Sunday, September 30, 2012

The Gentlewomen

the gentlewomen with your pill box hat and your pills full of elegance. the gentlewomen fix for a whole suit of gentlemen. your pill philosphy with a cocktail and a dream, pill iQ and pill pad schemes. the pill box purse, with all the trimmings. a pill to wakeup and a pill to sleep. pill with dinner, three with drinks; something to bring you up and something to make you see. the pill that makes your husband to come home, that makes pies sweeter and bird soar high. a pill box queen with a pill infested diary and a pill bottle rattle that clinks with her shadow. a pill box hat for the gentlewomen with the Stepford wife smile and the comatose lifestyle all pretty in lace.

Friday, September 28, 2012

"Disastrous Thinking" on Kobo

I've published a collection of short stories entitled, "Disastrous Thinking" which is now available on Kobo for all of your eReaders, tablets, smartphones, and desktops!
 Click HERE to check it out!

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Bottom Lip

I want to pull my bottom lip over my head and swallow me whole. I want to sink within the hallows of my being. I want to follow that sickly fluttering feeling; like evil butterflies slicing me deeper. I want to just escape. I can't be here but I'll be here. I want to take my bottom lip and pull it over myself. Swallow. Disappear.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012


"I like to daydream that our conversations would be long and fiery and wouldn't exactly end but ebb like a tide going out to expose sweet treasures and to rest so it can retain, rush back and capsize on ourselves. I think you and I are people who don't thrive for love but for ourselves. That love is dependent as it is codependent." 

Day Break, Dawn Passion

Passion, seeking it's source in crisp new light. As if pondering eyes closed for the night had visions of such beautiful things. Awakening with the mad dash energy equipped to accomplish. But as the day grows stale, each ticking moment reasonably tying all the loose tentacles of passion together -tidy, severing it's energy. Soon the drive falters. Roads grow simple and easily travelled. Passion no longer speaking softly throughout your being, that soft cooing of wants and needs and got to please... they all roll over in their beds. Awaken in morning light calling loud and to be stifled by the day growing old. Waking up in passion and sleeping like a log.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

My Body On a Trip Without You

There is a place in the space between my eyes where I cannot think of you.
 The spaces between my teeth do not allow me to chew on the thoughts containing you. 
There is a place along my jaw line that holds certain beauty that is hidden away from you. 
There is depth within my collar bones that you will never get to explore. 
There is a little flutter within my ribs that you will never understand. 
The curve of my hips will never round into the concave of your body.
 The rise of my breath will never fall to your chest. The length of my legs will never feel the burn of escaping you. 
The soles of my feet will stride in directions away from you. 
My body on a trip without you. 
Carrying inside of it the most important pieces that I shall always keep away from you.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Missed Connection, Connected

There is this image I saw once of a man and women exchanging glances through separate subway car windows while they are both holding the exact same book. It's a cartoon illustration and I could never figure out if they were making eye contact with one another or with each other's covers. This happens to me sometimes. It's never happened with the exact same book, nor on the subway. However, it has happened to me on the bus with different kind of books. I think my body notices the presents of literature first and then my mind gets this hunger like I've got to know exactly what they're reading. Once that happens and I've obtained a glance of the cover, a snippet of the author's name.. Well usually I am then found out that I am staring so hard and the reader makes eye contact with me but I can never truly be sure they are looking at me directly or now interested in what I am reading. Sometimes you come across someone so engrossed in their novel you cannot even make out their face. You see the entire cover of their book and you almost want to know what their expression looks like. You could then feel this connection with them and it would bind you to them and to their story. I fall in love with people's book covers on the bus. It is a quick fleeting love that lasts only minutes. You slip into a trance, dazed and flattered. You are greedy for their attention. You want to know their thoughts and feel the pages and ask questions like if it is bought or borrowed? It never happens that you have a seemingly interesting conversation with any of these readers, usually no conversation at all. Your snapped out of your timely love with a bell and a shuffle as your dearly beloved closes the book, tucks it away, and dashes off into whatever direction - home or party or place they must get too. It happens to me all the time. Maybe you and I once were in love for a brief little encounter, and it was easy just us and book covers and space and little noises blocked out by the voices in our heads reading every little detail on those pages; and that love, our love, was the easiest kind of love. Sometimes I miss these people I don't even know, haven't really met, but I find you there when I go and open that book I saw you with.

(Adrian Tomine that print changed my life)

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Like Angels in Electric Chairs

the stars, 
gathering together, 
a silent audience, 
only sparkling at the 
mere sight of you, for 
their thoughts are somewhere, 
somewhere lost in space. 
the rare occurrence of becoming, 
something bigger and larger, 
the life that has been presented to you is just 
the play dough.. 
take your hands and shape it. 
the shape that it will take 
can change and will change. 
the want. 
the need. 
the change, doesn't always agree. 
it sneaks up on you like 
angels in electric chairs. 
it mocks and befriends you. 
the stars they are there. 
you can see them, so 
that must be the proof. 
but there is no proof 
to the illusion of your heart sorrowing miles high to catch the speed of 
something galactic. 
people on earth, looking outward. 
people outward looking in. 
the change. 
the want. 
the need. 
stars and people. 
people wanting to be stars. 
change for the better. 
change for the worst. 
the not so rare occurrence 
of everyone around.

Very Berry Philosophy

Trailblazing all my ideas,  you've waited long enough.
Claiming some sort of lonely feeling, but you're never far enough. 
Draw all sorts of conclusions, but you claim you're never done. 
Fed up but starving, stop giving me garbage, what has all the recycling done. 
Reusing leftovers from the past, I am not who I once was. 
Reducing me to fragments I have left in other countries, 
came back with a different perspective.. 
you stooped while I was trying to get above. 
You wanted a piece of my environment 
I was hoping you'd just go green and stay away from me. 
You spoiled my organics, persisting on my nature. 
I naturally can't do this anymore, I once was so very fond of you. 
Vegetable crisp, I am reduced to risk, cannot move my limbs to your soul anymore. 
I am cooked, left you devastated and on the hook, 
ready to roast for something much more whole grain than my very berry philosophy.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

The Loaf is Stale and So Are You

There is a molecule of something real that you must have steamed from. 
I can see it every so often in the way you get caught in the sunshine. 
However, you don't show it much, and I don't think you have any control now. 
I bet you once were a real nice person, or something that resembled something pure. 
You get caught up on all the sugar now though, and you're as empty as a door with no home. 
You welcome in just about everything and quickly adapt to who they are.
You encounter things and like those lizards who don't know any better change.
This change can be caught on a reel, slowly motion adaptation. 
This has nothing to do with kindness, defense, or even the weather. 
I see the change take a turn in your face, like a sudden moment of realization. 
Your body switching gears showing feelings you've mastered off the television. 
I catch the plastic in your tone of voice, the way it cracks in a high pitch laughter. 
I can see the chunks of recycled thoughts melt and morph into something you desire. 
I think you've lost all control now, but you must have once been a real life person. 
You don't have a thought in your head that wasn't made with a potion. 
The ingredients suddenly connecting all the dots; 
A dose of passion from the poet boy in the library with his hair ruffled, his eyes absorbing written love. 
A sliver of elegance from the older women who smoothly got off the bus. 
Your eyes not of your own mind, explain things seen through others vision. 
The tales that spew from your tongue appear like jam on toast, perfection and true. 
However the loaf is stale and so are you. 
You have no truths and no lies because you are an empty body - empty like the sky. 
And as empty as the sky maybe, they know their clouds and they are at peace. 
Your demons wrestle within the depths of you and you pretend like everything else.. 
They aren't yours, bits and pieces of things people have said, maybe some of them 
 do expand from the grain of realness that rest somewhere inside your walking casket. 
Stale like bread, appearing wholesome. 
You are nothing but a tall glass of sour milk.

A Fossil of Misunderstandings

Dripping hair, I've crawled from the sea. 
Not one of those ocean treasures you hear about on TV. 
Wasn't apart of something magical, like a fairy tale ball. 
Didn't meet a prince, lose a slipper, or even fall. 
Clothes clinging to my skinned skeleton, see my bones all slimey. 
I've crawled from a place I put myself, deep under the ripples of the world. 
Not encrusted with stories to share of the fish, and all those mer-people definitely myths. 
Dripping hair, I've crawled from the sea, tried to drown the sorrows that have erupted inside of me. 
Placed myself right at the bottom, against the rubble and those creatures no one has names for. 
I couldn't breath or even see - it felt nice to feel outside of me. 
I rested there for what seemed like ages, saw the depths that never changes. 
Decided it would probably be best, to get myself some sunlight at best. 
Dragged my bag of bones up towards the sky, thinking I'd make it to this place called heaven. 
Turns out this could be limbo. We're all in the inbetween. 
The sun touches thing and warms them, dries them. 
We're all wandering and waiting till we can extend further into the clouds. 
I'm not searching for a haven or for anything resembling heaven. 
Gathering myself with the coolness of the sea. 
I've dragged my body to the sun to dry and to try. 
Dripping hair, I've crawled for the sea. 
Hopefully leaving the heaviest parts of me below 
for the next lost and hopless creature to see. 
A fossil of the misunderstandings I use to carry with me.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Pour Me Another Glass of Glitter

Pour me another glass of glitter.
Cut me open, watch my gold wither.
Clinking ice cubes matching the lick of my heels.
Rip my tights and expose me.
Remove the makeup, take a gander at these flaws.
Mismatched undergarments - I am not as together as it seems.
Bedazzled and throwing my morality out the window.
Set my hair on fire, I want to stop drop and roll.
Pour me another glass of glitter.
Watch my truths unravel like your favourite sweater.
Apply some lipsticks.
Lipstick makes things better.

Femme Fatal Viking

In distant places, where people claimed different things, everyone had the exact same hunger. Within the cavaties of their identities, they all craved certain things, differently and together. The rise of seconds in the alotted fame was so twindling and everyone scattered - reaching for their next bump. Soon hatrid grew, a widespread plague, everyone ranting and venting about all the monsters and all the substances they just couldn't stand - while they all slunk to the bathroom to provide themselves with a dose. The sunlight caused them vengences - gave them confidence to wave off all that didn't hide their night cap. The night gave them courage, the ability to dance with their demons, quickly becoming nightly representatives of all their daytime dislikes. The floral prints and studded breasts made everything beautifully dangerous and like a moth to the flame drew the hands to the solids and liquids that could transform a night into fireworks - lifting you way up and crashing you right down into the sand, weighing down all your limbs. The greedy little hypocrite playing cool, calm, and collective - boasting like a cursador, a femme fatal viking with all the right tools to lose herself in the darken alleys with all the right bumps.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Electric Lust / Paper Based Love

Her voice was full of desperation. 
He left the telephone half crooked in the crease of his neck. 
She didn't like the distance. 
He craved to be further from their telephone line. 
She begged to come see him. 
He prayed to be invisible. 
Her heart needed his to beat. 
His heart stopped beating for her. 
She wanted to crawl through the wire and stay in his pockets. 
He wanted to rip the line out of the wall and shed all his clothes, live in the wild. 
She gripped her phone tightly, everywhere she went. 
He left his uncharged, undesired next to a filled ashtray. 
She was in love with the extension of herself. 
He was trying to cut his extension off. 
She needed him like the technology she adapted too. 
He was craving for atleast a paper based connection. 
It would provide longer wait times, built up desire, and possibly even love.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Condom Speech

A mere hopscotching effect on my scotch. 
Pour me another would yeah? 
A different kind of dialect, acting as protection. 
Condom speech, we ain't talking sex. 
Lighten up, say what you mean. 
A lock and key on the bubbling speech. 
Champagne tongue, I am trying to loosen you up. 
Keep your pants on. Just use your mouth. 
I didn't mean that.. Well that way.. But I'll let you finish. 
You spoke of tradition, told me it was in the mail. 
Nothing short of snail speed, you wanted to build the hype. 
I think you're lying or addressed your speech right back to you. 
Little spiders of truth trying to spew from your mouth. 
You keep it occupied with other actions and try the banter on me. 
I enjoy the company. 
Enjoy your disguise. 
Keep it up and you just might die. 
Filled with all the things you showed and never said. 
All the things you never say would shed a little light on all the things I ought to tell you. 
But our mouths can do this for now.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Working Class Doom

There is a seemingly growing corporate weight on my head.
Pegged for all to see, I have become a dealer for the man.
The extreme push on the product, spoken loudly or in hush.
I have become a marketable reason for people to lose.
Once, a knight in shiney technology, sent to advise the future.
Now, a mediocre weasel sentenced to claim and to judge.
My tactics are unfaithful, the coroprate eye is watching me.
I am not badgering and leading the troops down the bunny hole.
I am not wearing their cloak of dispair, I am shelving the merchandise.
I allow you to wander and to gaze, to inquire and to inspire.
The hammer is coming close to my stress. 
I am not a pusher of the man's product.
I cannot play the devil's advocate, nor can I play a chariot champion.
I am the simple greeter, the cautious advisor, 
the meek being slayed by the hand of man.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Blooming Universes Breathing

There was a sky.
Claimed to be the same one everyone sees morning and night.
I took the sun, early, stinging my inner thoughts, scorching them.
The night embraced me like a beautiful man in the finest black jacket and shiniest shoes - shoes bright like stars.
A man told me he loved the day, hated night and all it's frolic.
A women explained her repulsion with the day and her fixation with her bodies of the night.
Children feared the dark.
While the old craved their days to be longer.
There was a misinterpretation.
A dialect of both light and dark that couldn't be placed for each rising heart all different to one another.
There was a beautiful lightness to how I felt alive by the moonlight. There was also a different deafening heat that blindsided me in the day.
But there was good company in both and I had to stop fearing the awful dialectic that mother nature and father time could squirm into my ears. I settled with the qualities of them all, both day and night; both light and dark.

And enjoyed me, myself, and I within the blooming aspects of the universe, my universe's entirety.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

What's Up Doc? I Need a Watch

I don't know if it's because I can't get the links in my watch removed so I can finally wear it appropriately or if it's because it glitters within the contours of my bag looking for a ticking doctor to cure it; but I am craving time. Time on my wrist, to rest between my bones, above my veins and allow everything to join in together. A statue of in sync, my being is perplexed. But in actuality I think it's the cruel timing of watch doctors and their timing for fixing my watch. (..can I bill my nine to five for watch fixes, I've got to ditch early and get the hands on me, stat..)

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Up and Out

Everyone suddenly walking out. 
As if the curtains had closed. 
As if they are late for something. 
They've all instantly realized they're left their hair dryers plugged in. 
You stand there, behind that curtain. 
You watch them all shift in their seats, you watch them place their feet firmly on the ground. 
You watch the exchange of glances, because words aren't needed for the exit. 
They leave. 
You stay. 
You stand there. 
As they move to the door they grow taller, their heads all brush the ceiling. 
As they move, they grow further apart. 
Growing taller and further apart from one another, further from you, standing still. 
That's what happens. 
While your show is going on. 
Sometimes people just grow up and out, they leave you there. 
With your curtain open or closed. 
People sometimes leave, it happens, sometimes they go. 
You've done it to someone you know, you've grown up and out. 
Further away, we all have to go.

My Knight & Night

An oasis in a concrete jungle. Surely, this isn't home but feels close. Distance is not apart of the equation because we are always nine hours out of the way. I've found a prophet in their flash bulbs and every billboard invites me in. Friends? Does anyone have any in a place like this? Where the trees guide you, buildings welcoming you like family, and like a tentative lover this city will always leave a light on for you. The sky is different here, the roads leaner. A cup of coffee always ready and a cigarette light readily available. This city has become my night and my knight. Quickly saving me, gathering me up and sending me on my way, and releasing me.. always whispering, come back soon.. I'll be missing you.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Instant Being, No Humanity

Instant togetherness, but not so close. 
Instant physicality, but nothing emotional. 
Instant words, empty meanings. 
Instant want, clinging need. 
Instant lust, never love. 
Instant darkness, nothing ever lit. 
Instant relationship, never instant monogamy. 
Instant questions, delayed answers. 
Instant recognition, not instant acceptance. 
Instant action, automatic loss of all thought process. 
Instant verbal diarrhea, never connecting all the dots. 
Instant this and instant that. 
Instant reaction, instant distaste. 
Instant irritant. 
Instant greed. 
And instant human being with no humanity.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Sea Foam Latte

She needed water and sunshine like a wilting plant.
He never was much of a gardener.
She craved the rain and it's pitter-patter.
He loathed the gloom that mother nature could bring.
She pleaded him to find a space where they could both be happy.
He liked his concrete jungle and all the amenities.
She threatened to find peace.
He warned her to not go looking for the light.
She left, got lost on the subway, had to call for rescue.
He smiled, hoping she had gotten it all out of her system.
He left for business far away, all the fixings.
She gathered her canvas bag and hitched a ride to anywhere the sun shined.
She died on the beach, in the sunlight, with a cigarette in her hand and sea foam at her feet.
He fixed himself a latte with extra foam in his hotel suite, and rested peacefully.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Experience My Experiences

A sense of dignity evaporating from the pupils leaving the iris washed out and dull. Looking at things with a different kind of grit. Foot in mouth, so you can taste where I have been. Experience my experiences, a passport for my thoughts. Prepare your bones for all sense of weather for some roads are smoother than others. Bring your soul, dig deep to find it, for there is magic and doubt and fear and happiness where you are about to explore. Leaving all the doors unlocked, this is an adventure you shall partake in alone. For I know who I am, but you don't.