let there be
PEACE on EARTH
and let it begin with me and you
December 29 1998
"how do i live without you?"
i'm only settling now;
from grabbing my life!
and tossling it-along with those
of my loved ones - in the air,
not to know where it was to land.
still looking for some sockets
to plug back in to,
i'm glad that excursion is over.
whataride, what an energy-drainer,
whatastrange thing to have done.
and it was something i planned all my life.
as i've said 'expect the unexpected'.
my maturity overrides me;
i'm behind myself - or in front,
depending who's looking
my now self or my then self.
all the strange and wonderful people
it brought into our lives -
notwithstanding -
i am still left unconsoled
at the gaping meteorite-like hole
i've created in the center of my universe.
i am still waiting for the what,
with the why on it's wingtailes,
shortly afterwards.
nope, things are not as easy as they used
to be.
and i'm damned determined to change that.
where is it i rush to every day?
does my career really push my life aside?
or is it I, as i squint back emotional crocodile
tears, i who has brought me to a place i cannot cope with. my own self;
at fault (!) my own being,
hurdling myself toward destruction.
impossible says she.
nothing that unexpected.
harumph.
come to grips poots, girl,
you have done it and you can undo it.
everything must be questioned
or what is there?
December 271998
quietude
an inner peace evades me now.
that sanction which allowed me
to interact all over the place
is thinner now; transparent
some would say. well i'm not
really communicating with me,
so that must be the beginning.
stretching my proverbial legs
into spaces i once feared;
a mindset i loathed;
and a security mold i cannot
seem to break free from,
i really am trapped here now.
kind of a time space continuum
that will only let me see what
i am not, not what i am.
December 26 1998
the running has not stopped.
December 24 1998
my baggy eyes beside me now,
the running has not stopped.
slowing shifting into lower gears,
and when i say slowly i mean slowly.
luckily, earlier on,
i felt warmth and joy of this season;
i felt the love of christmas day
the peace of winter,
the safety that is home
luckily, i felt it
cause now the windedness
seems to have caused it to go away.
i'm not even looking around;
i feel like a rubber band
waiting to recoil
what has been stretching it,
but me i suppose.
in our organization we become disorganized
my ovaries are angry with me;
one more day in the big cold place
to be my own hero;
walking around inside my thoughts
and talking around my insides with myself.
underside the keyboard tray is cold,
rubs my soft green leggings.
the pigs mug nearing the bottom
and i tell my mental self
'don't chew your lip'.
if i could tell you in english
then it wouldn't be so; words that
are impossible to paint a feeling
even when it's not really a feeling.
i've pointed myself in all these directions;
it's just timing that's bad. christmas
takes up more than one block of brainspace
when you're dealing with other situations too.
then all that's left is to rant rant rant.
tomorrow dust will settle.
the boxes will be put away,
salmon nestled in it's package
will approach that opening point
children will squeal - or will they this year,
they're taller now, taller than i, quieter,
perhaps quieter than i. but they will smile
and give hugs, as we, all of us, throw ourselves
around that little room which gets littler on that day, and bury ourselves
in our goodfortune.
t o m o r r o w
December 18 1998
i don't have time, but my special friend cyndik
needs to hear this.
he's been sitting there nearly as long as i have. he looks right, left,
and he's lucky that the amputated limb is a straight one. what is he waiting
for. is he just passing time? a neck stretch now, he's heard something.
the other birds don't seem to be afraid of him, they come, they go. perhaps
he's watching the sunrise. in the distance, over rooftops, an orange glow
reminds me of a bizarre fluff desert my mother makes on special occasions.
the tall poplar is being illuminated by the early sun, and in the distance,
what's that, a ladder. a small steel ladder propped up against a chimney.
for santa, perhaps?
from here, the world i see, silent. and it is good.
i am very lucky to see it that way. and the whole picture is framed with
a night's frost accumulated on my window, forming a curved frame with jack-like
crippled edges. a miniature crystalline fence. the geraniums below reach
upwards towards it, to grab the day.
"i flagged a taxi long before you woke the sun had not yet risen, morning not yet broke it looks like rain it looks like rain a little starling swept above my sleepy head he plucked a single hair and took off laughing madly as he fled the driver drinking brandy said 'here is to the day' it looks like rain it looks like rain and every breath i ever took every tear i ever wept every star i wished upon seemed nothing until now every prayer i ever said seemed strangely answered now could it be that i'm in love could it be that i'm in love? i made the drive park the car beside the sea i gazed upon the fading dock and slowly buckled at the knees the driver drinking gladly said 'here is to the day' it looks like rain it looks like rain" -jann arden richards and robert foster
December 16 1998
the small porcelain sant-in-a-cup sings.
'here comes santa claus here comes santa claus'
and i'm back in my parent's house...it's probably 1974. i'm perched, in
my flannel pyjamas, on the old green carpeting, beside my baby brother,
watching the tree. the large bulbs, painted in green, yellow, red and blue,
illuminate the fragile balls. shine on the silvery tinsel. i can smell
the wood floor. the pine tree. the boxes are wrapped, in paper that still
smells of the printing presses. we share our wonder, our hopes for what
we will find in them. we lay there, propped on elbows, for what seems like
hours, days even. it's magic. it's christmas.
i grew out of this....i learned of other stories, other traditions,
other hopes and dreams. i didn't even know that i wanted to feel the special
warm
feeling again. that feeling that is singing a carol in the snow, that peace
on earth feeling that was joining my voice in praise with the church choir.
that pervasive tingling glow-inside that means it's a special time of year.
i waited. i wondered.
i don't know why it came back. perhaps i let it in.
and i have no good explanation in my now-world. rushing running chasing
. something must have known.
Dreams more of water, being in a large tour boat and on the way back i was by myself in a large empty boat and eventually i learned to steer it to shore and was having fun. while on the boat, we pointed out local tourist attractions to our friends (we were in LA) the attractions were beautiful mountains in the distance with white peaks of snow, some unimpressive looking buildings with household names which i forget now, and of course Disneyland. also mr. terry reynard visited my dreams last night n a whirlwind day in school. he and other boys were being rambunctious running up and down the hallway. at one point there were three cats which were fighting desparately. i spearated them and tried to calm them down. they might have been small dogs, but they were cute and i didn't want them to get hurt. there was also another reason i wanted to separate them, i wanted something with one of them, not sure if i wanted to take it home or what.
December 13 1998
SLEEPY, SLEEPY WEEKEND.
SLO-MO TOO MUCH MEAT:
bloato; smallness of energies.
easy winter, no excuse.
wild animals still fly in a city:
over top swooping swooring;
we don't ocntrol them
like we control our thoughts.
effeciency, i've become far too effeciency
for my own betterment.
it's a fact, complications arise.
it's a fact, there's no going back.
how long the world will spin
until things are placed in their place.
i'm being honest now,
it's not much appreciated you say.
to question my own fanciful words
my own prose in a bucket.
i'll take it all, in my arms so small.
warm my white face on the embers' glow
and bury my heart deeper, denser,
into a place where maybe no one will go.
in the outside; not a soul dares to be
to begin with, these places where only
perception saves. the most, silent,
the few, loud, and the terrified,
lost.
gettng away with comparing the two
is something only a very select,
chosen, few, do.
i could be that;
i could untangle all the weary webs,
rub cream on Koby's dry face
from her swimming days to her grocery-store
lined nights, and without standing on a
promontory, i mean that - there would be
no preaching, no sales force, no monthly
forecasts. and i would catch the crumbling
towers, prevent the stricken, and dance,
i would teach the world to dance.
it's ok for me.
dreams too wild for words.
something is done, even if half so.
am i supposed to feel better about myself?
what about the geraniums, in darkness for
two whole days? what about them?
there is a tired bug lurking in back of my
skull; nudging me, saying you're abusing me,
even though you don't know how. the rounded
belly, although less full of whippets, still
sits lumpish in the arched curve of my inside.
so if that something is really done,
it's only been moved over. if the work
mess is really a mess, then that will take
the brainspace. but we don't want it to
because we wanted to use some christmas
ideas to bring some cheer of the season.
oh well, it will have to wait.
yes, lumpish. caffeine can only do so much,
sometimes even though this pre-holiday
slump quite predictably leaves me in a half-
dazed panic, without the sense of urgency
that it would if this were the spring. 'let's
just make it through the long, lazy, winter'
tells the spirit.
and grey becomes gray, intertwined with grey.
outside her window could be an ice storm without
the ice. could be a deserted island. gray.
nothing moves. the amputated tree limb stands out like an amputated limb.
the cars look small. they're covered in a white frosting, fuzzy like a
very old man's face on the second day. or maybe the peach fuzz of a not-yet
ripened young peach. they sit, waiting to serve.
dreams of
sitting on some kind of
raft waft into my awake mind now.
dark, choppy, cold waters around me.
birds, geese, large bright ones,
fly overhead - until a few land
siddled beside me on the water
and i don't know what i'm doing
there but i am dreaming this.
the familiar whine of a pootstretch,
life chirps outside now,
here we go. move. get up. go.
you can do it.
thrice little poots
stretch little one.
morning has begun;
many songs are yet unsung
and when oh when will the
thanks get done.
so to what extent do we go.
reminded by myself that i am me;
this is who i am, sometimes.
when things buzz around my head
undone unfinished and perhaps in
a state of disarray; i can handle it,
it's not a stressful state in that i
feel responsible. i like to do a good
job that's for sure. but being part of
something which moves without me;
which does not recognize my presence
for what it is worth,
for what i put up with;
and it's putting up for sure.
ah who am i kidding eh.
those cards will never get done
will they?
i'm half way now.
half chewing;
half convinced and only partially there;
or here;
i'm neither coming nor going;
seeing nor believing;
hearing nor doing.
balancing on a raft afloat in the middle of my own marsh,
it's just me.
i'm just here.
i should just smile.
i've made it there i guess.
it's just that,
i brought my mess!
the new keyboard touch is light;
a chirp outside to my delight
the energy i have is weak
and growing neither as we speak.
in fact, these words on pages green
orange yellow black, unseen
are where i come for repose true
and what i make when time is few.
"this is my gift;
this is my song;
this is my claim on tomorrow;
my dare to be wrong
from all my yesterdays;
with all my hopes and time to come;
this is my gift my God
this is my song."
-author tb
December 07
1998
aside from a stiff neck muscle or two;
my lot here, idyllic.
playing with gif animations makes me
feel like i've 'made' something.
modern day crafts.
i guess it's still today
and it's still december 07th.
let's think about it
you know it's ALL perspective
and that's tough to swallow.
watching a car sneak in front of me,
watching me realize that its another
human being in that car;
same breath we share;
same fears, hopes, dreams maybe.
we're missing connectivity in this
province. we're not a part of the whole;
and let's hope it's not contageous.
contempt, natural for some of us,
drives our daily habits but not
our lives. wishing we could break free.
see things the way 'polite' societies do. what causes these perspective
shifts, we need to harness them, grow them, keep them, spread them. all
i know is that the upcoming season is making me happier, the first time
i've ever known such a thing. i would have certainly called you trite in
the past for feeling this way.
"i flagged a taxi
long before you woke;
the sun had not yet risen,
morning not yet broke.
it looks like rain
it looks like rain
a little starling swept above my sleepy head. he plucked a single hair
and took off laughing madly as he fled
the drive drinking brandy said
here is to the day
it looks like rain
it looks like rain
and every breath i ever took
every tear i ever wept
every start i wished upon seemed
nothing until now
every prayer i ever said seemed
strangely answered now;
could it be i'm in love"
(jann arden)
see it's like this:
now i'm surfing on idyllilcizing....
by myself. by myself.
it's lonely at the top.
"i made the drive park the car
beside the sea
i gazed upon the fading dock
and slowly buckled at the knees
the driver drinking gladly said
here is to the day
it looks like rain it looks like rain"
you see, i remember that feeling.
i know it, truly madly, deeply.
i lived it, i died it,
wrapped my life in it;
swallowed it whole
i ravished in it.
watery guts are us.
and the album ENDS.
i should explain now
THAT this background
which reminded me of something shining in the sky, crisply fallen snow,
and the projection of everything that is ours and forever.
"and every breath i ever took
every tear i ever wept
every start i wished upon seemed
nothing until now
every prayer i ever said seemed
strangely answered now;
could it be i'm in love"
December
07 1998
no more brainspace!
as i avoid the pit of knowledge
where my brain becomes useful
my lazy hazy bones ache to just lay.
there's a hidden positiveness to all
and my persistance will not be futile.
the black dress hung;
a new pile of rubble
created yesterday
for dining for four;
AND perhaps thank-yous
will be mailed soon.
argh don't let ONE thing rotate
your life!!!
the softness will come again,
as winter will, rocking us in our boots
and lulling us into a slowmotionness.
for now the rainy season prevails
and we don't even have a rainy season:
and one party complete,
and one amp repaired,
and one chat session done,
and now today to begin.
my projects on burners;
my mental state normal
LOL LOL LOL LOL four times
she doesn't know normal exists
and i didn't know how rare.
so oxford websters should reverse now
of what is normal and what is not.
ha i laugh at my normalcy,
i commend you for your lack thereof
if it be the case.
yet secretly i like it, to believe it,
and perhaps writing here is not normal
yay i'm off the proverbial hook.
told you there was no more brainspace.
coredumps i think they're called.
coredumps.
December 06 1998
cufflinks not found;
icq a success;
a new keyboard in hand:
and every moment to be lived,
it is true.
THOSE persons who find solice here;
all those Normal minus ones;
let them revel in the silence
i call mine by design;
the whole body, limp,
sinks into an unsinkable chair;
keeping it propped
even after it's dropped
and the ringing is sitll in the air.
December 04 1998
fixing ramona
physically,
i'm half a mess.
my brain
wants to shout and dance;
my mind needs
a little repose
and my soul, ah my soul,
is as hungry as it ever was.
welcome,
peabody into our home.
peabody brings peace and joy,
as look around us for some too.
it's a half-awake day as i prepare
to face
a world that always seems awake; made
up of 'ones' much more semi-awake
than i; their cumulative energies has been
awake and buzzing for a long, long, time.
so rub your warm face, poots
no one will know it if you
dress up tight and smile for the camera;
they can't see into you like you think
they can. stare out into that winter-white
sky with those eyeballs blue and mildly
out of focus. think of something constructive
we can do today. let's be kind, you know that
little fire in your heart is lit up and kindled
now. let's pray for the ones who need your
leftovers; let's connect that energy into the
center of the earth, no, the universe today,
be reminded of childhood fantasies all now come
truer than imaginably true; shed some light on
what is in fact reality and then again on the crumpled ones you left to
burn,
and rub your face again,
poots
rub your face right in it.
about-face, let's straighten our backs;
deeply inhale
yawn (oops)
watch that caffeine soak up into those
capillaries;
dream a dream of monika lewinski
sliding down a huge pipe off a building on her
birthday and not getting hurt; watch children folk-dancing in a gymnasium;
and assist in a blood-transfusion. then, have dinner in a very exotic restaurant
with our coats off but still wearing large heavy sweaters; and sit down
at a table for four to turn around to see john and my parents at one table,
and the boudreaus at another. lou-inski DRE. fixing ramona.
December 03 1998
only pretty on mep-pages
"a faith of some sort connects me to who i am.
i can refer to it without even knowing what
to call it."
scattered belief systems
lives within lives
we're trembling now as we look to the skies
because juxtaposition is only pretty on
mep-pages.
this all has to sit somewhere,
i know it does.
i have the time to understand,
to care, to produce, to share, to love,
to wrestle;
to be;
to live in the space with holiness;
what is stopping me?
December 02 pm
1998
ping-ponging of thoughts
as i tug the geometric green flannel
over my semi-reclined angled form,
a rounded belly is once again a part of me.
energy of life, and the riches of my good
fortune represent themselves in one this,
small rounded mound of flesh.
how to express my conceptual idea,
the one which explains this sense of comfort
of who i am, that stability i never knew
i wanted; the comfort zone that having
a real life full belly sits me into.
i lay here to write something concerned.
something deeper than hatred,
more wholesome than regret.
the miracle of my life tells me
that although i don't know what it is,
i am still me. somewhere behind the
ping-ponging of thoughts i chase,
a faith of some sort connects me to who i am.
i can refer to it without even knowing what
to call it.
my eyes closing at shorter intervals now,
the right arm drops around the pen hold,
the ringing loudens in my ears,
goodnite.
lmp
how's this for cheating...?
just something for the day.
poots