Twenty plus mix tapes later and,
not much has changed.
You still don't have the decency
to pull into my drive way, you don't
even pull over.
Every new moon I may receive a distant
removed wave from the window
but, its rare.
So I thought mix tapes might be a good idea.
To give you a taste of how you left me feeling however,
you've never been good at holding things down.
You always think that everything doesn't have to have an
underling mean it but, I always do
so, let me explain some songs on this mix tape.
The first song reminds me of how you always
poked fun at the little I do.
But I never once
let two words slip on
how I felt about your "666" tattoo.
I just don't understand why you suddenly
decided that you're going to worship yourself.
Number two on the mix tape is about something
I'm really not a fan of,
And the third song on the mix tape
is about you.
Which is funny since you are a republican;
so I guess song two and three go hand in hand,
I wish I could of designed the cover with better words besides
"shut up" and "fuck you"
but, unfortunately whenever I think of your name now,
that's all that comes to mind.
The fourth song is about breakfast.
You love breakfast, I've always hated breakfast.
Though you did turn me onto french toast however,
you burned it and whenever I see it now
want to regurgitate.
If you're wondering why the CD say
"72.8%" on it four times, its because
I just keep reminding myself that you,
are made up of 72.8% water.
You are mostly water.
A flat substance;
The last song on this mix tape is messy,
like the way you left me but,
you've never been much at cleaning up.
just like the worst lyrics in the worst pop song,
I can't stop singing you.
Waking as a woman, new skin glistens and the skies are bluer
My baggy clothes fit no longer,
and my window pane is the devil's eye
Heels tap tarmac
Hair long, singing, alive, loving
Wolf whistle samurai, old me dies
This is how it feels to be accepted
Nightfall doldrums, walls sweat profusely, laughing
Skin tight clothes, constriction, regret,
and liquid death like poison in the throat
Gang dem talk loud, wolf whistle predator
Racing rabbit, running running run, run
Cold breeze silence
and sobbing into the handbag
Waking as a spirit, ethereal pleasure
The re-appropriation of gender
and manic transcendence
Kneel before the noose
With roars in chest
Learnt the humility
Abuser wasting his zest
Cry at tomorrow returning no sound
Frightening silence becomes too much loud
Voices of future singing song of the past
The Now is broken and the hope lost it's trust
Cleching rays of light by stale hand
Rotten pride has been betrayed
Ravaged shell will be healed again
To lead you trough circles of undiscovered pain
Blinding light throws me into darkness
Prisoner of malice
Break your knees
In prayer for justice
Last breath will take away
This painful torture
That hates my days
Last breath will take me away
From this endless learning of pain
In morpheus embrace
I can dance with saints
I was granted new chance
But it can't reroute me from hell
Endless hopes of salvation
Pray hollow tides for echoes of noble
Swallow all colors
In the search of the path
Look back to the forward
Beyond the lifetime
Rejecting pure energy
Forced to escape
Will be ravaged again
A humid night
filled with magic and marijuana
laced pumpkin pie
Capped off with kids
singing Richard and Mimi Farina
on the back porch, alone
An acoustic guitar,
dreadlocks and harmony
found in the sticky air
Pack Up Your Sorrows
and give them all to me
Put your circuits in the sea,
do what you feel now,
and give them all to me
it seems easy to believe,
in you and me
when the promise of the light in your eyes,
seeps through my indecision.
my fingertips sliding across the palate of your every inch.
the spaces i have touched painting, colors tracing my every outline,
intertwining between all the small details that define us.
red, like fire, conviction,
spreading across my chest with blinding heat.
echos of animosity, as the lingering flames crawl across the embers they once drew upon.
blue, breaking against waves of progress,
aches washing away with each pull of the moon.
White froths of inspiration.
the sun lay just above, you see?
forrest green, branching through my veins.
spinning life through my every corner.
your skin like spring,
leaves falling to my feet as you pull away once more.
tears, wrong way signs, fails and falters,
dancing themselves into a web,
tangling me into your response.
deep rust, connection.
iron lending to our foundation.
a place to plot the seeds of what could be.
a place to rest our old souls,
once our bodies can longer be seen.
and when the world threatens to break me,
break this beautiful chaos of color,
i will lay here,
in a sea of lavender,
with you my love,
singing songs, with melodies like rainbows, and clocks that run on shades.
while you fill my dreams with sweet memories of our painted past.
I painted flowers on the wall
I drew my dream house on the door
I created a picture puzzle on the floor
Played them all by myself
My nanny didn't understand me
She didn't learn about creativity
She just stood at a corner watching me..
I just hoped for a second she would join me...
A lonely child I was...
Talking to myself, mumbling, singing...
Playing with my imaginary friends
I built this magic land out of imagination
I was the queen, the king, the prince , the princess..
Just to mention a few human characters...
Every time I stepped into this mansion
It grew bigger, slightly bigger than before...
Every time I was taken outside, Which was hardly,
My eyes hurt, my skin cried in pain...
My nanny rushed me inside..
The door was closed before me...
She bathed me quickly,
Rubbed ointment on my skin,
Dressed me and put me to sleep
The next day I was told again to play all by myself
again in this creepy dark room
Christmas without you feels wrong.
I don't know why, it's only one day
Among three hundred and sixty-four others.
It's not very different from those others.
Sure, there's eggnog and bows
And fireplaces and singing
And beef roasts and hams
And traditions a mile high.
You've never even been there before.
I've never seen how you fit in
With the bows and the ham
But I'd imagine you'd fit very splendidly
And it may seem strange,
But you're missing from somewhere
You've never been.
And all I want is you here beside me,
On this day I've never spent with you.
I want it badly.
But I shouldn't be so greedy.
Each day I spend with you is already Christmas.
Even in July.
The thing about
at least for me
is to get to that blissful, buzzed state
where colors are better,
the cheap whiskey in my dirty cup
poured from the finest casks
of a looser Bacchus.
Then there are those sirens,
painted like indecisive chameleons
those chaotic exploding lights
green, sapphire, electric crimson
showering us, and we're all wet with it.
My tongue is honey,
my teeth flashing out in the spastic
staring into theirs all sex-magnetic.
She presses against me
and I whisper something sweet
and she falls into it
like a daydream
or a fever
The whiskey and the gin gild my throat
and I feel like a fucking prince.
Then another shot. Another drink.
And I feel it all
So I drink and I drink and I drink
trying to get it back
until those colorful light bulb flashes
all blend into some horrible, disorderly
no longer singing,
have all turned their backs on me.
So I become
This bar is ugly,
this whiskey cheap,
these people fools.
And I start to hate it all, I tell myself
But I know, deep within the
maelstrom of alcohol and bile,
I hated it all from the start.
Perched high upon a gaudy throne
In her faded dream kingdom
Where everything is soft
And glimmers and glows
Where brutal reality is hidden
By soft colors, the colors of jasmine
And butterfly wings
Weary and strained
Like a dying star
Turning the trick
She dons such deliberate disguises
White satin, a paper lantern
Lighting virgin candles
To hide the stains
And with wide-eyed laughter,
Dropping virginal lies like pearls from a necklace
Clinging to hope
To unheard prayers, unseen supplications
Her restless eyes
Begging for mercy
And wandering aimlessly
Through rainy afternoons in New Orleans
Her lips whisper a battle cry
I don't want realism. I want magic
I tell what ought to be the truth
Truth is sin
Verity and naked bulbs be damned
Gertrude, Stradbrook, River and Roslyn,
off of McMillan, my thoughts froze on Osborne
A drive through the Village on slippery streets
Bought records, drained pints
swallowed down summer nights
Back home in Wyoming--think I'll be fine
'til some night, filled to gills
trip through streets with a stranger
and sing "One Great City"
through swollen closed throat
And I remember...
Confusion Corner, commuting through cold streets
Watched you drive as the daylight died
I narrow my Focus,
you eased into traffic
The Assiniboine ran and was watched by Riel
Took Yellow Dogs for long walks
and Exchanged now for then. Snapped pictures, again and again.
Snow up to my hips
Spent a night at St. Boniface
We cased a cathedral, your friends seemed to like me.
Lines ran from reserves, over oceans and borders.
Your hair ran down shoulders, brown waves for a blanket.
Portage & Main
at a Tavern Uniting with friends,
'til we took the King's Head...
We took the King's Head.
Long live the king.
Curry soup, curried thoughts thawing,
melting, falling from pickled brains,
through lips chapping
Form a Perimeter
Frame a city
Bullseye, center, a Gold gilded Boy
he leans into sky, as they sing, as I hear.
The road North Ended--November, it was.
I think, one year prior, in Robin's Donuts
on hinges that sighed metallic,
I caught your eyes--organic, unplanned--
through fog frosting lenses
Caught them, held on
Held your deep brown
In my gunmetal blue
Seasons will chase--haste to follow more seasons
White streaks to green
and the Red River runs.
When they score at the ballpark,
"Go Goldeyes!" the cheer sounds
The Guess Who still suck,
but the Jets completed their round trip
"Go, Jets, go!" so the cheer goes.
"Cheers!" Cheers like bells.
Peeling like your sunburnt back
Bells singing long
Bells sounding loudly from Grace Bible Church
baptizing Baltimore as it kisses Osborne
Bells ringing. Round sounds.
Round rings for fingertips touching
Round sounds that hang on my neck
and sing me to sleep every night--
remind me how badly you wanted those bells
I denied you.
They sing "Left and Leaving"
and show me old scars
they ring and peal and strike
I remember April of 2008
Dropping my toque in the mud-and-slush street
We took Pembina Highway
Commuting through cold streets,
Watching you drive as the daylight died
In your blue '02 Focus
Ease us back into traffic,
The Assiniboine River.
And Louis Riel.
So tell me...
Comment-allez vous, ce soir?
Je ne suis pas comme ci, comme ça.