June 2015                                                                                                                        





July 2015







june 30 2015
  on a slightly bent ear, poots awoke, promptly, at seven. one manhattan nights are for sleeping.
  a whirlwind of positive thoughts, quite rare, as dreams of famous men, famous songs,
and famous french fries swirl about this pre-caffeinated head. the coffee pot ticks. the fish tank whirrs.
while i wait for this java to take hold, itchy shoulder and all, i resist clicking on the compass.
waking slowly, is one luxury i won't give up. chew, poots, chew.

the house slowly gets transformed; this is the week, which came early this year, from a 3 person house
to a 5 person one, beds are slid up and down the hallway, linens are pulled from remission, and emotions run higher for her
and lower for him. which is a good thing.











june 29 2015
  all is right in the mEp
it's a world where i can chew my cheeks
    and my thoughts
until i want to.

there is left;
there is right;
but no wrong
no right

perfection is achieved by hitting 'publish'













june 28 2015
  one day, you've questioned all there is to question;
    loved all there is to love;
        and dreamed all there is to dream.
and in that moment, that very certain of moments, you've got an answer for at least one enigma
and the answer is a cliche of cliches; a phrase never before worthy of the scrutiny of an ENTJ,
nevermind the sanctity of it.
                                                        a proper, loving mother, knows best. yes, still, in 2015.












____________________
june 27 2015
  time flies in late june; sun-washed dates, one atop the next, slip, even in glowing sunsets, through our grasp like sand.
        in childhood one learns this, but even in adulthood, one finds it hard to accept, that the longest days of the year, pass like the finest of sand
                through our fingers.
                       







june 25 2015
  8:28 am


  topsy turvy dreams and loudly ringing ears on this half day on, half day off, thursday, like tuesday, without a wednesday, and racing to sunday
trying to avoid saturday and friday at 1pm cuts into the only friday of the week.







_________________________________________

june 23 2015
  8:21 am


there's one thing i've been doing for nearly forty years, and that's writing.










june 22 2015
  8:23am

i remember a certain june; with vivid colorarity, and a swelling in my chest
these are the beautiful dates, these twenties of june, in montreal
we want to hang onto them as the earth spins longer about the sun
allowing them to drag us further, in the heat, or in preparation for,
sweating in the shade;
sunscreen in the sun;
loading bicycles;

and water balloons.
________________________
but this year. this year 2015.
there will be something else.
_________________________
cross fingers. cross my heart.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
grumbly sleep with enough coffee i'll make it to werk and refuse the stress thank you very much but no
argh it's impossible
_____________________________________
sheila says i need to stay true to my hair
but a wedding is not true in a shiny gown
so the hair needs to match.



the house is clean; as clean as it's been;
bookshelves are wiped and the books are in order;
every towel is folded and tucked in a drawer;
power undies put away; they are pink if you forgot
wires are collated; bathtubs scrubb-a-dub-dubbed
hand-washed floors; and cement tables;
here they all are.
our first guest arrives tomorrow.
she has a bed and a room and towels.
the simplest of joys.












june 21 2015
  8:23am


you think there's not much to see here then move along, move along. it is not you, i require.









june 19 2015
7:55 am
end of life

the wooden window creaks slightly open, slightly closed, with each passing tuft of wind through the house;
it was musical for a time until it wasn't.

this body slept, still mildly and nicely comatose, as it squirms under red sheets and balances tepid coffee.
in the dark now, bodily functions waking one by one, flashing red digits of a small clock radio, fixtures of scheduled people,
of whom there are none in this house, and dust bunnies swim through the air across a streak of sunlight reflected somehow passed the treadmill
and onto the wall behind me.
my longish hair in the morning is wayward, trampy, as it flops over the part on the left, not knowing which side it belongs on.
i have no recollection of tousled hair in my life.
ever.


i think it's friday, i haven't checked, through a long night in early summer, shitty spanish wine survived me,
someone sneezes, doors clatter, a peacefully sublime moment will be broken soon.

and all i really wanted to tell you during the night was that i've unearthed one more source of my anxiety
and that would be that in spite of the sheer beauty in knowing this is the man i will spend the rest of my life with,
that certitude indicates that the rest of my life, including the end of it, will indeed come.
now who needs that shit in their life?















june 18 2015
  6:52 am
Don't tell my stories, i won't tell yours.

  ONCE in a rare, rare, while, i awake feeling good. today was one of such days.
my back doesn't ache; my mind doesn't race; my ears barely ring; i slept.
have i been actually sick without knowing it, for that long?
it's nice to have clear thoughts at 6:50 am, darting eyes before coffee,
a sense of where i belong, and no worries hounding me. ahh, sleep.

notwithstanding, the evening of june 17th 2015 didn't turn out precisely as planned, as does just about nothing.
there are stories i could tell, and as usual, i shan't. alas. they are not mine to tell.  but dreams are indeed, mine...

and i dreamt of him, of i, in fact as the caffeine molecules cross the blood brainbarrier i recollect nicholas p having an accident
with guillermo's car, we raced off from the south shore and ended up at a dead end in lery, on the water, and in crossing i ended up
in the water somehow, an iphone in one hand and camera in the other, they managed to stay dry for quite some time, yes
i was on a raft at first but ended up swimming, while we texted the Swiss man to come get us, he was on his way down the canal,
on a boat? on foot? i remember only waiting to see his beautiful face while i treaded water. there were people playing and swimming nearby
and there was a pier, i tried to swim back once but a large boat swell kept me from it. finally a man did help me, dead iphone and all, and  with
very little effort we made it back to the pier. once again dream transitions disappear (isn't that odd, only the most important pieces are left out of dreams)
and next thing i knew i was face backwards at the front of a small motor dingy, filled with children and their excitement, each with very different and odd shaped
life vests which i spent most of the ride eying, as i didn't have one, and i even recall a mild feeling of setting a bad example without one (after i felt a mild fear
of having to spend another twenty minutes treading water in that brown muddy river) and when i turned to the Swiss man behind me, intently driving that little craft,
he was all of a sudden wearing a boy scout uniform, long handkerchief blowing in the wind, while he intently focused on both the controls, and something he was reading,
simultaneously. i think that was when i woke up.

so when i sleep, when i really sleep, my brain does in fact know how much he is in fact my hero.
and all he did was walk a poodle back to julie's.

that's definitely my story to tell.

 










june 17 2015
  8:20 am
crispy sunny june bugs; straight back; arched gut;
keys clicking in this old lower creaky flat, a sweaty Swiss man appears and tosses a rolled newpaper
which will remain rolled. this is a slept body but a mildly sick one; someone let a virus in overnight.
i'll bid it adieu by nine.

the Swiss man cleans the kitchen. thoughts whirling around my head, the radio blocked out by earplugs,
this place is sometimes but a recording device for the noise passing thru my ENTJ head;
and i often need to remind myself how much of it is noise; how much is real; how much should be art.

fancy pants meetings at 9;
a sickly organization is making people sick;
everyone has survival tactics, from the Brazilan, to the El Salvadorian, but not so much the Peruvian and Italians,
for the Peruvian is gone and the Italians are teflon; oh, to be teflon; oh, to be teflon...



 











june 16 2015
 
selfishly, i write.
selfishly, i retreat into myself, a white and black anagrammed mug, tepid with sticky sweet java, balanced on new red sheets.
warm sounds swirl outside the creaky wooden window, rhythms from open car windows of people who are far too awake at
this time of day, summer tires swushing through overnight puddles, and baby-honks, interspersed by bus generators, all overtones
to the slowly building morning drone of highway 15, built deep enough to make it musical. if we can hear all of this, it's summer.
we are all selfish, only it exhibits itself differently from one person to another.










_____________________________________
june 15 2015
 
monday monday.
one java down but poots is still down
a sneezing Swiss man, slow neural synapses,
a sneezing me. massage this brain.
half of me is happy to have a full day's work ahead
the other half moderates anxious feelings
and the rain compresses the pollen
up our nostrils.
achoo!

we passed through a birthday weekend in sunshine;
i gobbled pizza pizza and reisling wine.
i recalled my childhood days of sunny afternoons;
i hung on to my Swiss man for dear life;
and

when will this coffee clear my brain when



   



how often do sentences begin with beams










june 13 2015
 
    beamtime in tennessee while the sun beams in montreal
it's hot in the deep south
    guinea pigs chew loudly in a half cleaned lower duplex
no one cares where i belong but me;
    odd-looking baby parties pleased the future parents
and we showed a torontian how montrealers do a 5 a 7

what reversal of fortune leaves me without a headache;
without a key;
without a family;

and even ringing ears cannot fill my aching and unhungover empty heart
nor this physical longing, manifested in a melange of work and sexy dreaming

...

absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder; assuming, one is fond.







june 11


i review conversations in my head
and sometimes they go like this
"absence makes the heart grow fonder,
and other things too, and when i lay in his arms
i smile spontaneiously and when i tell you this
i also smile this silly smile"












june 10 2015
 

    i wouldn't have predicted that extroverted, opinionated people would like the mEp.
i wouldn't have predicted not really caring about certain people
    i wouldn't have predicted any of it;
i am not a predictor, i live my own world and my own life, and this to the chagrin of others
    who is my best friend
is she fifty today or not
    what i know is she is not reading this
or is she.


later on...

what did it take before i knew my opinion was better than hers
and hers
and hers too
there was always an assumption made
the assumption is all of a sudden wrong
funny that.






june 8 2015
  7:133 AM

    not quite awake, poots pulls herself around some ringing ears
            it was a long night of burning skin and cherry juice
                        tart, cobbled with tylenols
                                for a monday


i could call this 'diary of an ENTJ' but these moments are altered ego to my controlling side
or at least i hope they are

and as the caffeine molecules cross this well-shopped blood brain barrier, like the rain drops seeping passed my window and into the urban soil,
fraught with oil dust, and being cleaned only temporarily, they, and i, creak with age, as we tell stories summarizing our lives on an ENTJ board.
and in one moment i am the ballerina i never became; the millionaire i wanted to be, and the writer i always was. for ballerinas have pretty feet,
millionaires hearts are full, and all these words bring me squarely where i want to be.















 

june 7 2015
sunday 7:14 AM

it was a long time without laying in your arms
i can't remember when
for so long i lamented status quo and yet i had it
ENTJs work in a  headspace of discomfort
it's impossible to write it down
i fight the weeds in my brain to remember
if my body ever knew such comfort
and yet this mystery i carry
will always be the answer


i've been writing here for nearly twenty years and finally i have a mystery
finally.











june 4 2015

don't forget the birthdays
fifty, four and fifty-few;
they're all around and coming soon
and just ahead of you

we're heading toward the goal-post
with our troubles all askew
instead of raveling up again
there's always something new

my dreams are filled with diamonds
while my pelvis aches in pain
there's not a rhyme nor reason
to this badly ordered game
















june 3 2015


work is hell for a change.
tears on the subway.
what do you miss?
things i cannot write.
things you cannot say.
things you never say
and things you should not say.












june 2 2015

in between ENTJ musings, girls walking to school, and sleeping all night, poots hides away in her silent place.
could an extrovert really need such a space? she could indeed. with so many thoughts.

after a third all nighter i'm here to pine. pouring the deep dark espresso which brings me to life, a profound
thought caught my mind as it passed by. he's been mourned, silently, whether i like it or not, he's been mourned.

and in spite of a third night of sleep, exhaustion still remains inside of me, ears still ring violently, and joints ache.
this little mouse who had been running for nearly fifty years, runs no more. but there are websites for the ENTJ
elderly, so i'll be in good hands.

what i hate is people waiting for me. expecting things of me. yet i want the ENTJs to expect things of me, how
can there be such a duality. i want what i want them to want. how maddening to have lived in these cement
thoughts for so long. i tire of my cement thoughts. i tire of the longing to be out of them. i pine for the freedom
from them. and i ache to be understood. physically. i ache to be understood.

that is all i have ever really needed.