With Gusto

Wash-Out

Bradley a young sixteen year old had a guitar
on his lap high up in the stool next to the bar.
Bradey said it was easy, to pluck and shuffle
on the piece of junk. He knocked the yellow body
with a black tear like a drum. He always tried to teach
me something on his way up. The night before yesterday, before
his bachelor's night: An afternoon without champagne.
We moved right into what younger people drink, I being
pulled by a youth I'd never been a part of. The wedding
the next night, reception at the community hall.
Half-filled glasses lay peppered on long tables covered in paper.
The dance floor post hop, Brad's friends stealing the show:
Jerry shouting, Bottoms up to the crew, responsible
in their tuxedos -- college boys jumping around
like party tricks. Steve (huffing over his failures
in love) kicked at a wall, the way girls used to abuse
my shin. And my son with Jeanie, my new daughter,
already looking bored. Brad pointed at the DJ's
shoddy equipment and made spiral gestures with one hand
and mouse clicks with the other. On my chair against the wall,
I was bizarrely happy amidst the constructed, dwindling night.
That space where it doesn't matter if you leave or stay.

Hangovers

This is a rough draft of a poem, which will be way longer than it is here. Repeat: VERY ROUGH DRAFT

Hangovers

Go straight to my ass.
I wake up, and maybe my mouth tastes
juniper, or the no-taste of refined potato.
But my ass, already lumpy and irritable,
bubbles loud farts out into my crack
making it itch all day, shitting small husks
of last night, splashing toilet water, wheezing
on the wooden seat
slammed over the rim. Drooling like a man
in his sleep, a thin clear ribbon down one cheek, enough for others
to notice, yet the man, sleeping, indulges in the appearance of dreams.

Doom and Gloom

In response to the (reformed ): Does [enviromental reporting] have to be Doom and Gloom

Yes, it does have to be about doom and gloom. We need to analyze the impact that our current actions pose on tomorrow. It just so happens that the rate at which we're changing the earth is more than ever, so by scale, more than ever should we be analyzing the impact.
For instance, is it important to not report that Farm Fertilizer is often recycled industrial waste? Or should there be an analysis of only those who are making the effort to push organically grown fertilizer?
Of course a balance is needed, and to me reporting "doom and gloom" is assuming responsibility of those actions. I know that most enviromental reporting is centered on what's wrong, but the articles in themselves usually send strong messages of individual action. There's an element of advocacy there but many enviromental journalists tease away outright advocacy from their articles, letting the research and characters talk.
Doom and Gloom is often seen as too depressing or futile, but that's when people stop losing focus and stare into the abstractions, instead of keeping an eye on how doom and gloom affects them, or their community

He Was a Man

He was a man who needed not feelings
He was a man who exclaimed without marks
When he was seven, he was a man who licked salt
When he was seventeen, he moved onto his neighbor's lawn
When he tasted his first drink, he was a man who was a child
At his home in 1982, he was a man who dreamed of peanuts
At a friend's house, on the patio, he was a man with a head full of ideas dating a girl who hated attention
Beginning just last week, he was a man knocking on doors
Beginning was his man's man front line for naming parks alphabetically
Fumbling for a torn bra on the bar cieling, he was a man of the hour
Fumbling his friend's penis on the camping trip: He was a man of poor taste
After his inaugeration, Gerald lauded him as a man who was the second best business accountant in the Tri-City Metropolitan Zoo

__________________________________

I have to re-write my feature today. After looking over it, I don't think I'll do much differently. Why? because I don't give a damn. I can do what I want. The prof is just pushing us all towards the best possible feature, but he forgets I like a little poo in my martini. It doesn't matter to me -- it's just a little poo.
The exam is tormorrow as well. I'm not too worried about that. Reread, reread, reread. Get out the fun, and get into business mode. I'll probably go down to second story, get wired on caffeine and tea, and hit the books.

Writing thing last night was fun, although I didn't enjoy poker too much. I was tired, and losing money. The rest of the night was fun. I got reaquainted with the Feebles. I think my favourite character is the rat -- Trevor, who directed porn. Not the best career, but what's a rat to do.
Celebrated Summer Solstice by going to the beach with Semmy-Lemmy and some other folks. We played our songs.

Moving On

Today is the last official day that I'm a teacher. I have to write up an invoice and some student reports, hand it off to Kristine, then that's it. On to other things. Like teaching? I'm going to write my name down at the tutor registry at UVic, and look for another job sometime soon. A sushi place may be hiring. . .
And last night during rehearsal, I wasn't pumping out any folk beats, and realized that I won't be for a long time, probably. I'm no longer a folk musician, which is something I've been for a long time. Poor country beats, they're gone, probably gone forever, as I have no intention of joining another band.
Semi-Lemmy is the only band in the jamspace now, down from three bands. Rent will be higher, but my drumset will be in the prime location, there will be less amps in the room, less bottles left over by the other band. We're talking about getting a couch. At least we'll redesign it some.
My life has been mildly repetitive, which is something I can't stand. I'm beginning to realize that most people's lives are repetitive, and that probably means their lives are focused, while mine hovers between good breaks, free cheese, and a brain filled with the random, unable to cope with days that are always the same. Now, my life will be different, and there's always the cost to pay regarding relationships and good times. Moving on.

Let's Get Off Our Fat Cop Asses and Ride

dream: Joy and I are at the Quadra McKenzie intersection, at the cross walk. We walk across the street, many people, we see Jess, I get lost trying to find her, Joy finds me with Jess.
I'm in a gymnasium, my dirty laundry is heaped onto a table that is pushed against the back wall. I'm digging through my darks and colours, trying to find a suitable "going out" shirt, as I'm meeting friends later. But I'm constantly distracted by a martial arts/gym sensei/teacher who keeps saying things like, "And remember, most people slide at the end, into each other. . ." to a bleacher full of boys.
I find some shirts that I like, but they're too filthy to wear out.

_____________________

I watched "China Town" last night with Joy, who kept saying, "Is this what males dream of doing? This is so sexist. The male journey. . ." and me saying, "you don't have to watch it. . ."
Ever since seeing "the Maltese Falcon" I've been willing to overlook the many flaws in film noir. I'm not sure why. I guess it's pulp for me. "China Town" was good. Although not as good as "Rosemary's Baby".
Today I may take off down the galloping goose, ride over trellis bridges out towards the dirt, where concrete is less apparant.
Tonight a bunch of us are getting drunk and seeing cheap movies (both price and content) at the Roxy. "Mean Girls" and "13 going on 30". (is this what women dream of doing ;P)
Okay, it's time for me to start finding work. Maybe I'll do that on Monday. Or next Monday.

Rock Cod

More Dreams:
After seeing two huge dogs in a field with some friends, my family decides to go to London the next day. In the grocery store, I run into a prof, and ask her questions. When I get to the fish and crab section, I buy a camera and a rock cod swims through the air and into one of the crab tanks. The security guard chats me up.
Instead of going to London, we go to Africa. I'm surprised at how stereotyped it is. Rhino, Lions, and other creatures run through the streets of the town we're in. I try to take pictures of the Rhino, but my camera doesn't work. My family seems apathetic to the animals, they don't want to hear about them. I retain my excitement.
_________________

My last day at work today. I'm going to be nice. I'm going to bring them cheezy keychains and pop and chips and we'll chill out for the hell of it. Ideally end on a good note. Although it seems a little impossible. It doesn't take much to change people's opinions of oneself. I still didn't like being cornered into one-hour shifts, but they're kids and probably don't understand. Even though they even said that they'd hate to work one hour shifts. Anyways, I'll behave. Feeling tired. The weekend is almost here, and I'm running short on money. Although I'll probably spend too much. I need to find a new job.

It's Easier than It Seems

More Dreams: I'm watching my brother play a video game where the characters are travelling through time. Suddenly it's my turn and I realize I'm in the video game, the main character, and I'm on the back porch listening. I hear kittens, so I go in search of kittens. I push through some bushes and I come up to a path and surprise a dog and his owner. The dog looks at me and I can tell it's not good. The dog bites me but only takes a chunk out of my coat. The owner is super nice, a large fat Russian man with a big beard. He says that he just got the dog from the SPCA. He wants to beat the dog, but cannot bring himself to do it. Instead of finding the kittens, Joy demands that we take the 404 bus to UVic. Half-way there, I get off the bus and come up to a construction site that has a sign that says, "Honk if You Believe in General Strike." Of course, the bus drivers are honking -- they'd do anything for a day off. A man has a bucket filled with shit, and he's dumping it into a hole beside the sign. He's chanting, "It's easier than it looks, it's easier than it looks."
So I go find the kittens. I break into someone's house, a very small cabin, and I locate a box of kittens. They're very small, their eyes are just beginning to open so there's a bunch of bloody muck covering their sight. Two kittens, who look about 5 days old, jump onto my knees. I scratch their heads, and they extend their claws into my skin for support.
________________

Today I'm going to design "Apparatus" because I can. Should be good. I also want to get a haircut and bike down to the beach. I was awake for 37 hours yesterday and the day before. Towards the end of last night, I was hallucinating, colors were vibrant. Sometimes walls were covered with viscous, and my hands were leaving tracers behind themselves.

Is That All There Is

Today's the day where I try and research, conduct interviews, and then synthesize it all into a feature. Wish me luck. I hate writing features. If you know me, I hate writing features. Writing features makes me want to quit the PW minor. I'm not interested in writing features, so why the fuck does every PW class revolve around writing features? Is that all there is... to the PW minor?

I'd rather break out the booze and have a ball.

The Weekend Was Here (re: strip poker)

Friday Night: "Stepford Wives" with Joy, Colin, and Steph (awful movie. a waste.) then off to BBJ's with Jess, Ford, Heather, some other wankers for some fun in the peanuts. Then off to Colin's house after closing for what? For Strip Poker.
I did pretty well at first. Most people were down to their underpants, and Joy was topless. Then I lost my shirt, then my pants, then my underpants. I got naked. Though someone else didn't get naked when it was due. No worries though. We all had sexy underpants!
Saturday Night: Party with the family! The maternal side. One of my aunt's just moved into a new place with my uncle, so there was a big meet and we got loaded. Joy and I almost killed an entire 40 of gin, and one table was all about politics and the paranormal, the living room was filled with boisterous laughter. Party went till 1 am.
Sunday: Brunch at a hotel. I had a parfait and a side of hashbrowns. Lots of eggs benny, porridge, skillets, coffee coffee coffee. Then my parents, Joy, Jon and I went to Lyle's place and bought each other CDs. I bought my father a Rod Stewart CD, a Jimmy Buffet CD, and a group called Huffamoose. I received The Smiths from Joy (which is awesome) and my mother bought Joy a Kelly Deal CD, with a little help from yours truly. I also bought a Cat Stevens album and What's Up Bro for myself.
At brunch, an aunt came up to me a slid a twenty dollar bill into my hand. I like family. I hated family last year.

The Moon is Gone

Dream: Joy and I are walking through a park at night, the moon is out, full. We make it to a trampoline where we stand on it and watch a performance artist launch spears, easels and rocks from a makeshift catapult. I look up and see the moon crumble into sparks like a pinwheel and hear the world scream in horror from outside the park. "What do we do," Joy says. Larger chunks of the moon have fallen into the atmosphere, sparking and exploding. I look around for a place to hide, but the forest looks too dangerous. "Hide under the trampoline," I say. Once we're under, chunks start falling around us.

GRAMMAR GOD!

You are a GRAMMAR GOD!


If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!


How grammatically sound are you?
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I Quit - No More Mr. Nice Guy

My life has just changed, and good, because something needed to happen. Do you ever feel like you're not getting any younger, that a new day will be just like the last, and that at 23, your life has reached its pinnical and nobody but you has seen the moment?
The other day I gave into despair. I decided it makes sense. Although I've been holding my views as a universal truth, most people actually don't want to hear it, discarding me as a radical student who's never experienced twat. I feel as though my brain, which was too involved with my surroundings and at the same time bubbling with my own selfish thoughts, has expanded, as though I popped myself into a handstand with a funnell over my head, and drained my thoughts into a tin can. Then I shook the can and dumped the contents into my ear and mouth. So it's mixed you see. More guts.
So I've done two things to change my life: (1) I quit my ESL job. Anyone out there know of a job for a responsible, young, vibrant, energetic teamplayer? Let me know. (2) After making music with Jay for over three years, and with Ryan for over five, we've stopped playing together. I'm fine with it, although sad to see it go. And we've done enough for our endevours to be successful, in my radical art school opinion.
Why did I quit a job where I was appreciated, where the money was good? Because little rich Korean children get on my fucking nerves. Those little buggers wanted to reduce their hours, so I let them, but they wouldn't give anything in return: what I wanted: to not work a one-hour shift. But they wouldn't have it. I've quit, and I don't have to be nice to them, especially that meddling Dong. I wonder if I should tell him what his name means, say that everytime I've said his name, I've pictured a flapping, man-sized penis in his chair, quivering in the cold, even though it's wearing trackpants. Fuck. Who works a one-hour shift? It's stupid. They're stupid. I can't wait to be a bitch. No more Mr. Nice Guy.
Today's lesson plan: Grill him on the test. Make him fail. Grill him on his homework, no holding back. Grill him in class: write 50 sentences starting with "the". Now write 50 sentences starting with "a". Hah. Won't that be exciting.