Sometimes, when I can't sleep,
I read the recent deaths list on Wikipedia-
just in case Facebook forgot to inform me of anyone important's passing.
The funny thing is, Facebook misses a lot.
Today, March 13, 2012: Domitila Chungara, 75, died from lung cancer.
She was a Bolivian labour leader and feminist.
I bet she was a smoker.
The stress of unattainable human justice so strong
that only poison can relieve the symptoms for a little while,
drawing silvery wisps of light, brilliant, air from her burdened alveoli.
Tuesday 13 March 2012
Thursday 26 January 2012
Thursday 19 January 2012
10 things that I know to be true.
1. You never really know who you really are until you are able to spend copious amounts of time alone and enjoy it.
2. Poetry is rarely premeditated. (Although, this feels extremely premeditated, but I'm trying to branch out, ok?)
3.I would be far more productive if the internet didn't exist.
4. The smaller the car, the more confident the parallel parker.
5. Wearing a bow in your hair instantly vavooms an outfit.
6. It is against the rules to not spend New Years with your closest friends.
7. Too much emphasis is placed upon gender.
8. I will never stop shedding hair.
9. There is always enough time.
10. Cold is a relative sensation. Cold in spring is nowhere near cold in winter. (Says the girl who lived in a city that hit lower than -40 3 days in a row.)
2. Poetry is rarely premeditated. (Although, this feels extremely premeditated, but I'm trying to branch out, ok?)
3.I would be far more productive if the internet didn't exist.
4. The smaller the car, the more confident the parallel parker.
5. Wearing a bow in your hair instantly vavooms an outfit.
6. It is against the rules to not spend New Years with your closest friends.
7. Too much emphasis is placed upon gender.
8. I will never stop shedding hair.
9. There is always enough time.
10. Cold is a relative sensation. Cold in spring is nowhere near cold in winter. (Says the girl who lived in a city that hit lower than -40 3 days in a row.)
Sunday 15 January 2012
Your car is stalking me.
For some illogical unknown reason,
I notice silver Saturn Ions more than any
other vehicle that has ever existed in the
history of the earth.
More specifically,
I notice the ones that have an unusually clean exterior,
with leather seats and a collection
of empty discarded coffee cups.
-Not that I habitually peer through tinted car windows
(although, you can learn a lot about a person
from the items stashed in the backseat of their vehicle)
You like your coffee black,
just in case you're at someone's house
and they don't happen to have
cream and sugar.
You also don't like to be late,
but often are.
These are the kind of facts my brain processes
when I feel that underground anxiety,
that I might have to run into you,
now,
at eleven oclock on a Wednesday
at Sobeys.
(Because that's when I like to buy my
chickpeas and havarti.)
I don't usually feel like I have the energy
to for-go the gritty, loaded small talk.
"It's been so long!
How's your family?
We should really catch up over a beer sometime."
Or not.
Because I spent a long time recording
illogical, irrelevant facts that probably no other person
that has ever existed in the history of the earth knows.
Because I just want to wander quietly
and reflectively
through these super market isles
without the fear that I might have to see you
standing next to the 2%.
For some illogical unknown reason,
I notice silver Saturn Ions more than any
other vehicle that has ever existed in the
history of the earth.
More specifically,
I notice the ones that have an unusually clean exterior,
with leather seats and a collection
of empty discarded coffee cups.
-Not that I habitually peer through tinted car windows
(although, you can learn a lot about a person
from the items stashed in the backseat of their vehicle)
You like your coffee black,
just in case you're at someone's house
and they don't happen to have
cream and sugar.
You also don't like to be late,
but often are.
These are the kind of facts my brain processes
when I feel that underground anxiety,
that I might have to run into you,
now,
at eleven oclock on a Wednesday
at Sobeys.
(Because that's when I like to buy my
chickpeas and havarti.)
I don't usually feel like I have the energy
to for-go the gritty, loaded small talk.
"It's been so long!
How's your family?
We should really catch up over a beer sometime."
Or not.
Because I spent a long time recording
illogical, irrelevant facts that probably no other person
that has ever existed in the history of the earth knows.
Because I just want to wander quietly
and reflectively
through these super market isles
without the fear that I might have to see you
standing next to the 2%.
Sunday 8 January 2012
I am the daughter of Books.
Slowly, they are taking over my home,
my thoughts,
my car.
Always on my mind
and
in my backpack.
Bought with credit-
a means to prolong or extend the
experience of owning them (being owned by them).
Yesterday, I had a substantially, irrational
panic attack (considering the lack of urgency of my plight).
How can I transport
all of them with me when I
leave this place?
Who must I leave behind?
Each spine a personal reflection of my soul.
A detailed, purposeful account into my
thoughts and fears,
interests and requirements.
Heirlooms:
that bring me closer to the person
you were/are;
you will die soon.
But somehow, you parted with your
beloved shelves' content.
You believe the real pleasure
is in passing them on.
I suppose I haven't collected
a big enough stock-pile yet.
I do not yet own enough words to
propel a legacy.
Slowly, they are taking over my home,
my thoughts,
my car.
Always on my mind
and
in my backpack.
Bought with credit-
a means to prolong or extend the
experience of owning them (being owned by them).
Yesterday, I had a substantially, irrational
panic attack (considering the lack of urgency of my plight).
How can I transport
all of them with me when I
leave this place?
Who must I leave behind?
Each spine a personal reflection of my soul.
A detailed, purposeful account into my
thoughts and fears,
interests and requirements.
Heirlooms:
that bring me closer to the person
you were/are;
you will die soon.
But somehow, you parted with your
beloved shelves' content.
You believe the real pleasure
is in passing them on.
I suppose I haven't collected
a big enough stock-pile yet.
I do not yet own enough words to
propel a legacy.
The last time I saw you we
kept up the
see-saw, yo-yo, yes/no game that we play.
The thing is,
I know you too well-
the new details that seem to make you into
who you've become in the last six years are irrelevant.
I still know you too well.
So when we were gyrating down memory lane,
prepared to make an intoxicating mistake,
it felt like normal feels.
Like boxing day, when you finally get more than fifteen
minutes of alone time.
Except I was not alone, and you were naked.
Funny how that works.
And, just like that,
nothing had changed.
Well, except you
and
me
and
everything.
Next time we find ourselves
sitting across from each other in a bar,
chugging a beer,
aiming for a relapse,
we will keep up the
see-saw, yo-yo, yes/no game that we play.
Nothing can/will ever change.
kept up the
see-saw, yo-yo, yes/no game that we play.
The thing is,
I know you too well-
the new details that seem to make you into
who you've become in the last six years are irrelevant.
I still know you too well.
So when we were gyrating down memory lane,
prepared to make an intoxicating mistake,
it felt like normal feels.
Like boxing day, when you finally get more than fifteen
minutes of alone time.
Except I was not alone, and you were naked.
Funny how that works.
And, just like that,
nothing had changed.
Well, except you
and
me
and
everything.
Next time we find ourselves
sitting across from each other in a bar,
chugging a beer,
aiming for a relapse,
we will keep up the
see-saw, yo-yo, yes/no game that we play.
Nothing can/will ever change.
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