Monday, June 06, 2011

"When work is done and drink is beer..."

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.



I have an oddity.

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.

And drunk.


Eckhart Tolle, you fucking mentally-meandering dullard, Beauty arises from movement.

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.



Sometimes it would be better to work in the mines.

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.

"Who doesn’t want a frog that says, “digum”?

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.