A Sliver of Light

brother

2009-03-17T15:06:00.000-07:00

you left when I was eight to be with your father

I sat at your desk--in the country,
by an oiled gravel road in a wooden house
in a dank basement-- and let the lamp light your papers
your drawings
your precise
your signed and dated

I undid your locked box
the one you made of cheep wood and a dollar lock
I found your porn
your not even porn just ads trying to sell porn
a breast, stars covering the other place

you left when I
had no door to walk through
played on the stairs
hung down arm stretched out like Stallone in Cliffhanger

commandeered your dinky cars
your stinking smell
your Peanuts bed sheets

Lifting Emerson (an Edition)

2008-08-07T21:50:00.000-07:00

I've expanded on a few things and fixed it up a bit, changed some details, that kind of thing. Hope I made it better.

Once there was a man named Emerson. He was strong. He could lift 100 pounds with one arm.
There was just one problem. He worked in an office. So he never got to lift stuff. This made him sad. So he walked to his boss’s desk and said, “Hey, I like to lift stuff.”

“You have to type and talk to people on the phone. That is your job,” said the boss. “You’re not paid to lift stuff.”

So Emerson went back to his desk. He was sad but he didn’t cry.

Then when he was walking home he saw that there was a house on fire. The firemen were not there yet. Emerson walked into the house and saw that there was a woman stuck under a stove. Emerson picked up the stove and threw it out the window. Then he picked up the woman and put her on the lawn. She was OK.

Emerson found out later that the woman owned a car crushing…

Micah stopped and thought for a moment. He stood up from his desk in his bedroom and yelled from the door. “Hey Lexy, how do you spell ‘business’?”

“Business,” Lexy said from another room as if she was weighing it on her tongue, “Uh, B-U-S-I.”

“K, wait.” Micah walked back to his desk and wrote the letters down then went back to the door again. “Okay.”

“N-E-S-S.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s this for?”

“Nothing,” Micah sat back down before he forgot the last letters.

…business and that she needed somebody to lift cars in and out of the machine. So Emerson quit his job at the office and married the woman. Her name was Iris.

Micah was writing for school, but somehow it was still thrilling. The story had to have a beginning, middle and an end. This story had them all. He thought it was good. He never had to do this sort of thing in grade five. He sauntered into the living room where Lexy reclined, watching Seinfeld, canned laughter and groovy slap bass notes emitting from the screen.

Micah handed the dog-eared pages to Lexy, “We had to write a story for school. I wrote about my mom and dad.”

“That’s great, let’s see.” She clicked on the lamp and read the story, nodding along. She turned up to him, smiling. “I like it. Where did you get the idea?”

“I don’t know. It’s just the way I see them. My dad worked in an office. That’s what you said.”

“I’ve never said anything about car crushers. And I think your dad liked his job.”

Micah kept a picture of them by his bed but it gave few clues about what they were like or even the way they looked. In it Emerson wore large sunglasses and had a scraggly beard; his mother had her eyes closed and was laughing, her whole face a pink blur, features trying to settle into place. Micah’s parents remained a mystery to him; every clue went into rebuilding their lives like a detective rebuilding a crime scenario.

“What should I write then?” Micah took the pages back.

“I think you should leave it as is, honey.”

“But it’s not what they were really like.”

“That’s ok. It’s a story.”

“When can I know?”

This was a question often asked.

Lexy looked back at the TV then turned back to look into his eyes staring intently back at her. This was it. He had to know. I’ve waited so long, she thought, I’ve tried my best. She took a deep breath, preparing herself like you would before a dive. She said, “Okay.”

Micah smiled. Lexy had a sick feeling in the bottom of her stomach.

Her instinct was to place him on her lap; they moved into the kitchen and sat at the table.

“Your father was sick,” Lexy began. “But not like a cold or cancer. He was on medications but they only helped a little.”

“Sick?” Micah asked, squinting.

“He sometimes couldn’t tell what was real.”

Lexy remembered the phone call. The only call she received from Iris which did not involve some advertisement for a bible college or an invitation to a “woman’s group”.

“What should I do?” Iris asked, helpless.

“Call the god damn cops.” Lexy answered.

“But what will they do?”

“That’s not what you need to worry about right now.”

Iris never called though. She took Emerson to a doctor, but the problem was down played by both of them. Emerson was only prescribed a mild drug “for depression”. Iris combined this treatment with a proper, unabrasive prayer circle.

“So he was, like, crazy?” Micah asked.

“Well,” Lexy paused, “sorta.”

But in the beginning, it wasn’t like that. They were happy, but he must have known though, he must have.

“Then what? How did they die?”

“He had an accident,” she said as if it settled the matter.

Micah sighed and put his hands on his face. “Not this ‘accident’ crap again. Just tell me what happened. I’m eleven, I can take it.”

“Alright,” She paused gathering her words together like groceries in a bag. “He was frightened of things that weren’t there… He was sick and one day he ended his own life.”

“How d—“

“That’s not the point,” she said, stopping him. He had blown bother their brains out. But could she tell him that?

They said nothing for a while.

“My mother?”

Lexy saw an image in her mind’s eye, her sister slumped and bloody next to her crying child. She had never seen the actual scene but dreams and imagination had filled in the gaps with all too much detail.

“She,” but the words wouldn’t come out, she broke into tears. She focused and tried to unattach her self from the words. Through the sobs she said, "he killed her."

Micah stared at the table as if he was trying to change the color of the tabletop; not knowing how to react to her loud cries.

She reached out to take Micah’s hand. He moved it away and then got up to leave the room. She reached out and clutched his shirt. He stopped and wiped his runny nose with his shirt sleeve. Lexy looked at his face and could tell he was holding tears back. She let him go. He walked to his bedroom and closed the door.

Lexy chewed on her nails. Iris would have known what to do. She would have read some bible verse or prayed. That was her answer to everything. Iris thought praying could heal her husband, thought it could save her sister. Praying! Lexy thought, it’s just wishing, it’s just getting on your knees, pulling out a list and saying “gimme”. Still Iris would have tried.

Lexy stood up then bent down with her knees on the linoleum she said, “dear—oh fuck it.” She quickly stood up and went to her bed room.

Light from a street lamp streamed through the blinds, making lines of shadow. Lexy undressed and got under the sheets. This was when she thought of Iris the most. When she felt inadequate, when dreamy heightened ideals of what a mother should be filled her head, when she knew that only Iris could ever do the job justice.

They had been close before Iris went and married Emerson. Iris had been more than a big sister. Their parents had not been much help before they died. The two of them simply had to make it on their own. Then Iris ran off and became a ‘goody-goody’ and the family was just not good enough, clean enough. Then after the wedding everything moved fast. Iris gave up her job, moved to a new house and then was pregnant in just a few weeks. It wasn’t right, but she seemed happy. It wasn’t until Micah was six months old that Emerson finally cracked. Papers called it a tragedy, lamenting the rise in these incidences, it always happens in such nice families. Crazy people can pop up anywhere, Lexy thought, people just don’t want to admit to themselves that they just might know one. Knowing, or having suspicions, it spreads out the blame, how can you blame some crazy guy, chemically imbalanced, especially when the people around him wouldn’t even help.

When the social worker had handed Micah over, Lexy had had question, but not about feeding and changing.

What do I tell him? How do I raise him? How do I protect him?

The social worker didn’t seem the type to answer. She needed Iris. They had had no hospital room where they could have had a last word, a room where it all could have changed. Apologies happen easily in a room like that. When the past means nothing and the future is short.

…

Micah laid face up, his mind somewhere between anger and tears. He tried to punch his pillow but it didn’t help, so he just tried to sleep. He’d never tried to sleep before, staying up seemed to always be the best thing. Now he just wanted the night to be over. He looked to the wall at a picture that he painted in Sunday school when he was seven. It Jesus walking on water, but it looked more like a bearded triangle resting on top of blue spikes.

The teacher had encouraged him, or at least tried to. “Looks great uh…” the teacher searched for his name.

“Micah,” Micah said.

“Micah. Right. Sorry little buddy.”

Returning to the picture, Micah drew brown lines coming out of the triangle and three prongs on the ends as fingers. Now he needed the green for hills in the back ground. Another boy was using the green crayon to scribble circles on a page.

Micah asked for the crayon.

“I’m using it,” the boy replied as the crayon went round and round, shrinking as the wax was layered on the page.

“But your just drawing stupid lines,” Micah said.

In response the boy drew a green line down Micah’s page. Micah pushed the boy and the boy started, with far too much ease, to cry. The teacher came to the boy’s rescue and Micah was brought out to await his aunt outside the sanctuary.

Inside, they were singing a slow, drowsy hymn. Lexy came out to meet Micah following the teacher. A chorus of voices sung, “As the deer pants for the water…” The sound quieted when the door to the sanctuary closed, the three of them on the outside.

The teacher spoke to Lexy. “You’re supposed to come to the classroom when his number is displayed. He hit my son.”

“Number?” Lexy said, confused.

The voices, old and righteous, surged, becoming more impassioned. Micah heard, “You alone are my strength, my shield…” The voices died back down, blocked by the large wooden door.
The teacher opened the door and the voices erupted again. He pointed to a set of red digital numbers shining on the wall near the empty wooden cross along the back wall of the sanctuary.

He closed the door again.

“Every child has a number. Weren’t you told?”

The voices became loud in his ear as if hundreds of voices were singing all around him. “You alone are my strength, my shield. You alone are my strength, my shield.” The line repeated again and again ringing in his head, becoming more shrill and louder with every repetition.

Just then both of the adults turned down to look at Micah, in unison they said, “You come when your number is called. Never before though. Never!”

They started to laugh, shrill angry laughter. Micah felt his body falling, the voices fading. He was leaving the church and he was falling rapidly down. It was getting hot and he realized he was in a cave, red from flames. He could still hear the song repeating like a skipping CD but muffled and far away. In front of him was a man. It was Emerson. Huge drops were dripping from his head. He was in torment, screaming and panting, huge chains tying him down to the wall.

Never before!

Lexy was awoken by Micah’s screams. She grabbed a bathrobe and ran in to find him sweating and ranting. “He’s in hell,” he screamed. “I saw him. I saw him.” His breathing faltered, Lexy could tell he was still trying to wake up. She sat by him on the bed, petting his wet hair.

She said, “Shh, it’s okay. He’s not in hell.”

“But that’s where,” Micah sniffed, trying to catch his breath.

“Shh, just go back to sleep, okay?”

“He was tied down and burning.”

“No, shh. Go back to sleep.”

“But I…”

“Shh.”

His breathing slowly returned. His eyes closed. He slept. Lexy left the door open and quietly walked away.

...

The next morning Micah walked to school and read over his story. He felt as if he had written it years ago. It seemed unimportant now as if the story was a failed math test.

Micah read through it again, but was surprised to find an amendment written to look like his writing added to the end of what Micah had thought was a finished work.

Then one day Emerson got stuck in the car crusher and died. For some reason he went to hell.
He woke up and had chains on his arms. So he broke them and started to fight all the bad guys that were there. They had horns and claws.

He punched them and threw them in the lava. Then he went to a wall and started to dig with his bare hands. He broke the rock until he got to the other side.

That was where Iris was. She died too but was in heaven. They hugged. Now Emerson was in heaven too.

The end.

Micah scratched out ‘they hugged’ with a pen. Way too girly, he thought and placed the story in his backpack

Kindness and Hellfire: Motives in the Christian Life

2008-07-27T16:28:00.000-07:00

This was a message/sermon I gave at the Lantern Community Church in Calgary Alberta July/27/2008.

John Stewart Mill wrote in his book called On Liberty that, “However unwillingly a person who has a strong opinion may admit the possibility that his opinion may be false, he ought to be moved by the consideration that however true it may be, if it is not fully, frequently, and fearlessly discussed, it will be held as a dead dogma, not a living truth.”

By the way I hate it when people start with a quote but I couldn’t help myself. This rings too true.

I have one goal in this talk. Instead of trying to give you the meaning of the passage we’re going to talk about, I want to help you figure out how to go about reading the bible. I’m no master by any stretch, but I read a lot. I’m even going to school to read. And write and think critically. It’s not easy to think read critically especially with a book like the bible. How do we balance our faith with the hard edge of reason? Is it even possible? What I try to do is read critically and lovingly at the same time, the two constantly working in tandem.

Instead of trying to find a theme, instead of placing this passage in a box, interpreting it to give you an overarching idea, I am going to just read it and then highlight what I think is interesting, the oddities. And then instead of telling you what it means, I’m just going to suggest what it could mean, it’s a scattered method, but then there might be a bit for any one of you. I don’t feel qualified to tell you what it means, I would rather like to show you where some paths are but not necessarily where those paths go.

So, lets read it and see where it takes us. This is Jesus talking near the end of Matthew before he hung on the cross:

31-33"When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.

34-36"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.

37-40"Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

41-43"Then he will turn to the 'goats,' the ones on his left, and say, 'Get out, worthless goats! You're good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because—

I was hungry and you gave me no meal,
I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.'

44"Then those 'goats' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn't help?'

45"He will answer them, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.'

46"Then those 'goats' will be herded to their eternal doom, but the 'sheep' to their eternal reward."

Lets start with some problems in the text. One of the first steps when thinking critically.

The first thing I notice about this passage is all the hell talk. “Fires of hell;” other translations say “the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels”. I have to be honest and say it makes me uncomfortable; the very idea of a place where all the people who didn’t know or never heard about Christ go and burn forever is a hard concept for me. To fit it into the idea of a loving God is a hard sell. I don’t see the justice or the love. But within just this passage we have to ask the question, and I think it’s an important one, why do the goats go to hell? What sin placed them in this position? We’ll come back to that.

Another problem I have, similar to the problem I have with hell, is the strict separation between the sheep and the goats, there is no middle ground, no mild sentence for those who are only mildly goat-like. And (this may be a side point) it is odd that Christ uses the language of species. A person cannot change what species they are, is being a sinner the same as being a certain species? What this tells me is that the metaphor or simile should not be brought to that extreme of a conclusion. Because I think a person’s ability to choose is key to this passage. I think we could all agree that a person’s action cannot be punished if they had no choice but to act that way.

I think it’s key to ask these kinds of questions whenever we approach a text. If the bible is the bible it should be able to stand up to criticism. When we read the bible, we should never approach it ready to just take what it says, we should look deep and if a certain interpretation leads to a quacky conclusion like ‘sinners are a species’ then maybe we should look deeper or from a different angle. Here’s a story to highlight this point.

When I first started to work at Starbucks there was one thing that I learned right off the bat. There were a lot of rules. There was a specific way to do everything. Every drink had a recipe to follow, pumps to pump, shots to pour, lines of drizzle to driz. There were things to do when you started work and before you left. They taught you the right way to talk to customers, bag pastries, and line up merchandise. I did my best to learn them all, to do the best job that I could. I even became a supervisor. It’s true.

But even with all these guidelines, I did what I could to have a personable attitude whenever I ran the floor. I’m the type of person that I will often choose comfort over a guideline if I see no real reason for the rule. I was a good supervisor, people liked me, and then I met Jae Kang.

I would be on the bar making drinks, the supervisor, the veteran, and Jae would come and enlighten me about a step I had missed, or criticize my foam. Which, if you have ever worked in the coffee industry you would know how insulting it is when people beat on your foam. On not a few occasions, he would bring out the Book. He would lay it on the counter, and flip to the page which would be proof of my transgression, right there in black and white.

Sometimes he was right. Sometimes I just got lazy and I had to pull up my bootstraps. But there were other times when Jae would be so sure I had done something wrong, against the rules, but I would use the opportunity to show him that there were times when the rules needed to be tossed – an idea he was hard pressed to accept.

On one occasion we were in the middle of our evening rush when a lady came up to where I was making drinks and handed me tickets to a Dixie Chicks concert. She couldn’t go, she said and the concert was that night, we could use them or give them to somebody. She left them with me and I decided I’d give them to the next customer who would take them. That’s when Jae stepped in. He had it on good authority that we were not supposed to give out gifts to customers. I’m not sure where he had read it but he seemed really sure. I think the rule had something to do with keeping customers from thinking we were giving the tickets out as a raffle, we had to keep people from complaining that we were being unfair.

I think I was right in giving out the tickets. I think I was right to make somebody’s day. But was I? Was it right? Can something be right if it is against the rules?

Now bring this back to the bible. What happens if you are doing something that you feel is right and good but somebody corrects you with a bible verse, New or Old Testament?

I don’t think we should allow anything to stop us being kind to another. If the bible is used to hinder kindness it can’t be right.

Here’s a guideline for reading the bible, and I think it’s a good one.
Never allow anything you read, in the bible, the paper, don’t allow anything you hear, from a sermon, a commercial or news cast impede your ability to be kind to others. If you read something that brings you to the conclusion that you should have a prejudice against a certain group, or that you should dismiss them out of hand, it is wrong. It can’t be truth. This is not as easy as you may think. The Church, historically speaking, has had a hard time accepting this as a guideline, most of what we would call atrocities in the Western world went hand in hand with Christian dogma. Too many evils are backed up by a biblical text or argument. And sometimes the bible is encouraging the evil. Sometimes it can’t be denied that the bible is propagating a cruel inhuman way.

Today we read in the bible that homosexuals are a plague on the earth, that they should even be stoned to death. Does this idea encourage kindness? Is not love our guide?

And this is where we invoke the mantra of all enlightened Christians, “love the sinner hate the sin”. What wisdom! We cannot hide behind this dogma any more. What happens with a person who defines him or herself by this “sin”? When there is no distinction between the sin and the person? What should we hate and what should we love? Is it our job to hate anything? An important question I think. What did Jesus hate? I’ll come back to that too.

This guideline, to allow love or kindness to be your guide rather than just words on a piece of paper, is not just out of my head, it is at the heart of this passage. I touched on the question of why the goats go to hell earlier. Lets go back to the passage, the grounds the King gives for the goat’s damnation. He says to them,

I was hungry and you gave me no meal,
I was thirsty and you gave me no drink,
I was homeless and you gave me no bed,
I was shivering and you gave me no clothes,
Sick and in prison, and you never visited.'

Interesting. This goes against every protestant bone in my body. Nothing is said about faith, or belief, just action. What happened to faith alone? What happened to grace? It is just not here. Why? Some people would bring in other passages in order to soften this fact. Talk about Paul and the theology he expounds but I don’t think that’s fair. Jesus words should stand alone, should they not? So, why do the goats go to hell? Or better yet why does anybody go to hell?

Kindness. The goats go to eternal punishment because of something they didn’t do. An action. Does that make anybody feel uncomfortable? Like I said this goes against some long standing protestant notions, like faith. I’m no theologian, but I know the words of Jesus to know that this notion fits perfectly within the framework of Christ’s ministry on Earth.

Jesus was angry with unkind people. What did Jesus hate? He hated hypocrisy. Which is really the worst kind of unkindness, it is unkindness in the name of God. It is a total misuse of God’s word and in the Pharisees situation it is a misuse of God’s authority. How can it be that the Pharisees can be within what the bible says, be called authorities, but not love the downtrodden or the untouchable? Can this still happen today within Christianity?

Does Jesus only care about action? No. But this passage highlights just how important it is. Action, and I don’t mean things like Jewish laws or going to church or even personal sins. I mean acting in a kind way one to another. Jesus cannot imagine a person following him and not taking every opportunity to love the people around him. In this sense the passage is very simple. Do not neglect your neighbor, your wife, your uncle, your employees, or your boss. You know this. But what we tend to forget, in the midst of all the controversy over certain sins or lifestyles, is that this is the sin in Jesus’ eyes. Read Matthew, whenever he condemns a Pharisee it is for this sin. This is the sin that gets his blood going. I am not aware of any other sin that he condemns as strongly to the point that all others either stem from it or pale in comparison to it.

Next we move to questions of motives. What motivates the sheep? This is, for me, one of the most interesting aspects of the passage and it still confuses me. It is confusing only for the fact that Jesus makes no mention of motive. Remember how the sheep answered Jesus at the beginning of the passage?

'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?'

What kind of faithful sheep are these? They aren’t even aware when their master is around. They are completely unaware of the judgment awaiting them, Oblivious to the fact that their actions would in some way reflect on the outcome of their lives in the hereafter.

Fear of hellfire is not a part of what motivates the sheep. The days when preachers preached hellfire and damnation are over. I don’t think I ever heard a sermon where the central message was “be very afraid”. And, if anything, this passage enforces the movement we’ve gone through in the way we speak about hell. The general feeling today is that hell is no longer aloud to motivate a Christian. But this leaves us in a predicament; this is where it gets interesting.

How can you not be motivated by hell once you are aware of the reality of hell? We do not have the luxury that the sheep have; we are not just blissfully unaware of h-e double hockey sticks. What does motivate the sheep? I don’t really know, the text doesn’t really say. It only says that they were unaware of the repercussions of their actions. They didn’t do it for a reward or to escape punishment. Then what? The good feeling that results from doing good? Maybe. Or maybe there can even be more pure motives. What is a good motive when it comes to living a Christian life?

I’m lost by this question. I’m hard-pressed to believe that a human being can have pure motives in any area of their life. It would be great to have a simple answer to this question. Because, it seems as though the human mind is far too complex to land on a simple answer in respect to motives. All we can really do is try to know our own motives. Critically approach our own mind, our own heart. Critical thinking comes down to honesty, allowing our conscience to have full control. Seeing right from wrong, seeing truth from lies. If you look at your heart and life and see that your living under false pretences in any aspect of your life then it’s time to let the truth sink in, and then to make a change.

Like I said at the beginning I had no over-arching idea. This is just a part of what I gleaned from the passage. I’d like to continue the discussion. If any of you are on facebook I will be posting the whole message on the Lantern group site. And you could also talk to me in person. And I encourage all of you to talk about what you hear in church every Sunday, if you go to this church or any other, never just accept it. Knowledge is not digested the same way as food. It has to be mulled over and challenged before it can truly go to the heart.

Just Simply

2008-07-11T21:02:00.000-07:00

Gawd loved the little children
He made them a fence to keep them from trouble.
Troublesome, troublesome kids.

Gawd loved the little children
And told them to keep off the trees.
Oh the fall, the fall.

Gawd loved the little children
He only smacked there little hands when they done bad
But what he could have done!

Gawd loved the little children
He did it to himself don’t you know.
On a hill. He done what he coulda done ta them.

But spare the rod spoil the god
Isn’t that what they say?
They say Gawd works in mysterious ways.

They say it takes Gawd only six days
What takes them Atheists zillions.
And all dem bones, all dat bull.

Gawd loves the little children.
To the museum He takes them
To learn the lie.

Gawd loves the little children
Home schooled Jesus
Wrote the textbooks Hisself.

Genesi One s’all you need
Leviticus 20: 13 I don’t mean to be mean
I just read the page, I just read the Word.

Gawd loves the little children
That’s why he can clear the land
That’s why he can move the armies.

Gawd loves the little children
And when those boys love eachother more than friends
Gawd is an envious Gawd

And when they keep the oil to themselves
The black gold, made over millions of years, so they say
Gawd hates injustice

Gawd loves the little children
When they follow his precepts
When they don’t love too much
When they keep back from the fence
When they don’t fall far from the tree
(But he only spanks their little bottoms if they do)
When they don’t go an do like Eve.
When they just simply read these words.

heat

2008-06-02T20:16:00.000-07:00

you radiate.

with the friction
it’s unbearably

warm. we curl up
we touch knees

I think of all the times I’ve done this with other people

no one.

now back to back
my spotted touches your perfect white

at least no one who counts.

so much depends upon

2008-04-28T14:52:00.000-07:00

so much depends
upon

a Grande Caramel Macchiato
iced, extra drizzle

cubes of purified water
splash in the white milk

layers of civilization
distillation, bovine secretions

the yield of so many
farms

steam-driven into
tiny glasses

trapped inside a clear
cup

thinly glazed with
perspiration

I’m so very glad
everybody has one

I post this poem to commemorate leaving Starbucks, for good this time...

The echo's of Willam's poem The Red Wheelbarrow are purposeful. I love his poem but wanted to express a negative image of it with his piece.

Beauteous are the Cranes

2008-04-23T23:09:00.000-07:00

Beauteous are the cranes swinging in dazzling red contrast against the blue skies fading to a gorgeous gray.
Steel piles higher and higher,
A pillar to hold the floodgates closed.

They pull the cranes away,
Collapsing, bending at the foot of the structure.
Hard hats look in awe.

Then I remembered how this all rests on dirt:
When for a new escalator they cut a hole in the mall.
Rectangular
Deep
Dark

I remembered how towers fall:
When the god of the mountain decides they are too tall.

I had a dream once,
The skyline was Christ’s domino set.
He flicked. We fell.
He rearranged the pieces, did it all over again.

Oh beauteous new and lush Riverside Villas!
With your views and your balconies,
Underground
Parking
Security

You will never be a ruin.

Thə Tootər

2008-03-24T21:40:00.000-07:00

Yoor lúrning ay láng gwij fawrmd owt ov ri béllyən
Spṓkən in spīt ov Náwrməns

Mōst ov it is French

Yoor lúrning thə wurds ov slayv ṓnərs
Swét shop spṓksmen
Áartists, “di zinərs”
Leedərs, tirənts and non-vṓtərs

Nō law is fin'l

Thə wurds ov Wil
(William Shakespeare. notable poet/ playwright in England. 1564-1616)
But áwlssō Jawrj
(George Bush. President of the USA. Noted for his bad pronunciation. 1944-)
Ay láng gwij kwik lee di sending intoo ákrə nìm
Ik spánd ing intoo
Yoofə mìzzəm

It wil chaynj in ay yeer awr too

Theez wurds Ī wil pass on too yoo
But bi fáwr Ī tel yoo them
Prə nównssing wot is sə pṓz too be
Ay tíkit intoo mī wurld
Hélping yoo fīnd thə díffrənss bi tween L and R
(yoo névvər wil)
I wont id too tel yoo thə truth:
Íng glish is just wun big ín sid jōk yoo wil névvər get.

The Tutor

You’re learning a language formed out of rebellion
Spoken in spite of Normans

Much of it is French

You’re learning the words of slave owners
Sweat shop spokesmen
Artists, “designers”
Leaders, tyrants and non-voters

No law is final

The words of Will
But also George
A language quickly descending into acronym
Expanding
Into euphemism

The terms will change in a year or two

These words I will pass on to you
But before I tell you them
Pronouncing what is supposed to be
A ticket into my world
Helping you find the difference between L and R
(you never will)
I wanted to tell you the truth:
English is just one big inside joke you will never get.

Lifting Emerson

2008-02-23T15:35:00.000-08:00

Once there was a man named Emerson. He was strong. He could lift 100 pounds with one arm.

There was just one problem. He worked in an office. So he never got to lift stuff. This made him sad. So he walked to his boss’s desk and said, “Hey, I like to lift stuff.”

“You have to type and talk to people on the phone. That is your job,” said the boss. “You’re not paid to lift stuff.”

So Emerson went back to his desk. He was sad but he didn’t cry.

Then when he was walking home he saw that there was a house on fire. The firemen were not there yet. Emerson walked into the house and saw that there was a woman stuck under a stove. Emerson picked up the stove and threw it out the window. Then he picked up the woman and put her on the lawn. She was OK.

Emerson found out later that the woman owned a car crushing…

Micah stopped and thought for a moment. He stood up from his desk in his bedroom and yelled from the door. “Hey Lexy, how do you spell ‘business’?”

“Business,” said a voice from another room as if she was weighing it on her mouth, “Uh, B-U-S-I.”

Micah walked back to his desk and wrote the letters down then went back to the door again. “Okay.”

“N-E-S-S.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s this for?”

“Nothing,” Micah sat back down before he forgot the last letters.

…business and that she needed somebody to lift cars in and out of the machine. So Emerson quit his job at the office and married the woman. Her name was Iris.

It was for school, but somehow it contained an element of thrill. Micah had to write a story with a beginning, middle and an end. This story had them all. He thought it was pretty good. He never had to do this sort of thing in grade five. He sauntered into the living room where Lexy was reclining, watching Seinfeld, canned laughter emitting from the screen.

“Look,” Micah handed the dog-eared pages to Lexy, “we had to write a story for school. I wrote about my mom and dad.”

“That’s great, let’s see.” She clicked on the lamp and read the story, nodding along. She smiled when she turned to look into Micah’s face. “I like it. Where did you get the idea?”

“I don’t know. It’s just the way I see them. My Dad worked in an office. That’s what you said.”

“I’ve never said anything about car crushers. And I think Emerson liked his job.”

Micah was beginning to believe that Lexy knew nothing about his parents and how they died. All she could say was that it was an accident. He kept a picture of them by his bed. It wasn’t much help either. In it Emerson wore large sunglasses and had a scraggly beard; his mother had her eyes closed and was laughing, her whole face a pink blur as if her features were trying to settle into place.

“What should I write then?” Micah took the pages back.

“Well” Lexy said, seeing that he thought she disapproved. “I think you should leave it as is.”

“But it’s not what they were really like.”

“That’s ok. It’s a story.”

“When can I know?”

Lexy looked back at the TV. This was it. He had to know. I’ve waited so long, she thought, I’ve tried my best. “Okay,” She whispered. She sighed and said aloud, “Okay.”

He was far too big to sit on her lap, so they moved into the kitchen and sat at the table.

“Your father was sick,” Lexy explained. “But not like a cold or cancer. He was on medications but they only helped a little.”

“Sick?” Micah asked, squinting.

“He sometimes could not tell what was real.”

Emerson had not been this way when he married Lexy’s oldest sister, Lexy thought. Iris. He fooled her. He must have had some idea of his disease. He must have. Iris would call her to talk about his bouts of insanity. How he would incoherently storm around the house. Their whole first year of marriage Iris just put up with it. She never made any calls, never took him to see somebody, she just made excuses. But these were old thoughts, memories that had long since died out and faded into unnamed bitterness, then into the last vestiges of mourning.

“So he was like crazy?” Micah asked.

“Well,” she paused, “sorta.”

“Then what? How did he die?”

“He had an accident,” she said as if it settled the matter.

Micah sighed and put his hands on his face. “Not this ‘accident’ crap again. Just tell me what happened. I’m eleven, I can take it.”

“Alright,” She paused gathering the words together like groceries in a bag. “He was frightened of things that weren’t there. He was sick and one day he ended his own life.”

“How d—“

“That’s not the point,” she said, stopping him. Lexy remembered throwing up when she had to identify the body. Emerson had blown most of his brains out. But could she tell him that?

They said nothing for awhile.

Lexy said, “Your mother died having you… But you di—it wasn’t your fault or anything. It was the shock of finding your dad…”

They returned to silence. Micah stared at the table with a contemplative expression as if he was trying to change the color of the tabletop. Lexy craned around to see the clock. It was nearly midnight. She reached out to take Micah’s hand. He moved it away and then got up and left the room. She reached out and clutched his shirt. He stood still, she sighed and let him go, he walked to his bedroom and closed the door.

Lexy’s goal from the beginning was to raise Micah like Iris would have. She never had boyfriends over, she fed Micah well and they went to church every Sunday. A different one every time, but still Micah was going and hearing the ‘word’ every week whether either of them liked it or not. They would leave before the awkward questions and invitations. Rule of thumb: in after the handshakes out before the coffee. She could never help but think about what all the other people must think of their little family. She constantly felt guilt for some unknown sin.

Lexy got up from the table and walked to her room. Light was streaming in through the window from a street lamp passing through the blinds, making lines of shadow. Lexy undressed and got under the sheets. This was when she thought of Iris the most. When she felt inadequate, when dreamy heightened ideals of what a mother should be filled her head, when she knew that only Iris could ever do the job justice.

They had been close before Iris went and married Emerson. Iris had been more than a big sister. Their parents had not been much help before they died. The two of them had had to make it on their own. Then Iris ran off and became a ‘goody-goody’ and the family was just not good enough, clean enough. But in that hospital room it all changed. Apologies happen easily in a room like that. When the past means nothing and the future is short. She died soon after having never seen her son.

Micah laid face up his mind somewhere between anger and tears. He tried to punch his pillow but it didn’t help, so he just tried to sleep. He’d never actually tried to sleep before, staying up seemed to be always the best thing. Now he just wanted the night to be over. He looked to the wall at a picture that he drew in Sunday school, when he was seven. It was a painting of Jesus walking on water, but it looked more like a bearded triangle resting on top of blue spikes.

The teacher had encouraged him, or at least tried to. “Looks great uh…” the teacher searched for his name.

“Micah,” Micah said.

“Micah. Right. Sorry little buddy.”

Returning to the picture, Micah drew brown lines coming out of the triangle and three prongs on the ends as fingers. Now he needed the green for hills in the back ground. Another boy was using the green crayon to scribble circles on a page.

Micah asked for the crayon.

“I’m using it,” the boy replied as the crayon went round and round, shrinking as the wax was layered on the page.

“But your just drawing stupid lines,” Micah said.

In response the boy drew a green line down Micah’s page. Micah pushed the boy and the boy started, with far too much ease, to cry. The teacher came to the boy’s rescue and Micah was brought out to await his aunt outside the sanctuary.

Inside, they were singing a slow, drowsy hymn. Lexy came out to meet Micah following behind the teacher. A chorus of voices sung, “As the deer pants for the water…” The sound quieted when the door to the sanctuary closed, the three of them on the outside.

The teacher spoke to Lexy “You’re supposed to come to the classroom when his number is displayed. He hit my son.”

“Number?” Lexy said, confused.

The voices, old and righteous, surged, becoming more impassioned. Micah heard, “You alone are my strength, my shield…” The voices died back down, blocked by the large wooden door.

The teacher opened the door and the voices became clearer. He pointed to a set of red digital numbers shining on the wall near the empty wooden cross along the back wall of the sanctuary. He closed the door again.

“Every child has a number. Weren’t you told?”

The voices became loud in his ear as if hundreds of voices were singing all around him. “You alone are my strength, my shield. You alone are my strength, my shield.” The line repeated again and again ringing in his head, becoming more shrill and louder with every repetition.

Just then both of the adults turned down to look at Micah, in unison they said, “When your number is called you are suppose to come. Never before though. Never!”

They started to laugh. Micah felt his body falling, the voices fading. He was leaving the church and he was falling rapidly down. It was getting hot and suddenly he realized he was in a cave, red from flames. He could still hear the song repeating like a skipping CD but muffled and far away. In front of him was a man. It was Emerson. Huge drops were dripping from his head. He was in torment, screaming and panting, huge chains tying him down to the wall.

“Never before!”

Lexy was awoken by Micah’s screams. She grabbed a bathrobe and ran in to find him sweating and ranting. “He’s in hell,” he screamed. “I saw him. I saw him.” His breathing was faltered and Lexy could tell that he was still trying to wake up. She sat by him on the bed and pet his wet hair.

She said, “Shh, it’s okay. He’s not in hell.”

“But that’s where,” Micah sniffed, trying to catch his breath.

“Shh, just go back to sleep, okay?”

“He was tied down and burning.”

“No, shh. Go back to sleep.”

“But I…”

His breathing slowly returned. His eyes closed. He slept. Lexy left the door open and quietly walked away.

The next morning Micah walked to school and read over his story. He found an amendment written in a completely different hand.

Then one day Emerson got stuck in the car crusher and died. For some reason he went to hell.

He woke up and had chains on his arms. So he broke them and started to fight all the bad guys that were there. They had horns and claws.

He punched them and threw them in the lava. Then he went to a wall and started to dig with his bare hands. He broke the rock until he got to the other side.

That was where Iris was. She died too but was in heaven. They hugged. Now Emerson was in heaven too.

The end.

Micah scratched out ‘they hugged’ with a pen and placed the story in his back pack.

The Day We Left

2008-02-13T08:54:00.000-08:00

It was after the “broken plate” day,
Sunglasses inside.
I stopped asking questions.

It was my job to vacuum the living room.
I sucked up pieces of the Yellow Pages and pulled my cheeks with its suction.

All my stuffed animals were packed in a big black plastic bag.
I jumped on it to push the air out.

I stopped asking questions.
But my younger brother hadn’t figured it out yet.

It was simple:
We were leaving, at last.
Who cares if it was your dad?
I had no use for one.

But his teary questions made her break down again.
I didn’t look when the glasses came off…

All my crayons were placed in a big glass jar.
The shaking truck made them write all over the inside,
As if they were trying to escape.
Trying to find a new home.

Step-nothing

2008-02-05T22:51:00.000-08:00

“He made the bed with another mom.
now we hate him”

I saw him. I stared from around
the corner.
He was sitting on the coffee table.
smoking, naked.
The moon shone on his black curls
The moon shone on his tattoo of Casper the ghost
The moon shone on the empty room
(the hole in the wall
the blood on the carpet)
I turn and walked back to my room
He is nothing
He was not really a Christian
He gave me asthma
He gave me a brother

“Say ‘fuck you’ to him.”
“No, you do it.”
“No you. I’ll get in trouble. You’re too liddle.”

Mom prayed everyday for a man to come.
One came.

I opened the door to ask—
the godsend was on top of her.
I saw his butt.
His fucking ass.

He made promises.
He was a blessing.
now we hate him.

A Dream when I was Five

2008-01-29T20:19:00.000-08:00

I was on my favorite show The Polka-Dot Door. It was centered on this house with a polka dot door and when you went inside you were transported into a place where games and singing happened all day. A wondrous place, full of color and laughs and now I was there. The two hosts and I went to the backyard to dance and play a game. When the music stopped you were suppose to freeze and try not to move at all. The music stopped and we froze, but the music would not turn back on again. The host would not move. I talked to them shook them but they would not budge.

And then I had the feeling that you only have in dreams, a lost lonely trapped feeling. It is the feeling that all of reality and time and life have disappeared and all that is left is you and the horrors around you. Would I wake up? Would I ever remember what it was that I forgot? Perhaps that is why I awoke screaming, it was like being born again, it was the realization and the remembrance; the embrace of reality.

X and Yang

2008-01-18T12:32:00.000-08:00

Five years going out and going
steady. Now for
the first
time
I
e
n
t
e
r
.

w
i
t
h
m
e
there
is no room
To fuck around

Backlit Bliss

2007-12-21T22:22:00.000-08:00

My brothers and I had a babysitter from across the field that ran down the middle of the complex. He was the eldest brother of a family that my family was close to, his name was Curtis. Being only fourteen he was a fun, and very probably, irresponsible babysitter. We would run crazy around the house and flip over all the sofas to make huge forts. And it was because of him that I saw the most beautiful sight I had ever seen up until that point, I was still five years old. He had a hand-held video game that was in color and backlit. It was this game where you just through up a ball and caught it or something simple like that. The game mattered little, it was the light and the sound; the game took place on the brightest summer day along a riverside walkway, over looking a beautiful cityscape. Birds stood still in the sky and white clouds were placed as immortal burst of light. And the thought struck me then of how amazing it was to experience this summer warmth when outside it was dark and winter and almost bed time. Here was a small piece of heaven in your hand that you could experience at anytime or place with an angelic midi-choir to be the soundtrack to this perfect day. Inside I was utterly elated, outside I exclaimed simply, “cool game, let me try!”

I thought about this experience whilst listening to this new music on http://www.8bitpeoples.com/index.html Check it out. So cool.

Diversion

2007-12-19T23:12:00.001-08:00

Death is that line between the grass and the gravel,
Driving with the wind blowing through all the windows,
Turn the handle to put them up and keep the dust out,
What would I do?
Such morbid thoughts.
I exit the car upside down,
Find her lying on the ground,
Find her breathing no more.
What would I do?
Such a thin line,
If he would have been looking,
If he would have kept control.

And I heard a cry so loud,
A heaving, aching moan
From my own mouth,
A cry that
I have never made
Before,
I cough from the dust,
Blood on the grass,
My ears are ringing.

A mundane thought enters my head unannounced:
Why do ears ring?
She is dead!
Does it have to do with the eardrum?
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.

MSN Conversation Between the Two Last People on Earth Part Five

2007-12-18T22:04:00.001-08:00

The only little boy says: So who’s Craig?

Craig is a douche says: A friend. He didn’t come to this party I was having.

The only little boy says: oh

Craig is a douche says: But I guess I shouldn’t hold it against him now. I should change it

The only little boy says: Today would have been Christmas.

Craig is a douche says: You’re right I didn’t even notice.

Craig is a douche says: Merry Christman.

The only little boy says: yeah, I love Christman. I have all the issues.

Craig is a douche says: you mean the bible?

The only little boy says: Remember family guy. “I’ll turn this water…into FUNK!”

Craig is a douche says: “holy rusted metal Christman!” <--Robin, or John the Baptist.

The only little boy says: right… a little of the beaten path there.

The Only Way to Stop Climate Change

2007-12-17T13:54:00.001-08:00

Egg hummers.

MSN Conversation Between the Two Last People on Earth Part Four

2007-12-17T13:42:00.000-08:00

Craig is a douche says: Hey

The only little boy says: Hey

Craig is a douche says: I always wanted to run around town naked. y’know?

The only little boy says: You should.

Craig is a douche says: It’s eff’n cold outside. Canada man.

The only little boy says: ur in canada?

Craig is a douche says: yeah.

The only little boy says: Weird.

Craig is a douche says: y

The only little boy says: At least you should be naked at home.

Craig is a douche says: r u?

The only little boy says: Yeah. I didn’t know canadians used MSN. How did you get on my list thingy anyways?

Craig is a douche says: k, I’m naked now.

The only little boy says: Sick. Now I have to get dressed. We can’t both be naked talking to eachother.

Craig is a douche says: What, you thought we used smoke signals?

The only little boy says: No…Rotary phones.

Matt 2:16-23

2007-12-16T22:14:00.000-08:00

Here the writer offers a well placed scripture but he leaves out the more juicy part, I think. After the part mentioned (Jer 31:15) it continues on talking about the fact that the children will return, they “shall come back to their own country” (31:17). I like this part, it smacks of resurrection and all that. Not sure why he left it out.

The wise men are something I neglected to mention before this. They are a very strange part of this story, especially if this is a Jewish tale. These guys are stargazers and all that; they believe the stars have something to do with the destiny of the region. This, though, is way outside of what Judaism was all about. It gives credence to the idea that Jesus was really haling the next sign of the Zodiac, Pisces, the fish. Why else would the story need a non-Jew to tell them that the messiah was there? Isn’t that information something the local rabbi should have? It’s a bit fishy. ---See zeitgeistmovie.com

Joseph is an interesting fellow. He has to be warned in a dream about everything. He makes no real conclusions for himself. He has a dream telling him that Herod is dead, as if that wouldn’t be big news. He then has another dream telling him to not go to a specific region; once again it is as if he just doesn’t talk to the people around him. Perhaps the author wanted to emphasize the connection to the OT Joe who had dreams all the time.

The interesting thing about the last quote is that it is not found anywhere in the OT. Perhaps there was another source that we don’t have. Or, this is just an idea, there may have been a prophet that said these things about the Messiah being a Nazorean (not to be mistaken for a Nazerite) and they were just getting around verbally. Not really sure. I think we forget that there was more that the Jews believed in than just the Torah and the rest of the OT. Already we’ve seen that the Jews had some regard for magi, who were astrologers, who we now call, in our puritanical way “wise men”. There were authorities out side of the written word. Not going to go further than that with this idea.

Kindly Advice

2007-12-15T23:51:00.000-08:00

Read your bible every day,
listen to the pastor.
This is how one is to pray:

(prey on the weak!
Become their master)

Father in heav’n hollowed be Your words.
Kingdoms come and buildings fall
On earth, rapture me to heaven.
Give us our rations everyday.
Forgive us our fallenness,
(so loathsome, so undone! In need of a savior, in need of everything, you can do nothing, you are nothing, fallen fallen fallen!)
Just as we look away from their filth.
And lead us not into defeat,
But deliver to us the evil ones.
For Yours is the kingdom,
Yours is the power,
Yours is the choice,
Yours is the government.
Forever and forever and forever

Amen. (which means let it be)

Now take this spell into your home
chant it o’re your offspring.
Loving, humble will they become
Praises will they sing.

And when they grow, how beautiful!
And when they die, what glory!
And when the Lord returns, so merciful
An End to the Greatest Story.

World of Goats

2007-12-14T23:02:00.000-08:00

Better is one day in your house,
Better is one path to your door,
One God is better that none,
One is more than three
So says the trinity.
And on that

There will................A back door, I hope

Be peace............There is. A piece that
On...........................Will fit, there has to be
Earth. ..........................A home to live and love in.

When
Christmas
Is white again.
When the eyes of
The blind see what we
See. Me just a sheep in this
World of Goatse, world of goats.

MSN Conversation Between the Two Last People on Earth Part Three

2007-12-14T22:45:00.000-08:00

Craig is a douche says: So, do you really think that we’re really the last people?

The only little boy says: I hope so. I was getting sick of people.

Craig is a douche says: But that means the end. No more humanity.

Craig is a douche says: Maybe we should try and make some test tube babes. Start the race again.

The only little boy says: I dunno. That sounds like a lot of work. Plus don’t you need like a fridge and peetree dishes and all that.

Craig is a douche says: Well you would need some of that stuff I guess. But it would be worth the try. Humanity!

The only little boy says: What if they came out all fucking mutilated? And do we have to make them mate? That’s just too much.

Craig is a douche says: I’ll look it up. I think you might still need a womb even with test tubes

The only little boy says: k, you do that.

MSN Conversation Between the Two Last People on Earth Part Two

2007-12-13T22:51:00.000-08:00

Craig is a douche says: So. Should we try to get together?

The only little boy says: I guess so… m/f?

Craig is a douche says: m. U?

The only little boy says: m. Damn it.

Funniest Text Message Typo to Date

2007-12-13T08:23:00.001-08:00

"I love you rod much."

Canon

2007-12-12T22:12:00.000-08:00

When we first met an evil bloomed within
My chest, perhaps not evil, simply strong.
My hands would reach towards you though I tried
To keep them in fists upon my lap. My eyes,
Wild! grazed not on trees and field, but only
On neck, chest, hands, nose, lips, eyes, hair, on you.

Cast out, we sleep by the light of angels,
Guards that remind me of the choice. I tried,
I tried my love to get inside the gate,
Crossed flaming swords, they blocked my way back in.
Perhaps that deity would let me in
Alone. Outside with you: sweet desolation.

What made me eat? The ancients never ask.
When sudden panic took you and your eyes
A sinful gray, I saw that you were alone. I died.
I could do nothing but join in your act,
And sin with you forever, two stray leaves,
Twin sightless stones are we, two lovers scorned.

Matthew 1-2:15

2007-12-12T22:10:00.000-08:00

The properness of this gospel is evident right from the start. The nativity changes from Mary to Joseph’s perspective quickly, it is more proper to have it from the man’s point of view. Through this passage scripture is fulfilled by Jesus very neatly to the point where it seems like the writer is just splicing passages together just to make them fit the story. You’re under the nice clean impression that Jesus was conceived and born in Bethlehem in a nice clean “house” (2:11). This is a very different impression than say in Luke, the only other telling of the nativity story. Which brings up the important question of why is this important at all? It wasn’t to the other two gospel writers. I’m not sure what the point is but I could get on just fine without it. It emphasizes the sonship of Christ I guess. I know that I probably prefer the messier version we find in Luke. But we’ll see when I get to it.

MSN Conversation Between the Two Last People on Earth Part One

2007-12-12T00:57:00.000-08:00

Craig is a douche says: Hello?

The only little boy says: Hey

Craig is a douche says: Are you human?

The only little boy says: yeah

Craig is a douche says: Thank God. I cant find anybody.

The only little boy says: Here I am. And you’re welcome

Craig is a douche says: What. Oh. Ha.

Craig is a douche says: Where are you?

The only little boy says: NY. y did u ask if I was human??

Craig is a douche says: Classic! did you do the whole walking down time square alone thing?

The only little boy says: yeah

Craig is a douche says: How was it?

The only little boy says: Lonely.

Craig is a douche says: Because I don’t really know what happened.

The only little boy says: So u thought I was some kinda alien.

Craig is a douche says: What happened.

The only little boy says: I don’t know either.

What I do to make myself feel better than everyone else

2007-12-11T08:15:00.000-08:00

When crossing the street and a large truck or hummer is waiting for me, I walk extra slow.

Material

2007-12-10T22:59:00.001-08:00

When light hits a moving body,
Then the colors reflect.
Primary things unravel
And come together
Into a new complexity
Then my eye-my evolved
Created eye-records the image.
Then it sends the signal,
My hand moves
And records the signal.
Then the light is contextualized
Into a shape; labeled and dissected,
Spread out and explicated,
Then it is concentrated
Into one word.

And when this body
Moves around another,
This is relationship.
And when the bodies separate,
This is distance.
And when they rub,
When the particles of one
Transfer to another,
This is love.
And when my hand
Records the signal,
This is poetry.