1. I will miss the sounds of horses pulling their wagons.
2. I will miss the inherent beauty (and smell) of the out-house.
3. I will miss the church bells ringing out their daily reminders.
4. I will miss the shadow from the line of a woman’s hip-bone.
5 I will miss the way women can make their ponytails sway back & forth, just so.
6. I will miss the taste of the fresh spring-fed well water at The Farm.
7. I will miss lying in bed watching the sunrise at The Farm, then rolling over and going back to sleep.
8. I will miss Orion in the Fall & Winter sky.
9. I will miss the sound of river water spilling over rocks, singing.
10. I will miss the scent of a good bonfire on my clothes the next morning.
11. I will miss the smell of fresh cut pine.
12. I will miss the streets of Paris.
13. I will miss the writings of Dostoevsky.
14. I will miss the paintings, poetry & artistry of Wm. Blake.
15. I will miss the smoked meat sandwiches from Schwartz’s.
16. I will miss the Autumn in Ontario when it seems all of Nature is burning, singing out the colours of life.
17. I will miss the smell of fresh falling snow.
18. I will miss the feel of cold beer on a hot summer’s day.
19. I will miss the briefness & brilliance of falling stars.
20. I will miss Henderson the Rain King.
21. I will miss the pain of loss.
22. I will miss caring about something so much I forget to sleep for days.
23. I will miss first kisses.
24. I will miss riding motorcycles.
25. I will miss fishing.
26. I will miss Grandma Lambe’s apple pie, hot with a slice of old cheddar cheese.
27. I will miss the sound, smell & feel of Erika; my typewriter.
28. I will miss driving, all day & all night, across the Prairies.
29. I will miss moose.
30. I will miss the Moon, in all its phases.
31. I will miss black on white.
32. I will miss Székelyföld. (Transylvania.)
33. I will miss my motorcycle jacket.
34. I will miss oak trees.
35. I will miss skating, ice & board.
36. I will miss the wind.
37. I will miss the whine of chainsaws.
38. I will miss the last & first ice cream of the summer.
39. I will miss the memories of holding O.’s hand.
40. I will miss criss-crossing the continent in old V.W. vans.
41. I will miss the Banff of the 80’s.
42. I will miss kissing my love’s eyes.
43. I will miss Al Jaffee’s Snappy Answers To Stupid Questions and the empty talk balloons you got to fill in.
44. I will miss the jungle heat.
45. I will miss snowmobiles.
46. I will miss maple syrup.
47. I will miss the smell of lilacs in bloom.
48. I will miss Renoir’s paintings.
49. I will miss listening to foreign languages and making up my own dialogues.
50. I will miss the memories of my dog, Casey.
51. I will miss hearing laughter.
52. I will miss sailing boats.
53. I will miss waltzing with my Green Bitch Mistress.
54. I will miss the poems of Rimbaud.
55. I will miss daydreaming.
56. I will miss earth shaking thunder & lightning storms.
57. I will miss the terror of my nightmares.
58. I will miss Nana’s butterscotch pie.
59. I will miss swimming in lakes & rivers.
60. I will miss Gramma’s lemon meringue pie.
61. I will miss Beethoven’s IXth Symphony.
62. I will miss human conflict.
63. I will miss the first day of Fall.
64. I will miss crows.
65. I will miss polar bears.
66. I will miss cheating at Solitaire.
67. I will miss fine red wine.
68. I will miss Guinness.
69. I will miss my holy communion.
70. I will miss the I Ching.
71. I will miss John Coltrane.
72. I will miss Csilla’s cooking.
73. I will miss chess.
74. I will miss the sound of drunkards, in all languages, singing.
75. I will miss falling asleep to the sound of the surf crashing onto a beach.
76. I will miss laughing with my brothers.
77. I will miss my Mother’s smile.
78. I will miss Leonard Cohen’s poetry... & music.
79. I will miss the Thrill of The Flyer.
80. I will miss my own romanticism.
81. I will miss Mordecai Richler’s words.
82. I will miss The Fear.
83. I will miss the madness at Mrs. Tweedle’s house.
84. I will miss all the dreams I forgot to chase.
85. I will miss skiing powder.
86. I will miss saying “86 it.”
87. I will miss Beauty in all its unqualified forms.
88. I will miss the Danube.
89. I will miss having no regrets.
90. I will miss the kicks I’ve had with my friends.
91. I will miss the sorrow this life has often afforded me.
92. I will miss the pure joy vibrations of harmony.
93. I will miss the constant singing of “holy, holy, holy” in my visions.
94. I will miss Big Sur.
95. I will miss the desire to peek into the “other” world.
96. I will miss singing along to Gordon Lightfoot.
97. I will miss all my dreams I made come true.
98. I will miss the balances.
99. I will miss the conversations I’ve had with myself.
100. I will miss my memories of trying to lasso the moon.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
excerpt from work in progress titled: "novel".
“Christ! You look like hell, Robbie.”
Louis turned towards the voice with his good eye.
“Henry.” Shit, shit, shit. Louis thought. This is going to complicate things. What the hell is he doing here?
“You look like the last time I kicked your ass.”
“Dream on, Henry. I’m still 3-0 with you.”
“C’mon, Robbie, that’s creative memory for sure.”
Henry stared at him for a sec.
“Christ, with your left and you look like this? Can only mean one thing.”
“Yeah.”
“There must have been more than one guy.”
“I tripped while doing the Tango.”
“Yeah, sure Robbie.”
“Robbie?” Nat broke in.
Henry turned and looked at Nat. Hmm, pretty woman, he thought.
“Yeah…,” Louis hesitated, “ah… Robbie. An old nickname. From an old friend.” He quickly silenced Henry with a look.
“Henry, can I have a minute with you?”
“Sure.”
“Nat, we’ll be right back, ok?”
“Uh-huh. No problem, Louis.”
“Order a couple of whiskeys and an extra glass of ice.”
Louis pointed to his all but closed eye, shrugged and grinned.
He then swept Henry off to the parking lot.
“Louis? Robbie’s a nickname? What the hell you got going on here?”
“Well, I can explain…I…o shit. Bottom line, Henry, I’ve escaped out of my old life. I got a new name, new bank account, new identity, new everything.”
Henry stared, with a gravity, a sense that he had all the time necessary to understand whatever it was Robbie was talking about. Louis stared back as if his explanation should suffice to clear everything up. He shrugged and gave him his best confidence smile.
There was a beat.
“I know the look, Henry.” He sighed, resigned. “There just isn’t the time right now.” He turned to go back inside. Hoping Henry would follow.
Henry remained rooted.
He spoke first. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re cheating on Suze. She was always a bitch to me anyways.”
Louis turned towards the voice with his good eye.
“Henry.” Shit, shit, shit. Louis thought. This is going to complicate things. What the hell is he doing here?
“You look like the last time I kicked your ass.”
“Dream on, Henry. I’m still 3-0 with you.”
“C’mon, Robbie, that’s creative memory for sure.”
Henry stared at him for a sec.
“Christ, with your left and you look like this? Can only mean one thing.”
“Yeah.”
“There must have been more than one guy.”
“I tripped while doing the Tango.”
“Yeah, sure Robbie.”
“Robbie?” Nat broke in.
Henry turned and looked at Nat. Hmm, pretty woman, he thought.
“Yeah…,” Louis hesitated, “ah… Robbie. An old nickname. From an old friend.” He quickly silenced Henry with a look.
“Henry, can I have a minute with you?”
“Sure.”
“Nat, we’ll be right back, ok?”
“Uh-huh. No problem, Louis.”
“Order a couple of whiskeys and an extra glass of ice.”
Louis pointed to his all but closed eye, shrugged and grinned.
He then swept Henry off to the parking lot.
“Louis? Robbie’s a nickname? What the hell you got going on here?”
“Well, I can explain…I…o shit. Bottom line, Henry, I’ve escaped out of my old life. I got a new name, new bank account, new identity, new everything.”
Henry stared, with a gravity, a sense that he had all the time necessary to understand whatever it was Robbie was talking about. Louis stared back as if his explanation should suffice to clear everything up. He shrugged and gave him his best confidence smile.
There was a beat.
“I know the look, Henry.” He sighed, resigned. “There just isn’t the time right now.” He turned to go back inside. Hoping Henry would follow.
Henry remained rooted.
He spoke first. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re cheating on Suze. She was always a bitch to me anyways.”
Thursday, August 13, 2009
thinking about other's words
“The dreamers dream from the neck up, their bodies securely strapped to the electric chair. To imagine a new world is to live it daily, each thought, each glance, each step, each gesture killing and recreating, death always a step in advance. To spit on the past is not enough. To proclaim the future is not enough. One must act as if the next step were the last, which it is. Each step forward is the last, and with it a world dies, one’s self included. We are here of the earth never to end, the past never ceasing, the future never beginning, the present never ending. The never-never world which is never concluded, never shaped to be recognized, all there is and yet not the whole, the parts so much greater than the whole that only God the mathematician can figure it out.” – Henry Miller
Monday, August 3, 2009
Love Is A Virus... or beginning notes for that idea.
“They say that breaking up is hard to do”, they weren’t kidding.
Love is a virus that is often described as an illness. “H/she is lovesick”. You must look to curing the illness in as complete and clinical way as possible.
There are numerous ways to break-up with people. You can call them. Send them an email. Do it in a public place or at home noisily. No matter the method.
It is what you do after the split that makes all the difference. Honesty is the key to the whole mess. And not some faux-honesty to the other person. No, honesty to yourself.
Firstly, sterilization of the physical and mental situation. The areas you live in must be de-contaminated. This way you do not perpetuate the illness. Photographs, letters, clothing, furniture, all physical traces must be removed.
What do you think you’ll be thinking about if you have a framed photo of your broken heart’s desire beside your bed? Not clear thoughts or thoughts that aren’t wasting your time. You must clean up your area so that you don’t keep on re-infecting yourself.
Out of sight, out of mind. Not denial of their existence but a healthy cleaning of the slate is in order to allow you to see a world untainted by them.
Make a definitive cut. Demand that a period of grace is set-up where you agree not see one another in private. Also, try to avoid seeing them in public as much as possible as well.
This prevents you from embarassing back-sliding break-up sex. Sex is an action full of shifts in status and power. A seductive option. Don’t get back into bed with your ex; ever. Don’t go back into that arena. (exception to the rule is: invited into bed with your ex and their twin)
Like any physical or mental addiction if you stop cold turkey, then have tastes of your desire, you will return to square one in the process of the break-up square dance.
You must take back what is yours from before the relationship. A city, books, movies, if shared they are tainted and should be de-contaminated.
Beware of negative and dishonest thought patterns that tell you how the pleasures of life no longer seem to have the same flavours and excitements now that they are gone…hogswash. This is the tired, lonely mind speaking. Get rid of these thoughts. Now.
The illogical bit of missing someone is that you don’t usually miss what you had, you miss what you could have had!
Be careful of the media - therein lie traps. The movies and songs perpetuating the myths of love are deadly to believe in. They have taught generations nothing but unrealistic fairytale love; and they have left us with our mediocre emotions. All of them learned reactions.
These knotted emotions, real and otherwise, entwined and raging… well, it’s no wonder we’re all confused. The fairytale love is sweet and pretty but it is not realistic. “Love is a bitch for the blues”.
O, how right. But that is not a reason to quit love. No, not at all. Love is the greatest emotion of them all, also the most dangerous. We must not take it lightly. So, unlike when we rush into love we must be careful not to rush out of it, and cause ourselves undue troubles.
Before you start to talk again about the relationship, take the time alone to try to understand what you are going through and why. It is important to be honest with yourself.
At this time there is nothing wrong with being on your own. The population of the world is not at stake.
Name calling, revenge, all that is truly just against your own wounded pride and ego. Let it slide. Don’t get into that arena. Hey, if it’s over then why bother?
Keep conscious and listen to the things you are saying to yourself. Then judge whether or not they are honest. Imagine the little angel and the little devil, like in The Flintstones, on your shoulder. Listen. Whichever one is looking forward with open eyes and heart. Listen to them.
The other path leads to loss of energy and self-respect.You cannot fool yourself. The sooner you admit to yourself you made an error in judgement - the quicker you’re free from it all.
Love is a virus that is often described as an illness. “H/she is lovesick”. You must look to curing the illness in as complete and clinical way as possible.
There are numerous ways to break-up with people. You can call them. Send them an email. Do it in a public place or at home noisily. No matter the method.
It is what you do after the split that makes all the difference. Honesty is the key to the whole mess. And not some faux-honesty to the other person. No, honesty to yourself.
Firstly, sterilization of the physical and mental situation. The areas you live in must be de-contaminated. This way you do not perpetuate the illness. Photographs, letters, clothing, furniture, all physical traces must be removed.
What do you think you’ll be thinking about if you have a framed photo of your broken heart’s desire beside your bed? Not clear thoughts or thoughts that aren’t wasting your time. You must clean up your area so that you don’t keep on re-infecting yourself.
Out of sight, out of mind. Not denial of their existence but a healthy cleaning of the slate is in order to allow you to see a world untainted by them.
Make a definitive cut. Demand that a period of grace is set-up where you agree not see one another in private. Also, try to avoid seeing them in public as much as possible as well.
This prevents you from embarassing back-sliding break-up sex. Sex is an action full of shifts in status and power. A seductive option. Don’t get back into bed with your ex; ever. Don’t go back into that arena. (exception to the rule is: invited into bed with your ex and their twin)
Like any physical or mental addiction if you stop cold turkey, then have tastes of your desire, you will return to square one in the process of the break-up square dance.
You must take back what is yours from before the relationship. A city, books, movies, if shared they are tainted and should be de-contaminated.
Beware of negative and dishonest thought patterns that tell you how the pleasures of life no longer seem to have the same flavours and excitements now that they are gone…hogswash. This is the tired, lonely mind speaking. Get rid of these thoughts. Now.
The illogical bit of missing someone is that you don’t usually miss what you had, you miss what you could have had!
Be careful of the media - therein lie traps. The movies and songs perpetuating the myths of love are deadly to believe in. They have taught generations nothing but unrealistic fairytale love; and they have left us with our mediocre emotions. All of them learned reactions.
These knotted emotions, real and otherwise, entwined and raging… well, it’s no wonder we’re all confused. The fairytale love is sweet and pretty but it is not realistic. “Love is a bitch for the blues”.
O, how right. But that is not a reason to quit love. No, not at all. Love is the greatest emotion of them all, also the most dangerous. We must not take it lightly. So, unlike when we rush into love we must be careful not to rush out of it, and cause ourselves undue troubles.
Before you start to talk again about the relationship, take the time alone to try to understand what you are going through and why. It is important to be honest with yourself.
At this time there is nothing wrong with being on your own. The population of the world is not at stake.
Name calling, revenge, all that is truly just against your own wounded pride and ego. Let it slide. Don’t get into that arena. Hey, if it’s over then why bother?
Keep conscious and listen to the things you are saying to yourself. Then judge whether or not they are honest. Imagine the little angel and the little devil, like in The Flintstones, on your shoulder. Listen. Whichever one is looking forward with open eyes and heart. Listen to them.
The other path leads to loss of energy and self-respect.You cannot fool yourself. The sooner you admit to yourself you made an error in judgement - the quicker you’re free from it all.
Friday, July 31, 2009
poem words of my other lost self
Jazz Prose
Water the flowers! Let the
sun shine warm. The breeze cool.
For today I am wont to wander.
A picture of you tripped the
floodgate. A picture of you
set the pace. A picture of
you freed me from
my daily existence.
Time traversed. Time eased into
a lull that removes the tick
tick tick. Time acting civil, like a
lady. Time open and accommodating.
An almost forgotten room.
The smell faint in my mind. The
colour faded in my eye. The street
sounds trapped in my memory’s echo.
You were the Queen of my
world, my mind, my soul. Ruling
unconsciously, beautifully, sublimely. I
don’t think you knew. I never
told you, properly.
That room. Of our conspired
pleasures. Us, hidden behind
thick curtains. Us, hiding from the phone’s
intrusions. From the outside’s bogeyman.
Hearts beating to our drummer’s
tune. Close and touching with no
anxiety of expectation. Talking w/out
words. Like a sister to a brother.
Your eyes of blue, shimmered.
Our skin was young then, elastic,
strong. Our stomachs flat upon
one another’s. Our kisses eternal.
How can ink and paper
possibly do justice to yr
spoken lips? To yr slight
muscled neck? To yr raven hair?
To you?
I found a picture of you.
Distant glance. Brief glimpse.
The past’s glare. My senses
rattled by who we were.
What cares have I of lost or
misplaced love? Chances
missed, opportunity’s last call.
Once we were on fire. Unstoppable
& unprecedented in our union’s desire.
I saw a picture of you
today. The onslaught of my
emotions overwhelmed me before
I could act. W/ you I don’t
mind. I never did.
Let my nerves sing, my heart
swell and inertia hold my
body. For today I want to
remember you. I want the
pain among the pleasure.
I can see you,
holding the room’s attention, down
to the minutest particle. Queen of
yr Universe. Essence connected to
Essence; direct line.
I can feel you, close like a
summer heatwave. Around me
and w/in me. As much me as
I could allow anything else to be.
Permanent like bedrock.
The conscious memory of you
comes and goes on its own
schedule. Fleeting and elusive
w/ a bottom end like teeth.
Sharp, strong, and potentially
dangerous. How appropriate.
Your form: Classic. Your
heart: Colossal. I am drowned
in yr remembered presence like a rainy day.
Safe and warm in the fold.
I am swimming in the warmth
of your memory. Every point
I want to make is
floating pin-like in the dark.
A galaxy of inspired wonder.
Monuments beyond syllables
should be erected to you.
Flesh offerings and sacrifices
beyond pedestal love. New
orders. I could tear down
the old.
I am living the memory
of you and it's like it was
today. W/ all the raging
melodramatics that love demands.
I feel like tomorrow corrected.
Your slightly crooked teeth
w/ their fuuuh sound when you
breathed in while thinking. Or yr
calm composure while yr eyes darted
taking everything in. These
are the subtleties I did not overlook.
Your hands soft as they seemed
to melt w/ mine. Your fingers
w/ mine a spider’s web of flesh.
Catching, holding, containing us. A
realm unto themselves.
A picture is worth a thousand
words. And each picture the
first invokes is another
thousand words. Thousands of thousands.
A staggering exponential.
I’m thinking of you as I’m scribbling
these lines. The rain is drumming
the beats of my heart. I’m
thinking of you. All because of
a picture I saw.
Water the flowers! Let the
sun shine warm. The breeze cool.
For today I am wont to wander.
A picture of you tripped the
floodgate. A picture of you
set the pace. A picture of
you freed me from
my daily existence.
Time traversed. Time eased into
a lull that removes the tick
tick tick. Time acting civil, like a
lady. Time open and accommodating.
An almost forgotten room.
The smell faint in my mind. The
colour faded in my eye. The street
sounds trapped in my memory’s echo.
You were the Queen of my
world, my mind, my soul. Ruling
unconsciously, beautifully, sublimely. I
don’t think you knew. I never
told you, properly.
That room. Of our conspired
pleasures. Us, hidden behind
thick curtains. Us, hiding from the phone’s
intrusions. From the outside’s bogeyman.
Hearts beating to our drummer’s
tune. Close and touching with no
anxiety of expectation. Talking w/out
words. Like a sister to a brother.
Your eyes of blue, shimmered.
Our skin was young then, elastic,
strong. Our stomachs flat upon
one another’s. Our kisses eternal.
How can ink and paper
possibly do justice to yr
spoken lips? To yr slight
muscled neck? To yr raven hair?
To you?
I found a picture of you.
Distant glance. Brief glimpse.
The past’s glare. My senses
rattled by who we were.
What cares have I of lost or
misplaced love? Chances
missed, opportunity’s last call.
Once we were on fire. Unstoppable
& unprecedented in our union’s desire.
I saw a picture of you
today. The onslaught of my
emotions overwhelmed me before
I could act. W/ you I don’t
mind. I never did.
Let my nerves sing, my heart
swell and inertia hold my
body. For today I want to
remember you. I want the
pain among the pleasure.
I can see you,
holding the room’s attention, down
to the minutest particle. Queen of
yr Universe. Essence connected to
Essence; direct line.
I can feel you, close like a
summer heatwave. Around me
and w/in me. As much me as
I could allow anything else to be.
Permanent like bedrock.
The conscious memory of you
comes and goes on its own
schedule. Fleeting and elusive
w/ a bottom end like teeth.
Sharp, strong, and potentially
dangerous. How appropriate.
Your form: Classic. Your
heart: Colossal. I am drowned
in yr remembered presence like a rainy day.
Safe and warm in the fold.
I am swimming in the warmth
of your memory. Every point
I want to make is
floating pin-like in the dark.
A galaxy of inspired wonder.
Monuments beyond syllables
should be erected to you.
Flesh offerings and sacrifices
beyond pedestal love. New
orders. I could tear down
the old.
I am living the memory
of you and it's like it was
today. W/ all the raging
melodramatics that love demands.
I feel like tomorrow corrected.
Your slightly crooked teeth
w/ their fuuuh sound when you
breathed in while thinking. Or yr
calm composure while yr eyes darted
taking everything in. These
are the subtleties I did not overlook.
Your hands soft as they seemed
to melt w/ mine. Your fingers
w/ mine a spider’s web of flesh.
Catching, holding, containing us. A
realm unto themselves.
A picture is worth a thousand
words. And each picture the
first invokes is another
thousand words. Thousands of thousands.
A staggering exponential.
I’m thinking of you as I’m scribbling
these lines. The rain is drumming
the beats of my heart. I’m
thinking of you. All because of
a picture I saw.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
more quotes, more thought food
“For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear, under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called cause, operation, and effect; or more poetically, Jove, Pluto, Neptune; or theologically, the Father, the Spirit, and the Son; but which we will call, here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer. These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each is that which he is essentially, so that he cannot be surmounted or analyzed, each of these three has the power of the others latent in him, and his own potent.” –R.W. Emerson (from: The Poet)
Monday, June 1, 2009
something to ponder
practice |ˈpraktəs|: 1 the actual application or use of an idea, belief, or method as opposed to theories about such application or use. 2 repeated exercise in or performance of an activity or skill so as to acquire or maintain proficiency in it.
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