"We pass the word around; we ponder how the case is put by different people, we read the poetry; we meditate over the literature; we play the music; we change our minds; we reach an understanding. Society evolves this way, not by shouting each other down, but by the unique capacity of unique, individual human beings to comprehend each other." - Lewis Thomas

Monday, July 26, 2010

When the blood boils...

The broken and the restless thats what they called us. Lost souls, forgotten long ago. Left to rot in our own mental cages. Dark shadows bend over like trees dancing in the wind. We sit in the shadows watching the world turn around us, envious like the angels fallen from the heavens. Our blood would begin to boil, burn and urge us forward like a leesh and collar. The drumming of my heartbeat pounds in the back of my head.

Empty vessels filled solely by the strings attached to our limbs. Like marianettes, pulled by our own dismay. It is not until the puppet strings snap are our souls release, destroyed. The beating of the heart never stops, pulsating like the neon sign of the motel where I sleep. Concrete alley ways attached to broken bridges and fallen forests. The trees above held people on their branches, hung upside down like caddle awaiting slaughter.

It is with skilled and silent desolation we strike from the shadows like a serpant uncoiled. Screams as slient as the shadows we came from. Born of blackened brimestone and soil, our lives sucked drive from one another. Each before us like an Anarchist heirarchy. Sworn in like an oath at court, swearing the most truthful lie you can conjure. The voices whisper of soldiers of light. Dusk and dawn rise and fall like incense in a room full of steam.

They call us the broken and the restless. Spirits damned to wander the shadows. Sparks amongst ourselves ignite the shadows void of passion. We walk in the daylight, along side you. We are your friends, we know you and you know us. You even see the shadows, but ignore it in a blissful guile. Eyes clouding over, the beating stops. A silent cry. A warmth washes over us like an ocean's wave. The final calming.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Mourning Rise

Alone he sat in wonder
What the world would be a plnder.

He sat and watched the people below
Like the sun it rrises and sets swaring to and frow.

The Floral decore offset the not yet yellow wall,
Broken and torn our fellow man, an empty hall.

Thoughts of Love and passion filled his head
Past, present and future danced as he sat upon that bed.

A smile, a tear and a fist of this lover swoon,
As he now wanders the darkside of this concrete moon

Friday, July 16, 2010

I now understand why the Holy Grail was never found...

I have been working on this since friday, well that is a lie. I spent the weekend with friends rather, uh, intoxicated. So well enjoy: :)

As some of you may know, or may not. My Cousin, Collin Fraser, played on the 2010 Chicago Blackhawks and won the Stanley Cup. For all you non-hockey fans or perhaps you just live under a rock, the Stanley Cup is like the holy grail of hockey (not really but you know), its the trophy for being the best team in the league. When a team does win the Stanley Cup each player gets a chance to bring the cup home, and appearently host a private party with friends and family on the NHL.

Two days ago, Wendsday July 15th, this glorgeous silver cup came to Surry, BC (near Vancouver) and home town to my Cousin Collin. The cup was on display at the Surrey Recreation Centre and then brought to a private room in Moxies. This is where I first beheld the simmer wonder that is Sir Stanley Cup. I've never seen it before (aside from Television) and I've never been a huge hockey fan much to the attempts of my family and friends, but being that close to what might as well be a national monument was breathtaking. On top of that I got to do a shot with a modern day titan, Canadian Hockey Players (=P).

I have a few pictures of it, of me with it and me, how do I put this...kissing it. So once I figure out how to post those I will post them up here. I had to leave early that night to get to work the next morning, but I got a text my dad and brother who got to drink beer out of the top of the Stanley Cup, bastards (excuse my language). I think it is safe to say I may start watching hockey again.

The story does not stop there though. After an 81 dollar, particially intoxicated ride in a taxi, make the last ferry to Vancouver Island and stumbling onto the ferry I realized I left the keys to the car I was driving back at my Dad's place in Victoria. This may not have been a huge issue, if my dad did not live a 2hour drive away from the Duke Point terminal in Nanaimo. Now the fun begins.

At mid-night when the sobering effects of fear and realization of stupidity, I called my mom who lives two hours in the opposite direction of my dad to drive down my brother's car's spare key. Needless to say, she was unimpressed and tired. You know when you walk by people who are fighting you always take a little peak and chuckle to yourself. Well when some one is yelling into a phone you can hardly see you just assume their crazy or hearing voices. Yeah, those were the looks I was getting as my mom and and I exchanged 'pleasantries'.

Finally we came conclusion and she was going to drive them down in the morning (before we both had to work). I love my Mom, I knew she loved me too, but she definitely did not like me at this point. I hailed a cab that was waiting out front of the Ferry arrival and told him to take me to the nearest 'reasonably' priced hotel/motel. Never again. The cabbie was nice, I explained to him my delema and my story and he stopped the ticker at $20 from what would have been a $40 cab ride. He also snagged me a taxi discount or something like that.

It was 1:30am and I knew I had to be up and ready to go by 5:00am. By this point I was so tired just of thinking of the exhaustion tomorrow. He drove me to a hotel he didn't think lots of cops and drugs were at, there weren't any but could have fooled me. He snagged me a cabbie discount or something...I didn't know they existed but I was too tired and probably still a little intoxicated to care.

The night person who even looked sketchy, like one of those hotel owners from a horror movie handed me my key Room 212, had me pay and told me my room is third door on the down. I'm going to take a moment to describe this Motel to you. It is one of those one which you walk by and shake your head at knowing (rather assuming) that it 'rents by the hour' so to speak. It was coloured blue and white, at least I think it was white at one point, it was more of a grey-ish. The sign out front was Neon blue, and read "Royal Motel" and had a poorly drawn crown as its symbol. there were weeds and weird plant life growing the cement in front of it and the 'parking lot' held about four cars.

There was a wooden 'staircase' leading up to the second (top) level, I took a step and it squeaked a little, then another and another, then the wood sank a bit and I hear snapping. Great. So I did what any 'great adventurer' would do, move the next stair and finally the top. I stuck the key(They used real keys, not the electric manget strip one probably should have been my first sign) they gave me into the locking hole and turned it as it to unlock. No luck. So I try again thinking it could be backwards. No good. So I step back and look at the door, setting down my suitcase.I notice the door handle also has a lock on it. Two locks, second sign. so I put it in there and Voila the door opens.

A blast of heat hits me, the room is hotter than hell, about 10-15 degrees hotter than it is outside. The room, again, looks like something straight out of a horror movie. The desk is one of those fake made to look like antique wood which matches te ugly chair, which I set my jacket down on, and the fridge. I know that sounds weird that the wood matches the fridge but the door of the fridge was that fake plastic made to look like wood stuff. The bathroom and the toliet seat had, how do I put this, weird markings on it (IE. Stains) the rest was fine...for the most part, the weird markings were present on the shower curtain as well. The phone, was one of those old school skinny phones, not your average hotel phone. It was like walking into a whole 'nother world.

Being as tired as I was just changed into my 'sleep pants' and stripped my shirt off. It being 35 degrees celcius and slightly afraid of what might be lying underneath hte sheets I just slept on top of them. Needless to say, I saw the sunrise for the first time since my hockey days, with 2hours of sleep, I managed to make myself a pot of coffee, shower and sit on the edge of my bed. It was epic.

I can now fully appreciate each quest for that elusive holy grail. It's not that it was ever found or touched, its just that everyone was to afraid of the trek back they just gave up once they found it. Still, being in the presence of the cup, kissing it (its a really good kisser btw) and hugging the Stanley is a once in a life time opportunity, it was awesome.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Angel in the Grass

"The swelling of a broken heart lies not within the heart itself but with the memories of what the heart use to be." - Authors note 20

There under the light of day, Lies an angel in the grass
Wings folded in front
Glistening under the ultra violet,
Like a mirrored reflection.

A breeze brushes the grass
Caressing, touching the skin
Ghostly fingers silhouette perfection
Like a living lover eyes stare upwards.

"From heaven's hand you have fallen,
And in my arms you lie."


The nightingale sings softly
As the sun rises beyond
Hallowed lovers shimmer

The constant roar of canons
As the kingdom falls on a knee
Below fallacy of a smiles

The language of divinity Spoken
As the sun sets on a bowing world
Below man, baptized in the fires of sin,

An elegant kiss
While wicker forms form
Below the belt,

Envious and Devious

In the Whirlwind of time
these flames of life flicker
Ignite sparks of lovers' past
Like a forest fire in July
The broken crash down
When no one is to see or hear
Mountains shift and cities fall
Like an emperor on his thrown
Social suicide a political demise
Independence stifled by conformity
The service for the Masses
...at least so we are told.

"Conformity is the root of are societies demise. If we viewed everyone by their own standards and not our own, did not force our own dreams, goals and values upon others and lived our lives like the independents we are, peace could be achieved..." - Authors note 67