Archive for the ‘strangers’ Category

On the Coast

Posted: June 22, 2017 in ants, nature, peace, strangers
Tags: ,

talk about buying boots
and then end up
hiking barefoot

Wake up
to the ocean
and sun
on the Sunshine Coast

Big black ants
crawl over
dead wood logs

A local girl
is here
with a small dog
for some reason
we don`t talk
an understanding of peace

A heron calls

A wasp
hovers over
the ashes
of last night`s fire
I never noticed
how much
their wings displace

The girl
and her dog
silently leave

I watch ants
crawl over

Germ Warfare

Posted: December 5, 2013 in strangers
Tags: ,

Pocket full of snot moth balls,
a late November cold has me living one nostril at a time.
One more pack of tissues exhausted
and sleeves tipped with mucus.

An empty stomach that calls
like an irate mother at the edge of a forest.
While father winter claims white
over every other color of the city.

The streetlights try to shine through the crisp air,
but only look like frozen fireflies.
As cars crunch through the snow, my pockets overflow,
and the streets are littered with my productions like germ warfare.

Sleepless in Winnipeg

Posted: November 21, 2013 in aliens, madness, strangers
Tags: , ,

Aliens. The greys. Strange visitors in the night.
These things are only a thin part of your life;
Like coffee, a hot buzz, that you invited.
Or cold, like milk in your cereal, cooling your stomach.

You’ve seen too many films,
Read one too many comic book.
That luminescent triangular face,
Is engrained into your mind.

Waking, and sleeping, both worlds
Are manifested illusions.
The paralysis in between is no more real,
You do not break through the frequency.

But something made a book fall from your shelf,
For some reason you woke up,
At four in the morning, startled and saying;
“No, go away! Go away!” heart racing.

Staring at your closet, turning the light on.
Somehow your pillow is on the floor,
You must have thrown it there, in imagined panic,
Dismiss the idea that something moved it.

Nothing is trying to implant nodes into you,
Soon a dermatologist will call,
You will have the bumps on your back and neck,
Dismissed as cysts caused by stress.

There are strange and dark problems,
They plague your life, it’s true.
But they come from this world,
Not from the cold blue winter sky.

Other Being

Posted: November 21, 2013 in aliens, dreams, madness, spiritual, strangers

It’s a trick of light
It’s a manifestation
Do you really believe
That other beings are out there?

In the early morning
You awaken to darkness
You are startled, you call out
“No, Go away! Go away!”

You turn on your reading lamp
Something has moved your pillow
Something has made a book fall off your shelf
You think what could this all mean?

There is a reasonable explanation
There always is
But there is also an explanation
That that defies the daylight world

There is that flash of blue light
A beam you have witnessed before
And a roaring sound you hope
Is just airplanes in the sky

But this future is stranger
It has become reality now
Is it the cultural subconscious
Just an image ingrained in your mind?

When you can’t evenSee yourself
How can you tell me
That you have seen the other being

Are they watching us
From a different frequency?
Are they teasing me, helpless
In my sleep paralysis?

And what is this bump on my back?
And what is this bump on my neck?
Is it just the stress of life?
Or implanted screen memories…

Cause I’m missing time
I’m waking up sleepless
I’m battling demons
That you tell me are just figments

I can’t open my closet
I can’t look in that corner
And sometimes I can’t look away
My heart is racing, please explain

I’m not even a religious man
Yet I whisper for Jesus
Because if nobody else sees this
Then I must be going mad

Lies, lies, lies, my eyes
Illusions, deception
Creatures of fiction
Why do they plague me know?

It’s just a trick of light
Your paranoid manifestation
You can’t actually believe
You are seeing the other being

Winnipeg has me
A bermuda triangle
of ghost flood visions
of apocalypse

Crazy dialogue
outside HSC
a man who won’t shake my hand
because a secret gang opens up
demon portals

And I realize
I am crazy too
just as addled
by drugs sleep dep

And I don’t visit the horrors
I may have sown

I smoke a dark cigarette
cross traffic
as a son of nephilim

Does the universe
condone my disturbings?

Am I dark for a reason?
a secret reason
of fate

Does freewill exist
as more than a delusion
a facade?

The crazy man
may have been a ghost
a traveller caught

Winnipeg may be a ghost city
existing underwater
bubbles of speech

Aquatic souls
trapped by ignorance
an overcast sky
hiding the surface world

We can’t know
some information is sacred

The stone temples
architectual shackles

Our vision
is a PCP tunnel
the happy ones
only smile in public

The river reminds us
but also is the river Lethe
opiates and amnesiates

Drugs flood the streets
detox forbidden
sleep postponed

Our maps drawn
by drunk wardens

And my legs tire
from swimming its depths

The slow release
resurfacing through art
the act of speaking on stage
is breathing finally

But simultaneously
it is a reinforcement of madness
one’s words immediately discredited

The demon spirits laugh
a cacophony heard
howling the wind tunnel
of Portage and Main

And eventually
we all ramble
the common language
of the damned minds

Anchored to walking circles
dust coated skeleton dogs
lapping the alcohol from the palms
the nicotine from the concrete cracks

I have sought rumors
of hells exit
far away down the avenue
and two days of prairies

But does it lay west
or east? north?
this dark center holds no concept
of direction or escape


Posted: October 14, 2013 in muse, strangers
Tags: , , ,

a (warrior) sits before me
on the bus-
a (WARior?) of being diffiCULT:

a (sold)ier of the ever multiplying
sub(cult)ures being (subject)gated
as (sub)jects of CAPITALs
divide and target

(she has a thick black scarf-
round black sunglasses-
black tight-fitting clothes-
three different piercings
between just her nose and lips-
her hair is shaved
into a circle
like some ancient
eastern samurai
this western warrior of the weird)

her hand[held] brain DIStraction                             MACHinE
is shaped like a cartoon kitten
with white wires feeding her her pleasures
into her ears-
my [hand]held disTRACTion
is my pen and pad as I
scrutinize her_use her_
as a tempORary muse
because her appearence
amuses me to the [point]
of inSPIRation

what better gift can a stranger give
than the inkblood of a secretive crafty artform