Every winter, it never fails, I fall in love with my own ghost.
This winter I asked it where it stored itself, which box, which closet, so that I can find it when it sleeps, and end it's second life.

They're replacing snowfall with the sprinkling of smelling salts.
Nobody can complain of the neighbourhood scent; nobody can yearn for something new, as their numb noses masks it all.

What is the smell of Tangiers, or Lima?

Suddenly we're surrounded by pig melting plants. What do they use this shit for?

**

meow

Fucking nerves; spreading out, tree-root nerves, breaking skin, feeling the air, searching for nourishment.
There are way too many aisles of boxes to not bump into something; get caught, lose a piece, run for cover.

it's almost spring, it's almost spring, it's almost spring, it's almost spring

The world is heavy ( Read more... )

I'm fighting the silence, the lack of words ( Read more... )

I've wanted to be a:

-boat smuggler
-street musician
-wrestler
-veterinarian
-drug dealer
-writer
-web designer
-photographer
-printmaker/bookmaker
-hobo
-stay-at-home dad
-bartender
-night watchman

Sometimes people crack up and blow away:

**

I've always been a cast-away piece of paper; crumpled and thrown at the peak of frustration. And then, eventually, one of the many balls littering a workspace.

**

You think you're beautiful. Am I the type of person that will see a pretty bird and throw stones? If not me, than someone else.

**

I ( Read more... )

One day, in my previous life as a grade-three recess participant, I took my place on the field ( Read more... )

Tomorrow the mailman and I battle once again.