Tweets by @louern






09 30  
  8:09 AM. of nieces birthdays. random thoughts.

fleeting mEp thoughts; coffee. laundry. the Swiss man reads the LA Times. it's a pretty big city i guess.

pools of sleep, an hour on a folded ear is distracting, and distracts from sleep too.

it's a Sunday, dream memories slip thru my waking mind; forecasts of what i might see today, and ranting about women and men was not historically my style, was it. somebody's got to do it.

i need a q-tip.
the swiss man, in an attempt to distract me, mentions something about male DNA ending up in a woman's brain.












09 27 
6:50 AM.

it's as early as LA. poots, unwittingly, is up alone.
and, it would seem, slept.
machines hum, they tick, the guinea pigs course in their square walls.
sip number five is important.

so is number seven.

and so, my mepnotes from the metro, tell me things we already know, only on a different day.
they talk about his cajoling.has it been so long, that i have lived with cajolling?
did i wile it away, did i ignore it, in any case, a man's lighthearted cajoling should not be taken advantage of.
i know that now.

and on the metro yesterday, everyone seemed accessible, as if they all knew each other.
was this theirs, or my attitude, well, we all know it was mine.
and of course, we have little control over this, aside from sleeping well and avoiding white wine.

poots, in all her post worldliness, is only allowed about twelve minutes of sanity per day.
then, the cycle repeats.
in that sense, not much has really changed.
and fitting a week into the mEp is difficult.
thank God the Spanish test was but a dream.

back to facebook, news at       eleven.










 09 23 
 838 AM.

oh to be silenced.
again. and again.

how important, to speak your mind, and, why such disproportionate emotions.

i had a clearer thought at midnight;
our love shines, brighter than i know.

it's a mess here.\cats rummage. coffee's too strong.
men and children sleep, women think.
nothing has changed. do people?
















09 20   738 AM.

oh to be silenced.
 

09 19   736 AM. where we're needed..

a month flies by

a long, long time ago in biochemistry, i learned something which i have never forgotten.
oxygen moves to the tips of your fingers, to the ends of your toes, when you move them.
carried by large molecules of hemoglobin, transported in the blood, to be used in some ATP process
in order to move muscles. However. it doesn't move because the oxygen is needed there, because you
decided to move your fingers. All it does is move from an area of higher pressure to an area of lower pressure.
When your muscles use oxygen, the amount of oxygen in the surrounding blood is reduced (lower pressure of oxygen).

All the body wants to do is maintain homeostasis. A bunch of molecules running around your body, not
because your brain wanted to move your arms and legs, but because the body requires homeostasis (balance)
in order to function properly and because a lower oxygen pressure (potassium, CO2, etc.) is not sustainable.

think about this in your life. think about why you run to who needs what. the possibility exists that you are chasing your own balance.

09 16

821 AM.

what events would be recorded here:

heart rate and gentamycin levels
chilly air raises poots shoulders,
taught thighs, falling dreams, september here i think.

sip that java quickly poots, whoever you are, you and your teeny breasts, now covered in fur,
resist chatting, focus as though you're under unaesthetic, no one will remember, and arkansas is a world away.

mostly though, a stiff straight slept back, an eager everything else, caffeinated thoughts, transgressing here as i type
from a world of made up olympic sports, to a chilly but bright montreal morning where one man lays in cardiac care, another listens to Dylan,
and the most beautiful child in the world calls for me.

09 13

7:16 AM.

what's a record of events anyway.

if there's no more cheek to chew;

 

09 08

daytime.

a hospital is a haunted place.

09 03

daytime.

like a bat, my life shifts to night - the day is for daydreams, waiting, lost, fleeting and fleeing.

constant body ache, follows this life ache downstream, upstream, the last will i have, to prevent a wrenched torso from overflowing a million more tears, only as endless as my love, generated by the same.

empathy sucks life. 
then, my heart gets sucked into the hole in yours.

yet what's the point of a lost daydream
when it's nearly all that's left in a day.

09 02

later. time zooms with you.

walking daydreams

09 02

run through it.

waking slowly, wombats prune.
ravaged aching both of us
which life is right?

the morning sunlight, reddened by montreal bricks, bathes your bare shoulders.
and if something, someone, keeps lighting you up freely,
you stoke that fire for all you're worth.

a step backward for me, yet forward for them, that man who appeared here, so many years ago.
http://www.vif.com/users/louern/rant3.htm


aching, arched, poots chews to put words on it.
not so great, today.

but we run through it.
each of us.

09 01

temporary reprieve.

full pot.
i sip alone, in between the rhythm of the decarie and the beat of snoring,
i dare not speak.
out this green-lit window panes, eternal movement, hope, promise, work, death,
and behind me, behind an orange wall, and a blue one,
hope, promise, work, death.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjVFRRGA9QM&feature=autoplay&list=PL8CA8FD9BA042FF89&playnext=3