Friday, April 3, 2009

Talking between tides

I got pulled over by a cop from a road
that never really ended and neither did his tone
he spoke of heightless skyscrapers and cordless telephones
but i just sat with my top down and cried into the cupholders

Now that man was real funny and showed me respect
Mirrors for his eyes, no life to detect
every time I gave an answer, hoping to open
I look back at myself and the paper I'm Smoking

I hide under trends and reputable bends
between bones and my joints that let my flesh blend
I've found a new glory, that lets me sleep well
under sheets paved with green rolls, and a hand-ridden smell.

It's easy to render the things I remember
unless I betray myself and my thoughts in a blender
then I won't relish the taste of my inner wish
I let myself talk and vomit on the spoken dish.

It's like an ocean out there sometimes
Inside seas bedded with air
between good folks and bad old ones
with minds that don't compare
but when you take apart that liquid covered dish
Tides are your conscious and you'll always meet new fish.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

cancer to the gut.

and with the echo I let myself in, sitting amongst the posters and lint i've grown up around, letting myself believe in the colours they printed and tints that graced the floor.

Was is this room? My old living space?
The area in which I insured my trust with the rest of the world, that no matter how bad it got that this little section of walls and flooring was mine?

Fuck, I rent for christ's sake.

I wish I could write for me, I think it still comes out of a cliche.
Not that it's fair to give a judgement halfway through one's prose.
That just makes the puzzle of written piece jumbled, like there's more to the words than just the formation of each letter.

Writing to me is an honesty,
the one you can't speak because we're to immature.
the one you can move to because the beat is off.
the one you can't remember because you've gotten blind over the years.

Writting to me is like a stab,
It goes, maby not as quick as you'd like, but it goes through, slowly taking pieces of ideas from the wound you've made and takes them along to the rest of the body, staining each new idea that prints itself.
Once the knife reaches the other side your already done, and like marauders we look over our work again, just to make sure you didn't miss any crucial arteries.

writing is like an autopsy to a piece of paper, and the victim has a stab wound.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Fink.

I've lit an old cigar from my past.
Not that I feel it's nostalgic nor in any matter of the sense; cool.

I feel that there is an unknown camaraderie between man and his breath.
That the only way to feel truly alive with one's lungs, is to work them, test them, give them a smell and colour. 

Breathing aside, it's clear that most unknown and unfaced motions in our lives are the most important ones, the ones that put things off-kilter in a sort of unknowing romantic way. These motions are like a portion of our minds that we don't know exist. The comforting thought that millions of actions are within power to go smoothly or explode without ignition and no matter how many hours the day graces us, we go to bed the exact same way every day. 
how morally strong we all are.
how incredibly ignorant we all are.
how completely insightful is the comment itself when we don't think about it?
what if we just mindlessly live and give in.

When everything works out to keep the seconds passing, i'd say that's a plus.
It's a point, a stagnant pool of comfort, keeping our team just a few points up to feel safe. 
It's rewiring the bell to allow for just a few more rounds in the boxing match, to see the little guy get beat just for a few more minutes.

Most say it's human nature, but selfishly putting ourselves in the shoes of dogs and birds is merely comical. 
We are what we have done in the past and without the series of events leading up to our existence we would be like every animal we so boastfully compare ourselves to. 

We are instinctual and selfish hoarders of the national thought. We are animals who will attack with weapons. We are our own destruction. 

Then why all this thought? all this abrupt imposition of self loathing and spiraling case of paranoia? Why give us the weapons to our own defeat as central human beings?
We have this power to use, and as a questioning species it is in our wills to use that power because we own it, not God or anyone we don't believe in.

God is my friend and I thank him for what he is given, but does he expect anything in return?
If so then I feel he's gotten the piece of coal promised to him by his lying parents on the night of the 24th of december. Regardless of each clashing story, it's not whether we believe in Santa or Christ himself but how we create a story for ourselves.
Will we make idols in the next generation who we see fit as a glorifying persona, set into motion to set us free as a people?
Or will we question some more and just keep puffing away at the cigar or baby smokes, buzzing ourselves until the next high.

Now I'm not anything but I do know me as myself. I let everything go into motion knowing most of it can be against what I believe, 
but I guess that's what having thought is all about.

Knowing that no matter how much I believe somthing....
There are over 9 billion reasons why I'm wrong.
But at least you know that one of them could be right.


who are we in escapse-pods?

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Grand Theft Always.


-you still here?
=your funny! I could leave.
-I was merely noticing your fading state of mind, almost like you were falling asleep or something.
=well you did rock me hard you big stud.
-Yeah thats hot, use that grade 11 voice.
=Your a pig you know that.
-I'd prefer you use my proper species name, MAN.
=Your fake epic voice is amazing.
-I've been working on it.
=For me?
-Who else.

=I wonder about that sometimes.
-Wonder about what?
=I don't know, just if you ever have other girls on your mind.
-Well I am wondering if my mom will do my laundry and accept my alcoholism when I go back home.
=*ppmk..No, not like that... like do you ever have other girls on your mind? like sexually? or even provoking idea?
-Well thats unfair
=What?
-Well attacking a basic human element of my manhood, It's not my fault if I turn my head for 3 seconds.
=Huh?
-If I see a pretty girl I look at her yes, every women is different and its amazing to just notice sometimes but for that 3 seconds I'm still in love with you as much as the rest of the time in the day.  Days in the years. Years in my life.
=teehee
-Ah still jokes? I got kinda wet when I heard myself say that.
=Ewwwww!
-haha, Don't worry baby, If you'd like proof just replay the last 45 minutes.
=True, I don't know I just get these thoughts sometimes, I don't know why.
-Wait are you a girl?

=*hmfp If i'm not then what does that make you?
-No, I was just meerly remarking on the paradox of asking a girl if she is a girl after she does a very girly thing.
=....huh?
-I mean you female always have to be sure somtimes, cover your tracks.
=Your hair looks good on this side
-Again covering your track, or hiding them.
=I don't know, I guess I just do it because I'm afraid of you leaving. 
-Come on, have enough belief, treat me like a religion. Then I'll love you like I'm a God and your my child.
=sigh, I will. Just know that If you ever did leave, as long as your still knew me and we did the occasional "grocery shop" I'd be alright with that.
-Now that was a big "Track Cover" but it was sweet.
=Oh, and I love you. haha
-Good.

=Your nose looks bent.
-cause it was just crushed against your face
=nah, I think you look crooked sometimes
-ouch.
=Not in a bad way, when you get serious your face goes into a state of being. Like it's so focused that even a crooked eyelid or falsely puckered lip looks amazing.
-Well I could do Clint Eastwood for you.
=Nah you can be my action-star!

-Think so? Think I could do action.
=Yeah but I see you more as a Will smith character, defeating all of your enemies with sappy catch phrases from your tasteless 80s sitcom. 
-Hey, Big Willy was the king back then. Will you be my Jada Pinkett? Jumping off walls and shooting in slow motion?
=Your such a geek
-Studies say geeks get the most action, and bear-like people are the best to cuddle with.
=With the way you sleep Its more like a Sloth
-A sloth with sick dance moves!
=Your like Travolta when you drink, and Journey when you sing

-You know me eh? your prize is as follows...
=Oh goodie!
-Long years with a move-bustin', irish walking, anti-sour-kraut with shrapnel for a skin tone and stability like a 90s telephone.
=Sign me up baeh beh.

............

.............

.............


Kissinginthespaces.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

A Show for Angels

-So what's with all his procrastinating Gabe?
=I think it's in his nature man.
-Well thats a given but I'm talking on a logical term, not discussing varies in common knowledge about the boy. We know this lad more than most.
=Well then I don't know, he's always taken it slow but I guess he's unsure, new to this plain on life.
-It is pretty radical being his own man at this age.
=If you can call it that
-What do you mean

=Listen Lloyd, we aren't ones to judge the way each and every one of them take their roles in life but it's incredible how some have different views on their freedom. 
-You think this one isn't free?
=Just the opposite, I think he isn't in for the common institutions that always seem to play with his thoughts and haunt his memories in the past. 
-It's just not that big of a deal to him, he gets by and with a good attitude.
=He just knows that he loves himself and others around him, I just feel that he's too...
-...  comfortable being himself?
=Exactly, now I don't even need to address any tone of negativity when I remark on his personality, it's just...Remarkable
-How so?
=You ever think as mature and at the same time act so childish?
-Everyone gets by with different phrases, using them like key-cards to the conversations, he just wants to know everyone.
=It's remarkable how shyness doesn't drag him once he knows the person is pure.
-He can spot the best i'd say.
=Well isn't it obvious? She takes over his soul.
-Who her? I forgot she was still around?

=Where the fuck have you been?
-What? So I missed a few plot points
=A few? Dude, these two have been back together for over a year now.
-Well I always knew they were meant to be
=You knew nothing, they weren't even a real unit until this year passed.
-Well I did notice a growth in his sexual prowess.
=Well thats one way to look at it, he really has grown, and so has she.
-Tell me more about her, she was a great character from the last season
=Come on man, she's still pure, she friendly, approachable, polite and has gotten even cuter. And she's more than a character to him.
-Well yeah I always knew Mike had it in him.
=Well his high-school days are over and they really left a black mark on his ego.
-I'd say, regardless of what he harbors from earlier days it's amazing to watch her paint away the pain.
=So you do know her now.
-No I don't remember her character these days.
=So you haven't been watching lately.
-No, but just recently watching him, I notice his truth, his sincerity. 
=She really brings the best out in the boy.
-Funny that you use that word to describe him. Seems like he's more in-touch with his inner child, and at the same time, ready to take on the world with an open hand for her to fill.
=It's amazing Lloyd, how much two people can grow within their central comfort of themselves, that unknowing need for each others answer, their warmth, their puzzle-like body structures. 
-It just works I guess.
=The best part about it is that he knows it, he knows it because he's living it. He can sense her falls, get her out of that shell while she brings him back to that world that drives him, That planet made of wrinkles and giggles that only he can observe like a scientist, studying each motion and nerve she makes.
-She's his painting? His Mona Lisa?
=The rising force that gets him to bed, and brings him back from slumber.
-Hey, he's picking his pimples.
=He's picking at the memories he had with her, and the ones they'll make when they are back again.
-Thats when I'm tuning in again, this story is getting good.


When You Look at Yourself ... Look Away
Your for Her.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Drive me mama with your wagonwheel

Ill tell you that your legs are too hard pressed
on the pedal with pressure
your skin is so blessed
im going to ask you to speed up the dile
but slow down the moment
for one small while

im wonderin' bout the plains made by the creators
sitting in your car with glare on aviators
im guna go nuts 
but first
im making sure were on the right way____

Cause in the plain sight
with the headbeams I share
with rain with the lights
the sight looks so rare
and i can't wait for you to see what im talking bout
cause its hard for to notice your smiles and pouts

im wonderin' bout the plains made by the creators
sitting in your car with glare on aviators
im guna go nuts 
but first
im making sure were on the right way_____
 
it's not whether were guna crash this tin can
cause no matter where we go babey, hey, ill be your man
oh
were short on the gas
but not on the fluid that moves us 
no
the cars guna die
so get some money, for the bus

we only young but we feel so dam old
were only hittin 20 but your seats still stay cold
and we can stay in the back seat
untill the morning comes by___
yeah babe
The keys can only come out when its time to say good bye____
ohhh yeah

im wonderin' bout the plains made by the creators
sitting in your car with glare on aviators

my seats my own and I sit in it with pride
untill i see you again
and we go for our ride.



mikeWORDS
tuneAGAINSTME!

Monday, August 4, 2008

Watch my watchwoman


how do I know things will get better?
how do I know that pure form of desensitizing behavior as it gets more and more ripped apart like you never knew anything before?
how can I learn more about her in one single tear and at the same-time want to learn even more with every cup of steam bellowing from her ears.
how can I understand why the future feels in-front of me more than it ever has?
how can I see little snapshots and small significant flashes of the future like a superhero's God given power?
how can I know that everything is as good as I let it be known?
How can I not go insane with this amount of human liberation overflowing by the flesh coloured bucket loads?
How can I know that I love her?

I think it's because I do...
all things in turn will get done,
and forever,
I do.



FightersOasisAgainst ME!
VirginFEST08
PUMPeD.
http://virginfestival.ca/toronto/