lying in the dark right now

i have decided to live a little
on the edge
vicariously
not like a vicar
when crossing one-way streets
i will only glance one-way
i will no longer look opposite
the pertinent direction

on some final day
when and if all remaining humanity slides
up this tunnel of light we keep hearing of
whatever that may be,
will there be something to replace us?
if god is within
will it be sliding up with us?
or will god be sliding unto itself?
and from where we slide from
be desolate and harsh?
uninhabitable.
ruined.
not by humans but by nature itself.
mind, if we cease to exist,
really, we have never existed.
except to whatever it may be that replaces us.

abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz

thoughts and noses
and noses and bulbous ones
and thoughts and an
empty, empty head.

matthew broderick

catchphrase in a bottle
and send it out to sea
what may happen
be what be
sail it unto me..

lalala

someone's melted chickenlegs all down my host.

people at the bus stop top
their esteem with instinctive ticks
like small shrugs
each stare a unique direction
in different colours
a collective vision
of day-to-day necessity.

oh
crimea river

i ride a bicycle to work over and
on the sidewalk of a bridge
because if i ride on the road i have
to swerve to avoid shards of glass.
the police set up roadblocks on the opposite
end forcing dozens of liquor bottles out car windows.
i have had 3 flat tires there in the last 2 months.

i'm the weird guy with the good sense of humour yet
a bit too reclusive to trust his intent
i don't want to see my reflection in that stance again
no never want to see blood spilt anywhere again
Tropic of Cancer
and a glassy sideways glance
slip of the fingers
his hand's on your lap.

* * *

twas my boifday on sunday.

if i could do it all over again,
i might have to think about it first,
but i would do it all over again.

i have a renewed appreciation for the sky,
without one i think i would fall
and to my knees i would have to crawl
dizzy and all of the time
unable to get up
no different than any other reptile
or muti-purpose geek
with a big nose
dorsal-finned posture and elegiac smile
like that old, bald beast in the hobbit story,
slime my way past the other suits,
in the city there is no sky,
perhaps thats why these unhappy business
tied types all resemble grave, miserable flies
sitting in fattened archways
choking as they shake.

wrinkles aging ears
pretending it's beauty
lying in wisdom

* * *

time destroys everything.
that's from Irréversible.

in in ten or ten-and-a-half hours
it will be one full week to the day
of one of the most dreadful days
of my life so far.

and one day at a time i pray.
i think its all i can really do.
she knows we love her.

i really don't feel
like going back to work.
that is an understatement.
i digress.

it may seem i ramble on about
trivial matters,
but no matter what happens,
life will always make no sense to me.

i am not being negative.
there is beauty in life.
but i admit if i am not waking up now,
it will happen in a matter of days.

my mother is not well.
this is the most important issue in my life.
one's mother's well-being should always
be this though.

one day i will wake up.

hey vacuum land!
this is an open call.

• • •

i always have maintained that my
favourite food is fondue.
i am not really fond of a cheese fondue.
however i love a raclette.

it is a pity that there isn't a more dignified
word for cheese in English.

also, i am not crazy about chocolate fondue.

fondue is more of a culinary novelty than
a delicacy. but it elicits an excitement in
me so that is why i call it my favourite dish.

• • •

water started dripping from my bathroom fan.
luckily i am home and was able to put a bucket
underneath it.
could this be the cause of my mysterious
soaking wet bathroom carpets i have come
home to a coppola times in the past few months?

i went upstairs to inquire if there had been a
spill or something. it is late but i heard movement.
met my new neighbour.
i think he said his name is Michael.
this entry could help me remember his name.

• • •

saw a wonderful Swiss film last night
called "The Frozen Heart" by Xavier Koller.
it was set in the winter alps of switzerland.
so beautiful.

• • •

so not to disturb
the silent night and sleeping
snowman they fly on

• • •

as i age my vocabulary weakens
and can't find the words i want
to make images like those i tried
in the entry below.

and as time goes on what i see
is less composed of images
than objects that exist outside my
sphere of giving a shit about them.

everything seems forced.

• • •

i have forgiven all my sins.

snow's back and i'm melting
and every morning we rise

and every morning we rise
the road and all paths still point north

brittle web-like remains of leaves
whisk along the grey roads

permafrost buildings and vapour trails
behind cars and peoples voices
like horses


watershed makes canyon walls damp
treacherous lichens grow
wind front is brushing your forehead

later.
...bedtime.

i dreamt with burning sensations in my sinus
last night and awoke this morning at seven
to an apartment filled with smoke. i had placed
my breadboard on a stovetop element which
must have been turned on for days as i have not
used my stove for awhile. there was a hole
burnt through the thick board revealing part
of the glowing panel of ember on its underside.
it was serene and magical in the dark of winter
morning. i was mesmerised, too lazy to move.
staring into a campfire on a summer night.
waiting for the smoke to switch direction and
cease its path to my nostrils.
i smell like woodstove today at work.
my place and everything in it smells the same.
i was going to save the stinking thing to
photograph tonight but realised there was
no good point in that or having a visual
reminder of my neglect and stupidity.
this entry should be enough.
i am grateful to be alive.

it is less quiet in the city
and the rain runs thicker
and it seems that where there is
smaller concentrations of people
there is less distrust.

when i leave where i live
to calmer shores
that distant rumble in my ear intensifies.

could this mean i need to move to larger
and more impersonal cities to stay sane?

am i not on a holiday?
at least until the morning?

i am convinced the malaise and disinterest
i feel for life is shared by many more
people than we let on.

it is endemic.
most people have lost hope.

fixed the flat.
forgot to check the tire for embedded glass and had another flat.
nearly died avoiding glass again on the viaduct.

today we re-enacted the play and dance scene
from charlie brown's christmas.
i played snoopy.
it will be seen on national television.
i sniffed pigpens ass.

been busy.

took mother out for birthday sushi.
met rick mercer.
went to canada's poet laureate's house.
i recorded him reciting haikus on the tibook.
snuck in a coppola mine!
he ripped them to shreds.

an honour.

had a flat tire

they say that spinach is the mainstay
of the very brawny sailorman, Popeye.

so,
obviously i've got fuck all to say.

here blogger, blogger, blogger...
c'mon, here blogger, blogger, blogger!

schlaffzits
schlaffsitz

oh man, this humming is driving me insane!
always in the left ear.

good morning america

god is great

is it possible to do ascii art on a blog?
i made some sheep but they dissolve
after they are posted.

all praise to allah

betelnut beauty
motorcycles and rebels
and rebels all ways

can you hear winter
blanket and suffocating
way down the valley

* * *

solemn and serene
brook zig-zags stone and crevice
prodded by rainfall

* * *

sullen and serene
the goth hangs around archways
wait for excitement

fractured and un-innocent
the poverty stricken reek of grief
and yellow clothes
and heaven knows this was not
what was intended on that intimate
glorious morning made public
tolling from all towers
wooden, stone and glass
by the all knowing spectacle
of ribbon lies and promising rings
not what was meant by the proclamation
"and the cheek may apple the earth"
its now left broken only to be fixed
by what broke it
the destroyer of all things
the racing hand of seiko
and the measure of einstein.

i once knew this guy with skinny, bottomless legs
it was all we could do to hold him down
moreover with a spoon tightly capped to the lip
one lass referred to the boy as "pemmican pete"
and it stuck; tight and betwixt the legs!
ole lambchop, rosemary and thigh.

as you slide down the chairs and down the halls
and bannisters and up the walls
you stick to the ceiling your smile has never
been so wide

and as you wide out the door
and over the hill and down to the candystore
the shape on your lips is often mistaken for
happiness unjaded, crappiness and lonely faded
curtains you tied peering down
the halls and scare-crazy malls
glazed like basketballs feeling more like medicine balls

its your own way

as you slide down the halls and down the walls
and up the turnpike and left on the street
your in the middle of a pancake meeting
now there's a house full of swastikas
making a lonely mess of a good man's life
and everyone is crying out to your own way.

um,
now i can crumple up the paper page and throw it away.
one page a die.

werd.

back in the shadows of the lofty willow
when half its size
this camosun
place where camas is gathered
glass and metal edifice
was once a dreamy-dandelion lot
with swings and annexes
where the cripples once played
trapped, institute
unable to scale the cement walls
clamoured to morning glory
beneath the willow
that would allow a free child to frivolously
swing out, over
this silent orphaned dream
and back
to run, skip, two wheels
to tricycle away to broomed hills
one could gaze distant
to Baker
when she still burned bright.

Hollow like the four walls around me
As blank and their surface bare
Gut feels sunk, bottomless
As a hidden chamber beneath
I walk down a hall lit by night stars
Down paint-thinned, creaky stairs
Step into the moonlight
Laying everywhere, broken feathers, broken cups
And fishing wire threads throughout all
Tight pulling strewn scraps
Coiled and wrapped, kept in place
A strained guise, this anarchy mess
It doesn't help i'm depressed
But to kick this can and get caught up
On your knees
I feel i wait, like pray
Buckled from fear for what?

this is enough for me. schlaffsitz.

i'm just sitting here backing up my F drive
figured i'd blog a bit.
actually just documents off my C for now.
F takes about an hour and i'll do that when i leave.
its 4:32 am.

that's life.


back hurts a bit.
eyes sore and red.
getting old and haggard.

crucial prohom blog.

come to think of i haven't written a song in almost 2 years.

would you say bananas
are fibrous,
or creamy?

apparently,
i have sublimated my anger,
rage,
into and against myself
and i cannot help it.

* * *

films seen:
Russian Ark
Demonlover
Divine Intervention
Irréversible
Ten
Biggie and Tupac

can't wait to see:
Japón
Morvern Callar

so busy

so tired

i love this.

("`-/")_.-'"``-._
. . `; -._ )-;-,_`)
(v_,)' _ )`-.\ ``-'
_.- _..-_/ / ((.' fL
((,.-' ((,/

once when still a youth, while rampaging across a golfcourse
with some buddies on a winter night,
i watched the moon pass behind the veiny, leafless branches of an oak,
creating a frightening, fractured image of a crumbling planet.
for a so brief moment i felt the worst.
my best friend next to me witnessed this illusion
and was experiencing the same dread.
a second of vertigo-inducing disbelief and terror.
the rest of them carried on and did not take our brief exclamation seriously.
it was to crazy too even explain to them.

but it was cool to have shared it with Roddy.

everybody loves a dog with a cone on its head,
beside the white plums,
so delicate, so svelte,
grazed by light, lime water.

i'm having difficulty figuring
out the chords to
"get me to the church on time".
i have to learn it for the play.
music used to be so much
more complex and rich.

***
apprehension and dread.

tommorrow:
meeting a fellow in the parking lot
to buy a guitar.

***

what if dubya rolls about and out
of bed and says
"i am going to look into renewable forms of energy"
then what do we do?

are you a real man?

take the testes.

cannot sleep.
there's a real dryness to the mouth.
parchment paper chafing the lip.
dry as a desert bone.
must remember to find a pebble and
suck on it.
old indian trick from the movies.
look! up,
a head on the road!
cannot believe.
there's a madness in these hills.

moron these ventures and more.
tommorrow.

it'll be any day now,
up from the grass to burst yellow forth,
pushing up roses,
coming up roses underneath,

and,
as the soldiers heed the call,
you let the weather bring you down,

before the sun rises i,
get up my eyes and go to sleep,
and its still flailing,
showering,
splash through,
the puddles don't seem that deep,

under a dark and glowing hillside,
somewhere green,
somewhere warm,
life is teeming, going on,
forests come, forests go,

under a darkened, growing hillside,
somewhere green,
somewhat warm,
life is teeming, growing on,
forests come and forests go.

oh look! this old kitty

marmarouladen is
soooo happy there is
a big-screen version of The A-Team
currently in production!

and also happy
the breeders are on last call!

i have returned with a
fare tail.

a very kind friend gave me his
Propellerheads' Reason shirt.

deal is,
i gatta write the
fellow a song.

fair enough.

peep

not one!

not one more word 'til someone
sends
or hands me some
of that there
voice recognition software.

how about metherfuckers that say mom like mwom,
makes you sick of the joys of parenthood.

told you i was misanthropic.


and goddamn fucking proud of it!

conspiracy?
what conspiracy?

be leave me
i can find a downside to anything

even shade

°°°


i'm shaking,
too much sap in my veins,
of happiness, of death and all that,
surrounds me in a growing forest,
the wind rustles again,
is it the drink? no,
its the colour in you…
like a baby's lung, about to be barbequed,
under the maple,
of fall's falling, fallen leaves?

i showered in brownish water.

purchased a DV cam.
uninspired i took images of a cluttered
still, untidy apartment.
to show no one.
my age is getting out of control.

oh god, i need to get
organasized.

ersatz and bespewn, i've collared another
victory.
deeply wrinkled i will unroll furbrow
(grim fortunes ahead)
and swallow salt,
lay back in my armchair
set for furious storm.

strange

odd
beautiful

linked

silence.





fucking artistic bastard.

welcome to purgatory!!
grab yourself a cabbage roll, hairy leg and
some sour cream and get a laid-up.

some say life is hell. they shall inherit the earth.
some say heaven's on earth! most wish them damned.
i often agree. with the latter.

yes, life to me is dull and dreary purgatory.
speckled with hell and dewdrops.

its a reckless thing to be connected to big networks.
we will be if we are not already, one big synapse.

compleat.

then the alieans will come and rekindle are passion for intelligents.

• • •

i have forgiven all my sins.

look at me being a bit of a dick!


From: "prohom" Date: Thu Jul 4, 2002 12:55 pm Subject: Re: the price of art:
a non-PC view


our collective consciousness' regarding other sentient beings has evolved a
great deal in the last quarter-century or so.

as recently as the 1970's, it was not uncommon to harm "secondary" life forms
for cinema. those who have been around that long might remember that people
who objected to tripping horses or shooting birds in productions were often
dismissed as squeamish. Yet it's now a given that it is unnecessary to harm
animals used in filmmaking, and to do so is brutish and cruel.

similarly, some chefs and epicureans now question the grievous acts committed
to enjoy delicacies such as foie gras or veal.

don't get me wrong, I'm not a vegetarian or PETA crusader, but I do think inflicting
needless suffering is cruel and therefore think eating veal and foie gras will
also soon be relegated to the past.

it is likely that if alive today Andrei Tarkovsky would renounce the need to
kill for art. there's no reason to believe it would be otherwise as every other
great artist has come to this stance.

times change. as do our attitudes towards life, death, race, gender etc.
all of this is reflected in cinema.

Tarkovsy's films will without a doubt stand as masterpieces alongside works
of, Rembrandt, Mozart, da Vinci etc. but the idolatry and worship accorded him
and his art in your rant would sicken him and the aforementioned greats.

starring TV's Ted Baxter!!

all's well,
well at the ranch,
all's well,
well at the ranch.

would you say bananas are either fibrous or creamy?

speckled with glitterati
i rolled big flower balls
up to your doorstep and left
silt weeping the winding, coiled path.
on your lawn lay cakes
baked by howling sunsets
faded by seeping inks and
northern light bulbs and roses
right next to the gasoline smears
and gravelly residue of fervent afternoons
where blades dried green essences
and clipped occurences of your evening.

watch for me in the vancouver and cowichan
fringe fest productions of Victoria Goring’s Sooz.

ever been in a job club. can you relate?

you know, i was in this class once.
i am a shy person.
we had to pair up with someone, ask some arbitrary questions about
each other and then complete the exercise by going up to the front
of the room with your partner and introduce him or her
to the class.

all i remember about my partner is that he was about 55 or 60,
dressed normal like a teacher. with an old man’s hat. he had a
thing for Provo, Utah. that was his choice for an ideal,
“long-term goal” type-of-place-he’d-like-to-be.
this all made me a little sad.

anyway, i bravely led the assignment and introduced the fellow.
then he introduced me.
i remember just being in a bit of a self-conscious daze standing up there
and wasn’t really listening to what he was saying.
the class was quiet as we walked back to our desks.
not too unusual.
a bit later the girl behind me asked me, quite interested, if i really was
into porn films.

my partner, a bit of mumbler, had apparently introduced me to the
class as "this is christian, and he’s into porn films."

a bit of a mumbler myself, i had explained to him earlier during our
exorcise that i was into foreign films.

being able to watch fitzcarraldo on DVD (free from the public library!)
is glorious and makes having the tibook all worthwhile.

irish bands on letterman and kilborn tonight.

i have forgiven all my sins.

James knows that his marriage to Pauline is falling apart,
but he is doing everything he can to keep that from happening.
He thinks the unusual surprise gift he gives her for her
twenty-fifth birthday will change the way she thinks of him and
their marriage forever. Of course, the plan backfires...

hands down, one the best guitar solos of all time is vivian campbell’s blistering
fretwork on dio’s rainbow in the dark from holy diver.

and, no matter what they all say, born again is classic
and arguably sabbath’s best work.

and it is a good thing that steve harris’ chops are being
appreciated by a new generation. not to mention his songwriting.

my earliest memory is my first birthday.
leaning against the front of what was to me, a shoulder-high couch.
and watching as Helga brings a cake towards me.
she was speaking. I remember the speaking sounds.
I was of course, clueless as to whether or not they should have meaning.
you know what I mean.
it was a white cake with brown sprinkles or shavings.
i vaguely recollect people to my left and right. other children.
as i was experiencing what was to be my first memories,
i also remember feeling misanthropic–obviously also the first time.
you know what I mean?

a boring old bitch but it still
irks me that bands like swollen members get a huge hit (in canada)
from a stolen melody and refuse to credit the composer.
(eg. mancini)


there is a g8 summit presently in kaniasskiss, canada.
there is a snob there named chirac.

has anyone seen the dust
residual
that glows the filtered moon;
phased in as in different time zones
anyone?
or seen the different shades
of the moon
residing on the planes of distant
highway light beams?

I am a dictator.
Get out your notebook and pens.

the butterfly effect is shooting here.
ashton kutcher... eric stoltz...
i don't know.

what is the name of the phenomenon, principle, theory
or what have you that states it is impossible to reach or
touch an object for one must always travel half the
distance first?

as in the example if you drop a stone it will never touch
the ground because before it contacts it must travel
half-way there first, then it must travel half that
distance again etc.

can someone please let me know.

to think BB King has outlived half of the beatles.

i predict a cultural crisis of confidence exacerbated in part by the deaths of blues legends such as John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters considering they are among those who invented rock and roll.

it may require a bit of thought to appreciate how much the blues, hence rock'n' roll have influenced modern culture.

just a crisis, that's all.
not doom and gloom.
music will evolve naturally.
pop music will become more and more derivative until the next "rock'n'roll.

would you say bananas are fibrous or creamy?

remember the snitchews

18 years ago today i was in brittany travelling around all the 40th anniversary d-day ceremonies with an old man from n.jersey. all the world leaders were there, and big generals. i always wanted to go back for the 50th but forgot. it was all very impressive.

saw human nature tonight.
i'm surprised the reviews weren't better.
its quite brilliant at times. and hilarious.
it just may be a damned better film than being jon malkovitch.
it is.

why is it that many british bands that do well commercially in their homeland are considered artistically superior to commercially succesful bands on the continent or n.america?

that new silverchair song the greatest view is interesting.
too bad about daniel johns though.
his health i mean.



whats up with Barbet Schroeder anyway?

ok ok, time to pony on up!
where the hell's my reasons? didn't the book say we had miles to go before you floor
me with anymore more of those "improvisations"
those summer libations
i mean
where do you get off calling yourself a poet?
hey slimey?
• • •


how many times can you say "you tried"?
doubt time feels like
shufflin, shuffling, shuffling away
how many times can you suffer those words?
nothing to say anymore say at least good morning god
all in a lower tone
and say
how long say so long along your halo
is just your master's
it could fall from you like snakeskin
upon ocean
all alone your captain's gone

nows its time to say goodbye,
to all our company...

heres to a fab summer all of you out there in vacuumland!
keep posted for the all new updated updates. werd.

i am ribaldo
i am sorry that i don not write you much anymore.

you see,
i am very, very bizzy.