Poots enters
2000this page is now BOOKMARKABLE
hit 'reload' for today's entry
january 27, 2000 starved
i am now more emmersed into a world of men
than a) i ever thought i'd be than b) most women would allow
and c) i want to belunchtime is for watching tables of interesting looking women
and jumping up in my mind to go and sit with them, saying,
"hi! i'm starved for female conversation! can i join you??"they've got ribbons sewn up the seams of their jeans
and braids and stuff. they've not got a cell phone strapped
to their waist, and they are discussing the dessert with a sense
of the notion that someone actually made it.clyde the cactus has moved into the sun for some winter
therapy; i've taken to rehydrating rooms by spritzing the
plants obsessively, but the days are getting longer...
this is a morning that i would stay exactly where i am,
cross-legged and chewing, there's plenty of java where
this one came from and since we live so close to civilization,
there's a corner store before the corner if i needed more cream.the bills are electronically paid here,
the cars started from the living room.
we move around in our digital life
watching us move things around.i'd like nothing better than to have some female conversation.
january 26, 2000 pacing with a new baby
You cannot see anything more serene,
the vehicles as though they'd driven through large dunes,
crusted to the core with sticky snow, heavy white purity hanging on every limb, all signs of pavement encrusted,
sounds muffled and it's as if nothing moves.
except in here, me, in the dark, looking outside,
remembering long walks, snowmen, when snow was more
than beautiful to look at and a pain in the ass to shovel.
and i sit here, rehydrating my dry body with nothing more than
melted snow, across the street the television flickers to the left
and the woman with the new baby paces in her yellow living room.
is she singing? playing her flute? does she sit late at night
and type into a box of plastic and resisters?he is right that i'm watching a beautiful world from somewhere
that i'd rather not be. although that's not the point, i must make it.drying up really allows you to enjoy rehydrating.
january 25, 2000 "we'll both be together when we reach the sea"
it's not shock value. all sorts of people like me.
i think even some children do.
"if you been thinking you're all that you got
then don't feel alone anymore
cause when we're together
then you got alot
cause i am the river
and you are the shoreand it goes on and on
watching the river run
further and further from things that we've done
leaving them one by one
and we have just begun
watching the river run
listening and learning and yearning,
run river runwinding and swirling and dancing along
passed by the old willow tree
where lovers carress as we sing them our song
we'll both be together when we reach the seaand it goes on and on,
watching the river run
further and further from things that we've done
leaving them one by one
and we have just begun
watching the river run
listening and learning and yearning,
run river run"Kenny Loggins and Jim Messina
Watching the River Runin between the painful getting to the sea
and the oh-so idyllic here and now...
january 25, 2000 but on TV
the possibility exists that I am the one whose brain is so terribly
inculcated with a view of the world based on television. unable
to shake it, i project my distorted view of the world on others.
this notion doesn't particular bother me;
which does particular bother me;
rather maybe i a would be happy merely to have an explanation
and perhaps rather maybe, i prefer my tubed view...
because the shiny streets last night were beautiful in my eyes;
wet, merely, to others, their mirrory glimmers distinctly reminded
me of a lifestyle from the past; complete with music, characters,
and sounds of the city; where else could i have seen and heard
such a world but on TV?
late now, i chew.
january 24, 2000 i could steal lyrics
it's monday morning and where are you, eyes droopy with accumulated
tryptophan, shaking weekend cobwebs from my peace-enhanced mind
it's january in the beginning of a millenium i won't see the end of,
and a clarity with which i will make new decisions has begun to
embrace me, all of us, really. it's a newness, a freshness, even if
we sometimes feel dull.
it hit me last night as i watched the golden globe awards.
silly, really, how slow i am to see what is so obvious,
but telling of the view i that i am hardly in control of
my life. nearly 35 years it has taken
me to get the real urge to do something
ultimately creative.
to see that i should be making FILMS.
but how was i supposed to know that then?
and what is the point of my films?
what was i supposed to write here, could be translated into
a film with faint dustlike crispy snow winding about the
tailpipes of crunchy vehicles winding up onramps for the
Decarie serviceroad...while Polaris plays a traditional Swedish
melody piped in to the car stereo and - - - and - - - you see
the problem is , which point do i make? which crisis to be
analyzed? which peoples to focus in on? perhaps none is the
answer. i could call it Imagine and steal lyrics from Lennon
i will continue my day, weaving Imaginings in and out of my
brainspace for this monday at the beginning of the century
and see where my imagination brings me before the end
of the millenium comes.
happy monday.
happy century.
"you are everything
and everything is you"
try to remember that
i'm sweeping back and forth tonight, the night of january 23rd 2000.
watching brilliant, intelligent actresses on the Golden Globe awards
gives new light to Hollywood and injects some sanity and intelligence
into something that often shows only it's pretentious, callous face.
then the radio station that i have finally found to deliver the music
i really want to listen to, plays music that i haven't heard since our
CFQR days, the music that inspired my childhood dreams and grew
me into the person who is watching that beautiful actress giving that
speech on TV. these are the kind of rare moments where everything
comes together, not those planned kodak moments that end up
being just another pile of developed glossies.
racking my brains for any piece of undiscovered territory that is still
safe to write in this place - still kind enough words which won't
break someone's soul - gentle, flowing prose that comes out only in order
to fill the page and output my creative energies at the same time -
but unlikely to be any real honest glimpses of what i would write,
if i could... easy come, easy go.another epiphany last night, and thanks God for each of them.
i was told how personal my experiences are. what a touching
thing - at first it was a lonely moment, experiencing the reality
of my personal experiences by myself, but shortly after that i was
able to understand just how much of a compliment i was given.
it is a foreign concept to me, to evaluate my own ideas in the framework
of someone else's perceptions - what would be the point of that?
constantly using exterior references, and only being able to evaluate
their own experiences when balanced up with a pile of fish on the
other side of the scale, society, family, whoever, whatever. what
allows me, who taught me to internalize to such a great extent?
who decided that i would be such a private person?it's just me, and the seventies, sometimes.
it was no one's right to leave this music behind,
no one's conscious effort said that real passion
and romance would fade into oblivion forever,
God knows, i didn't think the eighties would leave
such an unforgivable legacy. genocide, really.638-1313 it's called the Groove line and now
they are playing Al Green
"don't look so sad, i know it's over
but life goes on, and this world keeps on turning
let's just be glad we had this time, to spend together
there is no key to watch the bridges that we'll burn
lay your head, upon my pillow
hold your warm and tender body close tomine
hear the whisper of the raindrops
softly against my window
make believe you love me,
one more time
for the good times"
well good night.
signing off,
poots
january 23, 2000 where strippers pee?
what is a product?
what sells records might not have much to do with
the melody nor who is singing.
hyper-produced sounds sound pleasant to us,
the quality of the sound of the music, not the music itself,
tells us that we want it - after we choose Tide and Cosmpolitain
baring brushed up photos behind filters of money, we choose
audio tracks that are electronically manipulated to sound like
crafty brand names...products we know that are quality...
because they cost a darn lot of moneyit's the next level of thinking, the final piece in my puzzle
of western civilization's obsession with money. now,
if only i could peel away the tough scales
for myself and completely change the way i see
the world.
where strippers pee the toilet roll containers
are covered in cigarette burns
the theory goes like so:
it may not seem like i'm having as much fun as i think my 12-year old
thought i was going to have; but that's from my 34-year old's eyes...
late nights, sore head, cold feet, new sheets
january 21, 2000
grrr
i actually hate technology
but who would believe that.still frustrated by lingering PMS
it gets worse as we get older
as we unravel the unfairness of life...in the greater schematic of things
life buzzes on around my whole
and i sit facing into my brain
which reflects my solidarity with myself
and my inate universe mastery
some days it shinesstay away from me today if you dare
we will eat pizza and sing some internal songs
about getting older and still celebrating itlike i said stay away
poker night tonight leaves me with questions about myself,
what do i choose to do when i choose?
hmph. january 21, 2000, friday. wish i could go have a drink at
that bar that ally mcbeal goes to. otherwise i may just end up
in the kitchen, cruel tricks of nature, ahhh.quiet e-mail, frozen internet, are these very different fundamentally?
the neighbours are gone salmon fishing and the messanger boy is
no where in sight. probably chasing the neighbours' daughter....but i digress. what did i sit here to write anyways? - - - la la la
lots of Acadian songs to be sung - - - la la la - - -
and we're still learning notes that Mozart wrote.i'm thinking maybe i'll just sit here all day.
i thought that yesterday too.
scratch that cerebellum poots
january 20, 2000
i chew when i'm bored.
maybe it's just an evolutionary thing
i've developed.
remain busy or bite my cheeksnow it's winding out of the new year
winding towards the days of longer days
and it's fun to look forward now. the optimism
creeps back into life soon just in time for RRSP season.
everyone's got their theories, i've got mine.chew chew
i've made more coffee because i'm not finished writing
and i'm not finished chewing.
a serious bout of PMS leaving me out to get the world
so they'd rather not see my face in that place anyways.
just a little more while...
just a little more...and then where did that go that beautiful view i had of that
small student kitchen, something i had never seen before,
what about it lured me? what about it appealed to the
naive eye of mine...and now in my small coffee brews the
second cup of java and the neighbours in the city still
imitate life by pasting paper snowflakes on the window...
i used to feel very frustrated by the world around me.
from one extreme to the other; first that anything was possible
and then, about six years ago to the realization that you cannot
change what is around you. and live to see it, that is.
it doesn't want to be changed - so i sit here quietly and pray for it.
i watch it, observing with my eyes as only they can see,
touch it, taste it, sing it, and then make my own conclusions,
proud that they are mine and thankful that i have been given
this gift. who is less frustrated by imposing their fortress on
their surroundings? by assuming and living by that assumption
that the structure is atually theirs to move?
i'm dulled by these realizations, lulled by my own conclusions
into a place of relative peace - ! - but lacking in excitement.
so far i think i've left things better than i've found them.
dusty snow from the heavens
many things about me are derived from who i am
and who i am derived from them
who taught me to pray by example
who taught me that I Would be Good
who had faith
who gave that faith to me
and now i have faith in me.
january 19, 2000
you must have a world inside;
decide for yourself, create some kind of reality.
otherwise how do you know where the beginning is?
if you let them decide, they will, and with impunity.
you're the only one who knows!
you wouldn't want to get to the end having played by all their rules now would you?
would you?
they may seem genuine;
they may seem to laugh.
they're only making you laugh to get your money.
they're only helping you out so you'll help them.
you can't be friends with society.
it's an urban legend.
the only truth is what's inside of you,
what YOU decide is real. it's true. you can know what is real.
it just takes a bit of effort.
what would you want if you could think outside the box?
what games would you create if you didn't care about them?
do you really want to get to the end of their game when
the only goal of their game, is to get you to the end?
little poots' stomach gurgles the gurgling sounds of a speedy dinner
and large espresso. her stiff joints remind her that she flipped upside
down yesterday. she can't see outside the window for the frost,
and the kitchen heater blasts aloud.
the paper is filled with boring techno-careers while she sits in her box
looking at them from the outside.
despite the blaring heat her little fingers are chilly.
typing on a laptop is faster. she is tired with the pre-MS of the pre-days
as her once fit now fitter 105 pounds prepares itself. these are the quiet
times. lamb stew, apple cake, smells invigorate.
nellie mclung knew things i do not, and my struggles pale in comparison,
but they are my own, and i still write them down.shudder, chills.
just the sound of the heater was keeping me warm.
i might turn it back on.there is an empty space where fester stood, short but green.
his piney needles will need to be vacuumed. i guess some
people in the suburbs wouldn't leave them strewn about,
on the hardwood flooring. perhaps something inate makes
them think that the neighbours will show up for tea?
perhaps i'm angry because i know they won't...
a jinx or something that might cause it to happen.a big strong yawn and my energy drains away like the rusty stains.
itchy skin as the real winter now sets in. you may not, but i see my
psoriasitic genes, i've touched DNA and i know how it coagulates
in the little plastic tubes that go into the PCR machine. i wonder if
they've come up with something better since i left?7:50 now and my speedy hour is over.
my, how time does fly when you're having fun.
(PCR=polymerase chain reaction, a reaction caused
by rotating purified DNA through cycles of heat mixed with small
'primers' corresponding to the initial sequences of a particular
gene and causing that gene to be replicated, if present.)
january 17, 2000
i didn't do it. i did not add the depressing and i am NOT depressed.
there's a frankness with which i view the world;
an openess that evolution has supressed in many,
a clarity, an honest look at your own definition of the truth
something that comes across as negative, downtrodden,
which is only a fraction of what i see.in fact i see beauty in a way that is so beyond words.
with a sense of knowing that sums everything up in
the tying of a shoelace. the white smoke billowing from
the next building that i see thru the crack in my blind,
as i barely read the logo on the cargo plane as it passes
overtop - who would understand that beauty as i do?
which phrase could tell the summary of that?
so it's a private viewing, and only i am there.but this life is too short to spend it bragging.
for the sake of all things humble and lowly,
i choose to write about what cannot defend itself.
'That I Would Be Good
That I would be good
Even if I did nothing
That I would be good
Even if I got the thumbs down
That I would be good
If I got and stayed sick
That I would be good
Even if I gained 10 pound
That I would be fine
Even if I went bankrupt
That I would be good
If I lost my hair and my youth
That I would be great
If I was no longer queen
That I would be grand
If I was not on a wing
That I would be loved
Even when I'm not myself
That I would be good
Even when I am overwhelmed
That I would be loved
Even when I was fuming hat
I would be goo
Even if I was clinging
That I would be good
Even if I lost sanity
That I would be good
Whether with or without you
(alanis morissette)
january 14, 2000no one asks
'What did you make for dinner last night?"
anymorejanuary 7, 2000
white fluffies melting from the heavens;
a free and easy weekend in the makings,
several ounces of fermented grape juice from the
south of France graces the best third of a
tall glass of clear crystal,
sheet music arrived from the depths of the online;
and my Friday night is near perfection.it's a quieter world after new year's. the phases of the years never ceases to surprise
even me, the one who is so sensitive to the changes themselves. renewal in the early fall months, friskiness in the early spring, and then bouts of up and down and in between, in between. this is a neutral time - neither down nor up, the words flow but niether easily neither painfully. after i'm done, they look like words. not insignificant enough to erase nor wonderful enough to praise.
he's alive, joe sr.;
father of a wonderful friend,
both men i love.
as i watched him sing around the living room there,
i was watching a part of myself;
what i perhaps will one day do,
what i perhaps oneday will dream.
how can we take this away,
and how can we explain it to our children?a snowy incident today
we ate in a sczheuan restaurant.
i buzzed around myself
in my own little life;
and no one else knows
the tune to which
i buzz.many, however, are curious at my life-force.
that is the life force i would try to convey
here, if freedom allowed me.
and if i did, i mean,
truly and madly and deeply,
then i am thinking,
it would not be my life force any longer.
:-)
and that's the whole truth.
january 3, 2000my muddlings for the new century/year/millenium
consist of feeling 'had' by the media,
embarrassed
for all of a society that it seems will go down in time as being so ruled by the media that we sat huddled up in our homes while such a huge event passed us by. there are some who feel that the sign is a good one, meaning that we inately distrust technology however the sad truth seems to be how much we are slaves to the media.
january 2, 2000
it's january and the malia has wheeled himself out the door for a bikeride. poots is still inside wasting - or deliberating about the wastefulness of a day of nothing,
when organized people would have purchased a new
computer and perhaps would be making some money right now. instead my mind chooses to scribble words down about what it ought to be doing.
january 1, 2000
attempting spaciness on a full stomach isn't working
what's up with yellow, anyways? mild melancholy overlaps
with missing out on a skiing adventure while plans and
friends plans skip planes like rocks over the ocean.
a redesigned site and little affectations from the outside
world and now a colder poot, i'm getting up to open the
blinds and crank the heat up
reminding myself of a character in 'les miserables'
that can barely muster enough
sense to keep myself warm while my
colder fingers rub themselves together.
HOME
Half
of what I say is meaningless; but I say it so that the other half may reach
you.
-Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931)
we hardly remember how
we ended up in LA-
today it's like a very
real dream - surely less real than the ones i had last night...
driving up and down
sepulveda in that time warped architecture,
dotted with the latest
and greatest of america
