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?