*the tree stump*

The tree stump

Everyday I come here
not to rest or play
to remember
that moment we had

God! it feels like decades
how time makes you old
you were sitting right there
it all happened so fast

you came to me and kissed me
the love in your eyes
I didn't know what to say
you knew that anyway

you were so fair and modest
unlike the other girls
I was drawn to your motion
your light amber curls

we carved our names in the tree
not with hearts but exclamation marks
we were free and in love and nothing could stop us
until you found blood dripping from your nose

every day it was the same
the drip in the morning
the gush after night
those hours we spent in that hospital
the medication they prescribed

how long would this last
"it's just a nose bleed"
then you got weak and critical care
they diagnosed you with leukemia

I stared at the report
trying un-see what i saw
8-10 months the doctor said
"if we were lucky"

I was there in that bed beside you
kissing your neck, kissing your palm
it was too far gone
they had to do surgery

then you were gone
everything we built together
saw together, lived together
what we enjoyed

those moments gone in a flash
you were no longer in this world
the doctor said his sorry's
I just couldn't take it 

so I come back here
to the tree where we met
no more names
just bitter pulp

I sat on the stump
I held your locket
those moments I missed
God! is it all my fault?

Gg

Presidents Choice spaghetti ad?

*camera angle birds eye view of a plate of spaghetti*
eat it
love it
munch it
savour it
feel it
make it
want it
slurp it
chew it
cover that fork
some cheese please
or hot peppers
some use a spoon
on top of spaghetti
don't lose your meatball
no sneezing
make it however you like it
it's still Mamma's cheesy spaghetti and meatballs

Presidents Choice-ad cheese-ad healthy spaghetti and fresh meat balls from the butcher
make it yours with PC

29/06/2015

Pandora's box

eggs, spinach and toast
such a lovely combination
in the morning it rained
in the summer it poured

what do you do about that now?
can you lift a hand to help?
is the box still Pandora's?
are you afraid to let her out?

she wails inside her prison
no books to read, no drink to succeed
my god, she is thirsty
she needs her lip gloss

you have the  key
either open or disregard
I can't stand the frustration
either let her in or out

the key in the lock
I knew you were weak
the box has been broken 
let her mayhem soar decadently

a hero must be called
No! a genius hero must be found
to tempt her faith and will
she must get back in the box

the genius is stumped
the hero overrides him
he takes the Pandora entity
he fights with her til dawn

she is stronger than he thought
full of power and determination
our hero grabs her by the hair
the box begins to adjust

No! she screams 
I must do this dear, we must defend
she whimpers to our hero's tears
his one true love has to be defeated

she has entered the box
it takes the willpower of our hero to slam it shut
the whispers in the box
she whispers to him

our genius-hero leans against the box
tears in his eyes, unhappy of what he has done
he wipes the tears and the locals prepared a feast
No, thanks, our hero mumbles

as he wanders into another part of town
what has Pandora taken?
your soul and his
our genius-hero, in pain for his sorrow

his pain is too real, no more cupids and arrows
his pain too real
his pain
real

Gg

pauper

the pauper presents himself
not a worry in the world
the king laughs to himself
the pauper turns his hair into a curl

obey me, the king demands
the pauper freely ignores
you will not take my hands
out of fear of modern chores

crying to the world at large
the pauper sings to himself as he walks to the store
the king is the one who is in charge
he melts all those who sit at the core

who will then make the people laugh
the ones who the king most needs
the playwright, the critic
the one on the stage

walking around town
leather bound
secular, sexual hunger pangs
a kingdom born under leather pants

the pauper finds brothers
to take down the king
they fight with their words
the drinks are all free

Hello, I love you
the pauper's band does play
at twenty seven years old
he covers up the pain

naked in the sink
with no stone to throw
a lady to his bedside
hears nothing of his pain

the king hears it
the song in his head
the soft parade has now begun
the king fails to hold the pauper for what he has done

up to his ankles in despair
the king begs the lady to save him fair
she looks at the lizard king
with a needle in hand

she falls down naked
the king is never dead

philosophy infinity

no chicken tonight
no beef ever
pork is a definite no no, i'm surprised I can even type
just veggies and fish
for me
to you
the healthy way
gain weight
lose more fast
this society we live in, to thrive what we should be an advertisement
six pack of abs for the six pack of beer
trained
in the gym
everyday
body and soul
but we are not all like that
when pizza and wings are just five minutes away
discipline
judgement
i have tried, but i am a weak man
a sick man
a sorrowful man
a bitter crybaby
in my mind, that is
i read to you, to teach
to expand your mind and discuss the future
for I am gone already
tender aged
burnt out
looking for a comeback
an escape in prose
the lines on my face grow cheeky
I have lived so you can be free, child
how we forget so fast?
how we loath the moment
how we spit venom in the eyes of those who help
those who help, cannot read
the lips as they move
to decide the factors which we cannot adjust in nature
the dearest go mad at the inkwell, in their cell
an aging philosopher sits mad like Buddha, for no longer the sick can write
guide, guide then slide
the aging philosopher sees what is in need for the world
he is whipped til he's quiet
then thrown to the wolves
a cracked actor takes his place
chimes Bowie on the boardwalk

I write so I cannot read

I write so I cannot read
these books of literature cloud my judgement of  a new world
where art dominates all and the feeble mind becomes the greatest known in the world
the stories are a must
I write so I cannot read
the books of fortune and lust tend to their flowers
growing like orchids and flourishing as daisies
pick a few and it'll catch you
can you afford it?
to lose what you do not have?
and what we do have is intellect,
and no can take that away from you
they may burn our books, but they will never take our knowledge
or help
in revolt
try to extend a hand when it was too late
only for looking what is right for them and not the masses
the individual thrives in the masses, for this is where he learns
and conducts
and revolutionizes
they look at him as if he were a piece of dirt
lying in a grain of salt
built in a particle of sand
but you put those together and you create
the individual finds others of like mind and creates numbers to revolt
figure out what this chicken scratch means and you will find the delicate power
thrust yourself in and just play it by ear
you won't fit in, but you will see more than them
you will see the virtue of the lies they have created for themselves
teaching themselves that it does not exist
and that it will achieve to nothing but only libraries of the mind
we will think more and achieve more
something we can work to perform
it's all about seeing whose country measures its own border
and there is no borders, we should be free
administer the bullshit and buy another hat
then bow or salute the emptiness of your soul
vengeful the individual acts, not alone anymore
and he will prove to the unjust that society has not failed
and we
as a whole,
we will continue to be individual in a land that is free

baby blue

News speaks of will at last
you fight yourself through trailers, better use them fast
the empty calendar strikes anew
you're voice begins to tremble distant fuel
and she's there, calling you
and, it's all over now, baby blue

the work of writing is meant well dressed
he works to provide the family he has at last
the wonderful type of gold in his hand
will distance himself away from his plan
the shouting whistle blows for you
and, it's all over now, baby blue

tender children play ball in the hall
waiting for a brute teacher to call
they bounce that ball right into his palm
he speaks so softly jumping on his fall
the whispers only one of us can hear
and, it's all over now, baby blue

how can you type so magnificently and true
the cloth man becomes a figure in your sleep
the wondered man becomes a frightened past
he wonders where to last one came at last
your teeth tremble, a new leader for one to cast
well, it's all over now, baby blue

the throne

OPENING:
think about it for a moment
infinity, infinite time and space
to my eyes
wondering if it's really what I'm seeing

FOOL:
Zef rides, rolled joints, that's how you hello to your bro
pink staff
pink staff
my staff is steaming red

ELDER WICCA:
you'll never forget this face
this scar
you brought on me you fool
i shall bear you a son

one son
one boy
one man
one joy

then I will take him away from you
guard him
let him eat from the throne
like many before him

he shall join the likes of nobility
sturdy and straight
he will soon forgot you too
how you shiver and quake

Tobias, his name
will rule this court
eventually becoming a prince
now must you find him a princess

look in the town and find one for him
look further and yonder
make sure she's well fed
make her the dearest of all the land

she will be queen one day
the honey melts
and he shall be king
immortal in doubt

SERVANT:
alas, ye squire I've found a mate
she's pretty and brown skinned
she looks like Cleopatra
she doesn't bear a ring

KING:
then she shall be fit for my Tobias
let him get to know her at once
she stands on the carpet
no words spoken from her mouth

ELDER WICCA:
she lets out a sigh
shows her teeth almost white
but she has no tongue
for she kissed someone wrong

KING:
a mute, in my kingdom, I bellow in disgust
not in my court
throw her to the dogs
Tobias looks have been wrong

TOBIAS:
NO! Stop she is fair,
we love each other dear
I will reproduce her beauty
because she is beautiful to me
when we wed and bear children
this is what I want to see

KING:
THROW THEM BOTH TO THE DOGS!
see them rip apart the bone
we set course for Italy
we shall find another king for this throne

next door

Sadomasochist pleasure knows ole Raymond Ford
he liked getting bitten and tied up
he let her do whatever she wanted to
she could bite his skin and tease him with a feather
she dripped hot wax on his nipples
tweezed his chest hair into bows
and, poured salt on every wound

he stayed there as her pet for three days
and then it was his turn

he started with a whip
then a car battery
she moaned loudly that the neighbors banged the ceiling
and he banged her into the floor
once blood was drawn he stopped his madness
a pre-coital feeling
then they would pounce on each other
and the neighbours still banged the ceiling
while they licked and loved

it was her turn again and she handed him scotch
then she got out a brand and laid into a fire
scorching, brutal, painful
she grabbed the handle and stung ole Raymond
a tiny heart on his ass, upside down
she decided it was her turn

he grasped the brand and teased her with the heat
"give it to me" she begged and he branded that heart on her teat

they fucked again and this lasted for months
you'd think in a little apartment somewhere in nowhere land
no, this was a condominium
a bachelor pad

they commenced fucking and poured champagne on their cuts
every liquid known to man would stay the bed sheets that month

and back to the pain, ball gags and scratching vinyl records
she left him there tied up while she got her nails done
a haircut, manicure and such
she joked with her friends about the stock market and how sore, down there, she was
the ladies laughed with praise while ole Raymond waited, trying to stay awake
what could she do to him next?
what was her plan for pain?

she brought back a handkerchief and walked through the door
all she heard was feet kicking and a ball gag being drummed
she placed the handkerchief on his eyes and brought in a friend from the salon

this new girl, this milf would slap ole Raymond into submission
her nails peeled into his skin and left fresh nail polish on his wounds
she sucked on his neck like a vampire and left them bruising there
she began to get wet and soaked and horny

"let me fuck him, please" she moaned
her teacher let her
ole Raymond couldn't see but he felt her wound
riding on top, ole Raymond liked what she was doing

she came and then left
more time for next week
ole Raymond was a man of his word
she took the blindfold off him

"now go back to work" his master declared
ole Raymond was swollen everywhere
he felt pain putting on his pants, his hard on still dripping
put on his dress shirt and tie
his shiny shoes and his fedora cap

he kissed her on the cheek as she squeezed his neck
"see you in a couple months dear" his lady whispered in his ear
he went to work at the corner store
selling coffee and cigarettes
the pain healing gently and he had to deal with punks

he finished work and got home to his wife
he turned on the light
his pain girl was there
"come to bed honey" she said
he followed her like a deer
they cuddled and kissed and did everything vanilla

but each and every so often, when it's the quarter of the months
ole Raymond is her slave, he spanks her with a paddle
for those months they don't know each other
except that they're happily married and expecting kids real soon

this is happening next door

Camp Juarez

Camp Juarez

Sitting on my own cell block
my knees are beginning to tremble
this is not what was promised to me
I wanted a vacation, not internally bleeding

there's sun alright
and it burns a hole in my skin
every fifteen minutes
from a hole in the roof

I'm tied up to a wooden chair
what the fuck.
how did this happen?
the question asks itself

bloody and bruising, the asshole walks in.

"well, little boy, little girl, what you see is what you get
you all hungered for me and now you get your dessert
what should I do to you, slide it in and make you burn
or, throw you to the wolves and let them make blood into fur"

this evil man is a bad guy of sorts
he looks like a jail toilet
grooming his hair and teeth
while I think about how to get free

"we have a surrrrprise for you, my little castaway,
I'll take you to your parents' house and turn you into tuna
there's nowhere to run and the splinters will split your veins shut
I can make a fiddle out of you, my little boy, my little blue"

his teeth were venomous and he picked at the with a knife
he cut his lip twice and licked up the blood
how long have I been here?
what world am I in?

"now I know what you're thinking,
should you grasp a vermin's fate?
will you listen to me briefly
I'll let the dormouse feast while you decay"

he cut me loose, the bad guy
then he took the blade from his teeth
he stabbed me in the stomach
the blood ran deep

"such a shame, you try to leave
this party hath not begun
for when it is over
God will no longer have a son"

I spit in his face and he licks it up with his tongue
he spat it back in my face
drenching me in the glob
I found a way out of this chair, the rope begins to loosen

"should I cut your face off and wear it like a mirror?
could I kiss you with blood til it wears through your skin?
oh decisions, decisions
don't quote me, my dear"

I broke the chair and hit him twice
he had no weapon in his hand
I ran for the door and just ran some more
and now I'm safe and sound

"my thing has left me guard less
I can give myself to the boss
he will punish me so severely
I may enjoy it if I want"


Gg

situation

I'm giving you a situation

How do you feel about that?
I hope you feel naked and depraved
for you are not wearing any clothes
your hair is in a bun
your jewelry thrown on your wrist
neither here nor there
you speak in riddles on the wall
facing the children walking down the mall
think till it wracks your brain
then think again, for I will be watching
you cut your hair and shave your sideburns
forget about the past and the future
those are selections for the sides
gnarl your teeth and mark your territory

who are you now?
then change it again
wonder if you could be what was before
she did a nice job on the haircut
i wonder what her name was
probably Florence
everything around here is named Florence
the cheese on your pizza
the bread on the table
Florence, Florence, Florence
got to get back to it all
to where it started so long ago

you will meet a man
he will have a suitcase and you will have a gun
just like a woman and a gun
the man also has a gun and it's pointed at you
what do you do? 
do you run or stay and fight?
you need that briefcase for it contains a plague
do you shoot him to save the world?
or does your mind go blank?
what the fuck do you do?

here's what you do:
you shoot in the air and run towards him
tackle him in the stomach
he can't breath because he smoked too many French cigarettes
the espresso is out of his system
you smack him in the face with the butt of your gun

"I wanna see the package"

you shoot near his head, deafening him

"I wanna see the goddamn package'

he opens the case with a ringing in his ear
it's what you want, what you looked for
a plague, in plastic, in liquid, it's clear
so you have the package, should you waste the old man?
you take the gun from his hand
the one at his ankle 
the one from his waist and the knife under his arm
should you do the unnecessary or let him lie there pissing his pants
you shoot him in the knee 
while walking like a winner with the merchandise

another successful situation

and that's how you make poppy seed cupcakes

significant other

Significant other
what does that mean?
I think about it as my chambermaid folds my laundry
I look up to ask her, but it would be rude
so I ask her anyways, for I need that tasty answer
she doesn't know and she shrugs

oh the pain of not knowing what thou means
can I prick you from a catacomb?
can I sell your soul for good?
the poppies grow gently as the question still remains
the sun falls and the moon rises
my feet are rounded and not flat
I still can't sleep because I have that question
all to myself
Significant other,
what do you mean?

so, I wake up in a haze
was I dreaming the night before?
keep in touch with reality kid
it might bite you on the floor
for my name is not Aristotle
Jupiter exists, help me answer this question
let time let me live
the baroness knocks at my door
I take her swiftly in

I ask her the question
and she replies to me with great sin

"for dear, it's the one you love the most,
someone like you in mind and soul,
one who cares for you significantly
yet you are different by this condition
you are an other"

I look differently upon the mirror now
I see who I need to be
to find this significant other, she said,
just involves being me
the med student down the hall
the lawyer in his chambers
and the teacher on the arete

the ones who believes in thee

26 of 74 of "untitled"

Darren arrived at his office for 9am sharp. It was a Wednesday and this was the day he could see his Sarah. He couldn't wait, he swam an extra lap, just to make sure his ass would show shape in his jeans. 

The alcoholic had some substantial progress and Darren feigned interest for the hour. He allowed the man to just talk out his feelings, which, in most cases, allowed significant insight in the patient himself. Rather than refer to asking too much of something Darren already knew. 

Sarah was next and she wasn't in the waiting room. Darren started to panic, he called her cell and there was no answer. Fuck, he thought. And suicide clouded his mind, fuck. But the door opened and there was Sarah, makeup running from the tears from the night before. 

“Sarah, are you okay? What happened? I tried to call your cell but,...” She looked at him, and she couldn't hold back her tears. “It happened again. I just let it crumble again.” she wept. “What happened?” Darren must know, but he knew the answer. She was out partying last night and forgot to take her morning and night pills and she became too manic while at the party, but depressed as the high of communication was over. 

The Lithium was unable to balance the mood levels and she had an episode, staying up all night. “I just forgot my meds, I thought I put them in my purse but I must have misplaced them. I just, I just thought I could handle a night without them.” Darren knew she was still drunk, he could smell the bourbon on her breath. They sat in the office and Darren called the pharmacy and her prescription would be waiting for her after she left the office. “I think I should drive you to the pharmacy, you shouldn't be by yourself right now,” Darren said. He knew she would say yes, because he knew she cabbed to his office on her last 20 bucks and she needed him at this point. “Okay,” she said and Darren left his office early, with no appointments for the day anyways. They took the service elevator down to the garage and Sarah stumbled as she reached for the door handle. The BMW had heated seating. They sat together and Sarah could barely open her eyes. Darren looked over at her, he wanted to say “I love you” but she was asleep. He smirked and left the garage with a diamond ring waiting in the glove compartment.

Geelo Dome, part 4 of 4

But the capital city of Home of the Dome, as the angels call it Veelo and the minions called it Geelo, would grow and grow and the dome miraculously became larger and larger with ladders made by the Evergrowing Evergreens and they made domettes and domers to live with their kin and continue attaining water from the falls oh so many to feed the minions that had created the land. The minions would guide them and everything was created by the living angels from what every single hard working fallen angel had allowed to be created. There were no hammers or saws, a splash of water and it was created. When a waterfall would seize up and freeze on a oldish night, which they would every two months, the angels would pray to the minions who created.

Oh though those,

who we once threw away

please speak with us now

and forget all the pain

You have given us it all

and we have taken it humbly

for when you freeze we pray

and please let us feed you again

We feed you your creation

We feed you with love

We feed you with our prayers

And remember, who thou were and thus.

And the waterfalls began to rush and more water came than before, and the minions remembered just who they were. An angel, not demon nor fat cat nor beasts, they were people just like you and me. People in peace.

The dome was infinite and many made more from different lands but there would never be a Geelo quite like it again. For these minions were those who began something new. To perish their sins and make themselves true. No industry, no fights, no people making wrongs nor mis-rights. No sympathy for the outsiders drinking rum and scotch and cognac, no death, no forgets or dismay. A utopia thus was made.

And every angel ate what the minions provided. Apples, litche, spirals and flambe. No one grew fat, no one unhealthy, no one left hungry or unhampered or even unfed for a day. The angels looked back at the time when they would not see centre and held hands all together one daily time to the minions of misplay, which were not the minions who got in the way.

Now don't get over anxious, since this story is being told, you create your own dome and you share it with those. A tea or coffee, or remmy or lisp, drink it all slowly and be in the company of the minions, forever to hold. Forever in the midst.

The Geelo Dome. part 3 of 4

But, there was one piece not covered by glass and the minions felt they had failed and the angels were unable to see the centre until something was placed upon the open openness. And then a shining purple moon, almost like the sun, filled the open space to give light inside the dome. Then the angels saw. They saw the magnificent. The others saw the fields waiting to be watered, for there were no rain only vast waterfalls streaming all over inside the dome. Different named waterfalls for angels that would lead and angels that had been lost and angels who helped minions before their fall. And under each and every name there was a poem. There was a poem for Henky and Josh and Tyler and Losh. One for Heather and Tim and Jacob and Limbe. And three verses for Larry, and Carry, and Mosh and Frosh. And the angels would read and tell their baby angels the stories.

The land was full of decrepit paste

Where those who speak were shunned so deep

A land with no future no glory no haste

Where the angels had fallen would creep

There was Asher and Mancy and Kathy and Joe

Even Rebecca and Tasha and Comby and Alone

Ted was the first and his brother, no foe

And a healthy bucket of welcoming Shaloms

The land by it self could not prepare together

Since only the minions could understand what was forth

So the angels took from the waterfalls and gave to the dirt

Lives of the fallen, who had built this in a tremendous birth

Those minions lived like us

So true and so fair

And every son and daughter began to prepare

They took from the falls of water and transformed the dirt

And so, with every splash of water placed on the ground, the being of the minions would grow and grow fast. A minion of many colours in flowers and cloth, and even a nice big home-cooked collected pot. Whatever was needed by the angel was given, by the water and purple moon that had broth life to the angels and minions and to grow and to grow. There was no room for the rich and wealthy angels, for their bellies grew bigger outside the dome and still were made to look left and not right. These cats are not needed in the purple sun dome, for the peace and harmony were shared by the ones who remained honest, even as a minion, wishing to help even the hopeless fool.

The colours amazing, so bright and so true. They began to grow flowers just like you. Gather up a dozen doilies and give to a friend, where the waterfalls were blooming such ancient known horticulture for man. Like peppernomes and yepperdomes and even sometimes you could see a red zefersong. And the people played these harmonicas, and guitars from the tree shrubs hanging over top and the small angels were taught by the minions by book of a lot. It was a book of only little pages, a tiny book, that was picked up only when the moon was shining and the book was read as the sun and moon went down. These minions they wrote the story of creation, how the dome was created and how the purple sun and moon appeared only by virtue, a small chance living without the last minion's glass. The trees were not tall but bared just the paper they produce. Stories like “fiddle and riddles”, and books just for you. The first one you picked off the tree smelt oh so fresh and when you opened it, you were always on the right page, laid out for you by this intellect of a tremendous draping tree. Every time you smelt the growing colourful grass it would be so perfect and every sense an angel had, could smell and see and even close their eyes and still be able to guide themselves as the minions would guide them from the minions that the angels had watered from the immense waterfalls. Buckets and buckets and walkers and throwers and even a mountain of late night bloomers.

No longer this city known to be Hamburgerville, but the city now, Home of the Dome and angels from every parts of the land, like the Hemopers and the Jacobsons and the Titanium Goddesses and even, on a dreary day, the dome would welcome, through the sliding glass door, the Plangers and the Wiscots, who began making their own dome in townships all over the non dome, god given, land.

And for those outside the dome, were beasts who swelled for the money the minions had been pushed around for and fallen, they ate and they drank and grew jolly and fat and laughed in the wrong and thought they knew the world, since the only thing they saw, the colour orangeandgreen in their opaque kazoos. For they would never be angels nor minions, only flames of a match box, sparked with greed til they turn up disappeared in a shadow that would haunt only themselves in self doom.

childhood

the great thing about life is we get one
some might use it foolishly
most don't though, and that's what makes it awesome
you get to stay up late and watch "Jurassic Park", the first one
you learn J-ELLO is made out of bones
and you see your skills improve as you pass from grade-to-grade
"All the right type" and "Cross-country Canada"
Playing soccer on the field
Playing basketball on the court
you scrape your knee and cry to mom
and mom puts Polysporin on it
you catch snakes with your friends at Felkers Falls
the bell rings at 3:30
and you get your chips and pop ready for the next "Simpsons" episode
back when Coco was writing for it
Jub Jub and Who shot Mister Burns
Krusty could be Homer and Kodos and Kang laugh from above
music was simple, you play the recorder and teacher plays piano
the school has a play, Scrooge, and you're the ghost of the future
with his deep voice or munchkins in The Wizard of Oz
Dad's taking video from a popular camcorder you carried on your shoulders
and photographs that would have to be waved in the wind to see
you'd go knock on your friends door before texting was available
and you'd talk to your neighbours and learn French from a banana
gym class and dodge ball and the alleyoop
homeroom where you'd make paper airplanes and sit understood
crayons and pencil crayons then gel ink pens
class photo and your silly hair, missing teeth given to the tooth fairy
you'd believe anything
then snow would fall and you'd make angels with horns
jump off Joel's balcony to a pile of snow below
you were a little timid at first then you jumped straight as an arrow
wrestling matches and cross country running
report cards, where girls got As and boys got Cs
everyone was your friend and there was a peanut free table
Danny would draw masks for you to impersonate
my favorite was Richard Nixon and a bloated 4 more years, chin jangling
the spoon and the apple seemed such a mighty pair
learning how to ride a bicycle and how to swim and maybe dive
you'd jump in the pool and hold your nose
at Chidley's you could even jump off the roof
crushes on Leah and Kate and Joni, not so obvious but kisses in the park
my first kiss in a club on the stairs
she was 5 years old than me, and I went back and told my grade 3 friends
Nick drank yop and had a funny hairdo
teachers to teach, when curriculum was so simple
writing and reading with Mrs. G, not Garrison or Gramada but Gierrula
i developed my stories into an audience
we developed our own styrofoam in art
and Dickson called me a clown
not so far off so, I accept
donating for pizza day, and me in the corner or the white bench
in the principles office, day in day off
running through the fields back home
and pranks door to door, you even had chicken wings in the bar on the strip
you sung where you stood and you danced where you wanted
lazer tag for birthdays and the African Lion Safari
selling chocolates and UNICEF pennies as you go to each door
closing your eyes at the part in Freddy when he plays the skin like a marionette
Pocahontas Ticas and Diana L as a friend
my first date with Lisa, may she be in peace
the things we may have forgotten are still there in all our souls
they shaped us as people, and as friends and what we would behold
this happy time when we were all together
our lives move on
but we never ever forget the eternal bliss that was:

childhood, may its truth live on

The Geelo Dome, 2 of 4

So why give something back to those who betrayed them? It was just in their nature, and their grace, knowing that some day they may help another angel from falling. And every day a handful of ink on the field and another glass piece laid down. The minions now had no concept of time since they now had the ability to travel three times in all aspects of the day, and these three times, could let these night walkers to the point of being mischievous but they all knew that this dome was needed and actually cared immensely to those in the light of the day. And words, words would be honoured in the glass pieces, a poem:

To those who seek the light of day

With angels and the union who frequently play

together in time of joyfulness and will

The ones who protect those who stand still.

And every word of this poem was etched on every single glass piece a minion would lay down on the dome. And three times, a minion could create, their souls would be absorbed through the field of various colours and they rest there until one day they could be watered by a living angel once the dome was completed. The colours began to melt into a colour of colours of all species and natures and rainbows in our world, there was yellow and blue and mctorquoise too. A little rad and red and bent out of lemon. Batches of flowers were these minions and there was lilac and syracuse and venture and edapuss. The minions kept working for three times and were gone. To create glass above and even rivers and shrubs beyond. This dome was unlike any zoo or museum, or anything really happening down in Hamburgerville but whatever remained in the hearts and souls of the groundlessly doomed. And inch by inch of glass and sacrifice made for every colour, the centre began to be noticeable to the angels in the left and the right. Not completely invisible but a presence and every day minions would work continuously and the angels never saw past their peripherals but slowly began to smell the roses and the daffodils and the yellowchins and the appledim. They could taste the air fresher than pudding or tapioca or pizza or pie. Every day passed and the angels could see the colours and remember the fallen until one day the dome was only needing four more pieces of glass to make the waterfalls and the ground dirt was beginning to moisten. There were only three minions left and all three of them, had only 1 cloak left, they had used up the previous two cloaks and so, the last minions put one glass on, then another and then finally the only last one left they could manage but couldn't complete the masterpiece.  

The Geelo Dome, part 1 of 4

This wonderful dream I had last night, I knew exactly what happened and it made sense to me, I could see, I could feel it, I could live my dream last night. And you know what it was...I will tell you in just a minute but at this point I am spinning on the top of the world and do not know whence I speak. But here it goes. The dream, I was floating over a grass field, an empty field, a field that bare no grass nor gravel. Just dirt in the day and mud when it rained. And I felt it, the next hall of fame for this city of Hamburgerville and its minions, well, at least only the minions that came out at night. Angels lived in the morning and the minions would play at night trying to sacrifice themselves to the destruction of Hamburgerville. No, no there weren't any hamburgers in this city, at least that I know of, but there is more to read than just the mischief gossips and the barren wastelands. But how to accomplish this without sounding repetitive. What do we need, What do we need, what do we need? And I dream. And I spin. And it was real. But do not smite those words, this dream came through.

And we're on...

This glass dome we created as a centre stage for the downtown core of Hamburgerville across the ocean of Tadah. The new hall of fame, the field began to become barren and it survived. How did we do this? Well. Those minions that draped and droned every night started creating the dome while during the day, having to sneak past the angels with immense precise accuracy that the view of the angel was no longer in the way of seeing minions but only imagining that they only came out at night. The angels were blind to the centred work of the minions, but just in case, they would wear a cloak that could protect them and each minion could use it three times and then return to life in the darkness. The minions were plentiful and every day more and more glass began to arise and the angels just looked left and right and not centre and this is where the dome was created. Away from them, away from their gaze, in the centre in front of them. And there were no hammers, or crammers, or loofers or doofers but in this dome there would be. But what was this dome. What did it hold? For whom? And everyday more glass and colour and pink and beauty that no angel would ever see until it was completed. These minions were the fallen angels, the ones who put the light to the fight and lost terribly no matter what they did, they would never again be an angel and it terrorized the minions.

a taste of *untitled*

Darren woke up as usual at 6am. He lived in a condo in the downtown area and it was nice to have a comfortable condo by himself. No one got in the way of his morning, so he went down to the condo's gym and pool and spa. 

But he was lonely. Mom passed away and dad was lost  to drinking and whores. He didn't talk to Dave since they were children. Darren might have feigned comfort, but he really wanted a wife, not a girlfriend, not a one night stand but an actual wife. One that could keep up to his lifestyle, someone his knowledge could heal and grow together. 

The pushups made him strong but the tears in his eyes wanted love as he bench pressed. He liked to stay lean and eat right, vegetarian mostly and he knew being fit and able would allow him to find a mate easy. He was sick of dating sites and could never find someone like him. Girls with smiles wanting one night stands. Not for him anymore. Darren would swim until 8am. He had to be in the office for 9. The sauna was refreshing and he went back up to the 14^th floor and had a shower.

Darren liked to pace himself with breakfast. He obviously cooked often, leaving behind a couple chef postions growing up. Mom reinforced the psychiatrist in her son, for academia purposes. That's all she would ever talk about. Darren got there. 21 and already the mind of Carl Jung. She died proud. Norm was at her funeral. Pissing his pants drunk.

pg.2 of 72, non edit "no working title"

 “Hello, babe,” Norm would whisper in the phone.

“Fuck off Norm,” Caroline chimed.

“Our kids got it babe. Haven't you been watching the news? Norm asked.

Caroline opened her eyes and told George it was okay and to go back to sleep.

“What do you mean? I've been on vacation the past month, what's going on?” she asked.

“Dave is doing, he's really doing it,” Norm said excitedly. “He has the provincials in two weeks and he's only fucking ten years old. This is all happening so fast. The money, the publicity, I could sell the rights to a goddamn movie, Care.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Caroline asked, puzzled. “You snorting that shit still?”

“No it's not like that anymore, I'm clean, the kids got the wrist for it, just like his old dad, come back and visit, I want to see Darren too. Has he graduated yet?” Norm asked.

“I fly back tomorrow. We can meet at the bar and bring our son,” Caroline said. “Now get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow around noon. Be there and don't be a fucking asshole about it,”she slammed the phone and went back to bed, somewhere south of the border.

pg 57 of 63, "Idiot Savant"

We get dressed, one leg at a time, and she looks gorgeous. She's got this frilly dress on, I can't even explain it, it's like nothing I've ever seen before. This is red carpet material. I put on my black dockers and a black tee-shirt for tonight I am an artist in the artist's world. Or at least I could pretend to be. She wears a black dress with the frills on the shoulder. That's the only thing I can explain with my mouth gaping at her beauty. You ready? She asks and I shake my head. I got to brush my teeth, then mouthwash, then hair. And she combs her hair gently. She looks like Carly Simon and even though I may be vain most of the time, I am honest in my opinions. After I brush my pearly whites and gargle and fray my hair, we both look into the upright mirror. The only mirror in the attic and we look marvelous. I grab a scarf and it adds to the character of my magnificence and she puts a bow in her hair. Patsy Cline and Leroy Brown, the main headline of an opening cast of misfits and wanna-bees. We could be, though. That's the thing about looking in the mirror. We are real, we could make it anywhere in the world with just what we need. For me that would be coffee, for her that would mean pot. That's all we needed. Coffee and pot and hand in hand walking down the street. That's all we ever need and I am thankful for that. 

For the second time, I think about the girl I met in Johannesburg, June 7, 2010 and I hold my breath and look into the mirror and shes the new one. She's the one I want forever and ever mine. And she looks at my eyes in the mirror and asks, is this what you want tonight? And I shake my head YES!, fifteen times, as she starts to giggle, you're such a silly, silly boy and I love it. Off to the art gallery where we will fit in and belong and learn to love one another. I think this is it. But a story like this never ends with a positive position and I hide that little tidbit in the back of my mind, how can I ruin this and I hide it in the back of my mind, this can't be over before it has begun, I think in the back of my mind. Then I think of her in Johannesburg, one second if there ever was such a thing. One second of pain. Miss Cline says she'll start the car and I'm left in the mirror in the attic all by myself, looking at myself and I tell myself, looking myself in the eye. 

DO NOT FUCK THIS UP. 

And I look down at my shoes and my scarf and smile. I won't. But something will. Something in the cabin. Something we haven't decoded yet. And I think of Panda Bear and her burn and Cherub with her closed lips, and I wonder if they're alive. Thinking the same thing I ever thought. Does love ever die? And in my mind I see Panda Bear and an army knife. And I walk down the stairs and hop in the car and Miss Cline asks are you okay? 

And I say, peachy keen. Peachy, keen...just shut your mouth and look good.

Freedom

 His name was Freedom and he began to walk out of the building, a wooden man now alive and full of energy and thought and the occasional compliment. His steps were lanky and rough but after about 2 minutes they were determined and loosened and creative yet inept. “I must get back home,” he thought, and he was ready for the walk to the land of his people, the land where he was chief and loved. His face was still wooden however and it had a deadpan expression, an expression of journey and of soul and of forgiveness and a face of the land which created him. He has to warn his people of the disaster that the Europeans’ bring in the form of blankets which contain smallpox and virus and disease. Freedom had a long way to go before reaching his tribe. He remembers his days as a trader, trading tobacco and sage and eating peyote for the spiritual rites of his religion. He would hand younger tribes folk mushrooms and what we know as “mescaline” and they would journey in the forest and envision a land where everything was equal. Shaman. The fish in the stream, holy, the dirt on the ground and the flowers on the trees, sacred, and looking up in the sky, which was created in the beginning of time, as their evolution began and they would look up and think how their ancestors looked up right into this sky and prayed and it was the same sky and stars and peacefulness that they looked at centuries ago. Keep the faith alive through drumming and chants and ensuring the women of the land were safe, even after their husbands may perish in war and disease, they would still be taken care of and treated with fertile respect and love. Family. Freedom was the creator and he allowed his people to enjoy themselves in dance and ritual to acknowledge the past and fallen and be appreciative of the land which gave birth to them. The tribe does not care about the woes of today, they care about the ritual which has been passed down from generation to generation and conceived by their people ever so long ago. Freedom progresses freedom and belief and values for a younger generation to be instilled upon and remember and finally, to speak like a story when they are older and they have little tribesmen of their own to keep the heritage alive and speak kindly of birth and land and the spiritual journey in which began life. Freedom knew about quests, he was finally free from the restrictions of wood and people glancing at him every day in thought and in laughter. Look at the big Indian, splattered high school children as they walked by. Freedom stood his ground. He set up camp somewhere in a marshland and did not have a compass, nor food, no real direction, only the spirits guiding him through the forests, back to his land. He slept for about two hours and it was still dark so he woke up and continued forward. He eyes were beginning to crack open yet he could see as clear as the day in the nighttime fog and he heard bears running up mountaintops away from hunters and friends of hunters hunting for blood just to say that they hunted. A bear shot down and Freedom had tears in his eyes. Smiles on the hunter’s faces as they checked the teeth and paws and claws and, with a rifle under their arm, went back to hunt some more. They left the bear behind as well as a hunting knife so Freedom saw this as opportunity. He skinned the bear and wore the skin as a headdress and started a fire and ate the flesh and thought about the hunter’s laughter. He didn’t eat the flesh, but rather danced over it so it could maintain eternal life. The bear perished into the soil the next day and Freedom was warm from the pelt he dissected. Now remember, this is a time before Wayne Newton and Tori Amos, where Freedom walked and spoke to the spirits in his journey. The sun was shaded by the treetops and Freedom was worn out and warm and anything was possible. He positioned himself on a path that was made by his ancestors and he followed it along the trail where he would pick nuts and berries and eat them and he sometimes ate bark to freshen up. Freedom found a little creek, Peace Frog Creek, he named it and he bathed and drank the fresh water and looked at the fish swimming between his ankles and calves and pelt. This all happened before the Indian Act. Before the dependence on the Ministry of Indian Affairs. Before an apartheid. Simplicity is life and all that happens is the result in the belief of the spirits. Freedom struggled up the path and knelt to the ground and bent over and kissed the leaves and grass and fallen trees in the forest. He saw a vision of his children and his tribe and they were in trouble and had no more food to eat and he stood up and began to run. He ran every which way and stopped and spun around and ran some more. Freedom is fast. Freedom runs in our veins and in our mindset, in our dreams and in our homes, in our ditches and in our books of legends and heroes and myths. Freedom lives and he is coming home. The sun was at it's peak in the middle of the sky and Freedom continued running until the sun went down. He lay in a farmer’s field beside the forest and looked at the stars again and thought to himself, I am almost home, I will make it; I will honour my land with its chief of the land. He slept but was awoken in a flash of energy, and kept running. Freedom was hungry but soon he would be fed by his family and his tribe. Freedom stepped on his land and looked around and a bit of vomit curled up in his throat and he swallowed it back down and then a gush of vomit poured out his mouth and through his nose and on his feet and calves and chest. Freedom looked at his land and all he saw was high rises and dwellings and bars and churches and a veterinary and a legion and all this new, civilized, nature destroying construction. Freedom was trapped in the wood for decades and at this point of our calendar, Freedom’s land was swallowed by development and money and business and greed. They destroyed his land and pushed his family onto cheap, worthless reserves to symbolize property and nature that was literally worth nothing in the bank’s eyes. But they were paid for their land, so the casinos could take your money. So the journey meant nothing, Freedom was reborn and then cut down ever so quickly. So he turned around and took out his hunting knife that was left for him and he cut his throat and the blood spilled onto the moss and caterpillars and dirt and rust and stems and leaves and even, the ants which wished him good luck. He knelt down with life still in his head and he kissed the ground and he was gone. Freedom was gone, he got sucked up into the ground and Freedom was never seen again. His body was back as one within the Earth and as a grave marker there was a wooden sign, a seven foot native Indian and it exploded and pieces of wood went all over the place and got sucked into the earth. Years later, Freedom’s resting place was turned into condominiums for the rich and wealthy and they smoked cigars and read magazines and laughed at the wooden native Indian in their store and now, only in our memories, Freedom lives.