post two

i sat in a room with people who are far better at reading that me. my words stumbled over the table cloth and knocked over the punch bowl. so i tried to sop it up with my floral summer dress- to no avail. they sat in wet seats and wet pants, but spoke of Hemmingway just the same. a glare my way made me check behind my shoulder for monsters but i guess it was my complexion they were staring at. should have lathered on the concealer today. i don't have a big enough mirror to see what i'm doing, let alone enough light. some of the bulbs have shattered. a glass rainfall came beaming down. it was beautiful, for a second, when the glass shreds caught the light of the other working bulbs. like a shimmering rainfall over my head. the hurt arrived when they stopped falling slow-mo and zipped into my skull. maybe that's what they are looking at.

be my friend, valentine, heart-shaped wonder and i will try and find a chunk of time for you in my time pie chart. certainly hope we can, cause currently my pie chart shows 95% me-time. 5% cat-time. good. i'm thinking of bumping up cat-time because she's starting to smile at me. i could just personify everything in my life, then my pie chart would be full. tea-time: 15%.we do talk sometimes. cracker-time: another 5%. it offers me nourishment and a crunch and crunchy things basically talk indicating conversation.

nice to dream, i suppose. dream of ciggarettes on balcony's and dances with ball gowns and star studded evenings with martini's in hand, clinking glasses echoing in the night. ah, that's good. good to dream about brick walls exposed to hardwood floors and slippery socks to ensure good slidy time. good slide-time: 5%. nice to dream of words dancing off the page and your arm slowly floating off the page gradually lifting your elbow, shoulder, left side, middle sector, belly, bum, right side up to the ceiling still writing in mid air, writing on mid air, it floats away too fast. maintain a pace and you'll float with it. air-time: 5%.

thanks for the calligraphy tip, she whispered to the sky. sometimes the sky is my friend and we dream together of blankets that feel like fur and solf plush pillows made of velvet to catch our faces from sky's height. sky is fat so she dreams about being skinny and i always say we can run more but her joints hurt from stretching out for miles and miles. she said saskatchewan, especially, hurts her...she's really got to reach there. they depend on her clouds to be as slim and long as possible, drawing out for days.

words and floorboards...

A new page on the computer. Here I am on a couch wearing a life of fuzzy faces and squinty eyes. Many people pass me by and I’m wondering which will penetrate my wall of blunt boots and cracks in the wall. I’ve taken to walking with my head up to see my life flash around, technicolor with the rest of the world. Trying to maintain some piece of mind but this world won’t allow for slow images. Do me, do work, do it, doing more, more, find more, to penetrate the core, money core, money drawer to spend on porno and fictitious fantasies you live in. I’d rather choose the world to expand in, thank you. I’ve got a chip that’s growing your way, don’t poke your eye on my hunchback, and stop trying to see me immediately. There are layers.

You don’t know the scope I’m open to. I am open to books and pages to tell a story. I ate cheerio’s this morning. I walk. I shamefully pick my foot up off the pavement, but then graciously say I’m sorry to the pavement for abandoning it already. It yells and cracks its face at me, tripping me over and over again on my way to the cafe. Fine, I’ll deal with your attitude, flushing it down with stained coffee grinds and bitter taste buds. Tongues and trials, words and floor boards. ‘Seek treatment’ my heart’s voice said, ‘The walks aren’t doing it for me’. Wearing other people’s shoes doesn’t make you empathetic, it makes you pathetic. Find a boot that makes a print, get the wet pavement and you can pave a whole route to run. Predicted and full of despair, not much there but a single footprint of a boot that doesn’t fit your toes anymore, so chop em’ off, everyone else does, we all need smaller feet and better looking bumps to showcase. Well, at least the pavement is happy, you are theirs forever.

Toronto seems large and small. I still take steps to walk to the store and I still buy toothpaste at the reasonable price of 89 cents; small things that appeal to me on the dirty bargain store rack...takes the intensity off the burning florescent lights. I walk, drink a cup of coffee in a fancy glass. Bitter and jaded, unlike me but it’s nice to dream. I don’t look for friends but opportunities to hear my voice in the noise of the city. I obviously feel like a spec on a spec on a spec on a flea. “Hugs through the phone!” I receive them through the phone lines from a caring mother. I wish I could store some before bed, I tend to use them all at once.