The Night

She comes without a warning, for it's not the absence of light.
I wished.

It's a gallery of the might have beens,
my own paintings down a hallway,
twilight of what I lavishly spent,
buying myself nothing but lessons still to learn,
mistakes I'm still eager to repeat.

It coalesces into faces, mostly one,
for that's the one that had been able to teach me the most,
but they shimmer and vanish,
leaving me with a subtle anguish,
a sweet torment,
a curse towards the arrow of time.

So I drink a glass of wine
looking for relief,
but finding only more vivid dreams,
more of what I have no guts to tell myself by myself.

I'm a coward, after all.

The Morning

A...l...a...r...m...
Shit, it's morning already.
Adrenaline rush, not reawakening.
There's no light, what time is it?
Reach for a window.
Damn, will you look at that? It's so thick!

Ok, think about this.
Coffee, yes. Coffee.
No, shower first.

Stairs, watch the bugs.
No bugs, good.
Bathroom: what a mess.
So typical, hey?
Clean it quick, you bought the willow basket, you dick. use it!

K, now what?
Yes, shower.
This hot water smells sickly sweet. i need to talk to the landlord.
I wonder if i smell like that to people.

Large, soft, hot spray: perfect.
And another small nap under the shower.

Out, too hot, need to turn the vents down.
Dry up, a spray of that, a brush of this, ready.

Ok, i'll walk it.
This may hurt.
Nah it won't.

Base Layer: clean. Check.
Jumper: Clean. Check
Socks: Used once. Check.
Thick or thin? Thick LongJohns: Clean, Check.
Middle Layer: dirty as fuck. Check.
SwishPants: Clean. Check.
Mittens, Hat, Neck Warmer, Boots, Top Layer: Check.

Duh.
Too much. Must get out quick.

Ciggy, where is it?
Oh, damn, i forgot the coffee.
No time now, roll the ciggy.

Out i go.
Light the ciggy.
Puff, puff, puff.

The down jacket open, mittens on the neck.
Still comfortable.

Puff, puff, puff, what's on my nose?
Puff.
It sticks, whatte?
bah.

What's tugging at my beard, now?
Puff.
grin.
Puff.

Puff.
This is done.
Good, starting to feel it.
Mittens up.

Nah, what the hell, these are too small.
See that, what the fuck is going on with the thumb, there?
Ah, yes, Matt did this with his own.
Ah yes, makes sense, and of course it works.
Ok, bearable now.
Ah, jacket.
Damn, wrong move.
I should have closed that one first.
Ah well, i can manage with the straps.

Can i, now?
Oh come on!
Fucking useless.
I wish i was a native right now, oh , here, done.

and how could i not feel THAT one?
Where's the hood?
There, damn mittens.
What's about the fur the.. Gah!
That hurt.

Ready now, though.
Step up.

Long, by the cathedral, the way.
Well, remember the past.
The trick is not to count.

And sure as cupid's arrow, here we are.
Cross.
Damn the queue.
Smell this, thank god it's unusual around here.

Ah, the bridge.
Finally.

Oh dear goodness.
Black, shiny.
Deep and dark, through a sheath of temporary rock.
Deep under the black stuff it moves, it's alive if encaged.
I'm breathless.

Umh, forks?
Nah, twit, the right.
Ah, true.
This, and then, there.
Cross.
Yeh right.
Oh come on, i'm walking into this, have mercy for christ's sake!
Whatever.

So now is that way.
Oh really. We're by it again.
Good, it'll be for a while.
Not so good, though. can see shit.
Ah well, i'll feel it.

I'm burning.
Damn the crossing.
Thirsty.
Ah, that's easy, fool.
Ahahahahahah!
SO pure.
And sticky, damn it!
Ah well, does the job.

And down she comes.
Layer after layer after layer after layer.
Pouring, really, if it only could.
Alone, here.

Very alone.
think of something profound. this is a chance.
bliss.
her resting on the bench, curling up by the trees, swimming around me, tugging, poking, slapping.
I Love her.




must get to work.
resolve.
passion.
but hollow without her.
i can see her from the windows.
go then.
grin.

Thoughtful...

...for a change...

Serendipity that one hug too far.

Teachers

I met a woman long ago
her hair the black that black can go,
Are you a teacher of the heart?
Soft she answered no.

I met a girl across the sea,
her hair the gold that gold can be,
Are you a teacher of the heart?
Yes, but not for thee.

I met a man who lost his mind
in some lost place I had to find,
follow me the wise man said,
but he walked behind.

I walked into a hospital
where none was sick and none was well,
when at night the nurses left
I could not walk at all.

Morning came and then came noon,
dinner time a scalpel blade
lay beside my silver spoon.

Some girls wander by mistake
into the mess that scalpels make.
Are you the teachers of my heart?
We teach old hearts to break.

One morning I woke up alone,
the hospital and the nurses gone.
Have I carved enough my Lord?
Child, you are a bone.

I ate and ate and ate,
no I did not miss a plate, well
How much do these suppers cost?
We'll take it out in hate.

I spent my hatred everyplace,
on every work on every face,
someone gave me wishes
and I wished for an embrace.

Several girls embraced me, then
I was embraced by men,
Is my passion perfect?
No, do it once again.

I was handsome I was strong,
I knew the words of every song.
Did my singing please you?
No, the words you sang were wrong.

Who is it whom I address,
who takes down what I confess?
Are you the teachers of my heart?
We teach old hearts to rest.

Oh teachers are my lessons done?
I cannot do another one.
They laughed and laughed
and said, Well child,
are your lessons done?
are your lessons done?
are your lessons done?

©: Leonard Cohen - Teachers

Are my lessons done?

Rosalinda

"Ma oramai siamo tutti e tre grandi, possiamo rimboccarci le maniche perché noi tutti, a una certa età, siamo soprattutto figli di noi stessi. Il segreto è continuare a pensare ai propri amori e affetti come fossero piccoli, vederli bambini. Io mi ripropongo di farlo sia con i miei fratelli, sia col mondo intero per veder crescere una terra migliore di questa, che è fatta solo di adulti con dentro troppo cibo"

...

Depth, cueing.

Frothing sounds draw deep curtains:
thunder cues,
behind each flash of lightning.

Oh.

I put my head, heart and hands to Deadline today.
With success.
A-Hoy!

(Manifest)

"I want to call requests through heating-vents,
and hear them answered with a whispered, "no."
To crack the code of muscle, slacken, tense.
Let every second step in boots on snow
complete you name with accents I can't place,
that stumble where the syllables combine.
take depositions from a stranger's face.
paint every insignificance a sign.
so tell me nothing matters, less or more.
say, "whatever we think actions are,
we'll never know what anything was for."
if "near is just as far away as far,"
and I'm permitted one act I can save,
I choose to sit here next to you and wave."

©The Weakerthans

The Wind

"Oh The Wind, The Wind is blowing,
through the graves The Wind is blowing,
Freedom soon will come:
it will come from...
...the shadow..."

©: Leonard Cohen - The Partisan

How could, of all things, a Canadian chap accompany me down memory lane, to listen to my grandfather's stories about resistance once more, right when I go out with a German in the continent of the "liberators", escapes me.
Still, this is what happens.

And it's The Wind the reason why Leonard is so present here: today, this evening, tonight, a storm is brewing somewhere so far, so, so close.
Simple sound assonance, or more complex, deeper, significant echo?
The Wind, The Wind is blowing.
Searching, pulling, scratching, pushing, livening, itching, annoying. lifting, refreshing, tossing, spreading, beloved, mixing, changing, messy, electrifying, renewing, inspiring Wind.

-pause: rolling one, I think I could use it -

-re-pause: don't quite know if I could use it, to be honest, but I sure like it. -

Ninth floor: I can see it clearly, right in front of me, brewing energy, giving shape to lightning (what a feat that one is!), unloading the weight of countless sins.

And this is it: I walked it.
The path of criticism towards the very hand that just started feeding me.

No, more than feeding me: making me nearly supernatural to the unwary around me.
Lavish tips, abundant meals, smart looks, AFFORDABILITY.

And a puke.

Will I resist? Will I kindly oblige? Will I look for atonement? Will I relish the chance?

Will I?

One Great City!

Late afternoon, another day is nearly done
A darker gray is breaking through a lighter one
A thousand sharpened elbows in the underground
That hollow hurried sound, feet on polished floor
And in the dollar store, the clerk is closing up
And counting loonies trying not to say

I hate Winnipeg

The driver checks the mirror seven minutes late
The crowded riders' restlessness enunciates
The Guess Who sucked, the Jets were lousy anyway
The same route everyday
And in the turning lane
Someone’s stalled again
He’s talking to himself
And hears the price of gas repeat his phrase

I hate Winnipeg

And up above us all
Leaning into sky
Our golden business boy
Will watch the North End die
And sing, “I love this town”
Then let his arcing wrecking ball proclaim

I
Hate
Winnipeg

© :The Weakerthans

Hope to hate you soon enough, Winterpeg.