bud.

this is the only person I have physically defended with my fist.

we were around 7-9 years old.

our cousin was repetitively harassing him

"benji the dog"

"benji the dog"

"benji the dog"

benj and I grew up very close, in age and distance.

I couldn't handle this barrage of childhood harassment on my blood brother.

I was red with fury, as I recall, and still our cousin who was visiting from Kamloops

 (love you greg)

kept on

"benji the dog"

trevor was between us, our cousin from salmon arm(at the time)

and trevor was bigger than he or I so he didn't see me coming

(see, sucker punch)

I stepped around trevor with my arm in full swing and caught greg right in the nose

he started wailing as his lips turned red

he didn't call benj a dog again.

I had to apologise to greg, dad made me.

I imagine greg was made to apologized to benj, but I don't remember.

haven't punched anyone in anger or defence since.

I am happy about that.

benj has repaid the favor in many kinder, more passive ways since

and benj, you are a dog.

 

 

 

cap'n's blog, stardate: 23/12/2013

ol' Rambo and I scurried down the inland highway.

wind chasing the trees, limbs swirling in behind us, lost in our exhaust.

and us, we are chasing fairies.

ferries.

there are clouds drying in a box in the back ...

a delivery run.

and a home for the celebration of the saviour.

Christ god, we give him a face.

the son sets.

I wait.

 

mothers day.

my mother is the sweetest, most elegant and beautiful woman in the world.

she is hilarious and precise.

her memory for things that happened 50 plus years ago is better than mine for yesterday.

she taught me how to sew and cook, and because of her I have started making my own bread.

she gave me the freedom to have a love for and pursue art.

she knows how to dress well and wears a scarf better than lady Diana.

she loves to read and recap stories, and she's a master with detail.

she helped raise her twenty brothers and sisters then six kids of her own and now six (soon to be seven) grandchildren.

she is a powerhouse.

she is my hero, and my inspiration.

I love her more than life, which I wouldn't have the ability to do, had she not given me life itself.

 

 

 

here is, december.

it's nice out here on cape mudge road, in this little house. I like to stand in my long underwear with a coffee in my hand and stare out the window at the tall trees, moving with the wind or sagging under the weight of the recent snowfall. it's a solitary place. the yellow walls are joyful but I enjoy escaping them in the darkness of night, the silence. my mom would love it here, you hear nothing but your chest rising and falling. I often fill the space with the voices of the intrigued and concerned, the familiar friends in the stereo, radio 1. quite a routine life, up early, fed, dishes, sketching, painting, listening, eating cleaning up, a bath maybe, a record, a book, written conversation, bed etc. it's very new and strange and my thoughts often go with out being vocalized, so I've started talking to myself and making noises into the cupboards, I dress up the bread and dance with the soup. its a great work space. I'm stuffing my jacket and some old pants so I can hug them. just kidding mom, i'm fine. haha. the fleas have put together an orchestra at my request, which is great because other than painting me like a red and pink dalmation, they've proven useless. you should hear them do Beethoven's symphony no. 7. spectacular. I have them working on some beck songs.

fathers day.

today would have been my father's 61st birthday. he left his living body what seems like a lifetime ago. I believe he was 52 when he died. so young, but he seemed and I assume felt very old. he sure looked it to me. I miss him. I am thankful for his life and what he gave me. he lives on, he knew he would, through anyone who met him. what a heart.

pearly things.

song ya.

I have a certain obsession with the pearly kinds of jewelry, earrings and necklaces, I don't know why.  this is my cousin Sonja, we grew up together fighting evil criminals and those kinds of things, she wears a smile, always true and pure.

dry run.

car'd bored.

strangers talk

lakes float past

doors clink

legs shuffle

packs chink

and cars rustle by.

we are waiting for you, for our saint of the road.

silly though, in the café.

I could stay here all day with the chairs

the walls

the coffee.

Ah, back to the road.

soft legs. red face.

red eyes, slow pace.

-aug 15th, Wawa Ontario. 6:30 am.

 

breakfast.

I nearly ate a butter tart for breakfast

it was a close call.

now its just black coffee with thoughts of eggs and toast.

I haven't earned them yet though.

here I come james bay.

with two mighty stems and some coffee.

i'll move slow, quickly passed the slower folks.

life on simcoe.

grabish ganuch. slagert rabutica. sloorv ballort

silvery sandwich and telephone crackers. yesterday was slappy knee, heel kick BASH SLAM SLAM . bare feet gun.

rip, rip

HUUUUYAH.

woooop!er will.

don't try any of those gum boot moses.

thump. thu thu. thump.

ssssshhhhhhhhhwwwwit

fourteen Cadillac steers, dog tires. retread again for to amis. not that he wanted six tows. that's your family though, the money is in the cat. window sun slippers and bloom.

open fire.

here is my winged finger, with four cousins singing lead. back up and unload.

hhhhergop.

plus the moon ducktor.

a lover with paintbrush eyebrows and corn cob tea.th.

grrrrrruuufffff veins with hot dog earlobes.

dont' eat my hearing aid, not if you're lactose tolerable anytime.

picnic.

wear oui our the table cloth, hand the fou'd heats hour whine.

AND I MEAN IT.

today, the 21st.

I had a very special moment today, I found myself in a situation that I could have never anticipated. surrounded. with full ease, and permission.

I held them,

I moved them,

and we sat together, close then further then close and even closer.

my heart raced,

and still does.

they moved me, still.

 

after eight.

the imprint of my body still on the couch, and the floorboards feel the weight. so much time on my ass its hard to imagine there's any shape there. as I write I imagine myself saying this in a whiskey smoked voice. not sure why, I've a got a voice like a door mouse. maybe that's why.

so its an out of body experience. there is a picture of myself on the refrigerator and i'm staring at the cameraman, who seems to be me, for now, it would be you if you looked at it. there I am, just stuck there with my fingers on the keys, how fitting, now this blasted screen is glowing on them again.

pushing words. binary canaries zipping through the mainline. glass of water. old socks and long underwear, i'm just sitting on the couch. its late, by my mom's standards and I have no reason to be awake, not by my mom's standardzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

                                                                  z

                                                                            z

                                                                                  z

                                                                                  0<---<

night mom. love you.

another bed.

the bed was soft and foreign

a friend's bed.

with big pillows that wrapped around my head

under the covers I pushed my legs to the end

I stared at the moon as it smiled

stars flickered on

the moon crept off.

I dreamed about you last night

and its been a long time

I don't think of you often, ever.

I don't remember what happened

I don't know anything about you

not anymore.

I also dreamed about you.

you made me an oil painting

and sent it in the mail, still wet.

bleak yellow houses on the shore

and a rock with a strange animal on it.

you had trouble recreating a seal.

etched in the oily sky

you told me you weren't coming.

that's fine.

I think of you often, always.

still I dreamed about me

I can't stop thinking about me.

lift head

move arms

curl toes

it's best for me to do the thinking here.

its strange occupying other's beds.

I'm not sure I know how to sleep in them.

 

 

katelyn's day.

a sister.

oh golly. here is my sister, through love and experience. who I am getting to know every time we sit together. and as much as I know her, I anticipate more time and knowing. she came into my life but only a few years ago, stealing my blood brother from me, she didn't even sneak him away, just swept in and said, he's going to be spending the majority of his time with me now, deal with it. I got a bit frightened and stayed my distance for a bit. but time wore on and we hadn't much of an idea of each other. the three of us really. so I flew around the world and thought about them. they had made me cry the last time we were together, their love for each other casting light to the sun. so I sat on that big fat bird, flapping its exhausting wings down south. and we know the story there. but that time holds so strong with me and the love that grew is still full and true. that was our time. and now we are home, another home, an older home and we are apart, but only in geographical measures. so today is your birthday, you grow older in numbers and spirit (and it shows, in the best ways) and i have wished it to you personally and now publicly, so that others may think to wish the same, for you and for others, i wish for this day to be full and bright, regardless of sunshine, i hope your every thought is full of love and the knowing that you are loved, i wish for your husband to feel blessed by you and you by him,  i miss you and your warmth. i love you my sister. give guapo a kiss for me. can't wait to see you again, and that persistently joyful old man of yours.

early morning cafe.

hey sarah, sarah!

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a day that I could give you
I’d give to you a day just like today
If I had a song that I could sing for you
I’d sing a song to make you feel this way

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high

If I had a tale that I could tell you
I’d tell a tale sure to make you smile
If I had a wish that I could wish for you
I’d make a wish for sunshine all the while

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy
Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely
Sunshine almost always makes me high
Sunshine almost all the time makes me high
Sunshine almost always
-JD-DP-CK

move.

 I am. moved. in the city with commotion. with pace and regret and misunderstanding. also comfort. not for me. not for most. but life, living and hope for hope and betterment. I don’t understand pleasure as a truth in the city. but I also don’t understand updrafts. confusion. needed. mislead and conceited. today we sat in a crowded crown of thousands and watched out of date airplanes fly in formation, people gawked at the sky and each other and the continuous sirens of the lower east side. gathered for the reminder and thanks to those who have fallen but so distracted from why and where. a “bum” asking for change(coins, yes, but surely more) pushed aside as a disturbance. I am disturbed. why? aren’t you?

to one of my best friends, who i don’t always treat so well. i’m new at this.

ramblin’ rambo and his lovely lady friend.

Ramblin’ rose, ramblin’ rose
Why you ramble no one knows
Wild and wind blown, that’s how you’ve grown
Who can cling to a ramblin’ rose?

 

Ramble on, ramble on
When you’re ramblin’ days are gone
Who will love you with a love true
When you’re ramblin’ days are gone?

Ramblin’ rose, ramblin’ rose
Why you ramble no one knows
Wild and wind blown, that’s how you’ve grown
Who can cling to a ramblin’ rose?
-slim whitman

A FAVORED BLUE. OCT 25 1965

at the bottle.

with nostalgia of being in the crib, which I don’t remember.

at the bar.

the proverbial confessional.

a hardwood keyboard with shackles for the wrist,

long enough though to grip and reach the lip.

fill, full and overfill.

to smoke cigarettes,

I loved those eyes,

sad and blue

starkly grey.

piercing through your sense like mr. Dylan’s morbid harp.

i’d put on my gumboots

full of cement.

and go swimming in the river.

feels good,

feels,

feels,

its cold,

being numb.