Thursday September 13, 2018
Soon we will be spread out
you here and her there and
me where we used to leave
the three of us
Different worlds maybe
Or that’s my fear talking
She sounds like you
I want to tell you everything
but I can’t
and that’s a first
and that’s strange
Curled up in my bed
watching the clouds
listening to jazz on the radio
dancing with my hands
until I fall asleep
My heart breaks for
who we used to be
The women on the corner
head’s thrown back
Thursday May 17, 2018
from The Observer (UK)
The lady with the floppy hat tells me that I should not let the doctors give me anything.
Don’t let them try to make you take more than your body needs.
Rely on homeopathic remedies.
I tell her my mother will flip her shit when she hears this.
The lady is concerned about my mother flipping and I have to tell her, out of joy.
My mother has been researching pills.
I think she thinks she has to prove to my sister that she knows what she’s talking about.
My sister will not take one wikepedia page as Gospel.
She used to take gospel as Gospel and would tell you that she is not that person anymore.
I didn’t want to take pills for my headache because the lady with the floppy hat
tells me that my body is too sensitive.
She tells me no alcohol either if I can avoid it.
I am about to tell her my mother will flip her shit again and then I stop.
I didn’t want to mess anything up but my head was already so messed up.
I took one of the white pills and swallowed the water.
I wasn’t going to take the second one because she said always take less than I need.
And then I took the second one.
Because I really didn’t want this headache.
I don’t know who to believe.
A faint throb quickens.
Saturday April 21, 2018
From a quote by Carlos Fuentos
He asks you if we are the kind of couple who needs
to spend every second together
He asks this while you are living in another province than me
I think it is one of those questions that doesn’t need an answer
But you answer in full sentences and give a thought out response
I would not have thought about it as long as you and
I suppose that is because I am not like you
You say it has taken a long time to get here
that once upon a time we were too codependent
and once upon a time after that we were too independent
and now we have found this happy medium where you can
go away and I can go away and we can live our individual
lives but still miss the other person
I would have simply said No
we’re not that kind of couple
And yet I appreciate all the history of us you are remembering
You know where we’ve been because you are not like me
and have been paying attention to the arc of things
I sometimes pretend like half of of our lives toegther
didn’t even happen in the first place
It is good that you are not like me
Saturday March 31, 2018
A quote from Stephen Hawking
In the 4th grade I was a times tables genius. I won around the world so many times I had to give some of my suckers away. By the time I got to the 5th grade I became so deathly afraid of graphs that I had to excuse myself to the bathroom anytime we played games that required the use of them. By the 6th grade I stopped remembering math class as a place to learn and turned it into one where I could practice my stand up routine. I think that’s when I realized I was funny. When all the kids in my class were being tested for the special skills test, I was deeply saddened when they didn’t ask me to do it. They were going to decide if those kids needed an individual education plan and I had high grades and I felt smart, but it was not enough to get the fancy folder with my name on it. I wondered why they thought that numerical testing was the only way to determine if we were gifted.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
On the walk home tonight you grabbed my hand so I wouldn’t tumble down the hill and told me you were seriously considering buying a camper van.
It was a nice moment.
I could tell you more about what I was thinking inside my head when you said it.
I could say that I wanted to know you forever right then and there. I could say I wasn’t sure all this time because I was convinced you would find a reason to leave me but then I was. And it felt different. It felt different than being weary of you. It felt different being so completely certain.
But I didn’t say any of those things. I smiled at you. I gripped your hand tighter. And I looked into your eyes with a deep sadness for all the moments before I doubted you. The moments before I doubted you could love me as much as I loved you and as much as I needed to be loved.
So I think that was enough.
I think that was all I needed to do.
And then we came home and baked some tortilla chips because why the fuck not.
Monday June 6, 2016 at Starbucks
Poetry Is Dead Magazine
Issue 01 Volume 05
There wasn’t a whole lot of proof that Ingrid and Raymond were meant for each other.
Ingrid preferred to eat outside, Raymond preferred to eat in.
Ingrid wanted to visit the kids in Vermont, Raymond wanted them to come to the cottage.
Ingrid told Raymond once that she didn’t have any idea how two people who loved each other as much as they did could disagree as much as they did. Raymond told Ingrid once that the only reason why they didn’t see eye to eye was because they were meant to be teaching each other.
Ingrid liked to write letters by hand and send them in the mail. When the two of them were young, Raymond worked overseas for two years and Ingrid asked if he would write to her.
Raymond didn’t like to write much; his penmanship was hard to read and that frustrated him. He told Ingrid that even if he didn’t send her a letter he would send her something and not to worry.
Tuesday April 12, 2016
from a text
When you ask me for the truth I gladly give it. Not to everyone, but to you, I don’t how not to. I remember sitting with you in a dusty bar a year and a half after first meeting you and feeling like that was the first time I actually got to know you. You said some profound shit and you were as lucid as I’d seen you. I preferred you like that. I wonder if you noticed me opening to you too. If you noticed me sharing more secrets or more weaknesses or more dreams laced in marijuana and vulnerability. We are close now like a weird combination of two unlikely flavours that you avoid combining at first because the idea puts you off, but that no longer surprises you once they’ve been mixed together and tasted and enjoyed.
So now. We’re both here: you in love with someone who loves you even more than you love him, and me in love with someone who loves me for reasons I will never comprehend, and we still have each other when we’re dying or when we’re thriving. You ask me if you think you deserve to be happy. I say yes. You ask me if you made mistakes. I say yes. You ask me if I’m happy. I say yes. You ask me if when the world ends, can we hold hands in a tulip garden. I say yes.
Monday April 11, 2016
overheard on the 99
You tell me you love me like a bazillion times a day and I say it back maybe once? Twice if I’m in a good mood. I wonder it it bothers you that I say I love pizza more than I say I love your lips or your hands or whatever nice shit you say to me. You don’t seem bothered. You seem normal. Not even phased. I assume because you must believe you’re hearing me return your sentiments every time you say them cause otherwise your heart would need mending. And I’m saying you seem fine so I imagine you feel great about needing to express yourself so much and being with a person who needs coffee before speaking to you and who wants to be left alone for the first 40 minutes after returning home. I used to think saying I love you meant meaning it. If you asked me now I’d say it had nothing to do with that.
Saturday November 28, 2015
From an email
Alana has stopped dreaming in colour and can’t figure out why
Maybe ever since she started seeing Rich things have been different
Maybe ever since she started filling her prescriptions and taking her pills
Maybe ever since she stopped eating cheese
Nothing makes Alana more upset then to think of her head as a black and white pod of pain
She feels like Dorothy before the tornado
She feels like somebody who isn’t her
She feels like her imagination is being replaced with something sad
Rich wakes up each morning with obnoxiously detailed dreams
Rich dreams in colour
Rich tells Alana how crazy it all was every single day
Alana used to dream the way Rich does
She used to remember every bit of them and sometimes use them to write her music
She used to look forward to going to sleep
Friday November 27, 2015 at Our Town
The Vancouver Sun
Friday, November 27, 2015
They play the kind of oldies music that I love here. I can’t help but tap my foot and sing along. It’s a crowded place. Not the best spot for open expression of who I am. If my father could see me he’d be so embarrassed at how little tact I have. He always hated when I’d check to see if I had food in my teeth in a knife while sitting at a restaurant. He thought it was classy. I thought it would be less classy if I spoke to someone with spinach hanging from my gums, but no, what I was doing was inappropriate. I couldn’t tell you how many times my dad has embarrassed me just by being narrow minded. I never told him that I didn’t want to be seen with him, even if he told a bad joke, or said that people with dreadlocks shouldn’t work at a housewares store. I even remember one time he came skating with my grade 4 class and fell on the ice in front of everyone. I was 9 and sure, it was a big deal then, but I did not act like I was even a little bit bothered because I bet he was way more embarrassed than I was. In fact now that I think about it I was really just worried that he might have hurt himself and there wouldn’t have been room for anything else…
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Said by Nadeem
SOMETHING BIG is coming. I CAN FEEL IT. I have that tingling in my fingertips. It’s not pins and needles, it’s INTUITION. I once felt the VERY EXACT thing in the tip of my nose and it PROTECTED me from danger of the VERY WORST KIND. Can I get into that right this moment? No. Why? Because it would CHANGE YOUR LIFE and you must be very ready for that kind of SHIFT. The tingle, if you were wondering is almost the same feeling as getting splattered with VERY HOT OIL. If you were also wondering, I don’t enjoy the feeling of getting oil splattered on me, or candle wax dripped on me, or anything else that could SUGGEST SADOMASOCHISM. I am not speaking about ANYTHING EROTIC IN NATURE. This is all free from that zone, I’ll have you know. The tingling is a warning that I must heed. The outcome does not necessarily have to be life-threatening or even negative. But I’m asking you to trust me that THERE WILL BE A CHANGE HERE. THE EARTH IS SHIFTING ON ITS AXES AND THE WORLD WILL TILT TO OFFER CLARITY.
Monday May 11, 2015
I called out to an old friend who had come back into my life recently. I called out to her while she still had one foot in my world and one out the door. I wanted her to hear everything before she left.
She turned her head slowly, with an expectant look in her eyes. She could see right through me like I was made of glass. She knew I was in need of her and the way things used to be. Maybe she was in need of me and the way things used to be too. It’s as if in that moment of time-stopping-fears-cast-aside-light-warming-honest-connecting we were transported back to the place where the rain poured everywhere except for directly on us. We were untouchable then and I wanted that again. If not for us, than for me. She was back and here for only moments, maybe not even. She held that daisy chain limp in her hand as if she knew time was a thing one of us imagined some hot afternoon in July.
Monday December 8, 2014
from an interview with Annabel Soutar
I have been telling myself for one whole year that I am good and worthy and beautiful and enough. My life coach told me I should recite these things and try to remind myself that I actually believe them. I started trying to believe them one morning in April of last year because it was the spring or something and things seemed like they were being reborn. I wanted to be reborn. I didn’t want to hate myself anymore. I didn’t want to wish I was born of a different woman and therefore raised by one, believing I was just different and not the me I actually was. The process was a long one. I was not the me I actually was or wanted to be, but the me I had no choice in being. The dead me with crispy hair. The forgotten me with only 5 friends at my funeral. I had a lot of visions that I would never wake up. So I went to her and told her with my blood: HELP.
Saturday December 14, 2013
Guinness Black Lager streetcar ad
Oh yeah I’d definitely define him as a curve ball? Sort of just your crazy man but without looking like that on the outside? Less ordinary than most people in his category and I’m sure I’ve seen my fair share of them. I think I noticed it first when he came over to my house to help Rodney with his math homework? He brought over a baseball glove and bat and the two of them played outside for hours. Rodney aced his test but I don’t remember them studying at all. I guess he has a way with explaining? Sort of never cared to question it further, cause we was seeing results and that’s all that mattered to Al and me. I think, no, I wouldn’t necessarily call him strange although he didn’t act like I ever expected. Strange sort of has a negative connotation and that’s not the kind of label I’m trying to give him. But different, maybe. Definitely special if you want to make sure he knows that I’m on his side? I never once worried when he’d spend time with Rodney. I think he liked being around kids cause they never judged him or nothin. They just sort of, let him be was all.
Monday, October 14, 2013
The Pocket Oxford Dictionary
Don’t know what to say. Don’t want to say the wrong thing and have you be mad at me.
It’s hard not knowing how to read you. Think you were born with some tricky looking expression that makes it hard for people to understand.
But you’re just like me. Have to remember that sometimes. Especially when flying. Especially, especially then.
You never did end up reading that book I sent you. I know this because I inscribed it and it wasn’t just some Mickey Mouse message. It was one of those real nice and honest ones. One that makes you cry or laugh or both. And I know if you had read it, you would have told me so. You would have hugged me. That’s something I’m sure of.
But you might have just forgotten to, and that’s understandable, being on your way to a completely different country, and having to get sorted right away. Books take less of a priority. But that’s how we’re different, I guess.
Been thinking about that for a while now. See, I would have read the book, and if not the whole thing then at least just the inside cover. Just to see if there was anything written there for me.
Just my principles, I guess. What I value. What I hope for when it comes to the people I love a great deal.
I’m just crossing my fingers you didn’t read it at all..
Might be worse to have you read it and not respond well to it. To think it unfunny, or meaningless to you.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
How to Shoot a Movie Story
Arthur L. Gaskill and David A. Englander
Well isn’t it weird that he doesn’t look directly at you when he’s talking? Isn’t it..uncomfortable?
No. Honestly. I’ve told you, he has an eye thing.
A what? He has an eye thing?
Yeah that thing that his eye does. Just wanders, it’s not creepy.
But like, where do you look when you speak to him? His forehead?
No you look in his eyes like you do everybody else.
But one is always going on its own little journey. You can’t ever look at both.
I know. You look at the good one. The one that stays.
Do you think it has any feeling in it? Like if you poked it mayb–
Eww. Don’t say shit like that. That’s a human’s eye. It’s an..an eye.
Whatever I’m not into weird eye things. It’s not a turn on for me the way it is for you!
Shut up. He’s a good guy. He’s way better than most guys with both good eyes.