thinks i'm in the Bahamas. it's not
as smart as he thinks it is. our
mountain selfdies were sunnier
today; some fog has lifted to
light the road
that it's quite
a long road.
me up beyond
i parade through
a very beloved
part of downtown
thoughts i had
twenty years ago
with the sights
and sounds of a
to me that
although i see
with the same
eyes; i breathe
in real emotions
a special Easter
the mountain for
have not yet
spoken of Angels
on the Mountain;
and if you knew
the depth to
which i cling to
might think me
it was 1985,
when i last
rising from the
top of Guy
street. when i
to the decaying
over me. for
many years, i
but when the
time, it is not
i supposed that
is the truest
can make today;
all of this; i
knew it would
come to pass;
did not know how
or why or when;
but i knew.
needed is not a place i gravitate to.
writing a book would be fine
even contemplating reality is ok once
in a blue moon;
i'm pretty okay with pushing the
but being responsible for other human
is not my comfy zone.
is it anyone's?
are people aware how vulnerable they
when they control their children,
their spouse, their environment?
personally, i prefer a human distance
to allow us all to sit up straight in
our own boxes.
and when we fall over we can't knock
anyone else down.
who wants to be knocked down.
butterflies greet me where i turn
wiping your table, now ours, and
maneuvering around everything which
reminds me you're not here, which
today, is everything.
your messages come at me like darts;
what story will fourteen words tell
this little ENTJ chest is full today:
it swelled as we wandered the
cavernous corridors of the mall:
as i impatiently snaked through the
bowels of TMR:
as i made our bed,
as i wiped our floors,
as i wiped my brow.
i still can't believe i found you
and you can't seem to believe it
Francesco tells me to trust my
intuition, that it is exceptional.
this entj takes great comfort in that.
having faith in something is rare
indeed, but i shall carry his words
with me, on our journey into the
feel like the story needs to be told
yet i am not sure i want to see it
the romance oscillates in time:
when you are far, the wave peaks;
and in this instance, it seems to have
crashed like a wave upon the shore
strangest st Patrick's day has come to
it is here: this obtuse moment: it is
as i contemplate in perfect hindsight,
every beautiful and strange thing,
they now culminate into a perfect
storm of sorts as i watch you
free-fall into someone else's arms
i asked you to write as though no one
was watching, could you?
if i asked you to remember a million
thoughts could you?
hour after first speaking to the man
in the call center, we have a new
one arduous hour for
me, many for him.
nights of sleep under a wedding quilt have been
crushed by daylight savings time.
as the sole human in this place i am now responsible
for hay depositions into the guinea pig cages
and also, in passing, feeding the multitudes of black
mollies, now bizarrely accompanied by one of
the previously-assumed deceased darting shiny glowing
ones. so basically the change in feeding
schedule has brought out different fauna in the
virtually immovable now after being woken from a
second vivid dream; in the first i was riding a bus
while a woman sorted through her luggage and threw
shorts out the window as she sorted and the second
wait for it, the second, i was on a conference
call in a house i've never been in and had to go to
to hear because someone was vacuuming, and no matter
how many times i asked who was on the call,
these people continued talking to each other as though
i wasn't there, as though it was not my project
and they didn't need me at all to be there. i fought
with the technology for a bit ripping cords and wires
from headsets and whatnot until it dawned on my that
it wasn't a meeting i had called but another one.
the various dull rumblings from outside are varied and
dull, but the world wakes on this monday, DST or not.
imagine all those souls who work on schedules, in
hospitals, in stores, in accounting departments.
maybe if i were forced to be somewhere it would be a
imagine if all you could to most of the time was feel?
It just dawned on me
that perhaps he was normal all along.
was a line in the magazine which described the
similarities of Justin and Sophie: how they are both
similarly similar and that the interviewer wondered
how they even ever found each other and then a
normal traveling couple on the metro who look alike
And I wondered this
morning, why you used to tell me you were 2 sigmas
out so often and now you stopped. Do I make you feel more normal
by treating you normal or do I make you feel more
normal by not being so normal. I wonder this often.
So I pulled out my laptop
to jot down these thoughts while I can’t connect to
the magical waves in the sky that connect us no
matter where you are
And I realized that perhaps
for all those years, I made assumptions about his
level of normal and perhaps I was wrong all along.
Perhaps he is actually
normal and the abnormal I saw in him was only in my
minds eye. What
tragedy to not know someone you think you know well.
I think you know this tragedy of which i speak.
too many unconditional rules which were immovable
too much privacy; too much hiding;
i am not that person;
i never was.
dates barrel forward
at an alarming pace
as i stepped out of my bed this morning it dawned on
me how much time i spend thinking about my age
these numbers have become debilitating
and i guess i need to change that before it's too late
but my foot hit the floor at 6:52
and it seems to be a pattern now, waking by 7, as it
was before, and like i said, full circle, back to the
mostly, i find positioning myself in the world
satisfying, i look to my left with the morning sun
the fence and drawing lines on the snow; down the wide
clean hallway are clean pigs, yes, i'm growing ever
more satisfied with order and cleanliness, wasn't that
a very long dark period of messiness, it seemed
to this ENTJ, the piles of clothing collecting soot.
we've seen many fogs lifted you and me, but this one
people in my
world wear matching socks. been fighting this my
however i do like the bed made. somehow i forgot
that. now i get it again.
wish i would have known long ago which parts of me
are movable and which parts are not.
we are physical beings. we have physical needs.
years later, i'm me. here i
am. my bed is made, the dishes are done, and
perspective is following me around.
after a funeral for a man five years older than
yourself, you think about allota-things.
the sound of his laughter rings through your ears in a
cruel attempt to re-create the man, for one.
your appropriate behaviour, for two, you wonder if you
have shown your daughter a respectable way to behave.
the length of everyone's life becomes merely the
length of eveyone's life; there is no wishing or
since this is what has come to pass and any dreamlike
state of wonderment will not change that.
so although you might be perplexed at the abruptness
of it all, as you age, you do lament less for what
could have been,
and you wonder more about what will be after you are
the night was filled with a thousand wonderments which
sounds cruel and unkind
but i move through this world differently now, as
though seeing things for the first time,
from under a small shell on the sea floor, or peering
through curtains before the last act,
hearing people speak for the first time; in tones
which are crystal clear; and almost shocking
while others are warm and inviting; some wisdom has
crept through my bones while i was aching
and i am the lone actor and spectator in this one
woman act; the play is silently sublime, perfectly
and although at times i still feel like a flatlander
passing through a world where no one understands me
i am able to once in a while, zone in with the "flat"
and feel far more attuned than some of the
characters around me
watching the married couples on the escalator - i
realized how i always used to walk on eggshells - for
fear of some ridiculous
criticism and not even knowing that one can lay one's
tired head back into the shoulder of a man who hasn't
judged you for
the last seventeen things you have said. oh joy. oh
joy. oh peaceful joy.
it's a new slice of reality i'm in now and the space
in this room allows me to think:
like the oregami folds which mask the layers
underneath them, so do i only expose the parts i am
willing to see
a process has come full circle: i must now sit and
write about it: the end of the bell curve is nigh.
the desk under these wrists has followed me in this
journey, and the year's worth of empty diary pages
in it's drawers beckon.
most of the world asks 'Why' in the face of my "how".
i've been asking "how" since i first sat at this desk
more than 35 years ago.
'Why' is a question for feelers. i see that now. 'how'
is more useful - but only to those who ask -
though most people don't even understand the question.
this is the story of my life.
i've been asking questions that people don't
no wonder no one has the answers but me.
four billion people surround us: so many souls lose
their way: all that we have is each other:
jann arden sings in my mind; comforting me as no
other; reminding me how east and west unite as
and building up the strongest parts of me. no wonder
women love her.
if i were to say what is today i'd say it's a good day
i'd say i was sleepy and i slept
i'd say i was hungry and i ate
i'd say i have time to spit out these words
i'd say i like the sound of the jackhammering across
i'd say i see the slurry of a morning blue tinting the
i'd say i have room to breathe in this room
a million random thoughts are not so random
i've time warped myself into the same room i could
have been in a million years ago
there are two closets and a laundry bin
oh my, i've been here before, God knows it.
this desk has landed right where it belongs
she never wanted it
what else didn't she want
we've both dragged old wooden furntire a million miles
back to where it belonged in the first place
and somehow, a woman in Calgary, made us a wedding
quilt with her bare hands.
while five weeks ago i had no clue how it would ever
end up on my bed
it sits here now, warming my legs
and warming my heart.