"muller" poems
I've always been in place,
in situ
Maybe (just maybe) ...
I'm sui generis?
When my lifeline intersected with spacetime on this continuum
I found myself moving toward a collision course with duality and non-duality
Moving towards a zero-point
What are we talking about?
Nothing (Rafelski & Muller, 1985)
As a geographer, the mimetic expression was dualistic
As one plane flowed through another;
as fiat lux flowed through Medicine Rock
I found wisdom
I further explored the duality @ this place
(also known as University of Lethbridge)
The U of L is an interesting duck
It walks like an Albertan university
It talks like an Albertan university
But one of these things is certainly not like the other
The U of L got its chops as a house of learning for the Liberal Arts
Follow those roots and you'll see conduits to another spacetime known as UCBerkley
U of L memetics share material memories from the birth of the Free Speech Movement (1964)
And as Arthur Erickson drafted up his plans for Canada's centennial gift to the Province of Alberta, I'm sure he would have been partaking in the pleasures of this particular spacetime
I'm sure at the very least that he was listening to Hendrix wax on about Castles
As Erickson designed this modernistic monolith called University Hall
There were influences such as Arthur C. Clarke and his novel 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
He was certainly knowledgeable of the Blackfoot stories of the Old Man
And of course as an architect he would be versed in gravity and how built structures on a slope tend to creep toward base-level
Strange but true, Erickson's first degree was in foreign languages
So what I see is Canada's premier architect wrote a poem for us in 1968
In a foreign language
And that poem would be expressed over the next forty to fifty years
Some of those primary poetic elements were:
Berkley, California
Hippie Movement
Creep (or gravity)
Base level
Blackfoot creation stories of the Old Man
Jimi Hendrix poetry and his savage musical genius
"and so castle's made of sand melt into the sea, eventually."
So let's reinterpret that line to be more U of L centric
(through my glossy apertures)
"and so monolith's made by man melt back into god eventually."
........ ....... ...... ..... ..... .... ... .. . zero~point . .. ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
Sometimes enemies are better than fake friends,
only because you don't have anything to lose in the end.
They can tell you they're trying to help,
but all they do is listen to your crying out yelp.
They're supposed to be there to have your back,
but sympathy and compassion is what they truly lack.
Enemies will hurt you,
they do it intentionally too.
They want you to know they were the ones who caused you pain,
and with everything they do, you'll question if they're sane.
But when fake friends hurt you, they do it while they're hiding,
because they want to see you break, almost like you're dying.
Life is filled with fakers,
and I just happen to be the giver, and them the takers.
The fantasy world is black and white,
and everything is just right.
But in our world there's color,
and our feelings are grain while they are Muller.
Choose your friends wisely,
because someone may be stabbing your back - ever so quietly
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
Pinot this and pinot that
This young Grenache is a trifle flat
Better to try and get along
With a slightly older Sauvignon
I sometimes get a trifle low
When dabbling in a cheap Merlot
And so to scare the blues away
Will sip a spendy Chardonnay
But to avoid real ennui
Drink super Oregon Pinot Gris
And let’s be quite awfully frank
That’s much better than Chenin Blanc
But while you sort out your Pinot
Give a break to Grignolino
It’s good, but not the same as
A bold and cheeky Oz Shiraz
And if you want to go very far
Don’t ignore local Pinot Noir
It always sells well on the block
And I wonder who likes Marechal Foch
As I was supping a cute Barbera
At a certain State affaira
Things got quickly very highbrow
When someone mentioned Muller Thurgau
It is no lack of vinous respect
That makes us scorn the best Malbec
And can you find me a single fan
Of that very odd vine, Carignan?
If one must go to a grapey hell
There’s good company in Zinfandel
But if we really must go
Could we have some Nebbiolo?
In the end we all agree
Any wine is better free
But if not free we’ll surely call
Any wine beats none at all!
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
on this day
every year
i count the seasons
since you disappeared
(it's 22 today, just like my age)
and i still see you everywhere
they think i'm silly
i remember today
(seven years ago)
like it was just the other day
from sleeping to dreaming
to hoping that it was just a dream
and then pretending like it was
but the words
from the voice on the other side of the telephone
"our deepest condolences"
started to make it real
i didn't want it to be
so i carried on and went to school
and wrote a biology test to pretend it was not
(the ***** made it count for my year end mark)
i couldn't pretend hard enough.
you were gone.
but it's only your skin
and your bones
your hips and your toes
your eyes and your smile
your big hands and your silly old man style
those are the things that all disappeared
your heart
and your dreams
your fears and your screams
your guidance and love
your temper and your laugh
still lives on in my heart
a daughter and her father
are always just a few heartbeats apart
(no matter what)
and i hope you are proud of me
like i am of you
for smiling
while screaming
with with everything you went through
** for tonie muller
father, fighter, brother, hero.
12.11.54 - 21.02.03
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 8:22 AM UTC
Inhospitable landscapes
And opioid canapés,
Give into grief
And metallic decay:
Your mind in situ.
Moral compasses compounded.
Green grows grey
Far swifter than you think.
In the blink of an eye
We'll see different skies.
A pale blue bloom
Will soon become doom and gloom,
And marigolds macabre,
Perfume of tulip and
Netherworlds of hubris,
Will consume the gold
And the grey.
Except
We're not there yet.
Giacommetti, Picasso and Muller foresaw:
We're all going to be ignored.
Ultimately.
A single state engrained into lore:
Deplorably thick custard creams
With a side of sea bream,
Quarter-loaf multi-seed bread
And half a shilling in the shed.
Unimaginable-
Immemorial.
Pass the headstone,
Don the frown.
The bright brown obelisk of fate
Awaits you now.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
The last three weeks have been a seemingly endless series of welcome parties, get-togethers, receptions, meet-and-greets and cocktail parties - every kind of cheesy or ostentatious soirée my Grandmère can throw together, she’s dragged me to. It’s hard to match her energy.
“You have to meet people,” she insists, “and they have to meet YOU.”
“And why?” I asked, eloquently, but there’s no use resisting - she’s tireless.
The Prime Minister of France - met him. The mayor of Paris, met him, the CEOs of Paribas, L’Oréal, TotalEnergies, AXA, met them, the ministers of the economy, interior and foreign affairs - met ‘em. The US ambassador to France, met him.
In the play “My Fair Lady,” Eliza, meeting people frantically at the races, repeats “How do you do,” over and over and over to great comedic effect. That’s how I feel at these parties, “Enchanté, enchanté, enchanté, enchanté, enchanté.” I say, turning in circles. I’ve met Emmanuel Macron before, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing him again soon. I haven’t met his wife though - I’d love to ask her about that slap.. hhmm.
At these events she’s made sure that I’ve met anyone who’s anyone at Université Paris Cité. Is that surprising? No, because that’s how crazy-lady operates. “You meet everyone, eye-to-eye,” she lectures, “you have to get out of your bubble, and experience the world as interesting,”
That’s her favorite saying these days. “I don’t HAVE a bubble,” I replied, defensively, but she’s left the room - she’s never still. She seems to know we’re on the clock, that once med-school starts, (in September) I’m going to be all about that.
It’s Monday morning. I’ve been at the Shangri-La hotel pool, where we have full privileges, and I’m coated, like a potato, head to foot, with SPF 50 sunscreen - when who shows up?
Peter (my bf). “You’re early!” I say, not at all displeased, but I’m SO conscious of my tacky skin and chemical smell that I face-palm him as he comes in for a snog.
EEuuww. I can’t make-out with a guy when I’m all greased up.
“5 minutes,” I assured him, heading for the shower.
“I’ll join you,” he offered.
“Well, ok,” I chuckle.
.
.
Songs for this:
Better Days by NEIKED, Mae Muller & Polo G
This Girl by Kungs & Cookin' On 3 Burners
Cake By The Ocean by DNCE [E]
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 7:03 AM UTC