the mEp
j   u  l  y     2001
Lyrics of Life
june may april march february

AUGUST for real

august 19th
in 00 poots and boots were in southern europe on vacation
in 01 poots and boots  will be in northern europe working
and it's just too beautiful outside to sit in here and write.

august 16th
elvis died in 77
poots was a mere 11
in 01 poots journey continues

august 9TH
hot hot hot
poots is off to

august 3rd  -      FREE - day

yes i realize it's not july anymore. unfortunately, that's not the worst of it.  i'm grumpy all of a sudden. and i'm writing english, this is disturbing me but i'm just letting things go as they will.  lot's of i'm-ings around here.
music is loud and people's mother's are alcoholic. this is akin to well, it's akin to my mother being alcoholic which is just very very far from any kind of reality... i mean, my mother's not perfect, but, well, um, you know what, i'm going to leave that one alone. these are the kinds of reasons that i don't bother to write in straight english around here; i'm not ready for the consequences. not yet, anyhow.
what kind of a week was it. right now, i don't remember much of it except people flying off the handle, exciting opportunities abroad, other things that i can't write about, shit, can't you see why i don't bother to try to write about reality here?
let's try that again. i'm sure that there is something i could write about. let's think. the theme of the week is women, i can tell you that much. i'd say 'we discussed' kissing women at lunch but i won't, because 'we' didn't discuss it at all. it was an entirely one-sided conversation until someone made an extremely intelligent conversation, something to the tune of 'the sexuality part doesn't matter as long as you're true to yourself and you don't do anything for the wrong reasons'. that sounded like one of my snippity answers; one of those lines that you just can't follow with anything more intelligent. maybe she really intended to stop the converstaion in it's tracks. :-) is that why i usually make global statements that end many a conversation in a hanging lull?  i mean, if the conversation isn't going to delve into an elaborate conversation into the margins of possibility and whatever is on the periphery; then why bother? that's what i say. :-).

there's just some days that i actually do get fed up of waiting for these machines and their dire slowness. but i digress.

i'm also in a watching state. i am watching me, what i'm after, and whether or not i'm in the front or on the sides. i mean, am i really pushing the water aside or am i thinking about it? this bothers me, because there's nothing about the ones in the front that i like. i convince myself, that i can be both at the same time, but i'm not convinced it's true. i'm really not sure about that. what do i mean? i can't really write it in plain english because it means that i've given in; it means i've admitted it. i wont do that. not yet.

the weather is idyllic. it's hot, hot, dry and summer. what's green and truly green is big, big, and green. what needs water is drying out and the things in between are being watered. on a daily basis.

i can't believe we're worried about 100 dollars a day for food.
that revolts me.

i guess i could actually just sit here all night, all friday night, and write.

august 2nd  -      thurs - day

   'bows and flows of angel hair;
and ice cream castles in the air
and feathered ponies everywhere,
i've looked at life that way'

many life churnings, i'm eager to get outside -!- all the laptops around me are humming their little fans, have i abused them so? grrr to the time that zoom zoom zooms when i need it most!
there's no where real to start in this story, so i won't start it now.
bla bla bla, how much water can i give the flowers before they still dry up by the time i get home in this heat. hot hot hot, water water nowhere it's supposed to be only on our brow and the remants dangling on the wilted leaves when i get home. mail interactions, swedish interactions, life interactions, i'm not in a slow-mo writing state; here i am buzzed out on maximum caffeine dosage, frantically spitting words that are going no where. this is cubist poots.
but we've all got our place and my place is now so i'll continue feeding this for a momento or two. i'm speaking english these days, i wonder if someone will notice. i'm allowed.
so it's 8.01 and i'd like to climb up the mountain at least a little this morning, but i also wanted to read the paper and also wanted to send an email to diana krall and also wanted to say hello to you and time is running out and it's 8.02 now.
when the new life spins, i stand outside in my weird clothes without a care, i fire off emails to famous people, i spit out words here with iron conviction; the whole world turns upside down and right again and i feel so strong, maybe too strong, in my boots. and things spin and i want it all and i didn't feel like getting up on time this morning and now i'm late and i'm really really annoyed so i'm just going to type frantically into this compaq keyboard and maybe it's abuse who knows?
it's time to walk up the hill.


july 30th -      mon - day - why doesn't netscape like me today

              i'm a bit groggy in the head although i can't say i have anything intelligent to say. some of the things i've been wanting to write here are in deeper layers of my cranium. intentions are there.

she had this 'womensumption' i'll call it. the natural gravitation of conversing with primarily the other 'woman' in the room. i suppose there are times it's called for, and even perhaps moments when i am guilty of it myself; but it still always makes me feel like a part of a group that i don't feel a part of. hmph.

and my brain these days is just like a little stew. bits and pieces brewing around; nothing particularly standing out nor focused; cooking; waiting to be declared ready (Wednesday) and taken off the heat. several things are happening on wednesday if you care to know, but i don't remember what they all are just now. stewing.

i'm thinking of the slate roofs
i'm thinking of Dr. T.
i have a new nozzle for the hose
i'm explaining to short-haired women how instead of thinking abou the right words to write here; i simply let the words come out in the conbination that suits them, and me, at that moment, and how somehow, this manages to convey the thought-space that i have an that moment.

this machine insists on humming loudly which bothers me. who says it can?

yeah i'm just in 'leftover' mode, not too much specific, going on.
it's monday. d


july 26 -      thursday

                in standard dream form, i flew and bounced and flipped all the way down the trail. at the end of the bluff, there were some young people in the water.  at first, they were simply swimming in the dark, wavy water. most of them were tanned as they turned into surfer-looking dudes, athough they had no boards. all of a sudden, the waves became huge and everyone was very excited. the biggest wave finally sent three of them onto the gravel trail. they all screeched in ecstacy, and i was envious of their fun.  as the waves subsided, i noticed two houses built into the bluff's rock in the distance.
a woman was watching from her open-faced house, replete with large bookshelves. i contemplated asking her how she managed to get a house built into that rock in that place, which was remote and forboding. soon, the waves subsided completely and there were left only myself and two others, staring at the dark murky waters which were no longer cresting. they began to appear as if almost frozen, the surface shiny. as we started to walk back in the dark, snow had covered the less-worn margins of the trail, which had grown narrower now.


                    july 25 -      w    e    d    n   e     s   d    a    y

My dancing, my drinking, and singing
weave me the mat on which my soul will sleep
in the world of spirits.

               -- old man of Halmahera, Indonesia

i'm not standard. whatever how, whoever why,  i feel compelled to tell you that.
i watch others as they go; what they write and how much they care, and my conclusions rebound to place me outside the percentiles of standardness. i mean this in a technical sense, of course every soul is blessed with an X factor, with an originality only their own.  it's a difficult concept to splay in the written word, and in fact, i do not endeavor to do so - my purpose here is highly standard, in fact.

does it matter that i'm not standard. why do i mention it, even. it's a kick in the butt; a reminder of who i am; it's a post-it note to myself that says DO SOMETHING! as i repeat, over and over again, i just don't know what IT is to be done. "greet the messiah with random acts of kindness" is as close as i can get, really. that sign on my way home fills my entire essence with joy, whenever i stare at it in passing. is this proof enough i'm not standard?

july 24 -      t    u    e    s    -    d    a    y

broken  pipes;  but i met the neighbours.  some of these women are the original inhabitants of these buildings. we're talking 1949. i can't imagine watching things around me change so much, it's a good thing it happens very slowly. so the monthly-social era commences, as if it had waned last week. but now it's true socialization, reaching out and having the proper observational prowess. a kind, kind, soul is ruth at #38, while my cousin is highly linked to me transparent, even thru the genes, as he shares his astute yet kindly opinions in this layer of heat. and even later on, a plastic cork flies straight into the night thickness landing directly back into my hand before we toast a birthday and a legal immigrant.

yesterday was for energy; climing up to the secret spot. today, the thick air not so inviting, i may choose to lounge until i see fit. a breeze of wind about 80 degrees is delightful now. i wonder if Ruth is outside still, although 7:30 is too early for her on her days off... what a kindred spirit she is, my dreams full of annointing her with thanks. freckly-faced, i tried to shut up as much as i could to listen to her words, so rich but moreso, filled with a genuine passion for this place. familiar tones on a different subject, it was one of those watching myself moments.

and now


july 22 -      s    u    n    d    a    y
i've    seen plenty of sights worth noting around here, it's just a matter of thinking of them. well i suppose it won't be today. today i'm here, rested, undrunk, watered and humidified, bed's made, no lawn-mowers running,
things are, well, quite restfully in place.

it's the cocooning hour. not because summer's here but because spring's over. i believe we all forget that summer's for lounging and lazing, not rushing and partying. in the spring we renew - we rush - energy flows back into ourselves. but now, summer, lazy dog-days of summer, the energy has overflowed and it's time to settle into a comfortable lull of cats in the yard and top-winded trees. these days are not meant for running. and it took me how many years to figure this out?

it's also the sentimental days but the older i get the more i ignore them. a signed-sealed-and-delivered fact, i have the potential to be completely and 100% 'in' the nostaligia of my life. on a day like this i would have sat in the bedroom and rifled thru old papers, letters, diaries, you know i stopped counting them at 250? would have sat there more than reminiscing; we're talking re-living, i've got an extremely accurate memory when it comes to the distant past. but i've put even that behind me, now. i've settled into knowing the 'era's of my life', into accepting that they are the past, and most importantly, accepting that the current era is better. that took two marriages, and thanks God i got them in the right order. :-)  .

i'm watching, as i've said of late. i'm watching art, dance, expression, literature. i'm watching from my own artform unnamed; and absorbing whatever is leftover. i truly consider these words as my fanciful output. you cannot see my arms in second position, but as you read these words, you are swallowing the effect.


      july 21 -      s    a    t    u    r    d     a     y
lazy saturday. griffon blond on my right, sneezing to the left, yawn yawn as the neighbours find green  sheets folded in the porch and placed carefully on the yellow pages.  quickly, to the back of the house to see what is amiss on the line. silence and more activity. we're not used to having neighbours moving much above us; we've been historically spoiled. on terrebonne, the man in the middle was in France for our entire short lease. on draper, these were quiet, static folk, retired from the bar. they seemed an odd, but paired couple who later, we hear from the lookman, split up. now there's a story i'd love to hear from both sides. next to LA where we were the above ones, and ditto for coolbrook. now we're on the bottom again - our rightful place, and for the past year the girl upstairs was one of those who fled the city for the weekends. something i can't imagine, but it left us in relative quietude for the sundays and saturdays.  now the chemists are like those of us who try to stay home on the weekends to have a few spare moments; albeit fleeting; to take deep breaths and wonder what to do next. an odd practice for the zooming ones.

unfortunately the griffon didn't go down better than well at all. liquid is all, gold liquid on a hot day. bitter, today.
and me, i'm passing time doing what i love so much that i feel guilty doing it on a beautiful day. brothers laying in the waterfalls, sisters sitting in pools, and he got a worse dosage of the feverish thing that passed thru my bones yesterday. somehow, these things manage to run over me quickly; i pretend that they're not there; i assume it's over, i don't take them seriously. i'm quite convinced it's at least half psych-somatic.

there's no shortage of what i could write about. i could make it organized; i could write my treatise on modern life, or an essay on the degradation of society. i could write about the beauty of today - belive me, i can find it, or i could write you some prose in the sunshine. i could probably sit here all day and just type into this machine of whatever comes into my mind, word by 80-words-a-minute word.
i won't though. i'll keep to this snippet format, teasing myself and perhaps someone else too; until reason comes along to tell me otherwise. why eat the whole box of chocolates in one sitting?

      july 20
an  email theory: i'd say that it seems hat different people came into email and the web in general, in waves resembling a 'what the market will support' type of effect. there were the pioneers, fearless of technology and generally motivated strongly by social prowess, avantegarde-isms, and / or creative spirits. then, i'd say there was the 'family effect'. that was when everyone and their dog was printing homemade birthday cards and sending photos of children to relatives. following that, you had the extremely independant types who don't rely on anything or anyone, people with their own strong personal agendas and lifestyles that were so energetic that they didn't have the time to focus on computers. compare to your friends, i'm curious.

the first heat bugs of the year great me yet i must coiffe my new do and slip into something suitable to go to that other building over there and excercise my nogin  for an early friday meeting. what a busy busy week this has been, one night for each good friend  - and now friday, for us. we're good friends too. it's an in-between-time as second quarter losses are posted although expected, there's still a bit of lazy-july time left which starts this afternoon methinks, and last night was a glorious one, the lightened hues of summer sky gradiating thru the brownstones on laurier as viewed from the corner of esplanade. short-sleeved arms,  griffon rousse filled glasses, laughter, and expensive hair on it's ends lol.

happy friday.

      july 18      and in related news....

as you may or may not be aware, i'm not often wont to quote daily newspapers. yesterday, i crave exception however:

"my failure to be terribly moved by California's troubles is directly related to my embarrassment at getting annoyed with my sister's computer; in the cosmic scheme of things, a shortage of electricity here is insignificant compared with the much more fundamental and profound problems experienced by so many people in the world-shortage offood, clothing, shelter, and peace. beyond that, of course, at least part of the cause for such trouble - not only here but elsewhere in the industrialized world - is that many of us have bought into a bogus notion of what life is all about. we have distorted our freedom and perverted our place in the world by embracing the ruinous idea that our primary purpose is to consume and acquire. <snip> so instead of wrestling with the question of what it means to be made in the image of God, we spend our times asking who wants to be a millionaire. we create an economy utterly dependant on consumer spending. on what? on what sucks up electrcitity, gasoline and time, products that eventually leave us gasping for energy and feeling bereft of meaning because we have lost track of who and whose we are." bill tammeus, knight ridder news service

well the article goes round and then goes nowhere and jumps to assumptions at every line, and the reader isn't sure where his perspective on God comes from, but the basic tenet of his article states what my letter to the editor stated not too long ago, that society is being designed (by itself) to create un-thinking, consumer robots who will blindly feed the economy.

notice he says 'we'. we've created it, only we can destroy it. the problem is that we feel that we have no control over it, and that is of course by design. what good is a matrix if everyone knows it's there?

there's more i wanted to say.

and some stuff i can't write here.

and the sun shines brightly on this mid-july day. the reality forces are strong. i feel like i'm really here, Like someone is listening, Like i have a choice. peering into old books written by ME in the seventies, it was those moments are few that my 12-year old dreamed of. which seems further, now? from then to here or from now to that past? 'bout the same, i'd say. my mother asked me over the weekend did i still write. can you imagine that she doesn't know that of me? am i that secluded a person, now?  my 12 year old had no secrets. is it obvious how private i can be here on these cybercave walls? isn't that a beautiful thing; complete communal privacy, just like in the old days of confessionals. it's the romanticism of 2001 that berdj spoke of. you and i are in it, baby, and deep.



later on. thursday, July 12th 2001

what do you assume about people?

maybe you're lucky and nothing is the answer. me, for the longest time, i assumed everyone was good. why not?
now, well, i still treat everyone as if they're good, but i know that many people really don't give a damn, and behave in accordance with that. this erodes at my consciousness and contorts my entire view of the planet. there's no point to being hateful, cruel, greedy beyond repair, or selfishly blind.
every once in a while i see a glimmer in a passerby's notice. something that makes me stop and rethink my eroded assumptions. don't let them overtake you. don't get lazy, i tell myself. don't give up hope in everyone just because yes, in fact, there are people who have lived situations necessitating greed, and doting selfishness. don't give up. don't assume. refresh the display. wipe the cache. change the background colour. sing. dance. illuminate both your life, and those around you with a renewed sense in humans; in life; like you did in the sixties; as if the eighties never came, as if there was no yesterday and will be no tomorrow.

sway. smile.


thursday, July 12th 2001

there are different ways of seeing the world but how many choose to do so? confined in their pre-defined cerebral packages,  some never choose to remove the filters that have grown over their eyes over the years. that filter gets all scratched, blurrs what's really out there. it's the default because of that. it's easier than thinking. i have to remove mine to realize that for many, wha'ts easier than thinking is choice.  and then i have to code everything in lyricism in order to be truthful, here. has anyone but clb figured that out yet, i wonder? perhaps it's just because i know no tactful way to do it. perhaps it's the laziness that i yield, once the thinking is done.

dreamy nite of losing babies and finding them; sick people; and swimming in the ocean?
i hope everyone has a 'free' space. somewhere they can dance, if only in their minds.



tuessday, July 10th 2001

what's in a word. or a tune, for that matter. all we have to convey feelings, when looks don't do.
i've sent many words. some weak, others powerful. left them on voicemails, in emails, to friends, to family, here, after a while they fade away....and i'm watching actions. have i done actions, i wonder, if i want to convey my ability, my creativity, should i use actions instead. will they back me up. they take more energy.

sometimes i'm giving; others, the rare ones, needy. i think i'm in a needy time but i'm looking in a different direction. looking for solitude. saying 'no' and actually meaning it. wondering how much STUFF can i do and what it is i should be doing. listening to friends. thinking about what i think of people.

it's summertime and how can i convey this. i'm watching from the outside funnily enough.
i watch pedestrians moving in my movie music; watching them through a life that even they don't see.
how can i convince the producer of that. i'm watching flowers grow. i'm saying no and barely believing it.
i'm seeing that i have ideas. nebulous work flows in and out and they don't even know what they are doing.
does that mean anything?
i'm carolynizing now.

bouncing? nah. thinking? sort of. watching? yes.



wednesday, July 4th 2001          sing praises to the living God

where is the heart space
where is the head space
where is the physical space
too bad no one asked me that yesterday

i can take several angles; here. silly painted nails have freed me from keyboards.
what will free me from swirling dreams; from modern-day angst grown tired?
the boss is going to brazil, the c.v. sent to stockholm, and my absence notwithstanding.
either i'm taking life or it's taking me, hand in hand, places neither of us recognize.
one of us is mischievous and i'm blaming the other.

extra java and little desire to excercise this morning, i'm holed up here with no modem.
at least there's no more click-cick on the keyboard.

a shiny silver hunk of galvinized metal and high tech plastic with an ODO reading of 25 sits in front of the building. is this my beautiful wife?

sing praises to the living God, not for me but for the ones that are not.


copyright Poot's Place 2001