A Sonnet for the eternal her of Montréal (take eight)

False Muse by name of Siren I call you

Through the burning night they’re drinking

My soul, my self, my spirit’s talent true

Ah Muse, to the Siren’s song I’m sinking

And yet, cooly, you stand apart from this

On my behalf you will not interevene

Your sway and powers, for me, run amiss

I wonder how you did cut me so clean

With your sweet touch I rose above the rest

Now in my woe blackness plunged you delight

Filled with your energy you loved me best

In dark solitudes you showed me your light

Was nothing more than a wet match burning

Confusion; no more than a trick of yearning

pocket paper moments: thoughts on the move

-Kisses are as unique as the language they are from.
- Rollcals: locals that smoke.
- “Don’t pander to mediocrity.”
- Looking at the young woman’s eyelashes from one seat behind, and one over, all I can think is wow they are so long; could it be a trompe d’oeil? Hahaha.
- “…because it’s mine.” “Do you know why the Chinese don’t use this finger?” He asked showing her his pinkie. “No. Why?” she replied.
…
- Fringe Play: Nugless performed like a radio play.
- The Lily
The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat’ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
Wm. Blake
- Cold. And what I mean by that is… not warm… and what I mean by that is…
- Chateau I’mrich
- B. talking about how books when they 1st appeared were like movies, (Avatar), that they took, possesed, transported people to places outside of themselves. They had POWER. I am transported for exactly the same reasons.
- Loping, the server here lopes. I think at one pt. she was BIG and she still carries the weight in her mind/body motion.
- there is a fitness of mind & being here that allows for the possibility of balance. O how everything builds.
- O, to be among the humans again. I am happy… to be the pt. of trepidation.
- Words move, prepare and finally concrete the moment; well or not.
- a typewriter, O Erika, how can I balance life with the word? Hmm.
- “Here’s a tidbit of information to add to yr infinite knowledge bank.
“You’re an Ass!”
- Free, free, free. As light as a ray of sunshine. The great mother of light; the source. The Original. Blessed am I. Blessed am I.
- the uniform of the hip is never more creative than the lowest common denomintor ever. (ZING!)
- Another damn winter surprise! W/ a 1 million candle smile. I am warm warmed.
- Irony should be thrown like a left jab, smack, smack, smack… as a set up for the right hook.
- J.M.,
Yr Beauty is, and always has been, pure Klimt. (Actually better ‘cos of the dance you continuously do w/ yr humanity.) Man, you are the beautiful.
- Peeking into, peeping into, the smile of another. Well, that fills me w/ such a feeling of trespassing but trespassing w/ a purpose. O, how I love being a human being. (Piercing, always piercing, the sleep of reason!)
- Humour to the humourless is, well… I can’t even imagine.
- Flip Art poems & Haikus: YES! Technology-like.

excerpt from: "Bullets For Babylon"

Part l

Why? That’s the big question. How to answer it?
Am I going to start this with some confession about how unfair this world has been to me? How I’ve been hard done by? That Lady Luck is a bitch? I could. And maybe I should. But I don’t want to begin on some down note. ‘Cos that’s not who I am. I’m a realist. I deal in reality.
I’m suppose to turn 19 next month. What a thought! I wonder what the ratio is of people who have turned 19 to those who have not made it that far? I plan on changing the numbers.
My kid brother’s a cripple. No reason really. Just a bad roll of the dice. We were all running, jumping, diving, off of Red Rock into the quarry pond. Free falling feet, head, ass and belly first. Thrills & kicks, y’know. Nothing out of the ordinary. We must have all done it at least a couple of hundred times each over the years. And out of all of it, Robbie was the one to do it... well wrong.
It was the sound that tipped us off. And it was sorta strange ‘cos somehow instinctively, collectively, we all knew. In different stages we went and looked over the edge. No thought of the circumstances. Just a curiosity, really.
Now, when you jump and hit the water you go down about 20-25 feet and it’s 4-5 seconds before you re-surface. But not with Robbie. He sank. And maybe, just maybe, if I had of known then what the outcome was going to be I would have left him. Left him to be whole.
* * *

...and fuck it. Really & in an absolute way. ‘Cos I’m not wrong in these thoughts. There has to be a cleansing of sorts. A washing away of the shit & scum. A cull of sorts... a human cull. To remove the rotten, the turning, the venal. And someway or other I realize I am the light. I am the way.
* * *

internecine love... the only kind I ever lived. And to what end? The fruition of all my desires. How much better could it be? Rosaly, o you lovely bitch, my heart is yours but I get to keep my puritan brain. These bullets are like a love letter, sweet, pure and deadly to its cause. O, Rosaly, you are all that I will miss. How could one so fucked up be so beautiful?
* * *
These days feel so confining. Everything pushing down on me. And I wonder why? I am not in need of much. Sure a car would be nice. But in the same moment I haven’t worked for a car so it’s kinda moot to think that I should have one really. I have this feeling of not being able to move, to do anything that it would not be the same, perhaps w/ a different view but still the same gnawing feeling. The gnawing of nothingness. I have an idea, a plan that I want to put into effect. It is grand. It will be earth moving. I think I may be a little afraid. There are things that will unfold as this journal goes on. It won’t take long. Maybe a week or two. I’ll do my best to get it done right and in a way that is both efficient & expedient. I’ve been in the army cadets for years now. They taught me about discipline, planning and achieving the objective. “My men didn’t cheat. They adapted, they improvised and they overcame.” Hamburger Hill and the Clinter, or somthing like that.
* * *

... a moment in conversation...

“How do people meet? Really meet? Is it a sturdy handshake and a hearty ‘How do you do?’ Or is it with an eye to eye glance? A thunderclap? A dull roar like the morning surf? How?
“What great G-d machinations are in effect? What underlying energies are in play? What toe tingling mysteries flow?
“Are sensations below the waistline the true north? Or the pilot heart, steering by the north star? How does one know? And how when the power of attraction has blinded all senses do we still decipher the maps of our human… destinies? Nay, desires. Biblical deceptions, biblical truths.
“And can we meet anyone without love? At some level? Some degree? A lust love? A mind love? An absolute beauty love like… say January Jones, Marlon Brando? A fill the void in love? All love? Moment love? Death & Birth love? Sour candy love? Brother love? Sister love? All love? Lists by the dozen love? Dirt & blood love? Holy saint love? Broken down eyes full of tears love? Sunshine flooding through broken world love? Desperately abandon all to gain the whole world love?
“Has the line of questioning drifted? Have the dream-lines redefined the horizon? Can heartbeats truly fade the frontline emotions?
“Breathe deeply in, breathe deeply out. Now, tell me truly, how do people meet?”
“That’s one of those… ah… rhetorical questions, right?”
“Rhetorically speaking…yeah.”

more excerpts:

"...
Drowsing in the late afternoon heat, he started awake suddenly. He hovered in that moment between dreamland and reality. Louis felt a wave of panic crash over him. He didn’t know where or who he was for a moment.
The long lone sound of a truck rolling by on the highway was soothing. Its familiarity calmed him. It was a reminder of sorts that the world outside was still there, going by. That he was still part of that world.
Country music wafted up from the radio downstairs in the motel’s office. It reminded Louis of the barn dances he had been taken to as a child. Staying up way past his bedtime. Watching the old men pouring what he thought was dust onto the floor so that the shoes would slide easier.
He remembered how the band would come on, country-checked shirts all matching, and everybody would get up to dance. Sometimes they wore kerchiefs tied around their necks just so. It always seemed to be the same band, the same songs, they were so familiar.
He told his mama one time he wanted to be a guitar player in a country band. She had grabbed him by the mouth, making his mouth look like a scrunched O and looked him right in the eye and told him: “You ain’t going to be no honky-tonking guitar playing cowboy, y’hear!?!” “Yes, m’m.” He’d dutifully replied, not quite understanding.
Now he lay back on the bed with a lukewarm beer in his hand. The sun slanting. The music far off filling his ears.
“Damn, these beautiful Country songs about love, about heartbreak.
“Damn, why can’t I once be the guy? Why can’t I be loved so well that the loss would be so great? What’s wrong with me? Am I not song worthy? Will I never be song worthy?”
Waking up fully Louis laughed and jumped up to get a cold beer and a glass of whiskey to chase it on back.
..."

excerpt:

“…and the echoing, faintly, of the one binding word. The simple word that has started wars, blood feuds and has helped to re-generate our population. O, lusty hymns sung in your praise. O, guiding light.
“When I look at the stars, especially on a cold winter’s night when they vibrate like diamonds, I am filled with harmonies upon harmonies singing out. Singing out as one. Singing out: LOVE.”

100 THINGS I WILL MISS: (and not in any particular order.)

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.