God rest ye merry gentle folk.

 

To all that I love and admire,

Merry Christmas.

xho xho xho

Broken Social Scene Nov. 27, 08

From the mouth of the five-year-old at dinner.

Would you rather:

Shower with cockroaches or eat the fleas off a dogs bum?

Wasn't expecting that question.

(i chose the cockroach shower)

November 4th

happy birthday mom.

keeping old traditionas alive.

x

November pt 2.

I dearly miss Mad Men.

there is a vacant lot in my Sunday.

November

"And so," he said peering at the most recent photograph of himself, "It would appear that gravity...is winning."

Happy birthday.

toes

i like where they boldly goes,

they stick their heads out 

and say their helloes, 

there is something fun about your toes. 

they never wander and they never grows.

they aren't always out there 

like the tip of our nose,

but your nose has nothing 

next to your beautiful toes. 

in spring i love the way they take a peak 

aching from the winters boot worth of sleep. 

brightly coloured they appear 

fresh from an aetheticians trim.

- well groomed aubergine heads -

but most of all, 

i like your toes when 

they are next to mine in bed.

Thoughts for Conversations

"You know," he said in-between bites of his salad, "I was thinking of the Beatles." 

She said nothing. He continued.

"There are no bad Beatles' albums. There are only debates about which one is the best. "

"Huh," she said, "You're right." 

"It's an interesting thought." 

yesterday was playing in the background. 

they finished their meal in silence. 

Deflated

a flat tire

left me tired

at the end of  

what turned 

out to be a 

really 

lousy 

day.

 

Today I...

Today I actually saw water rolling off of a duck's back.

But in all actualities it was a goose. 

And so it was my day. 

the coincidence coincidence

Was at at meeting pitching a jingle when this woman I vaguely know who is the spokesperson for a hearing aid company is mentioned. I mention that I know this person. 

I bump into her at a family picnic on Saturday. 

Coincidence. 

Just a coincidence. 

999 songs but the bitch ain't one.

with the most recent purchase of Grizzly Bear's "Yellow House", I now have 999 songs in my Mac's itunes. 

It it such a lovely number. 

The Coldplay Coincidence

Saturday. Chris Martin woke me up with his singing which is an unusual occurrence seeing that he was neither with me in my bed or on the radio (which was not on). Still, Vida la Vida was playing somewhere in the back of my mind while I dreamt and was playing loud enough to awake me. 

I stumbled out of my bed in my usual Saturday morning routine and made my way downstairs to get the paper, feed the cats and make coffee - it is a sad telling of age that there is so formal a routine. I fear that were I to veer from this well worn path the day would never begin - though this is another story of neurosis for another time.  I still couldn't explain why Chris Martin woke me in such a manner. 

Normally, after the out-of-the-bed-stumble, I turn on the radio first thing (as I alluded, my life is a routine).  On this particular morning i was fairly eager to test out my theory that the song must be playing on the radio - one of those chance moment that always happen and are the beginnings to those small stories that end with " That's so freaky".

So I turned on the radio. It had been tuned to the MIX - a station seemingly devoted to the playing of Coldplay and bands that sound like Coldplay. My wife listens to this station. I do by default and when I want to hear Coldplay. 

To my surprise they were not playing Viva la Vida or any other of the group's songs. I thought of calling the station to ask what was wrong but I had a cat mewing for food at my ankle. 

Undeterred I immediately turned the radio dial and tuned in another station. CBC Radio 1. Public radio. My station. The station that never plays Coldplay and never would unless they  were Canadian and probably still wouldn't out of spite toward their popularity. It would be a perfect psychic coincidence moment if they were to play the song and it would be better served by having the irony of being played on the CBC. What a morning it would be. 

No luck. No Coldplay. Just some song by Sergio Garcia. Perfect for the CBC. 

Truthfully I was a little disappointed. I really wanted to hear the song so I could arrive at work armed with a good story about coincidence and psychic possibilities that would end with "That was so freaky." 

I left my radio and my hopes of hearing more Chris Martin (remember he was in my head earlier) and went downstairs to clean the cat litter - my Saturday mornings just keep getting sexier I know. So I am downstairs scooping and half listening to the tail end of Sergio Garcias' esoteric opus when I hear the opening chords to:

Vida la Vida. 

On the CBC. 

After Chris Martin woke me up. 

That's so freaky. 

Nothing a Beer Couldn't Solve

On Thursday he ate his lunch in the elevator.

It was that kind of day. 

Post #100

There is a remarkable sadness
that comes when
seeing a
beautiful woman
in bad shoes.

A Memoir

I grew up in a family that was obsessively neutral about birthdays. Enthusiasm of any sort was duly squashed and put in it's rightful place. 

Faeries Among Us or Quite Possibly the Best Photo Ever.

Victims of un-synchronized passion

It's plain from both sides of the correspondence (the JFK Library already had 31 letters and telegrams from Dietrich to Hemingway, sent between 1950 and 1961) that the strong emotional bond between them was matched by a comparable physical attraction. Intense protestations of love pepper the correspondence .

Yet Dietrich and Hemingway were never lovers. They were, as Hemingway once remarked to his friend and future biographer A.E. Hotchner , "Victims of un-synchronized passion." Whenever one party was unattached, the other was not.

The lack of physical consummation may have contributed to the often-heated sentiments Hemingway expressed. "What do you really want to do for a life work?" he wrote on June 19, 1950. "Break everybody's heart for a dime? You could always break mine for a nickel and I'd bring the nickel." Later in that letter, he refers to his new novel as "Under the Arm-Pits and Into the Trees."

(Mark Feeney, The Boston Globe  |  March 27, 2007)

June 17th

Clouds could not push away the 

warmth i felt for you today. 

I listened to Norah Jones and thought 

about the grandson you never met

who holds your name as his. 

Corrie. 

The Greatest Song of All Time

- CJRW, Home of the classic hits.

- Hi, is this Nighttime Dan?

- Yes it is. Who am i speaking with?

- This is The Greatest... but first off I'd like to tell you that I'm a really big fan.

- That's nice to hear. Do you have a request?

- ...and that I'm a first time caller but a long time listener.

- Thanks for calling so what's your request. 

- Oh yes, excuse me, I'm a bit nervous. 

- Just spit it out. 

- Okay. Here goes. Ahem. I'd like you to play the The Greatest Song of All Time. 

- And what would that be? 

- Be? It's The Greatest Song of All Time.

- I'm sorry sir but I'll need a title. 

- It's The Gre...

- Song of all time. Yes sir, but I'll still need a song title or an artist.

- I told you it's...

- look I'm not that great at guessing games and we got a line up of callers so just tell us what the greatest song of all time is and we'll play it for you. 

- it's me.

- what?

- It's me. I'm The Greatest Song of All Time. 

- Really sir? 

- Really. 

- Are you sure? Because i've never heard of you. 

- That's because you haven't played me. 

- But it's just not that easy sir - umm may I call you Greatest? 

- Sure. 

- Look Greatest, I'm sure you are great and that people really love you but I just can't play something unproven that no one has ever heard. 

- But they will.

- Perhaps but not here. Here we play the Beatles and their like.

- Who?

- The Beatles. The greatest band of all time?

- Hey we have the the same first name. 

- Thanks for calling sir. 

- Wait! Please!

- Yes sir. 

- Could you play Rocket Man instead?

- Right away sir. 

A Postcard from London

The Future is...

The Arrival

from the perspective of fireworks

On May 19th there were fireworks.
Vibrant red chrysanthemums
exploding in the sky.
We didn't speak
most of the way home.

PaD #21

going home now.

long 

day

is

over

.

PaD #20

i looked for you

in the winter

and found you

laying between 

crisp white sheets.

PaD #19

you can see me,

but have stopped 

looking. 

PaD #18

i've allowed my posts

to fall by the way,

but now I am back 

with my poem a day.

PaD #17

there is no one there

today to tell you something.

you are beautiful. 

PaD #16

I like to pretend that
Alec Baldwin is in my head.

Narrating my events like
getting up and going to bed.

"With a little bit of bluster,"
or
"with a calm disguise he went about his day."
These are the words that
Alec Baldwin in my head would say.

But here I am the only voice in my skull
is mine alone - there's no trace of
Alec Baldwin at all.

No "The thing about..."
or "He felt this way."
said by Alec Baldwin in his
Alec Baldwin way.

Alas, my inner voice
is no where near as neat.

I'm hoping Alec Baldwin's becomes
available
that truly would be a treat.

From Schweaty Balls to GlenGarry, to
Describing Tennebaum's strife,

If Alec Baldwin narrated me,
It would be a wonderful life.

PaD #15

i can't have you here.
the line he crossed was her line.
you have to go back.

PaD #14

and in the end
nothing was broken
except for a few
hearts.
casualties of war.

PaD #13

the sun is out,
the grass is green,
winter is almost dead.
it's warm outside
yet cold indoors,
for I am sick in bed.

PaD #12

hands on body.

skin on skin. 

on and off

and 

in-between.

PaD #11

the crisp, clean white shirt

makes the very best impression.

a knight in armour.

PaD #10

a bit of self pity. 

a writer writes

just as cuts must bleed.

just as day will be night

and grass is from seed.

but this writer here,

doesn't write anymore

his down is up

and his pen is a bore. 

PaD #9

lay down on the grass

with me and run your fingers 

through my fresh cut hair. 

PaD #8

mouth to mouth,

toe to toe,

hand on back,

nose to nose.

eyes open,

will 

closed.

we're together.

we're alone.

lips to lips

and 

loin to loin.

resist if you wish but

you know where this is going. 

PaD #7

sunrise

gravity gets us all 

though 

a part of me remains

defiant

especially

when you wear your

favourite shirt. 

PaD #6

 Tulips, Daffodils and Dirt

Spring is here, spring is here.

Tulips and daffodils and dirt.

Blessed are the sightings of

the short and flowing skirt.

Spring is here, spring is here.

Tulips daffodils and dirt. 

It also means the taking off 

of my neighbour's blasted shirt. 

  

PaD #5

Today, 

will be spent

in

thoughts 

of 

you. 

PaD #4

I

could

stare

at

you

all

day.

10 Things Wrong

Excerpt from Dean Wareham's memoir "Black Postcards: A Rock n Roll Romance" 

I can see why they were so upset with me. How could a friend do such a thing? But I would counter that we were not quite friends at that point. We were bandmates. Our friendship didn't go down the drain in a minute flat. Our friendship had been trickling down the drain for a couple of years now.

Was there something wrong with Damon and Naomi? Or course there was—my therapist says there are ten things wrong with every person. There are plenty of things wrong with me, too.

Some of my best friends are crazy. But that's okay, because I don't have to ride in a van with them for five weeks. We're just friends. Damon and Naomi were lovely people, brilliant and artistic and likable. I loved Damon's fluid, jazzy style on the drums, and Naomi's simple and melodic bass parts. I like Damon's poetry and Naomi's miniature paintings. But they were driving me crazy.

10 things huh? 

Damn. 

PaD #3

Dirty.

a fantastic thought

passed through me

while we were speaking.

but i refuse to tell you.

this one is mine.

Theology from a Four-Year-Old

"I guess God must be the last number." 

huh. 

Poem a Day #2

oh the joy in writing a poem a day,

and delighting in the trickiness of 

tricky word play. 

i'll pile the words high 

with a metaphorical shovel,

anything to put off

writing that dammed 

novel. 

Poem a Day # 1

Some need
a kiss upon the forehead.

Some need
a kiss against a wall.

Some need
to be left to their lonesome,

Without any kisses at all.

It's National Poetry Month.

Sounds like a time for celebration. 

Or perhaps some poetry.

Good or bad the challenge has been given.

The gauntlet thrown down. 

A poem a day - good or bad - for the month of April. 

As seen here: http://laurelsnyder.com/?p=19

A warning: 

It's not going to be pretty.  

Anthony Minghella is Dead

I will truly, madly, deeply miss his voice. 

Gravity

Her breasts drooped and curved. 

She caught him looking. 

Just Looking

“What?” she would ask.

“Nothing.” He’d respond and keep staring, a smile crawling across his face.

“What?” she’d say annoyed.

“Just looking,” he’d say.

“Stop.”

And he would. It was over just like that. He had learned not to pursue the point. Engagement was not going to happen. He let it go.

New Favourite Album

Grizzly Bear - The Friends EP

It is indie-rock with banjo and the Beatles.

Or something like that. 

The Six Word Memoir pt 3

He let go and never recovered.

Saturday Night

"You will never age for me."

"Write me well."

I simply adore Shakespeare in Love and I write this with a tear in my eye. 

It's a mystery really. 

 

Today

Deanna got felt up by a raindrop. 

"It's cold," she shrieked.

The Six Word Memoir pt 2

His last act was with her. 

The Six Word Memoir pt 1

He got lost finding his way. 

La Luna

He lay there staring out his bedroom window hoping she was looking at the same moon. 

Sunday Morning Swimming Lessons

The lifeguards are blurry-eyed wearing night before hair.

what's new on your block?

the
writing,

it

is

not

coming

.

perhaps soon

.

perhaps

.

A Valentine's Thought

thinking of blue

hands free

take my hand, he said he said.

like this? she said she said.

and place it where you wish, he said he said.

like here? she said.

and here? she said.

where ever you wish, he wished he wished.

how about inside here? she touched she touched.

it's warm, he said he said.

you moved, she said she said.

hold still, she said she said.

i like this place, he said he said.

Just to be Daring

Just to be daring,

he started the day 

by putting his pants on

with both legs

at the exact same

time.

This Space is Ours ( A Class Project)

“Can you believe that about Reese and Ryan?”

‘Who?”

“Witherspoon and her husband!”

“What happened to them now?”

“Are you kidding? Ooh over there, there there. Damn. I hate small cars. Try over there.”

“I’d love too. “

“Over there. There’s a space over there.”

“It’s not a space.”

“Just go.”

Where?

“There. Next to the car.’

“Where am I looking? Where am I looking?”

“You just passed it. Nice going.”

“There will be other spaces I’m sure.”

“I should have driven.”

“That space would have been ours then.”

“It would.”

“Then we’d be shopping. Think of the happiness.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

“Why?”

“If you are going to act like this all day I would prefer you to stay home.”

“Like what? What am I doing?”

“You’re being an idiot.”

“Oh that’s nice. Name calling over a parking space.”

“But why do you always want to park so far away? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Would it kill you just to look around closer to the door? Apparently it would.”

“Wait a sec. It’s a five minute walk versus like 20 minutes of driving in circles.”

 “It’s cold.”

“Deal with it.”

“Look! Right there. There, there.”

“What?”

“Slow down on the right. (pause) “What’s wrong with you?”

“Apparently everything.”

“Why didn’t you just park there?”

“I didn’t see it.”

“Why? Was the space too empty for you?”

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

“Am I sounding too much like you?”

“Fuck off.”

“Don’t talk to me that way.”

“Woah hold on. You just called me an idiot.”

“You’re being an idiot and it’s way different than ‘fuck-off.”

“How?”

“Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not being obtuse. I’m standing up for myself.”

“By telling me to fuck-off.”

“You called me an idiot. Fuck. When is that nice?”

“Over there.”

“I see it.”

(pause)

“Are you crying?”

“Shh.”

“Is this about parking?”

“No it’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“It’s so sad. It’s just so sad.”

“What?”

“Reese and Ryan.”

“Really?”

“It’s just so sad.”

“Have you talked to Reese? Is she doing okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re crying over two people you’ve never met. It’s a little bit silly.”

“I know. I just thought they were different.”

“You just never know. Point a finger at any marriage and it could be falling apart.”

“It’s just so sad.”

“We’ll send them flowers. Okay?”

“Idiot.”

“I love you too. Do you want to go in?”

“No. Let’s just go home.”

“And waste this perfect parking spot?”

“It’s is pretty good isn’t it?”

“Come on. We’ll be quick.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Val Kilmer's Back

thankful

he is surrounded by great talent and kind hearts.

for that he is truly thankful.