Saturday, January 17, 2009

"All the stories I wrote were true, because I believed in what I saw."

Tee hee.
When I awoke that colder day and eased into the shower I thought of not just you and not the facts But I thought of life itself and how it just slips on by and keeps going. The road was sleek with rain and I never knew it and I drove like that still wet from the shower.
Comma comma comma.
I love you and in fact evrything this fine winter day.
Just listen to the radio and you can know it all.
Thanks Jack, for your madness.
And love.
And for making me wake up and sleep again.
You fuck.

"Are you lonesome tonight...?" you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?
Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?


I wonder if you're lonesome tonight
You know someone said that the world's a stage
And each must play a part.
Fate had me playing in love, you as my sweetheart.
Act one was when we met, I loved you at first glance
You read your line so cleverly and never missed a cue
Then came act two, you seemed to change and you acted strange
And why I'll never know.
Honey, you lied when you said you loved me
And I had no cause to doubt you.
But I'd rather go on hearing your lies
Than go on living without you.
Now the stage is bare and I'm standing there
With emptiness all around
And if you wont come back to me
Then make them bring the curtain down.

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?



Thursday, January 15, 2009


Type your summary here

Type rest of the post here

Sunday, January 11, 2009

"Well you're not man enough for me to hate, or woman enough for kissing."

"I don't understand how you can hold me so tight, and love me so loose."

You always break my heart, Bruce.
I quit.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

"If you judge people, you have no time to love them."

"Do you want to know where I have been?", she asked.
"No", I said.
"Do you love me ?", she said.
I whispered, "Of course, yes".

When we kissed it was like magic and I almost fell out of my chair; I think I even cried some.

"Do you trust me?", she asked, and no, I did not.
But I said ,"Yes", anyhow.

I told her I was not the way she wanted a man to be. I did enjoy the company of a woman or two; maybe three.
She didn't mind and I kept on being me.
I didn't know any better.
There was tension like that until I bought it, my first car.
A 1959 Cadlilac Eldorado; a black one.

I left that, too, after I had made my choice.

I disappeared into the night and nobody knew about it. At first I went through Mexico, but then I slipped into Guatemala and nobody checked my documents there. I was away and with broken heart I did wander. I wept then, at Tikal.

I remember that she said, "I will never stop loving you".
She said that before I left.
"Somethings", I said "you'll never forget".

After that when I left and stopped remembering her I just stopped.
I quit.
I never touched or loved another woman.
I quit it all and slipped into myself.

I love you.
I always will; always.

-Love Sid

"And the evening and the morning were the first day."

It rained all morning and even after I took a bullet to the heart it kept going. I thought it would end with my death but it went on. I was French, even, but it mattered not. I fought for the Empire. I died for The Queen, too. My family hated me for it but I knew it was bigger than all of us.
I was building Canada.
The farm I left would go on. My rifle, $18 dollars worth, was collected by my regiment and sent home, thank God. I think my father kept it

It felt like a sneeze, when I was hit. A sneeze that is kept in at the base of the lungs and the final shake was my soul escaping to God. But there was no light for me. There was just quiet eternity.
I died for you. I died for my wife and two girls and I did it because it was the right thing to do; to fight, to win, to stop this all. And I stopped, too.

The feeling of it all, the rain and the smell of mud and smoke, was like when I hunted with my father as a boy. We took the horses North every fall just before the snow came. We came back with some deer and my mother was always happy. I loved her in those final moments. I saw it all and knew that I was not going to see it again. It was warm and sweet, dying like that. I wasn't afraid and knew that I would get to leave these Belgian trenches finally.

The mud tasted of poison. When I fell and caught some of it in my mouth I could taste it as they used chemicals, mustard. I thought that the taste of earth would disgust me but I in fact didn't mind. It was the chemicals I noticed the most. But I only noticed them shortly, as my life seeped out.

I hope you are proud and that I didn't shame you. Dying was easy, I just let it come and didn't cry out.
I didn't even pray, although God will forgive me because I couldn't keep those thoughts together. They were like shards of a broken window pane, scattered and chaotic; broken, and I was no longer in control.

I love you and I wish that I could have stayed, but the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, I guess.

I should have shaved that morning but there was no time as the enemy came at dawn.

Don't forget me. Don't cry, too.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

"Language is the dress of thought."

Dear Anonymous.
I was cruel to you. You hate my writings.
I treated your discontent with light and sarcastic tones.
I think we can learn from each other.
At first you wrote,

"Yeah, you really sound dangerous and edgy."

This is a personal attack.
Nothing to be construed, you just flamed me.
But why?

Your second comment,

"and i'm sure these girls would be just thrilled to see your 'conquests' poste[d] for all the world to see. so classy."

If you want to understand what I have done here, email me privately at

My words have obviously had a deep impact on you.

Contact me in private and we can discuss this all; I am not afraid.
Are you?

Anyhow, love, I await your email.

Let's learning!

I will be private. about it all.

-Sid Heart

I wish I were Bill Benson.

I cried reading Bill Benson once.
It was after Toronto had lost in the playoffs; the final Canadian hope. The lone sentinel.
Bill watched the game in silence and when it finished and they had lost and Canada was done he walked out of his home and just flew away. It was beautiful. He just lifted his arms and was gone. I wanted to fly away, too, after that.

I was alone and drunk in the North of Japan. Bill Benson and I connected that day.
I was filled with a deep love for him that I had never noticed before, it just kind of crept up on me like that.

I saw that even he was as heartbroken as I and I loved him for showing me how he escaped it all, how he wanted to just go away.

I also wanted to fly away, to you, though.
I wanted you to tell me that it would all be alright and that I was good and that I was your bluebird and that we would have next year; we'd do it next year.
I needed solace and from seven thousand kilometers away Bill Benson gave it to me.

I wept and strode, hurriedly to the bathroom at school. They wouldn't understand why a comic would make me cry; they wouldn't understand the beauty and truth in that.

I smoked cigarettes and cut work, I told them I didn't have the stomach for it that day anymore.

When I went home that night I undressed and donned my Oilers jersey and drank two litres of sake.

I wish I were Bill Benson so I could fly away, too, from defeat, from anguish, from failed hope and sick hockey teams.

Thanks, Bill.

-Love Sid

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Chewbacca ~ Legendary Tales

"I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go."

I fucked a ton and drank even more, in Japan.
I had girls sending me their pictures from work, full cuntal.
Does that make me a bad man? They just wanted my cock, can't blame them, really.
I out-sized thier dudes, 3 to 1, easy, like a called horse race.
Inside info. kills bets, yo.

Wait, what? You like that?
You mad?
Fuck off, they came to, on me. They sent me shit that would make y'all blush.
I loved them and they loved me and we knew it was only for a short time. There were no hard feelings.

I liked to touch them like they had not, ever, been touched.
The fat cock was the cherry on the cake, though.
That was loved. I am sure monuments were built and burnt.
Cock. Fat, hard cock.
Yep, they loved it.
I fucked at least 12 married women while there; husbands ignoring them and kids screaming.
We went out and had a few and then I had to peel them off of the dick.
It's just the way it was.
Don't be mad, bay-be, cunt lovess me.
Can you blame them?
I can't.
In fact, it has made me the perfect fuck that I am.

Dig in.

-Sid Heart

Monday, January 05, 2009

"Oh, Jeb, what does pride got to do with guns? "

It has never troubled me too much that I can't write, nor have I been bothered by it.
The thing I hate the most is that when I level or plumb a wall I can't pin the plates in straight.
It could be the house
but usually I know it is just me, out by 5 or 6/8ths.
It's tough like that. It's enough to make me crazy and sometimes I just follow the grain of the 2x4 from factory end to my cut, just to focus.
Foundations and frames are funny like that, frustrating but necessary.
Fucking up is not really an option.

I thought about my friends tonight. My lovers and those with whom I share love.
I think it was about 8 p.m. when I packed in the Hilti. Nail guns are a challenge, for me.
But nailing, it's so real and instant with them.
A gentle push and it is in, deep. Although the recoil, man, is something to deal with.

I was drunk this past weekend and didn't do much but when I took that tool-belt this morning, strapped it on and went to work, well, there is no better feeling. The weight of my hammer, offset by the weight of my tape, knife and some duplex nails, shit, it just feels perfect. Not to mention that I could crack a walnut between my biceps; it feels good. I feel like a man.

We did some framing and then took a break.
I told my older brother about this site, to read the things I write here.
He said nothing.
I cared not, too. It just felt good to share these thoughts.
And I fear not the judgment of others; regarding carpentry or life.
I hit nails straight, I walk the same.

I love you.

I took this picture of The Queen of Mexico for you.


-Sid Heart


Thursday, January 01, 2009

Sky blue sky.

She wanted me and I knew it. I took her and spoiled her cunt.
And i knew that I was wasting your time and I laughed.
Fuck you for reading this.