Sunday, 5 December 2010

treasure:old stuff: rediscovered.

from july 8, 2009

at least she knows one thing for certain. as she turned down the wrong street in vancouver and had to make her way past a block and a half of dusty greyed street people, she feared for her own safety. at least she has that, for she had feared (another fear) that she was suicidal. not in possession of the will to live, or the care to. she at least has this.

but maybe it is not suicide which appeals so much as disappearing from the world. no boxes to tick, no weight to carry, no plans to make. perhaps suicide is the wrong approach. perhaps an invisibility cloak would do. but to exist (the opposite of non-existence) one inevitably requires money, things, a roof and a bed, and so on. thus things must be done. which brings her/us to the original desire to disappear. what is the answer? more wine? more wine! more wine.


10th august, 2009
it occurs to me
i could just stay here
i could fall in love with
someone who wants me in whistler
someone who offers no boundaries; restrictions a laughable concept.
it just now occurs to me
that feeling stifled
is not on my prerequisites list.
but i might be drunken on eye-contact.
if i love
the things you love, will you love me?

it occurs to me
that i am already unfaithful
i am in love with pitchers of beer and mountains
i think longingly of them, when
i should think of you.


oct 15, 2009
your pockets are filled to the brim with things you have collected absentmindedly while creating order from chaos
you find in there several small treasures and a letter written to a friend, too long ago now to send, but you are slow to discard it
there are, of course, the broken bits, the pieces of treasure that are not what they once were, are a shadow of their former self in fact
your pockets are just too damned full for their own good, and you are struggling with indecision in the face of despair
and you stop a minute and wonder what others, or one particular other, will think of they catch you trying to empty out these silly messy pockets
you need to empty these pockets quietly
on the sly, in order to see what has acutally been in there all this time,
and what it is you are going to have to throw away.


a love song i wrote: one of the only ones i ever finished and still like

place your arm
round my shoulders
be yourself
and then be bolder
i am a step away from you
and i will not repeat myself, that'll do
-you laugh until you feel confused
-you smile until you look amused

stick to scripts
say the words you know
don't forget
take a breath, breathe slow
i am a step away from you
and i will not repeat myself, this will do
-nothing big, just a tangle of legs and arms
-none of any of us will come to any harm

someday soon,
we will surely speak
i can wait a year
but i can't wait a week
now i'm just a step away from you
no words left to repeat, nothing else to do

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