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Sunday, April 17, 2016

to be continued

There is a scene in Bitter Moon where Oscar comes home after a wild night out on the town to find Mimi curled up at his doorstep. She looks like a domesticated cat who's found her way back home somehow, after being thrown in a burlap and released miles and miles away into the wilderness. Then there are her pleads, promising she won't cause any trouble, that she will stay in the background long as she gets to be with him in some shape or form and Oscar's desperate attempts to rid himself of this situation and resume the glories of his bachelor lifestyle.
Then somewhere between Mimi of Bitter Moon and Lux Lisbon of Virgin Suicides reality forms into a woman who swings between promiscuous curiosities, romantic ideals, deep insecurities and fear of abandonment. Somewhere in all the fiction and reality of novels and cinematic features and epics of love and romance, between fathers, brothers and past boyfriends, gender becomes an issue and draws thick thorny lines between the man and the woman of the story and blurs the lines that separate neurosis from reason. Somewhere between Oscar's fascination wearing off as Mimi's infatuation only grows real-life girls watch and tremble while virgins in harboured households end their own lives and the boys next door watch them with fascination...

Friday, April 15, 2016


On the way home carrying a swimming pool of pain (in the soft shell of my brains)
I kept touching my face.
the skin was ice cold and so soft (the glow of having lost some blood)
I guessed
as I eventually made it to the park,
there was someone on the swing with their backpack thrown on the ground. So I got on the one a little ways down and remembered how I had to thrust my legs forward to swing forth and dig backwards into the air as I swung back, because the momentum doesn't maintain itself. I closed my eyes while I swung like a pendulum in mid air and remembered how these things make me sick and remembered the man with the tattoos and the guitar and the golden voice that melted my heart and remembered his friend who disappeared for a while and when he finally wrote back he'd said "my tunnels are dark and long these days" and remembered how he didn't even reply because he just GOT it.

Thursday, March 31, 2016


Dissonance, Distress, Despair, Depression...
words that start with the letter D...
words that start with a dee sound
words that weigh down like a piano on one's chest
words that carry their weight in meaning
words that weave a web 'round a heart
words that come down like piles of rubble
and burry me underneath
DI vorce, Di vision, Di smantle, Di ssociate
words that break apart
brittle words like calcium-deficient bones
like damaged hair ends
Sore words, like cried out eyes

If I build a skin out of cement
I must remain soft inside
so that I don't crack
only pour
               only spill
                             only spread

Like ink advancing on wet paper
growing in the limits my tears have set

Saturday, March 26, 2016


A shard is a sharp piece of something.
I feel a glass breaking every time I hear that word
Even though breaking into sharp pieces is not specific to glass.
Sometimes frozen rain, when it hits my face on its way to land
                                                                        feels like shards of broken ice.

Sometimes, words, on their way to bounce back to the mouth that uttered them.

Words that come out as thoughts
words that spring out of a dead gaze
                                                        Thoughts that are thought out loud
take physical form
                                                         like tiny ginsu knives

like shards of broken fists
                                                         come and hit me like a thousand tiny sharp punches
like frozen rain

like things that were meant to hurt though they deny their purpose.

Wednesday, February 17, 2016


To think that the outlines of one person's body are another person's borders and in making someone your homeland you draw and define your own geography. And that we are all bodies and our bodies home to ones who get caught in the barbed wires of our frontiers trying to escape. And that we are forever prisoners of the bodies we have gotten ourselves stuck in and no mileage is great enough, no distance far enough, to forget Who we come from.