simple thoughts trouble me
impulses double me
doubled thoughts double me
stumbled steps, fumble me
fumbled intents, fumble me
waking dreams wake me
pressed press me
Some of Me
troubled thoughts trouble me
simple thoughts trouble me
impulses double me
doubled thoughts double me
stumbled steps, fumble me
fumbled intents, fumble me
waking dreams wake me
smokey dreams wake me
loosened teeth shake me
shaken dreams shake me
kraken hands, take me
taken people, take me
pressed press me
express press me
eagerness mess me
messes mess me
lesson, less me
lessen, less me
simple thoughts trouble me
impulses double me
doubled thoughts double me
stumbled steps, fumble me
fumbled intents, fumble me
waking dreams wake me
pressed press me
An Idea I Stole from Sorokin
Shoulder the great weight and carry on
perform, the key is to perform
act as if we're not carrion
moving about in restless shuffles
simulate the appearance of joy long
if done properly will seep outward
the end result being natural
a beautiful Easter egg
and the wind
pursed to the pin-prick
perform, the key is to perform
act as if we're not carrion
moving about in restless shuffles
simulate the appearance of joy long
if done properly will seep outward
the end result being natural
a beautiful Easter egg
and the wind
pursed to the pin-prick
Safe Room
scream for me, that high-pitched
shriek of desperation the horror
of knowing certain death is upon you
scream for me
help is a fingertip away, reach out
someone will pick you up
if they can at least they probably
have problems of their own
surrounded, in lockstep with terror
the intent is there there is so much
so much to be afraid of the finality
of being left behind discretion larding
itself all over valour as you are
abandoned
all over again you rise up in the next room
safe
shriek of desperation the horror
of knowing certain death is upon you
scream for me
help is a fingertip away, reach out
someone will pick you up
if they can at least they probably
have problems of their own
surrounded, in lockstep with terror
the intent is there there is so much
so much to be afraid of the finality
of being left behind discretion larding
itself all over valour as you are
abandoned
all over again you rise up in the next room
safe
The Town Triangle Affair
I think of you at night
when all I hear
is the pulse in my ear
I lie awake despite
those shots and beer
and all the pills right here
Once I put all this down
The words in the window
I'm going in to town
To make you a widow
I climb up your back steps
skip the top stair
on past the rocking chair
I use the light-less depths
no thought no care
in my cold heart a prayer
Now the deed has been done
and the prize I have won
a few days without sun
then the end life, undone
when all I hear
is the pulse in my ear
I lie awake despite
those shots and beer
and all the pills right here
Once I put all this down
The words in the window
I'm going in to town
To make you a widow
I climb up your back steps
skip the top stair
on past the rocking chair
I use the light-less depths
no thought no care
in my cold heart a prayer
Now the deed has been done
and the prize I have won
a few days without sun
then the end life, undone
Outrage at Eleven
fat little fingers
pointy nails, painted
with tiny blobby flowers
long wavy hair
eye makeup, heavy
on the lids and lashes
tight new outfit
puffed up, stretched
at straps and seams
pointy nails, painted
with tiny blobby flowers
long wavy hair
eye makeup, heavy
on the lids and lashes
tight new outfit
puffed up, stretched
at straps and seams
Dry Eye Solutions
Oh, precious
put your helmet on before you take the bus
I love you too much and your soft skull
would never withstand a good hard elbow
Why don't you wear the black one
do you think you look cool
that's what's important
not what everyone says
If you would only drink your milk
I could stop worrying for once
eventually you could just wear a hat
no, not tomorrow
put your helmet on before you take the bus
I love you too much and your soft skull
would never withstand a good hard elbow
Why don't you wear the black one
do you think you look cool
that's what's important
not what everyone says
If you would only drink your milk
I could stop worrying for once
eventually you could just wear a hat
no, not tomorrow
Dorker than Usual
Life, if you can call it that, was simple. Shuffle, groan, every once in a while throw up. I never had to think about those day to day life maintenance things. There was very little thinking. I suppose I was very sick. My memories of those days are spotty - lying on the ground, standing in a corner, slumped against the wall, and so on. Sometimes there would be a bright spot, maybe an explosion in the distance from shelling or a power plant going up. I had this general sense that something was wrong. Things just seemed darker than usual, and that's saying something given my world view.
Never questioned my motivations, okay. Chasing, screaming, kicking, confused grabbing; slightly less okay. Yes, everyone else was in on it. But that seems like a poor excuse for what, in retrospect, is likely a couple of hundred deaths on my hands. Those folks, though, you have to feel badly for them. They never made it. Looking back on it, I don't think I ever really felt good or bad rushing them, shrieking for blood, guts, life, and the splatter that goes along with those things. There was no guilt in that week.
It's been tough lately, there's a lot of work to do. Most of it is shovel and spade work. I'm glad to be alive and I've been volunteering for the local IRZO. There was some physical degeneration over the week of infection, but I'm working my way back to a semblance of health. Psychologically speaking I've got a shred of sanity left that I'm gripping to with a desperate strength. I've seen plenty of folks who never really came back from infection, their minds unlimbered by what they could remember, and I will not go that way. Late at night I wait for sunrise, unable and unwilling to sleep, and hold to thoughts of unlikely light spectrums. I was infected. Am I still human?
Never questioned my motivations, okay. Chasing, screaming, kicking, confused grabbing; slightly less okay. Yes, everyone else was in on it. But that seems like a poor excuse for what, in retrospect, is likely a couple of hundred deaths on my hands. Those folks, though, you have to feel badly for them. They never made it. Looking back on it, I don't think I ever really felt good or bad rushing them, shrieking for blood, guts, life, and the splatter that goes along with those things. There was no guilt in that week.
It's been tough lately, there's a lot of work to do. Most of it is shovel and spade work. I'm glad to be alive and I've been volunteering for the local IRZO. There was some physical degeneration over the week of infection, but I'm working my way back to a semblance of health. Psychologically speaking I've got a shred of sanity left that I'm gripping to with a desperate strength. I've seen plenty of folks who never really came back from infection, their minds unlimbered by what they could remember, and I will not go that way. Late at night I wait for sunrise, unable and unwilling to sleep, and hold to thoughts of unlikely light spectrums. I was infected. Am I still human?
The Parentheticals are Unspoken
It's at last
the hour is past
close your eyes
dream a dream
of future dawn
Day's work done
night's rest begun
time has fled
down the drain
now today's gone
Again, fade
to black, replayed
blinds are shut
lights are out
the perfect con
the hour is past
close your eyes
dream a dream
of future dawn
Day's work done
night's rest begun
time has fled
down the drain
now today's gone
Again, fade
to black, replayed
blinds are shut
lights are out
the perfect con
The Love Poetry of the Bishop of Aquila, pt. I
My lips move to shape your name
Isabeau, the most wondrous sound
whispered by your silent wings
My heart like prey on the ground
subject to your love, untamed
How can we live apart?
I lose a little life every day
every moment we're separate
Though now you may say nay
still I worship your art
Come tarry with me, and dance
lose your regrets in the tune
A thousand bards will sing
and a thousand maidens croon
Lo, I say, give me a chance
Isabeau, the most wondrous sound
whispered by your silent wings
My heart like prey on the ground
subject to your love, untamed
How can we live apart?
I lose a little life every day
every moment we're separate
Though now you may say nay
still I worship your art
Come tarry with me, and dance
lose your regrets in the tune
A thousand bards will sing
and a thousand maidens croon
Lo, I say, give me a chance
Facebook Updates: The Rejection Collection
is a xerox of your grandparents doing it on their wedding night.
! And in this corner, the '80s.
secretly likes things you hate.
dances with criticism.
is your knight in shining armour.
01101011 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 01110011 00001101 00001010.
is proliferating memes.
define:duplicity.
! And in this corner, the '80s.
secretly likes things you hate.
dances with criticism.
is your knight in shining armour.
01101011 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 01110011 00001101 00001010.
is proliferating memes.
define:duplicity.
Tarting it up a Bit
Every once in a while I have to have a post that's just plain old prose writing, or the spiders in their Google-webs decide that The Bringdown is a spam blog. That's what this post is. Nothing interesting will happen. No phrases will be turned. All this is is a series of sentences strung together like you would normally expect in prose, because apparently when I try to write poetry, what results is very close to the inauthentic text that is used for spam blogs.
Yesterday I thought to myself, Well that raises some interesting questions about poetry, and the expectations we have about text, how we interact with text, and machine generated nonsense text. Then I got bored with that and killed zombies for the better part of the evening.
I don't have anything else to write about in this post, so the remainder will be mostly content free. Not free in the sense that it could go anywhere, man those are some crazy associations, but free in the sense that there will be nothing worth reading. It's safe to say that if anyone is reading this, they could have stopped before they even started and saved a few precious minutes of their lives. This sentence, for instance, is just a description of itself. Then there's this other sentence here that is sort of similar. This last sentence is where the post ends.
Yesterday I thought to myself, Well that raises some interesting questions about poetry, and the expectations we have about text, how we interact with text, and machine generated nonsense text. Then I got bored with that and killed zombies for the better part of the evening.
I don't have anything else to write about in this post, so the remainder will be mostly content free. Not free in the sense that it could go anywhere, man those are some crazy associations, but free in the sense that there will be nothing worth reading. It's safe to say that if anyone is reading this, they could have stopped before they even started and saved a few precious minutes of their lives. This sentence, for instance, is just a description of itself. Then there's this other sentence here that is sort of similar. This last sentence is where the post ends.
It's Not Done, Yet
here we are at the park
you borrowed a bike and said
you could jump that, no problem
a bunch of people watched
while you launched
I carried you away from that
wired over stones and blood
I wield the dull knife
useful only for spreading fat
while you stand before this
high manic you won't remember any of it
waving a very sharp knife
fight
improbably I, or someone else
talks you down
probably offers you a drink
speeding you drive away
in someone's car
laughing with the door open
yelling
you call and apologize
again
and again
I hold you sobbing
unrelieved sorrow salt and snot
later you vomit black
I look up, you're holding on
for dear life to the rocks
and then the snow, oh god
the snow
you pissed vitamin enhanced there
marking the top of the world
in bright yellow and then
held the camera and swore,
half-amused and half-thought
I wouldn't get up
you borrowed a bike and said
you could jump that, no problem
a bunch of people watched
while you launched
I carried you away from that
wired over stones and blood
I wield the dull knife
useful only for spreading fat
while you stand before this
high manic you won't remember any of it
waving a very sharp knife
fight
improbably I, or someone else
talks you down
probably offers you a drink
speeding you drive away
in someone's car
laughing with the door open
yelling
you call and apologize
again
and again
I hold you sobbing
unrelieved sorrow salt and snot
later you vomit black
I look up, you're holding on
for dear life to the rocks
and then the snow, oh god
the snow
you pissed vitamin enhanced there
marking the top of the world
in bright yellow and then
held the camera and swore,
half-amused and half-thought
I wouldn't get up
choreomania χορεία μανία chorea imagnativa aestimative
click yes to give it away
cancel to go back
adulateiridium irrepentant idiolizers
reject lapidary l______
The world, devoid. Motionless, emotionless, subsequent/resultant. Who wrote it? Did I write it, when I didn't know, while I was sleeping, when I let myself go, myslef, me flys, fe slym, did I dress in wrinkled clothing?
cancel to go back
adulate
reject lapidary l______
The world, devoid. Motionless, emotionless, subsequent/resultant. Who wrote it? Did I write it, when I didn't know, while I was sleeping, when I let myself go, myslef, me flys, fe slym, did I dress in wrinkled clothing?
The Terms of Robert's Service
If you like black coffee, you'll like apathy.
If you like apathy, you'll like music.
If you like music, you'll like silence.
silence ∴ fire
fire ∴ moving pictures
moving pictures ∴ t-shirts
t-shirts ∴ pregnancy
pregnancy ∴ eating disorders
eating disorders ∴ toga parties
toga parties ∴ if you like
if you like ∴ recursion
recursion ∴ serif fonts
serif fonts ∴ genocide
genocide ∴ pathos
pathos ∴ chips
If you like apathy, you'll like music.
If you like music, you'll like silence.
silence ∴ fire
fire ∴ moving pictures
moving pictures ∴ t-shirts
t-shirts ∴ pregnancy
pregnancy ∴ eating disorders
eating disorders ∴ toga parties
toga parties ∴ if you like
if you like ∴ recursion
recursion ∴ serif fonts
serif fonts ∴ genocide
genocide ∴ pathos
pathos ∴ chips
Missed Connections from Vancouver Radiohead concert, or lolhipsters
You shoved me and stood in my line of sight w4m
Houndstooth <3 Argyle m4w
We talked about China in the mini donuts line w4w
Sung along to Faust Arp with u want 2 kaorke? m4w
Androgyne with nice bone structure m4?
same t-shirt m4w
Shared eyeroll over frat boy sing-a-long m4m
met you in coachella want to go to bumpershoot
Umbrella woes m4w
You left at nine i should have gone with you w4w
I got your number but the paper disolved m4w
the girl who was there to see the liars m4w
grey cardigan & fashdance t by the lightpole
blue mec rain jacket taking video on ipod
unshaven slovenly heavy pot smoker behind me w4m
you - war deserter in army hat, me - bush apologist --coffee? w4m
i coveted your wooden earrings m4w
cute s&p guy with sister(?) m4m
zizek book peeking out of your bag, want to smarty?
you gave birth at the back it was beautiful mw4w
we both liked them before everyone else m4w
"dry" humped on the 99 -
you had on a garbage bag with a face hole m4w
to the chick who puked on my leg
u said u dont have the internet but here goes m4w
Houndstooth <3 Argyle m4w
We talked about China in the mini donuts line w4w
Sung along to Faust Arp with u want 2 kaorke? m4w
Androgyne with nice bone structure m4?
same t-shirt m4w
Shared eyeroll over frat boy sing-a-long m4m
met you in coachella want to go to bumpershoot
Umbrella woes m4w
You left at nine i should have gone with you w4w
I got your number but the paper disolved m4w
the girl who was there to see the liars m4w
grey cardigan & fashdance t by the lightpole
blue mec rain jacket taking video on ipod
unshaven slovenly heavy pot smoker behind me w4m
you - war deserter in army hat, me - bush apologist --coffee? w4m
i coveted your wooden earrings m4w
cute s&p guy with sister(?) m4m
zizek book peeking out of your bag, want to smarty?
you gave birth at the back it was beautiful mw4w
we both liked them before everyone else m4w
"dry" humped on the 99 -
you had on a garbage bag with a face hole m4w
to the chick who puked on my leg
u said u dont have the internet but here goes m4w
Unsay it
fix those broken edges
torn where it was
push them together, watch the structure
buckle
triangles go into their corresponding blanks
magic tape mistake
in the ditch and the weeds, head up stranger
stick
stitch it stitch it stitch it
fix it fix it fix it
ash
indelible
torn where it was
push them together, watch the structure
buckle
triangles go into their corresponding blanks
magic tape mistake
in the ditch and the weeds, head up stranger
stick
stitch it stitch it stitch it
fix it fix it fix it
ash
indelible
Heartwarming Bullshit
So here's a good story. It's about that place I go with my family, where we go for bike rides and sometimes windsurfing (last time I did that was rough, you would not believe).
At the time of this yarn, my brother Dave is three and a bit years old and I'm two. Craig is unborn, and does not feature here. At that age, our parents would drag us around in a trailer attached to my Dad's bike. The trailer still sees use to this day, hauling groceries. It is molded black plastic riveted to an aluminum frame, and quite well made. The best part here is that the name of the trailer is Bugger LuggerTM.
Alright so it's a beautiful day out at the lake, and the decree comes down that we're going for a bike ride. As it has been, and will continue to be, decreed. We get buckled in, because of course the Bugger LuggerTM has a seat belt, and off we go. Probably Dave is on my side, I don't remember. We ride along for a while, the sun is shining and people are smiling, probably saying hello to each other without fear. In general, it is the seventies.
When the sun is obscured by leaves, Dave and I begin our debate. Couched in terms that we know, our epic disagreement consists of two words. When the rays of that heavenly object strike us, one declares, "Sunny!" and when those rays hide in the trees, the other replies, "Dark!"
This story is referenced regularly, and has been for so long that a shorthand of it has become one of those phrases that are specific to a family. My Dad likes to say "Sunny-dark, guys." when we're fighting. One of my favourite examples is "It's not sunny-dark!", meaning that the argument is valid.
At the time of this yarn, my brother Dave is three and a bit years old and I'm two. Craig is unborn, and does not feature here. At that age, our parents would drag us around in a trailer attached to my Dad's bike. The trailer still sees use to this day, hauling groceries. It is molded black plastic riveted to an aluminum frame, and quite well made. The best part here is that the name of the trailer is Bugger LuggerTM.
Alright so it's a beautiful day out at the lake, and the decree comes down that we're going for a bike ride. As it has been, and will continue to be, decreed. We get buckled in, because of course the Bugger LuggerTM has a seat belt, and off we go. Probably Dave is on my side, I don't remember. We ride along for a while, the sun is shining and people are smiling, probably saying hello to each other without fear. In general, it is the seventies.
When the sun is obscured by leaves, Dave and I begin our debate. Couched in terms that we know, our epic disagreement consists of two words. When the rays of that heavenly object strike us, one declares, "Sunny!" and when those rays hide in the trees, the other replies, "Dark!"
This story is referenced regularly, and has been for so long that a shorthand of it has become one of those phrases that are specific to a family. My Dad likes to say "Sunny-dark, guys." when we're fighting. One of my favourite examples is "It's not sunny-dark!", meaning that the argument is valid.
By the power of the carriage return, poetry.
I want to write poems about vast wastelands of
blasted earth, a place with no life.
It feels dishonest.
What words would I use to describe a place
without humanity?
They have been overused
long before I dreamt of dying.
What I seek to disenchant,
to craft, to commodify,
slips away from my febrile mind.
blasted earth, a place with no life.
It feels dishonest.
What words would I use to describe a place
without humanity?
They have been overused
long before I dreamt of dying.
What I seek to disenchant,
to craft, to commodify,
slips away from my febrile mind.
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