the mEp
m   a   y     2001
  Lyrics of Life

friday, June 1  2001
how rare is a perfect heart?


tuesday, may 29th 2001

i think about the space i'm in;
it helps me ground, focus, build up defenses needed for the world we all face. i'm doing little constructive and wondering if i can get away with it. even though that's just in a little space called yesterday and today will be completely different, probably.

but in either case; i'm back here in this space. fully, wholly. pondering Acadian heritages, summer hazes, and the beauty that is walking over the mountain on an overcast evening late in May. we walked, each dark-brick house freshly adorned with geraniums and impatiens too; a tall man walked past his art-room and another filled a car with boxes. all the inconsequential movements that make up a collective called a blossoming summer in the city.

bottom of the mug came too quickly, i'm chewing.

more java please!

clickety-click, painted pink nails continue to spray words here. Feng Shui favours my thoughts in the rear of this house. no outdoor plants need watering in this washer-woman week. azaleas, lillies, snoballs, miniature white roses, and spirea too are soaked to the bone; soaked every single fledgling root that has sprung since the city ground thawed. it's the way, in this may.

i'm thinking of my friend carolyn now - funnily enough she lives in this place too and i can refer to her as i please. it's a sidewinded smile that covers my face now - while i remember the many words of hers that i have read on her white pages all. she knows the benefits of this exercise and the privacy of it too. all the analyists and reviewers can say what they will but it's like telling of a white water rafting from the shore; and it's just as personal an experience and just as unique for all.

usability has little place here. these are records for me;
if they are useful or interesting for you, well that's like the shade that the tree gives.


this is the heart space that my reiki teacher speaks of. judgements left behind; contentedness of being alone; sharing anyways. it's a place where what happens next doesn't matter. all wounds can be healed here, past and present. you can drink yourself here; ride yourself here; meditate yourself here, however you like it.

me, i write myself here. doesn't matter who's listening. it changes my space for the better. without fail, pretty much. now, something real is accomplished. and that's constructive enough for little poots.

monday, may 28th 2001
what's a weekend once it's over;
days of sleep and counting clover;
once those precious two are done,
they're just in piles of what was fun.

this extrovert recovered her tracks;
may breezes help blow sandstorm in her head
while beavers along the Chateauguay
toil under the rembrantish-glow
of the setting sun and the killdeers feigning injury.

7:37 now. the italian espresso cools more quickly in the porcelain mug. the moving neighbour moves around; we are the stable ones, in 2001. recalling moving days of yore; early july is a special place to be. with friends we sat on a moving sofa in the mid-summer heat; those are the only moments that really count, afterall. i'm looking forward to them dearly but trying not to overlook the now.
thinking of these precious early days of heatness, in the winter countries we understand more deeply the true effects of being able to walk from the bed to the garden. we understand the newness of the small bright green leaves, and watch earnestly as the world takes its time in order to do what must be done in the circle of life.

there are many pootly thoughts on this late may week's first day. while the caffeine molecules begin to circulate into the bloodstream and have the desired effect on the central nervous system, mrs. poots sits calmly, restfully, in front of the orange screen and thinks about her day.

Friday, may 25th 2001
More coffee please!

stand tall; shoulders straight; smile forcibly; you feel great. remember?

sunshine morning on a friday at least there's that. nothing better than fresh air when one has been holed up for months. impatiens blooming in the back and the patio's still wet from a mostly wet week. i'm counting blessings instead of gaffes; count, poots count. it's a long one.

i'm grabbing all the free positive vibes, moving the cloggy-brain away, and wishing the cup wasn't empty to the last drop.

is there time for more

thursday, may 24rd 2001
so back to my extrovert. what makes an extrovert holed up in this grenish room stare into a small orange screen by preference? the never-ending need to speak and think at the same time, i would guess. we seem to be talking about a most prime example here.  and i'm not only thinking of the way i would like to converse with every living human being that i pass on the streets of the city, nor the day i bought cigarettes for the debilitated woman in the metro station; but in a more general sense of my undying sense of responsibility for everything around me. in a cliché, my larger than lifeness. my empathy, my non-understanding of terrible things. and in the final coup; this burning desire to bring everyone else together, too.

so it's decided. a medaled extrovert; i will wear it more particularly this time around. it's not dragging my neck down no, i've decided it's exactly what helps me stand tall. leave the confidence home - perhaps some don't want to hear that story again. we'll keep that secret between you and me. shhhhhh.


wednesday, may 23rd 2001

poots is back in the original mEp-writing room; and one wouldn't know that it was not in fact the same room. a few quick glances and the paint is nicer but the wall seems sooner. aside from that, the room is the same as the room.

the party guests were quite complementary of the home we have created. i wish to bring them into this homeness because otherwise it's only half the home of home. the other half is the preciousness of company and the tenderness of the stranger's touch to the bathroom towels and the way our cheese tastes somehow yummier than theirs.

Monday, may 22 2001

pondering from a post-party Poot:

she and i are extroverts although her mother doesn't know it. we extroverts think while we talk. most intriguing. (then is extrovertness merely a function of being able to multitask?) completely fascinating.

little acadians are trained to answer for ourselves; our mothers didn't put words into our mouths.

there's more but i'm not sure where it is right now.
let's be in the now for a moment...

looks like it's another lazy poot morning, a large family mug contains but a spot of coffee. the hardware has migrated into a new position; perhaps for the entire of the summer, with it's associated cords leaving the clean kitchen floor and it's orange screen lined with books. here, poots can lean back into the chair and type with her arms in a normal position.

it's an exceptionally clean house, with some good karma left behind. it's a house of this city, built with local dreams in mind. the little piles of friends and dishes that poots has accumulated eventually are in the same room, no longer in tidy little piles but now in historically larger mounds; heaped together, some from France and some from upstairs. this pile appears to me to be a retrospect book of my life. i see things playing before me; built into wisdom passed on in my genes and solidified when old friends reappear at timely moments. brothers reappear disappear and reappear again like old friends, old friends continue being old friends; and some kind of nest is being built here. the only way i know how to let you in is to type, type, type.

beautiful sunshine leaning out of the boat;
more acadians! more and more! smiling, all around us.
food appears in the nick, but the nick of time.
the newness of may in this city covers us in the most delicate of green leaves; the wierdness that is being alive, greets us, again and again. thanks God for that.

Friday, may 18 2001

am i perhaps, of my father's world, where life is just and latin still matters? where knowledge exists for the sake of knowledge and our forefathers are more important than our descendants?

or perhaps the rush for money and continuing the rush assuming it will get you somewhere other than rushing for more is the answer. then, faced with the possibility of no longer being in that rush, i think, then what? then where will we rush and why was i rushing in the first place? can i enjoy not rushing. must i rush because it's there, because i can? is this some modern day high achiever dope that keeps us after whatever is the most sought after good of the day?

i know i've leapt from one to the other, but i can still see the chasm, and that's alright.

sunday, may 13 2001

i'm driving along, counting the things i would do it i had the time everyday to do them; not thinking of time past; but things like walking in the local park and bumping into friends of yore; and who does my gaze alight on but a good friend, we smile across the traffic at each other, he introduces me to his two precious girls. we continue to smile, and then the music starts, and i'm thinking precious are few the moments that we two can share...
and these songs sing into the depths of my past, into my seven-year old heart, melodies of a lifetime...

a large full poots sigh, i have time, i have time,
i am here, i am here, the sun shines, my love grows

1972  "Touch Me In The Morning"                                                      Motown  Diana Ross  3:52
 (R. Miller/Michael Masser)

Touch me in the morning
Then just walk away
We donít have tomorrow
But we had yesterday

Hey, wasnít it me who said
That nothing goodís gonna last forever
And wasnít it me who said
Letís just be glad for the time together

It mustíve been hard to tell me
That youíve given all you had to give
I can understand youíre feeliní that way
Everybodyís got their life to live

Well, I can say goodbye
In the cold morning light
But I canít watch love die
In the warmth of the night

If Iíve got to be strong
Donít you know I need to
Have tonight when youíre gone
Till you go I need to

Lie here and think about
The last time that youíll

Touch me in the morning
Then just close the door
Leave me as you found me
Empty like before

Hey, wasnít it yesterday
We used to laugh at the wind behind us
Didnít we run away and hope
That time wouldnít try to find us

(Didnít we run Didnít we take each other
To a place where no oneís ever been
Yeah, I really need you near me tonight
ĎCause youíll never take me there again

Let me watch you go
With the sun in my eyes
Weíve seen how love can grow
Now weíll see how it dies

If Iíve got to be strong
Donít you know I need to
Have tonight when youíre gone
Till you go I need to

Hold you until the time
Your hands reach out and

Touch me in the morning
(Mornings where blue and gold and we could feel one another liviní)
Then just walk away
(We walked with a dream to hold and we could take what the world was giviní)
We donít have tomorrow (Thereís no tomorrow here, thereís only love and the time to chase it)
But we had yesterday (Yesterdayís gone my love, thereís only now and itís time to face it)

Touch me in the morning (Wasnít it me who said that nothing goodís gonna last forever)
Then just walk away (And wasnít it me who said letís just be glad for the time together)
We donít have tomorrow (Wasnít it yesterday we used to laugh at the wind behind us)
But we had yesterday (Yesterdayís gone my love, thereís only now and itís time to face it)

Transcribed by: Char Star
Uploaded on November 11, 1998

later on.

you think you know me...?

                found in a rubble pile: earlier art forms of poots and boots.

                EMOT emotion.htm ION, a project of life. poots, June 2, 1980.
                (typed ink on yellowed paper)

  caveman story: boots, circa 1996
        (plastic-laminated computer generated printer paper)
to come...


saturday, may 12 2001

the warm bagels have arrived, how do i feel on a lazy saturday morning, lazy i guess. guilty shoulders; car dealerships still closed on saturdays, her green eyes still planted in my mind (and fluttery heart too) and i was wondering when you would ask why we were obsessed with my favorite? do you have such a hard time processing that information? is this because of what you expect of me, of others? i can't help it if beautiful women are beautiful, if they add so much goodness and spice to this world, i didn't make it that way, i just recognize and constantly appreciate it.

doesn't it sound so simple when i put my actions into english?


friday, may 11 2001

"i think i'ts exciting to be a woman. only now, at 35, do i appreciate the realization that the other women in this office chose their shoes, earings, and skirts this morning in a very similar fashion as I did. it's the most romantic, private connection that i have with them, perhaps the only real one at all."


wednesday, may 9 2001

"In those days the world teemed, the people multiplied, the world bellowed like a wild bull, and the great god was aroused by the clamour. Enlil heard the clamour and he said to the gods in council, "The uproar of mankind is intolerable and sleep is no longer possible by reason of the babel." So the gods agreed to exterminate mankind. - The Epic of Gilgamesh
people hurt their ears, they tolerate stress, and they don't move out of the wind from a tar truck. what are they thinking?

amazing what people put up with.
where is their sense of self-preservation?
did my Acadian upbringing really afford me such a rare luxury?

tuesday, may 8 2001
it's a pootsy day
with clearer thoughts
head hungover
but none to drink
a pootsy day
with curdled cream
and wondering where my dinner went

the papers fall,an unexplained itch
cold nosey and fingertips
rotten cream is now cold
fridge makes sounds
microwave not plugged into the new configuration
it's probably warmer outside
and where is that community events section?

there's a midrange point
when someone says "you're like this"
and you don't see you that way
and all of a sudden you hear what they say
and your you lets you hear it
and your self-centeredness goes away and you reaize that you're more selfcentered than you thought because all of a sudden,
twenty someodd years later, you're listening to someone tell you that you're not exactly the you that you always thought you were.
but you like it because you're listening
and you're not exactly ONLY the only you you thought you were.

i'm freezing and this table's too high.
time to go outside.

monday, may 7 2001

just an average pootsy monday.
  • up @ 8
  • dishes - the messiest looking bunch
  • phone was left at the birthday party
  • arrive @ work for 10:00 meeting,
  • forgot about students arriving today
  • 10:00 a no show
  • message on the cellphone at the party
  • pricing a car for a friend
  • early lunch with old friend from IS
  • pizza with scallops in the sun sun sun
  • back to 2PM negociations
  • unusually, pootsy is completely wiped
  • update project pages
  • send a few mails
  • print a few docs
  • students need help, some more than others
  • try to get out by 5:30
  • colleague calls for a lift
  • meet you behind parking structure
  • drive home
  • change into jeans, quick tour of the place, walk to our meeting
  • still not hungry
  • that was some pizza!
  • the pres is going to take a cab
  • offer a lift - she is happy!
  • off we go to the west
  • coming back gas light's on - 46$
  • home to the neater pile of dishes,
  • chat to the neighbour
  • lamb in the fridge for two days,
  • whip up a batch of moussaka
  • catch a few frames of Ally
  • zoo zoo 10:09.



copyright Poot's Place 2001