August continues over here.

august 18
  8:02 AM


i have some rules for some things i guess
but not relating to folding socks
time is of utmost importance to me
since i always feel it slipping, like sand,
through these fingers.
rules for time,
i have many.


there's a book waiting to be writ;
it's first line on my lips a million times
and each time more profound
and more evasive

it's a book not about me
since i can't be seen
but a book about us
our condition
and our failures
which make us human
our foils and follies
which they don't let us have
so we sneak away
to break ourselves
hiding the most interesting parts in books which are often never written


so with the mEp
i try, with waving hands, to compaose to compose snippets
of a mind un-written
with all it's follies in mid to late august


these fleeting, magical days
of outdoor coffees on leisurely mornings;
of cicadas singing their only song;
magical breezes dancing the spider's illustrious webs
and piping hot coffee in a piping hot world

august 17
monday
  8:33AM


when the bangles wrote manic monday
how many of us noticed that it was about a single woman
with a job.

it seemed like everyone's dream:
except the getting up at 6 o'clock part.
and the running;

but today IS monday and i am old
and doing nothing on a sunday sounds nice
and the thought of getting out of bed to become a fake person revolts me.

go ahead;
hit on me;

insult me;
criticize my opinions;
that's what i'm here for.

august 16
sunday
9:00 AM


I always remember elvis on the day he died. in this case it was 1977. that number sounds so dusty;
so brown; so flat. oh my God even the math is complex. 2015-1977 i'd have to add 15 to 23.
right?

that sounds like most of my life. which is also the age she is now. i won't tell her.

through ringing ears i hear the silence of a sunday morning. on facebook teachers continue to prepare
for school, parrots mate with a man's head, and some people who get up too early are riding bikes at mont tremblant.

I flagged a taxi long before you woke
The sun had not yet risen, morning not yet broke
It looks like rain
It looks like rain

A little starling swept above my sleepy head
He plucked a single hair and took off
Laughing madly as he fled
The driver drinking brandy
Said, "Here is to the day"
It looks like rain
It looks like rain

And every breath I ever took
Every tear I ever wept
Every star I wished upon
Seemed nothing until now
Every prayer I ever said
Seemed strangely answered now
Could it be I'm in love?
Could it be I'm in love?

I made the driver park the car beside the sea
I gazed upon the fading dark
And slowly buckled at the knees
The driver drinking gladly said
"Here is to the day"
It looks like rain
It looks like rain

And every breath I ever took
Every tear I ever wept
Every star I wished upon
Seemed nothing until now
Every prayer I ever said
Seemed strangely answered now
Could it be I'm in love?
Could it be I'm in love?
 

-jann arden





August 14 2015
7:48

malapropisms;
lady mondegreens;
and anything else you hear incorrectly;

this little poot
who nearly had a full night's sleep
can't think about anything else
than what it would have been like.

fighting against myself
is all i have planned for today
until 5 PM.

August 12 2015


email magic and invisible hangovers; August 12 2015
7:47

email magic and invisible hangovers;
these are two things rare.
a thwarted birthday happened and is gone
finally, with every year he ages, i feel relieved;
while two years separate us for 11 days.

more change will come, from honesty, and a desire for work.
there is a desire to work still, deep inside of me, really there is.



this soft butt, too much long hair which will be gone by seven,
and tepid coffee traipse through this hallway
and this mind.











August 10 2015

how much can be taken in stride
will be told by time August 10 2015 how much can be taken in stride will be told by time

August 10 2015

how much can be taken in stride
will be told by time

and today is told what was synthesized yesterday
which can't be said in clear text;

is just about everything

it was a tired poot
who chatted with the Jewish ladies
who painted her face French
who was brave in the face of fear
who wore her pajamas on the sidewalk
and spent a hungry night thinking about things that might have been.

August 9 2015

here is a Sunday morning which coffee will heal
and words will bind my ringing ears and thumping heart.

August 8 2015

he who lives in the past; dies in the past;
and this is a message for everyone.

August 7 2015

today, quiet returns.

the quiet of a jet plane with two children on it;
the quiet of undressed barbies; of agario history;
the quiet tears on a teenagers face;
the quiet beats of a man's heart with two holes;
of an only child;
of my ringing ears;

the quiet of an aging love story;
the quiet of alcoholism;
of fierce Swiss pride
and of the bravery of one man.

it's a quiet shared and mourned
and gets louder with each passing year.


 

August 5 2015
my words  get stolen from me;
stolen from sleep; lack of sleep;
from irrelevant questions and from perturbations in the space time continuum.
there is still no story in my mind; nor on this page;
no tale of happiness, or sorrows, or anythings at all

there is but empty space waiting for a tale
black on white markers and blue eyes, gaze afixed.
robot legos strewn to the right
slowly growing tepid coffee
a loudly sneezing Swiss man, now my legally wedded husband;
and sunshine, filtering through the trees
doing all the same things they have always done
i guess.


i've been around this place so long, you don't even know my face;
from the beginning, i suppose, when it was not yet possible to show faces
when we were mostly all friends
those of us who seek out new adventures whenever possible.

well,

when we're young.

August 2 2015

a night of strange dreams, the kind where your subconscious makes up not only words
but neighborhoods, bus routes, and strangers.  the  entire night was a search; but why?
poots' brain thoughts are slim in tired mode; but now at the end of this whirlwind, some
parts of the tunnel are more clear. and that is a good thing.


it is confirmed that strange dreams abounded last night;
the tooth fairy indeed did come;
and a small child misses her mother on little sleep;









August 1 2015

no quiet coffee for me; it is alot to ask in this life; all things transpire against it; empty iphones;
cleaning staff who don't drink coffee;
and normally, children who will not listen to their parents.
and teeth, of course, which fall out of little girls' mouths first thing in the morning.
i think i'll go for a bike ride.


a child has you tube in it's fingers and so, anything it wants to watch can come alive.
one small lesson from jobs to gates;




July 30
9:30 on monday may 2 2016 i decided to insert the speech

I have never written a speech.

I have never wanted to write a speech.
I have never wanted to give a speech.
But I have been writing THIS speech for 3 years.
(roll out the scroll) (laughter)
Just kidding. (laughter) but I have. It just got shorter each time.
I have written this speech, re-written it, started over and edited it again and again and again.
And the moral of the story is, as  in life, is that Just because you WANT to say something, doesn’t mean you CAN say it.
story of my life, I know. (laughter)

So the speech had to be politically correct – and although politics isn’t my thing – I had to figure out how to say exactly what I wanted to say somehow.

So I had to cut out this part (snipping)

And that part!! (snipping)

Oh yeah, and this part here and that part there and all this too…

(snip snip snipping)

(laughter)

 

In the end. My speech ended up being pretty short.
I found him. He’s a physicist. He also knows his nasturtiums, his bagels, and his American Politics.
He cooks; he cleans; he reads;   He skates like a Montrealer;  He skis like a Swiss man;
He makes glass. He almost makes cement tables.
But what really sets him apart is that he’s not afraid to try.
And guess what, the best part of all; he fell in love with me.

I love the parts of you that are lovable and I love the parts of you that are unlovable, too.

You have brought me both to the height of joy and the depths of despair;

And in doing so, have shown me what of life is all about.

I’ve never been on a better team than this one.

July 22, 2015

soon, it is time for the speech.







July 21 2015


a child pines for a time and place of yore;


accepting reality as it is presented to you
is imperative.









July 19 2015
stolen moments

i steal away at night to write; as i watch those numbers drift slowly towards the 25.
ups and downs are mollified by quiet moments of intense pleasure;
and with those disappears all worries; all fears; all everythings.
most of our time is bided for those moments, those fleeting moments,
where two adults are two adults; and this, i have contemplated extensively
as i now consider myself an adult; and it only took forty-nine years;
as i am still forty-nine, scarily unmarried to that man, and hanging on
only every hope which will lead me to be in such a state.
on saturday.
we will be married on saturday.
i have never spoken any of these words;
i have never thought any of these thoughts;
i have never felt any of these feelings.
you have brought me to great highs and monumental lows;
and in between these have taught me the true meaning of life
and for this, i have nothing but gratitude.
it is a certitude which nothing on earth can change.
and that brought a pursed smile to these lips.
good night mEp, good night july 19,
until another stolen moment.















July 18 2015

and the pastor spoke of the number 3 as for her it has significance and for me it is an odd number
and i'm here in the hot evening thinking about neediness and limits and how can you give anything if you are not needy
and the introverts are worried that the extroverts are needy - if extroversion was my only need - the world would be happy
and i wanted to write on paper tonight to avoid chasing down the dwindling battery life but the paper diary could not be found
is this any wonder.
i miss music.
when things are busy. i miss music most. those personal moments for music. for singing.

(is it any wonder, i reject you first / you now watch closely now, are you watching me now)

and the pastor understood the modern day problem with submitting to your husband when i have learned not to marry one you can't submit to.
and the pastor was in a hurry and changed in our bathroom
and the ceremony which no one showed much interest in but me got totally hijacked by not me today
and i'm still thinking what to do about that
and i needed to write that down


a birthday came;
a birthday went;
as they all do;
my elbows are tired;
my heart a bit achy;
and the rest of me too.

there's not much more i can dig out of this brain tonight without further ado.
your arms; your body; are bereft of me now
as this cpu spins, it whirs, wasting precious precious time that i don't have to waste.











July 16 2015

in summer is when our ages change all three;
and as this mid-summer month hits mid-numbers
many things change while they stay the same.













July 12 2015

sipping silently; hoping the warm caffeine wakes me into a better place than yesterday.
sip sip thru ringing ears and waking mind and body sip. sleep came. sleep went.









July 10 2015

zoom zoom zoom july.
zoom zoom suits
zoom zoom mango sorbet
and dresses. lots of dresses.

a twelve year old wants to go to college; a bright thirteen year old on a doorstep in outremont smiles broadly and gives me a hug;
and if i go backwards, this tired aching brain goes from an empty office, to swells of a full heart, tipping over, but not much, as these
supernatural days slip by, one, by one, by one, like the dwindling battery life on this Macintosh computer.

i'm staring at that beautiful date and as it engraves itself onto these retinas, this sleepy heart races and aces
staring at dates and at ENTJs and a this blinding screen thru achy arms; achy brains; achy  achy and korone noticed that i always misspell interested

i'm not ready to make nice: say those girls; so says i; i have learned that you have feelings, and you must learn as so do it.












July 7 2015
8:16 AM

a still-quiet house has been awake for hours;
with time-zones colliding, we merge.
electronic devices accompany us all;
but in a modern world, it helps bridge gaps
as messages can be sent down the hallway at midnight
and then the packet-flow can be stopped with a switch :)
at bedtime, or, lights out, as it used to be called.
i'm here in my corner, after sleeping all night and dreaming of parking my bicycle on a flat rock,
it was a short night but one of continuous sleep.

day two begins.









 
July 6 2015
the day has come.

we're sneezing, we're chewing, we're feeding the fish.
the beds are made; the fridge is full; the house is awake (!)
it's talk of the visitors; of the wedding; it's plans for next summer, this summer;
it's hairdos and pottery;
and sheets for ten dollars
it's a freshly cleaned truck and phone calls from vancouver
it's a life inside work and work inside life
for a few more days

then it's just freedom
from waking; from sleeping;
something like being unbound
and then we are five, we five, traipsing the province in search of summer
and walking down the aisle, we five, for the last time.










july 4 2015
a gift is love

flashing through my pre-caffeinated mind on this July 4th is the meaning of gifts; gifts i cannot name; gifts i cannot hold;
gifts given and ungiven; and if you have forgotten the meaning of gifts, you have forgotten the meaning of life.










July 3 2015






i went sailing and discovered that the only things i do that i don't want to do are for other people.


it's not a sailing kind of uncovery; but an interesting one.















July 1 2015

it's a special month and words are few; while dresses are plenty