Saturday, August 13, 2011
Monday, June 06, 2011
With Lover Boy loud all afternoon and the sun was even out all day.
Beer in hand and accomplished, these Hemingway sips.
Fucking hell if we didn’t meet challenges today
And overcome without overwhelming
And sail without sails, or a fucking rudder, for what and all that I know.
Whew. I love it when the tide does that.
Posted by Sid Heart at 12:39 PM
I have Mr. Rogers shoes.
I mean I have the whole fucking thing down solid and it just happened.
I come home and switch my postal uniform for my home uniform. I even swap shoes. Shirt and Jacket for a Montreal Canadiens sweater.
Slacks for plaid cotton pyjamas;
head for heart.
Man I am changing it out like that.
And fucking shoes, Mr. Rogers shoes.
I am a neighbourhood father.
Posted by Sid Heart at 12:20 PM
The comets speed faster than anything we have ever even seen ever.
From a good and solid fucking, a human is made in 270 days.
Love is born in less time.
Cancer eats everything always at all times eventhough it means that Cancer will die, too. That’s fucked up. And it happens very, very fast.
Where is the stillness in that you fucking be-doted twat?
And how dare you hide behind the Dalai Lama. As who is he, Diaspora?
I am a Quebecois in Alberta; you are a German in Canada. We are all Diasporai.
The Dalai Lama knows nothing for you to hide behind, my man. He has never known drunken poverty or hated heart-break for a lover.
How can you be a man and never know the Herculean gut-punch of love?
The sick of a Sunday, 5 p.m. still drunk and fuck tomorrow’s going to suck.
All these things happen in spite of stillness.
These things are learned on the balls of the feet.
Do you think Cheetahs are made to be still to find their own beauty?
Let’s move, my man, let’s go.
Posted by Sid Heart at 12:17 PM
Sometimes it would have been better to have been Elvis Presley, fat and stoned and finally dead.
Sometimes it would be better to be a lawnmower and at least useful twice a month; in the summer.
After a few I am always ready to try the things that would sometimes be better sometimes.
But I get up and go to it again.
Posted by Sid Heart at 12:15 PM
I used to love it all and walked like that for that exact reason.
I seem to have found it and really I mean really I never want to do that shit again.
Thank you, lovers, for sifting the shit and spitting me into the right pile.
Especially you, Sugar Smacks.
Thanks for being the cereal I could never have as a child but as a man and out of rebellion and misguided freedom bought a box and ate it all in one night.
There was a reason I never had it when I was young.
It’s only as a man that I can see that through free-action I am better off heeding wisdom than scuttling will-power.
Posted by Sid Heart at 12:12 PM
Saturday, April 09, 2011
I work on the set of Taxi.
There is the short fat balding one,
there is the funny crazy one; the wacky guy. So zany.
There is that mouthy cunt, what’s-her-name.
And the accent-guy, fucking foreigners.
There is that one guy we can all relate to because he is us, detached and cool.
There is that vehicle in which we always envision ourselves. Like a soul.
It never says a thing because it is the last thing and sometimes the never thing that we ever think about eventhough the show brags it’s name: the taxi.
That quiet little cab just sits there and waits to carry these fools. It never says a thing.
It never moves a man to cry; but I do.
I weep for that little yellow taxi in that Taxi shop.
Surrounded by idiots and failures.
I work on the set of Taxi.
There is that mouthy cunt and there is the joker and there is the boss and there is the cool-jerk.
And here is the cab.
Posted by Sid Heart at 12:10 AM
Saturday, January 15, 2011
What if our souls, after so many, many flights, never return to our bodies?
What if I never really got off that plane in 2008 from Tokyo?
What if I never left that ferry to Gibraltar?
What if I never stepped drunk from that train into the Serbian night in 1994 and never got turned back?
What would I know? Who would I be?
What if you never met me in Vancouver in September?
So much of everything would be different.
But you did; and I did all of those things, too.
I love vapour trails and looking up and thinking about the origin and destination of those planes and the passengers; all headed somewhere they were needed or even loved.
I wonder if they have had dinner yet or are wondering outside their view? Who is watching them fly past?
I am, on those clear Alberta skies.
And blowing kisses, too.
Because landing is the best thing ever.
Posted by Sid Heart at 8:05 PM
Friday, January 07, 2011
“The pine tree seems to listen, the fir tree to wait: and both without impatience — they give no thought to the little people beneath them, devoured."
What is it about a pine that makes me feel better all the time with those soft arms out and reaching for a sap-filled hug?
What is it about a pine tree that makes me wander like that and hold you tight forever with a hug, my soft arms; boughs tight and sap-filled.
What is it about this existence that makes us all weep at the thought of it all and again the next night for the same reasons.
What is it all?
What is it about a woman? What is it that fucking drives me like a Wartsila-Sulzer RTA96-C turbocharged two-stroke diesel engine; 108,920 hp.
Fuel drives it all, be it love or sunshine or oil.
Posted by Sid Heart at 1:44 AM
I don’t think that flowers blooming make any noise or sound even.
I know for sure that fallen leaves crunch underfoot in retreat on October afternoons in Alberta.
I know that from chasing your scared soul across provinces, GMC Sierra in high gear over mountains; cigarette in clenched hand as you read maps and they all lead here all at once.
You are all the cherry blossoms all at once drifting down and snowing my earthed path.
You are my path.
I love you, Starfish.
Posted by Sid Heart at 1:43 AM