A few days ago me and petra went to bowness, to that house where it all began, two years ago, almost to the week. the weather was the same and we felt we were transported back. like nothing had changed in these two years, though everything has. those days made us who we are today. Looking back, we were all so different, so inexperienced, so new. "that house was a house of freedom" i remember writing, after my first night there. that first night was, for lack of a better word, weird. crying by the river, sitting on the swinging bench, running into kaeleigh and ni and diving into those preverbial waters. Sitting in rain's room, strobe light, swords and dragons. All piled on the bed, laughing. Me and petra sneaking to the sex shack, leaving our tags on the floor and walls, the first girls to do so. Stumbling to go sleep on the couch, andrew passed out on the floor, snoring. Not falling asleep, going out and sitting by the river at the break of dawn, alone. A depressive state, last night's excitement ran away, leaving me blank. Andrew followed me and we talked, throwing stones. Eventually we all had to leave, taking the 1 back downtown. So tired, i rested my head on andrew, he was a good pillow. somehow he ended up with his arm around me. it was great, i think. i thought it was. we ate mcdonalds, they'd bought me a salad, it was disgusting. we went to marysia's, washing our hair and using perfume because we were nervous wrecks. Laughable. The colours were brighter after that day. It was a good time, had by all. And we went back. we found the sex shack, found our tags in black spray paint. we left another, with sharpies. walking back along the house, lost in memories laying thick everywhere. It didn't occur to us that someone else lived here now, that they were home and wouldn't appreciate two teens walking through their property. but we didn't care. we stared frozen at that front entrance, where we crossed the threshold into the next chapter. Petra gasped and started walking away, saying she's seen eyes looking at her. we rushed away, still high on nostalgia and dumbfounded that we'd acctualy came back. But we did, and it was needed.


see me, feel me

electrons protons and neutrons. chemical bonds, elements, macromolecules. lipids proteins carbohydrates. Nucleic acid, DNA, the back bone. Nucleus, cell membrane, mitochondria, cells. tissues, muscles, sinew blood and bone. nerves, synapses, reaction pathways. organs, systems, digestive, pulmonary, cardiac. a brain. occipital, partial, temporal, frontal. ears. eyes. a body. touching seeing hearing tasting smelling. wrapped, tightly bound in skin. walking, talking living breathing. life resting upon a million reactions on atomic levels all the way up to life size. we've cut ourselves into a million pieces, sliced away the thinnest layers, described everything away, packaged the knowledge up into bite sized pieces, categorized, generalized, named and sent out to everyone willing to learn it. memorize, tests and exams, right and wrong answers. chemical equations, scientific reactions, life cycles, reproduction and destruction. We've learnt everything there is to know, fit it all in neat piles and boxes. We know how we touch how we see how we hear. But I wonder how we feel, how we look, how we listen. And why. I want to understand the mind, not the brain. the soul not the body. I want to understand the abstract concepts. Everyone can dissect a body. cut it up, poke and prod, observe the physical properties of life. But what of the mental qualities. the Ones that disappear with the life source. The ephemeral, the elusive. The imaginary. We cannot explain these away with chemical reactions. they do not exist in physical form. This makes them attractive. Unsure, the way it should be. Unable to be categorized, generalized. A secret we hold in each of our minds. Only we know, yet we know nothing of it. When did knowledge become a staple? When was it generalized, either you knew or you didn't. If you didn't you were dumb. Illiterate, inarticulate. You were inadequate, inferior. We were classed on our ability to regurgitate the facts. The facts. Because everything was set in stone. Easily managed, percent scores, essays and quizzes, paper and numbers. It isn't worth a dime. I want to understand the unreal, things that can't be traced and drawn and clearly observed. It's so much more exhilarating that way.


run away

i don't matter when your rage is all you can see. you disregard certain facts and hold too tightly to others, squeezing all their worth out with your one track mind. when the fury takes hold the blinders go up, the breaks disengaged. Runaway train running on rigid tracks of skewed logic taking you on your tangents, bringing you closer to the hight of your explosion. Speeds increase as emotions reach a boiling point. You hold exclusive rights to decorum, no one is justified in their outrageous emotional detonations


From a blue bench

The middle aged and bearded men sit on benches, eyes moving along folded news pages. an incessant repertoire of sounds, endless collaboration to drown out silence. sun shines where buildings permit, narrow strips of warmth among cold steel and hard cement. rigid geometry, ninety degree angles. "lets add some curves", eye appeal, but to no avail. the streets will stay dirty, the sun wont shine. cigarette butts, gum spots make steps listless. walking blues. i can't breathe here. choked trees and hung plants. wilted men talk in fast languages, sharing jokes and tired laughter. old women stare off out bus windows in absent minded thought. trains roll by with tired eyes and heavy hearts, rusted wheels and vandalized bodies, sighing with each slow progression. countless empty souls shuffle on, arms dead at their sides, eyes full of blank stares. buskers in doorways, beggars on benches as the brighter faces pass unyielding.


wanna get up and jive

I often wish there'd be someone watching, as I put on my silent show, throwing lights across the rooftops, far below. I wish someone could hear the rhythm inside my head, the words that flow so momentarily, before the spirit's dead. I sometimes wish I knew what is held in store for me, I'm so tired of always looking, want to close my eyes and see. At times I wish the nights weren't so long, weren't cold, wish I could grow out instead of growing old. I fall among the voices, thrown into the air, I dance among lost souls, alive and shining there.

My mind keeps falling back, on evenings spent with you, so beautiful and free, so foreign and so new. I don't know how to feel, so shy but still so bold, but with you I feel I'm growing out, never growing old.

thrown against the wind

I make no sense most of the time. but I write regardless.
Alas, just a stubborn poet.

I'll carry the river around my shoulders, and moonbeams in my eyes
I'll wear a fiery robe, a starlit disguise.
I'll wear bark bracelets on my wrists, feathers in my hair
walk with a crown of flowers, and they'll call me debonair.
If I could curl up within the layers of our multifaceted design
Or live out in nothing where the lonely stars do shine.
I think that I'd be happy, think that I'd do fine.
Or lay beside you baby, with your arms around me tight
it simply feels so right


It goes like this the fourth the fifth

When your medals fuck your strangers, don't it leave you on the empty side?
We've both known where to go. Steel casings light and strong silver chains, iron stakes. golden smiles. billion dollar baby, you're a rich man. applause applause, we're all a lost cause. the world is ending. Don't freak out. Let it be. No one's fond on leaving. No one's believing. Everyone in little cubes, fury sings the blues. oil slick, fire pit, I'm sick, I'm ripped. shreds to pieces to ashes to dust, I don't have faith I don't have trust. I'm tired of loving I'm tired of tryin' I'm tired of rhymin', reading and writing. singing brings the blues, nothing seems to keep me high. Everything comes out in a weird mess, the words fall at odd angles, piled among forgotten feelings. I try to fly in reckless abandon, let the words fall where they may but it's all out of sync. A chaotic mess. All is beautiful in chaos? Joni. I hear her words and her trickling melodies and I only wish I could be like her. Her age is dead and no one can get it back unless it's been kept alive in a secret soul, passed through the music. Sulfur. soul-for souls-for-sale. You'll lose me if you fallow. The words seem weird to me. silence unnerves me. My mind is empty. My heart is full, and hollow. Like the charms on a bracelet. Shiney and new or tarnished and old, they're all beautiful. Each one crafted through memories and feelings. Ambiguous phrases, Euphemisms. Suffix prefix, I need a fix, cuz I'm going down. This is done.

a light that has faded, a love we've degraded

noises noises noises. Too many voices, ideas, screaming "listen to me" "hear me" "forget the others" each one growing louder, competing. I just want to sit, silently contemplating. let my mind take a trip to an underwater garden, soundless. I would be warm, below the storm. the bussle of life, humming society.

it's not far, to the bar, but it's a long road back

growing out

Last time we were together, all, like that, the world was younger and so were we. younger, innocent, all so different yet so very similar. All filled with the corresponding aspirations. Now, a few years later, we'd been pulled back together, just like old times. Yet now we're all growing up, growing apart, becoming Who We Want To Be. With the past as a tool of relativity, I see how far we've all came. Jessica's moved in with her fiance, in a very nice litte house. They'll be happy. Marysia is slowly gaining her independance and the respect she's always deserved from her mother. Vicky's got a car, also gaining respect from her parents. Petra's the same old unchained spirit, but she's becoming more beautiful everyday, mind soul and body. She's on her way to true happiness. And me. I've shed my outer skin, finally let the one who was holding me back go. Things are looking brighter now. I was afraid I was making no progess, but now I see I have. We all have. It's a beautiful thing.


If I go crazy,

Will I still be your superman?
It's all a game of affections. I win so many but my heart isn't fully submerged in their smiles, not comforted by their warmth. Its as if I'm collecting the hearts of the admiring, hanging them on a wall or wearing them as charms on a bracelet. Each one brings a smile to my face, a happy memory, a flutter of butterflies, but nothing takes my breath away. Its a curious observation, seeing them fall for you. creeping like an ivy vine, so unremarkable, but after a surpassing time you're covered with it, as they explore the depth of your eyes, the shine of your hair in the sunlight, the sound of your laugh. And you find yourself amazed in them as well, gingerly interacting, testing new wings. And you feel your tendrils growing out and intertwining, slowly. Mutual attraction, mass confusion, fear. For what if their admiration outweighs and you find yourself unbalanced, teetering off the edge into madness. I don't want to fall. but I don't want to stray too far from the edge, the fun, the rush. I thirsted for affection but now I'm afraid I'll drown.

And her heart is full and empty, like a cactus tree
But she's too busy, being free.