(no subject)

Well this is pretty amazing. I never thought I'd see a team up of Tom Waits and Kool Keith. It's a freaking fantastic video as well.

Also, I'm a little tripped out because a poet that I met, talked to and hung out with a year ago here in Vancouver was found dead yesterday and it looks like foul play might have been involved. Her name was Tempest Grace Gale but people called her 'Pest'. She was only 25. If the cops are right and it *is* murder, it'll be the first recorded murder in that community since the settlers landed there hundreds of years ago. If it's true, I think she's the first person that I know that was killed. The community has lost a vibrant poet and a really amazing and energetic performer. She had a lot of life left in her. I'm really reeling from it.

http://www.vancouversun.com/entertainment/Hornby%20Island%20folk%20punk%20musician%20dies%20suddenly%20foul%20play%20ruled/2238245/story.html


I hope you're all doing well. This has really been an emotional day.

Dead Bodies

Dead Bodies

Car crashes
Cowboy boots that no one will ever wear again.
Vincent Price, famous for a career that he didn’t want to be famous for.
Payphones hanging broken in bus stops after the last bus has left.
Auto-tuners failing to tame Tom Waits.
Arrows landing deep in their targets.
Paint the colour of electricity racing free from the wires the way Tesla intended.
A rainbow finally lying still on a table.
Memories from Toronto written deep in a curled cable of brain that no one will ever know now.
Barbed wires, tattooed tears, rain, and abandoned construction sites.
No more fears.
A dog collar with no dog.
A broken street light relaxing.
Easter eggs finally found.
One-way poets digging higher through airplanes to sky and then space.
Lips on a cue ball.
The end of a morse code sentence
The dial tone on the other end of a prayer
Knowledge unspread across that first instrument.
A final divorce between deflated balloons and hyperspace.
What’s left after an escape.
An interruption personified.
Proof of life.






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Doctor's Hours

They were a horrible match. They kissed like storks fighting. They were bad at repairs but worse at foresight. All they did was hide. Their friends winced when they entered and breathed out when they left.

A smaller part of them detached from the silhouette and it was more of a bomb than a baby. ‘Parents’ is what they became. Stunned into early nights and tension that they didn’t know would be bearable.

Love coiled between them, poised and poisoned with a baby rattle warning. If cupid was still there, it was for cruel sport. Each field of mines and stretch of trench were conversations over breakfast.

How to grow up. It was a daughter. Some parents should have gotten a divorce. These ones didn’t.

I grew up next to her. We hung out on Saturdays in the hallway between our apartments. My parents bought a house and we moved out. She cried when I left. We were both eight then.

I met this used car again on her twenty-fifth birthday. Not at her party, you understand. In the emergency room. I knew it was her birthday because of her driver’s license. It was in her bloodstained purse with stacks of greasy twenties and dozens of condoms.

I could way that it wasn’t her beauty that attracted me but I’d be lying. I knew from looking at her that she had alphabets in her bloodstream. I didn’t need to wait for the test results. I knew that her communication skills extended to ‘want’ and ‘fuck off’. I knew that independence from an early age had left entire worlds of comfort alien to her. She was turning seventy right there in front of me.

I started to look forward to her visits. Never conscious, never clean, never sober, never recognizing me. Her rigid dive for the bottom continued unabated all summer.

Her body washed up on the shore of a hospital bed on Halloween. I was working the night shift then because I loved the chaos. Drunk zombies coming in with alcohol poisoning, super heroes with broken arms, people in animal costumes that had been hit by cars.

I stood there and looked down at this dead girl, one that I felt I had gotten to know. One I felt that I was powerless to help. A mummy lay bleeding to death to the left of me and a werewolf was curled around a broken wrist to the right, both of them screaming.

I looked down at the peace of her pale face, a moon to the night blooming within me and that’s when I stopped being a doctor.





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