A few moments means a lifetime
Because a lifetime is short
and a moment is destructive
So we minimize everything
Left is left and over
Delivering door to door
Parcels of pain, joy, regularity
Don't you feel lucky
Simplicity is perfection
Because it happens in waves
A crest of ivory fitted over a chest
What not to wear
What not to think
Not to think on your own
Not to own what you disown
Don't we feel lucky
Friday, January 21, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Breathing in the Broth
I was sitting up in bed, and felt tired. It had been a long day, as if God added four minutes to every second. That long. I couldn't even remember waking up. Yet I must have, because here I am now at the end of the day.
My son Eli sleeps. My wife Nicole lays with him. She occassionally takes my hand, and I am grateful.
Our contact with one another does not have to be constant to be real. I don't trust a married couple that needs one another.
I only trust the purity of marriage. The purity is one of carnage, madness, complete chaos. Love is real, and I love reality.
The reality is I am tired.
I also love my family.
My son Eli sleeps. My wife Nicole lays with him. She occassionally takes my hand, and I am grateful.
Our contact with one another does not have to be constant to be real. I don't trust a married couple that needs one another.
I only trust the purity of marriage. The purity is one of carnage, madness, complete chaos. Love is real, and I love reality.
The reality is I am tired.
I also love my family.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Sun Shines Bright Through My Morning Window
You keep the bed warm and I'll make some soup
I'll rake the leaves while you hold the bag
He'll bring out the ideas when She makes it rain
We're all in this together
I'll rake the leaves while you hold the bag
He'll bring out the ideas when She makes it rain
We're all in this together
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The Kidney Stone
She cried out to me, and I jerked up out of bed. I looked around, but could not see Nicole anywhere. Perhaps it was because my eyes were only half opened having just been awoken. There was already sweat dripping from my pajamas as I tend to sweat profusely at night, yet I would bet dimes to dollars that there was even more since I came to.
Another cry. This cry was sharper than the last one. I had images of Nicole being stabbed in the stomach, as there the second cry really came in two parts.
The Moan: a slow, vibration coming from deep within the esophagus, without rhyme or rhythm.
I could have mistaken it for a man.
The Stab: Cutting like a knife, the moment of impact, Nicole screams a sharp painful yelp. I was positive I could hear the blood flowing from her wound onto our 1950s hardwood floor. My wife is dying.
I run out of the bedroom, losing control of my feet and hitting the wall of our narrow hallway. I see Nicole almost right below my feet. On the foor, curled up like a child, crying. I give my head a quick shake, and bend over her. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she winces. I remove my hand, and wonder what is wrong with this woman. As if listening to my thoughts, Nicole looks up at me. There are tears in her eyes, her face is apple red.
"I don't know what is wrong. I don't know why I feel the way I do. All I know is that I am in PAIN!" She lowers her head back to the floor, and I am completely lost in what response I should give.
"This is no good", is all I can really muster.
Another stabbing pain. Another scream. More tears.
"Okay, okay...can I help you get up? You should get on the bed, the floor is no good." I say, taking charge of this situation. Nicole moves to get up, and I take her by the arm as gently as I can. She stands, and is making her way to the bed. Nicole collapses like a ton of bricks. Without a doubt this causes her more pain. The sounds of a moan and then a stab come out of her like the sound of bagpipes before they go into full song. It is a powerful experience.
"You need to call my mother", Nicole mumbles through a pillow. "She can get me to a hospital. Something is wrong and the pain is not going away." I race to the telephone, start dialing and wait for someone on the other end to pick up.
Her mother answers, and I explain the situation to her fully. I feel somewhat calm because I know there is nothing I can really do for Nicole except for the basic necessities like comfort and positive reinforcement. Calling her mother was the right thing to do. She would be at our house to pick up Nicole in ten minutes.
Everything happened so quickly that I almost forgot that I was fighting a horrible hangover. Once I got off the phone with my mother in law, I jetted for the bathroom. I doubled over the toilet and started throwing up. The cheap wine from last night showed its face. Terrible, terrible. How difficult it can be balancing the life of a husband, a father, and a drinker at the same time on a very flimsy, unsturdy barbed wire. I felt much better once I left the bathroom and went back to Nicole, who was still on the bed. She was in so much pain that she didn't hear me in the washroom.
I decided to lay down on the bed next to her until her mother came.
Another cry. This cry was sharper than the last one. I had images of Nicole being stabbed in the stomach, as there the second cry really came in two parts.
The Moan: a slow, vibration coming from deep within the esophagus, without rhyme or rhythm.
I could have mistaken it for a man.
The Stab: Cutting like a knife, the moment of impact, Nicole screams a sharp painful yelp. I was positive I could hear the blood flowing from her wound onto our 1950s hardwood floor. My wife is dying.
I run out of the bedroom, losing control of my feet and hitting the wall of our narrow hallway. I see Nicole almost right below my feet. On the foor, curled up like a child, crying. I give my head a quick shake, and bend over her. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she winces. I remove my hand, and wonder what is wrong with this woman. As if listening to my thoughts, Nicole looks up at me. There are tears in her eyes, her face is apple red.
"I don't know what is wrong. I don't know why I feel the way I do. All I know is that I am in PAIN!" She lowers her head back to the floor, and I am completely lost in what response I should give.
"This is no good", is all I can really muster.
Another stabbing pain. Another scream. More tears.
"Okay, okay...can I help you get up? You should get on the bed, the floor is no good." I say, taking charge of this situation. Nicole moves to get up, and I take her by the arm as gently as I can. She stands, and is making her way to the bed. Nicole collapses like a ton of bricks. Without a doubt this causes her more pain. The sounds of a moan and then a stab come out of her like the sound of bagpipes before they go into full song. It is a powerful experience.
"You need to call my mother", Nicole mumbles through a pillow. "She can get me to a hospital. Something is wrong and the pain is not going away." I race to the telephone, start dialing and wait for someone on the other end to pick up.
Her mother answers, and I explain the situation to her fully. I feel somewhat calm because I know there is nothing I can really do for Nicole except for the basic necessities like comfort and positive reinforcement. Calling her mother was the right thing to do. She would be at our house to pick up Nicole in ten minutes.
Everything happened so quickly that I almost forgot that I was fighting a horrible hangover. Once I got off the phone with my mother in law, I jetted for the bathroom. I doubled over the toilet and started throwing up. The cheap wine from last night showed its face. Terrible, terrible. How difficult it can be balancing the life of a husband, a father, and a drinker at the same time on a very flimsy, unsturdy barbed wire. I felt much better once I left the bathroom and went back to Nicole, who was still on the bed. She was in so much pain that she didn't hear me in the washroom.
I decided to lay down on the bed next to her until her mother came.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Breaking Stories in the West
It wasn't too long ago when I worked in the Psychiatric Ward at the Thunder Bay Regional Hospital. 2005, it would have been. A guy in his twenties was admitted in there, and I was asked to be one of his support workers until he 'got better'. I don't know what 'got better' meant, but I still didn't say no. I did in fact say 'yes'.
The people that were thanked me. I welcomed them.
Now the Psychiatric Ward in the hospital was a part of the rest of the facility. There was no dark tunnel to get in, and no blinding light of day where you got out. It was a normal room, with a hallway going south to north, and one connected perpendicular that led to some of the private visiting rooms. The guy I was with was in the last room on the north end of the hallway. There were ten rooms per side. Each room opened and closed like a glass window opening onto a balcony. Inside was a shelf, lamp, and bed. There was a bathroom that had a door to close for privacy. Almost every room was occupied with people in different states of mental awareness. I wonder how comfortable they were, as I got the impression that this ward was a regular place for most of them to visit.
It was my purpose to support this guy, therefore the nurses had me locked in among the people staying there. There was ten inches of glass that seperated us from the nurses that relaxed and ate pizza from large size boxes. It was coffee break every fifteen minutes, and one of the private rooms was always left vacated for any doctor that wanted to play out rape fantasies with their fellow nurses. Most of the screaming that took place in the Psychiatric Ward were actually coming from the nurses themselves.
I wasn't jealous. In fact I preferred staying with the residents. It was easier talking to a man with schizophrenia than dealing with a nurse who just came from the Visiting Room. So there I was; with the guy I was supporting, and also engaging in different conversations with all of the people who sat inside waiting to be allowed to leave. I met an older woman with long brown hair. She spent her days yelling at the nurses from her room. A nurse would give her some kind of tired attention, which saw the woman offering the nurse locks of her own hair as gifts of thanks. I laughed at this.
When I was able to ask the woman why she was in here, she answered, "Oh, just went around the bend again I suppose." Bullshit, I thought. You're simply too poor to get a haircut. You come here to rip out your own hair in a socially acceptable manner.
The woman would go on to say that she had been molested her entire life, and has intimacy problems with all of her boyfriends. After I showed empathy, she asked me if I wanted to be her boyfriend. I politely told her that I was in fact gay, and I had been dating a guy for over a year now. She laughed at me, called me a silly little faggot, and ripped out some of hair and handed it to me. I gently took her hair, and put it in my pocket.
"Thankyou very much."
"Your welcome. Lets talk again some time." This was clearly the response of an insane person.
"Absolutely. I'll be here every day until my friend over there decides to go home."
I turned around and went back to where the guy was. He was laying down on the grey concrete floor. He was laughing, kicking his legs at the ceiling, and rolling his head from side to side. Oh no. What did this mean?
I asked the nurse if she could help me determine what the problem might be. As we both stood looking down at this guy, the nurse immediately reached for her walkie talkie and called in four security guards.
"Are four guards really necessary?" I asked looking the nurse directly in the eyes.
She didn't even answer me. She moved directly passed me, back into the nurses office, and grabbed a syringe. Everything happened so fast. Before I knew it there were four robotic security guards beside me, and the nurse was closing in with a giant needle in her hand. I considered the possibility that they were after me, and were planning a suprise attack to stop me from voicing my opinion or concern of this guy. I was almost thankful when the guards picked the guy up off the floor and brought him to the bed. Phew, it wasn't me after all. The guy was then put into a four point restraint on the bed. This is when your arms and feet are buckled into the corner of each bedpost in order to keep you from getting up. The guy was still laughing, which made the guards laugh as well.
I heard one of them call the guy a 'fucking nutcase'.
The nurse then stuck this needle into the guy's upper left arm, which knocked the guy out in ten seconds.
The nurse then turned to me. "You're welcome", she said.
"...okay..."
Everyone left, and I was alone staring at this guy through a glass door. He was knocked out cold. Who knows how long the stuff would last. If it could knock a guy out in ten seconds, then it was probably some pretty powerful stuff. I called my supervisor and told him of what just happened. My supervisor expressed his concern, and thanked me for my patience. I had to write up a report to hand in at the office within twenty four hours. I wasn't sure if I would be relieved from this place within twenty four hours. I hung up the phone.
Ring.
Ring.
I answered the phone on the third ring, and it was my supervisor asking me to work a double.
"An overnight? Would I be able to sleep here, or do I have to stay up all night?"
"It's going to have to be an awake overnight, sorry to say. Pete called in sick an hour ago, which leaves only you to do it."
"No problem", was all I could say. I was boiling inside though. I was going to be awake for such a long time. Staying up for over twenty four hours straight would send me into my own state of psychosis. I guess I was in the right place.
The people that were thanked me. I welcomed them.
Now the Psychiatric Ward in the hospital was a part of the rest of the facility. There was no dark tunnel to get in, and no blinding light of day where you got out. It was a normal room, with a hallway going south to north, and one connected perpendicular that led to some of the private visiting rooms. The guy I was with was in the last room on the north end of the hallway. There were ten rooms per side. Each room opened and closed like a glass window opening onto a balcony. Inside was a shelf, lamp, and bed. There was a bathroom that had a door to close for privacy. Almost every room was occupied with people in different states of mental awareness. I wonder how comfortable they were, as I got the impression that this ward was a regular place for most of them to visit.
It was my purpose to support this guy, therefore the nurses had me locked in among the people staying there. There was ten inches of glass that seperated us from the nurses that relaxed and ate pizza from large size boxes. It was coffee break every fifteen minutes, and one of the private rooms was always left vacated for any doctor that wanted to play out rape fantasies with their fellow nurses. Most of the screaming that took place in the Psychiatric Ward were actually coming from the nurses themselves.
I wasn't jealous. In fact I preferred staying with the residents. It was easier talking to a man with schizophrenia than dealing with a nurse who just came from the Visiting Room. So there I was; with the guy I was supporting, and also engaging in different conversations with all of the people who sat inside waiting to be allowed to leave. I met an older woman with long brown hair. She spent her days yelling at the nurses from her room. A nurse would give her some kind of tired attention, which saw the woman offering the nurse locks of her own hair as gifts of thanks. I laughed at this.
When I was able to ask the woman why she was in here, she answered, "Oh, just went around the bend again I suppose." Bullshit, I thought. You're simply too poor to get a haircut. You come here to rip out your own hair in a socially acceptable manner.
The woman would go on to say that she had been molested her entire life, and has intimacy problems with all of her boyfriends. After I showed empathy, she asked me if I wanted to be her boyfriend. I politely told her that I was in fact gay, and I had been dating a guy for over a year now. She laughed at me, called me a silly little faggot, and ripped out some of hair and handed it to me. I gently took her hair, and put it in my pocket.
"Thankyou very much."
"Your welcome. Lets talk again some time." This was clearly the response of an insane person.
"Absolutely. I'll be here every day until my friend over there decides to go home."
I turned around and went back to where the guy was. He was laying down on the grey concrete floor. He was laughing, kicking his legs at the ceiling, and rolling his head from side to side. Oh no. What did this mean?
I asked the nurse if she could help me determine what the problem might be. As we both stood looking down at this guy, the nurse immediately reached for her walkie talkie and called in four security guards.
"Are four guards really necessary?" I asked looking the nurse directly in the eyes.
She didn't even answer me. She moved directly passed me, back into the nurses office, and grabbed a syringe. Everything happened so fast. Before I knew it there were four robotic security guards beside me, and the nurse was closing in with a giant needle in her hand. I considered the possibility that they were after me, and were planning a suprise attack to stop me from voicing my opinion or concern of this guy. I was almost thankful when the guards picked the guy up off the floor and brought him to the bed. Phew, it wasn't me after all. The guy was then put into a four point restraint on the bed. This is when your arms and feet are buckled into the corner of each bedpost in order to keep you from getting up. The guy was still laughing, which made the guards laugh as well.
I heard one of them call the guy a 'fucking nutcase'.
The nurse then stuck this needle into the guy's upper left arm, which knocked the guy out in ten seconds.
The nurse then turned to me. "You're welcome", she said.
"...okay..."
Everyone left, and I was alone staring at this guy through a glass door. He was knocked out cold. Who knows how long the stuff would last. If it could knock a guy out in ten seconds, then it was probably some pretty powerful stuff. I called my supervisor and told him of what just happened. My supervisor expressed his concern, and thanked me for my patience. I had to write up a report to hand in at the office within twenty four hours. I wasn't sure if I would be relieved from this place within twenty four hours. I hung up the phone.
Ring.
Ring.
I answered the phone on the third ring, and it was my supervisor asking me to work a double.
"An overnight? Would I be able to sleep here, or do I have to stay up all night?"
"It's going to have to be an awake overnight, sorry to say. Pete called in sick an hour ago, which leaves only you to do it."
"No problem", was all I could say. I was boiling inside though. I was going to be awake for such a long time. Staying up for over twenty four hours straight would send me into my own state of psychosis. I guess I was in the right place.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Her/His/Life/Death/Love/Hat
I saw death when I was alive
Living and breathing, I bore witness
To death and suffocation
Killed and stoned
I saw death and she was beautiful
Because the answers were unnecessary
The questions all stopped
He stood over her and began to cry
He was the life that her death lived inside
My eyes burned into her pupils that stared
The connection was gone, lost, never more
He wept until the rain came and washed over
I saw this all and I felt an orgasm coming
I saw all of this and I felt an orgasm going
There had to be an exit
Haha
There is an exit
It was there all along
Can you see it?
It's right over
There
Living and breathing, I bore witness
To death and suffocation
Killed and stoned
I saw death and she was beautiful
Because the answers were unnecessary
The questions all stopped
He stood over her and began to cry
He was the life that her death lived inside
My eyes burned into her pupils that stared
The connection was gone, lost, never more
He wept until the rain came and washed over
I saw this all and I felt an orgasm coming
I saw all of this and I felt an orgasm going
There had to be an exit
Haha
There is an exit
It was there all along
Can you see it?
It's right over
There
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