tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42133420592929813532024-03-12T21:57:54.191-07:00cogsmicewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-8600521750813162882009-09-18T20:09:00.000-07:002009-09-18T20:12:05.822-07:00Hold my hand. <br /><br /> I don't know where I'm going. There was a splash, a slash, then a clawing against the linolium. A moan, that guttural groan, a gutter throat, he cut his own throat. His skin like dead ivory. <br /><br /> Then I held him. <br /> <br /> I stepped into the tub. He steeped the water like tea with his blood. I folded myself round him like a ship sail round the wind. My legs became his legs. My lips became his lips. I pressed my chest hard against his back so that my heart could echo through his body and remind his heart how to live. <br /><br /> Hold my hand. <br /><br /> “I like the way you move!” He screamed it. He liked my geriatric gig! Where was it? Unity? By the end of the night, I had my back pressed against a 6-foot-tall-speaker while we made out furiously, shirtlessly, to Lady Gaga. He slipped his tongue down my throat so far that I nearly chocked. “Gagging on Gaga!” he yelled. I died!<br /> <br /> Now I hold him.<br /><br /> The muscles in his arms feel like dumplings. I unclog the tub so that I can slowly feel the weight of his body press into mine as the water empties out. I want to support him while his blood searches out the sea.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-55286199552605692002009-04-26T20:54:00.000-07:002009-04-26T20:59:16.725-07:00tidesWhen you weren't looking, I slipped open a glass valve that sucked in the breath between us, that pant and humidity. I collected your airborn spittle with a porous fan, passed it through a chromatographer, so that I could isolate the compounds that once conjured a flower garden to untangle from my mouth. I clipped your toe-nails, scrapped off skin from your elbow, shaved the hair off your stomach, clipped the bristle from your nose and did all that was required of me to hone that poison that so gushed from lip brim to flesh rim, for an antidote, so that I could be immune of you. <br /><br />____<br /><br /><br />Paper-thin boys with scribbled-on-black-marker moustaches with pic nic tablecloth worthy plaid shirts. How? A cohort of EarthFirst!ers laced birch bark with serrated steel saws to bark back at lumberjacks, they caught in their machinery, and sliced a few jugulars. Now, there are all these plaid shirt spectres haunting society and seeking vengeance by strangling the torsos of Green-indie hipsters, belying themselves as ironic. In truth, plaid shirts are preying on society with a bloodstained thirst for vindication. Be warned. <br /><br />____<br /><br /><br />Where was I? It was somewhere between the moment when I wasn't and when I was about to. In other words, when I had yet to begin but hadn't quite finished. To clarify, I was doing nothing. That's it. This is the story between when it happened, it being that aforementioned instant when it had yet to happen at all. I was drinking out of an empty water bottle. Viz, I was breathing. Something was written on the underside of my eyelids, or so I had been told, but I lacked the necessary light as to illuminate the message from inside my head. To resolve my predicament, I took a knife and cut along the seams so connecting my fleshy eye flaps to my face, and held them before me. Confused, I had somehow managed to muff the order. Did they read “I am” or was it “am I?” <br /><br />___<br /><br />What of whales that fall in love 10,000 leagues beneath the sea, stumbling into each other amidst the dark, and forget to breathe? <br /><br />___<br /><br />Look at all this space! 'Nough to fill a yawn! Or clog the ocean! Or bridge you and I! <br />____________________<br /><br /><br />We've become like backwash from two months ago: dilute and residual. You were my doorknob moment: fleeting and relevant. Now, I am in a different room. Here, there are white paper-thin blinds, blind walls: they are pale as the eyes of a walleyed fish. There's a wind, it feels like steel against my cheek. There is no furniture, nor ornaments, or fixtures. I am its sole adorement. Here, I do crouch, a makeshift couch, a property. Here have I sat so long that a ring of dust does mark itself along the floor, skin particles having shaken from my shoulders, my hips. I am without water.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-59899437169146802672009-01-14T22:01:00.000-08:002009-01-14T22:02:25.956-08:00bali bargain<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SW7RWZ8heaI/AAAAAAAAAaI/PCRggo2XsU4/s1600-h/P7050471small.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SW7RWZ8heaI/AAAAAAAAAaI/PCRggo2XsU4/s320/P7050471small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291396795058977186" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-70069594033160896072008-11-21T22:40:00.000-08:002008-11-21T23:10:42.551-08:00radical vulvas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSewaoRyLEI/AAAAAAAAAUo/ATbClXlsNp4/s1600-h/img_9193small.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSewaoRyLEI/AAAAAAAAAUo/ATbClXlsNp4/s320/img_9193small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271375860395551810" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSewaSE4qpI/AAAAAAAAAUg/kIrSCZ76fEg/s1600-h/walk9resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSewaSE4qpI/AAAAAAAAAUg/kIrSCZ76fEg/s320/walk9resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271375854435871378" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSewaJJRKjI/AAAAAAAAAUY/Z47neSr9QAE/s1600-h/img_9567resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSewaJJRKjI/AAAAAAAAAUY/Z47neSr9QAE/s320/img_9567resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271375852038335026" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSewaJf5m8I/AAAAAAAAAUQ/XMLwkSRrLic/s1600-h/sparks4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; 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cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSevfGFAg7I/AAAAAAAAAT4/V0aphg-ZMtM/s320/walk19resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271374837602878386" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeti9uFVFI/AAAAAAAAATg/a5AQKPIiHgY/s1600-h/walk21.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeti9uFVFI/AAAAAAAAATg/a5AQKPIiHgY/s320/walk21.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372705055462482" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetiiS5T6I/AAAAAAAAATY/982AGTk3gs4/s1600-h/walk22.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetiiS5T6I/AAAAAAAAATY/982AGTk3gs4/s320/walk22.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372697693671330" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetiUQWOvI/AAAAAAAAATQ/loIjuumzcVw/s1600-h/walktheline1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetiUQWOvI/AAAAAAAAATQ/loIjuumzcVw/s320/walktheline1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372693924887282" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeth_Z32SI/AAAAAAAAATI/eMbgzwHi5ys/s1600-h/walk6resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeth_Z32SI/AAAAAAAAATI/eMbgzwHi5ys/s320/walk6resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372688327694626" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSethgoAvhI/AAAAAAAAATA/9kOJrJHHCVM/s1600-h/lightwalk2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSethgoAvhI/AAAAAAAAATA/9kOJrJHHCVM/s320/lightwalk2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372680065498642" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetJh-xeLI/AAAAAAAAAS4/RqSqbV_CWLg/s1600-h/walk4resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetJh-xeLI/AAAAAAAAAS4/RqSqbV_CWLg/s320/walk4resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372268112541874" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetJMly2sI/AAAAAAAAASw/wN71YGhtkkc/s1600-h/oldsnow4resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetJMly2sI/AAAAAAAAASw/wN71YGhtkkc/s320/oldsnow4resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372262370630338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetIh6GcgI/AAAAAAAAASo/76YAD66YDy8/s1600-h/IMG_9252resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetIh6GcgI/AAAAAAAAASo/76YAD66YDy8/s320/IMG_9252resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372250913075714" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetIZvlQII/AAAAAAAAASg/DgOs7NxwSNM/s1600-h/IMG_9224resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetIZvlQII/AAAAAAAAASg/DgOs7NxwSNM/s320/IMG_9224resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372248721473666" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetHwElSLI/AAAAAAAAASY/I6QOgtn6Q1c/s1600-h/img_9192resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSetHwElSLI/AAAAAAAAASY/I6QOgtn6Q1c/s320/img_9192resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271372237535266994" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeqPGSLV5I/AAAAAAAAASQ/enVlfp3BITE/s1600-h/IMG_9488+resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeqPGSLV5I/AAAAAAAAASQ/enVlfp3BITE/s320/IMG_9488+resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271369065222068114" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeqOhmtNhI/AAAAAAAAASA/5Y6arbRuQVY/s1600-h/IMG_9512+resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeqOhmtNhI/AAAAAAAAASA/5Y6arbRuQVY/s320/IMG_9512+resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271369055376061970" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeqOWzBEII/AAAAAAAAAR4/3aShPACBaK8/s1600-h/IMG_9504+resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSeqOWzBEII/AAAAAAAAAR4/3aShPACBaK8/s320/IMG_9504+resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271369052474904706" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSepv2yKwgI/AAAAAAAAARw/URRiywuX1aU/s1600-h/IMG_9465+resized.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSepv2yKwgI/AAAAAAAAARw/URRiywuX1aU/s320/IMG_9465+resized.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271368528485335554" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSepv01K4LI/AAAAAAAAARo/eredPoHL4Fg/s1600-h/hallwaycollapseeddited.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSepv01K4LI/AAAAAAAAARo/eredPoHL4Fg/s320/hallwaycollapseeddited.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271368527961055410" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSepvW2JMxI/AAAAAAAAARY/aquNgSeF9lY/s1600-h/buildings.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SSepvW2JMxI/AAAAAAAAARY/aquNgSeF9lY/s320/buildings.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271368519912076050" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-50106855645332347882008-07-23T21:35:00.000-07:002008-07-23T21:36:00.640-07:00Online Psychology(Young woman in web-cam held psychology session. She is sitting in front of the computer with an earpiece; the rest of the room is dark). <br /><br />Well, I must have been nine. No! It was later. Yeah, I was a teenager, he was thirty-something. Tall, slick man with a sports jacket and jackass grin -something about him that one. Well, it doesn't matter what he looked like, I guess. I think we met at one of my dad's family functions. I remember being introduced to him, he took my hand with a little too much force, took a little too long to let go and I had to look him in the eyes. I could see he wanted something from me, that he wanted to shovel out my insides, latch onto my mouth with his lips and breathe in and out, inhaling and exhaling, and watch as my hollow self inflated and deflated, using me as a third lung. As a brown-paper bag. We might have been standing by the veranda that selfsame night when it happened. A knee grab, muscles flinched, sucked-off spaghetti straps, tug at an earring. Then someone opened a door and he looked like a rat caught in the garage under all that light. I was looking at his profile, his measly scruff, crater-face from bad acne abuse, weak chin. Then I crossed my legs and he stormed off like a tin soldier. <br /><br />I don't think so. Every relationship since has ended more or less in the same way. Somehow someone else manages to hold them under a hot lamp.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-36245996776017375182008-07-23T21:32:00.001-07:002008-07-23T21:35:19.334-07:00Twist-offs(Overweight man in worn-out t-shirt, center stage, slumping in his chair)<br /><br />Sometimes I'll just be looking westward, rather west I say, sitting up from having lain on the train tracks for, for a few hours, and watch as the sun set itself across the horizon like an egg yolk oozing from a cracked shell. And I would think that maybe the only thing in this entire universe that doesn't actually ever have it's own shadow is the sun. I mean, if you think about it, when is a dimmer sun ever going to come across a brighter one so that it would cast a shadow? And onto what, pray tell, would the sun cast a shadow onto? If not empty space, of course. <br />Then other times I’ll look into my coffee cup and see a galaxy of foam swirling therein. And how most of what's microscopic is mirrored by what is infinitely large. Then I get sticky wet thinking of what the universe could possible be expanding into? I mean, we hear, us that is, we hear often enough of the universe expanding, still expanding, ever expanding, but the way I understand it, you must expand into something, you must! Now, if the universe is mostly empty space anyways, dappled here and there a bit by some coma looking comets, or a spitting nebula looking like a percent sign, and empty space can't expand into empty space, what could be beyond that wall of an expanding universe? I don't know! I just don't know! I just don't understand it! So then dusk would fall, and the sky would yawn into this purple hue and would toss up a moon disk as if it were a vint-cinque sous. And then two sister moons would join me along the track, swelling and growing brighter. And I would say, “Hello sister moons!” And then, and then the ground would rattle something noisy and I’d be shaken off the tracks like popcorn off an aluminium pan held over a fire, and I would just laugh there rolling amongst the hawthorns and haycocks while this great heaving machine whizzed on by telling me to “PISS OFF!!”micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-28595464680538463032008-07-23T21:28:00.001-07:002008-07-23T21:28:48.135-07:00Sunday Brunch(Ostentatious man sitting at the table, outside on the veranda, of a chique restaurant. White tabletops, he’s wearing matching cream blazer with a lime green blouse underneath it. It’s a sunny day with mild traffic, and he’s on his cell phone)<br /><br />Well, he was gayer than Clay Aiken on Tyra, unfortunate highlights, talked an awful lot about his mother. <br /><br />I couldn't say, maybe it was something about the way he walked. His left elbow kind of jutted out so that the entire arm swayed with him so he looked like a post-cornea victim.<br /><br />Are you sure it’s the right?<br /><br /> Anyways, it was distracting. Luckily, he's one of the few bearded men I know who can pull off v-neck; usually the facial fuzz casts this shadow just above the neck line so that they look like Arabian bobble-heads. <br /><br />I know, materials weak today.<br /><br />Well, I was thinking somewhere along the canal. <br /><br />There’s this new place, relax! A friend of mine works there. Well, more like a third cousin. And what I mean is that I hope he's a third cousin. Did I tell you what happened a few weeks ago at the Ivy? Well, you are not going to believe this. I was just sitting by the bar, you know, tilting my head ever so gently to the right so the light overhead would fall on the better side of my face. It lures them in like park lamps do shadflies. <br /><br />Have you ever wondered why bugs aren't drawn to firelight? I mean, you light a candle and it's not like a swarm of mosquitoes comes issuing past and suddenly there's this airborne fireball buzzing around. <br /><br />Good for you! It's not every day you see a moth dive into a fireplace. What I was saying though is that I was tilting my head when suddenly this kid, believe it, this kid comes prancing and plots himself on the barstool right beside me. <br /><br />I don't know, scruffy, mid-twenties; for the most part I was impressed that he could somehow pull off Sean Penn hair. Well, he turns to me and says-oh and he was chewing gum, the arrogant twat was chewing gum like an absolute cow- and he says, now hear this out: “You're a walking gay paradigm.” Gay paradigm! How does he get off calling me a gay paradigm!? Now, before I went and got my tail feathers all in a twist I turned to him and said, calmly now: “What do you mean?” To which he repeated: “Gay paradigm.”<br />Now, he seemed to me to be one of those artistic, liberated fellows- his jeans were patched up and his shoelaces untied. And I wasn’t in much of a mood to tolerate, rather to interpret what it was he meant by “Gay paradigm,” so I slammed my drink on the counter and told him off, I mean I really told him off:<br /><br /> “Who do you think you are?” I said, “Who do you think you are you insufferable chump, getting off on calling me a gay paradigm?” <br /><br />Now, I didn't want to copout like some Creatine-pumping bros with a few “Youdonknowme's” or any “I'lltellyouwhayouare's,” so instead I looked him dead in the eyes, and I said, with a deep breath: <br /><br />“You, you, youuuuuu”<br /><br />And then I breathed out, and then I breathed in again and said:<br /><br />“I, I, IIIIIIIIIII”<br /><br />And then one more breath and with that: <br /><br />“Well, I’ll let you know something, my gay paradigm certainly doesn’t include any washed-up, frowsy, freeloading, kid as some mid-90’s backwash. I work over 60 hours each week. I come home each night to a hungry, slobbering Doberman who knows more about my needs and wants than anyone else I know, or more than you for that matter. I am liberated, and competent. I might come off to you as some well-to-do dandy but hell if I’m going to be pigeonholed as any one thing or lifestyle in particular. It must be easy enough for you to slot any well-dressed pomp like myself as a “Gay paradigm,” which only seemingly makes sense, I though you should know. I'd rather not be reduced to a walking simplification.” And I hurled myself out of there. <br /><br />And...his name is Ralph, he works for some publishing company and we’re supposed to go to the Y this weekend for date #3.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-3071755007404791072008-07-23T21:23:00.001-07:002008-07-23T21:27:59.192-07:00Blather(Old lady on the telephone, gabbing, alone in her room on a hot summer day, dreadfully hot, she’s in her underpants and there’s sunlight poking through the blinds)<br /><br />Well, yes, I think. Yes. Yes. Yes. Uhuh. You don't say. Well, that is something, isn't it. <br /><br />Oh that's just dreadful, just simply dreadful. It reminds me of my conversation with Ms. Prgisdale at the elementary school a few days ago. It seems that one of her children had been holding a cat, fairly young one with wispy hair and a propensity for nosebleeds. <br /><br />No, the child. <br /><br />Well, he was just sitting there, petting this little beast, when suddenly his mother turned on the vacuum cleaner for some spring cleaning, frightened the cat who clawed the child's face and sped off. <br /><br />No the cat, not the child. <br /><br />Now the boy comes to school the day after with a torn upper-lip, and when inquired refuses to divulge who or what it was that inflicted the injury. The teacher, Ms. Prigsdale, immediately suspects abuse, what with a previous incident involving a flat iron and a booster chair -I can't remember, she was rambling at this point- and called child services. Upon meeting the mother, who had the spent the entire night sifting through toy closets and pantries for worn-out plush puppies and expired jars of pickled eggs, answered the door spent, fried, and agitated, and after much deliberation and interrogation, the child was taken into holding. It turns out that the child did not wish to protest throughout these proceedings on account of his lip smarting so much, keeping his face stone-still, not shedding a tear while his mother wailed in disbelief (it was quite a scene, I imagine) After a few days, once the lip had fully healed, however, all of that repressed anguish flooded from the boy for a solid four-hours of heaving and sobbing. The child supported the mother's version of the account, and was soon thereafter returned home. A rather touching end to things, might I add. <br /><br />Well, yes, I think. Yes. Yes. Yes. Uhuh. You don't say. Well, that is something, isn't it. <br /><br />There is something there that maybe your not considering. I remember him being well into his twenties when he graduated high school. Apparently, he just simply could not relate to numbers and letters the same way other people do, seeing only vacant white squiggles on a blackboard. Which would be quite frustrating, I imagine. <br /><br />Yes, well, he was different. During organic chemistry class he would always tug on my sleeve and whisper how this or that carbon chain looked like some intergalactic spaceship, or how that polypeptide chain was like a can can line of Vegas showgirls. I never saw it, and would just idly smile, nod, and turn away I tell you. <br /><br />He was troubled, though. Went to a private high school, had wealthy lesbian mothers. You know, I was watching Family Feud just before, and one of the top answers for “What are you grateful for having only one of these” was “Mom/Dad.” Now, I don't know if that was a direct jab at lesbian and/or gay parenting, but I swear I understand the mentality in some cases. I hear he would walk into class blubbering some days, after a wretched session of schoolboy teasing. Once, he even stormed in, took his seat while throwing his bag onto the floor when a great crash was heard. Some yellow liquid started seeping from bellow his desk and stretching itself across the linoleum tilling, which ended up being the result of a broken glass bottle of apple juice from the toss, but from that day on he was known as “Piss,” just simply “Piss.” I can only just imagine how horrible it must have felt to have a janitor mopping the floor beneath your feet in the middle of class, while the other children snickered and the teacher tried his best to keep his composure. <br /><br />Yes, the bottle was inside the bag…micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-45191189009269266172008-07-22T19:59:00.001-07:002008-07-23T11:43:00.510-07:00Hello/Goodbye(An awfully old and androgynous woman sits center-stage on a French-embroidered chair; beside her is a small table whereon an old-fashioned telephone lies. She is in her living room, which is ornately decorated with teacups and knick-knacks scattered everywhere amidst many frilly things. She dials and picks up the receiver. )<br /><br />Hello! <br /><br />Well, yes, I know. Yes. Yes. Yes. Uhuh. You don't say. Well, that is something, isn't it. <br /><br />Remember that time we went to The Ivy wearing these matching sequin-studded little frocks we got on discount from that-place-there, you know, the one with the cute balding twenty-something with all that unnecessary v-neck. Well, it turns out the owner had been using what seemed to be this well-to-do Venetian furnished hotspot lounge as a cover for a relay station for parrot smuggling operations originating in Ecuador. <br /><br />Yes, parrots honey. <br /><br />They’d force the gaudy buzzards into cylindrical tubes, and pass them along to sleeper-cells posing as prim and dandy architects and artisans in the bar itself, who would otherwise not seem altogether odd with tubes slung around their shoulders, what with the stencilling papers and blueprints they’re always lugging around. Anyways, it turns out that fanciful girl with the wispy hair who looked suspiciously like Paul Dano, well, she was in on this machination and all that gabbing over coolers, of her instillation piece with the wind-up dolls and hairy pot-bellies; well, let's just say all that wheedling and talk of private studio backroom tours was for naught I say, for naught. <br /><br />Well if it was Paul Dano, we have other things to worry about. <br /><br /> That reminds me, Dan, you know Dan? <br /><br />Yes, exactly, spoke an awful lot about pathology. <br /><br />No, I don't mean the one who had that terrible reaction to the hair dye and had most of his hair transplanted from his back to his scalp to replace what was otherwise burnt off. <br /><br />No, not that one whose great-grandfather invented The Whippet. <br /><br />No, not that one either -plaid can only ever go so far anyways…<br /><br />Yes, deary, he was 5`8`` with handsome Dock’s and a cashmere suit, spoke like he was sucking on cough drops, and was born without incisors, apparently. <br /><br />Hell, I don’t know which ones are incisors- I think the ones further back made for mincing. Well, apparently, my friend Lindsey walked in on him in the coat room, waltzing with a portrait of his late wife at the end of a house warming shin dig on 49th. <br /><br />I can’t remember whose house. <br /><br />He was so flustered that he tripped over a footstool, clipped his elbow on a wall fixture, spun-round and fell straight through the open window of the duplex. <br /><br />Yes, still clutching the photograph. <br /><br />No, of course not. You can’t die from jumping off a duplex, maybe a triplex or a quatroplex, but a duplex is just simply not high enough off the ground. All this to say, I went to see him at the hospital a few months ago to find him with his arm in a sling, his head all gauzed up, and with most of his nose broken off. An awful scene, an awful scene indeed. During his fall he apparently tried to pucker up to the image of his wife, but upon impact had the frame slam right into his nose and shatter the thing itself. And you know how it worked out. A bit of rhinoplasty here, a few dark sunglasses and low swooping hats there, three weeks of rehab and he was well on his feet, looking like the American Dream. I heard they're dating now, he and Lindsey, both chipper like Chip and Dale. I mean, who isn't a sucker for a widower. <br /><br />His dead-wife was something else altogether, though. She was frumpy like a couch on rebate; they say their marriage became something of a stalemate. It was twenty-or-so-years of one-upmanship, the poor kind-hearted fellow never really got a grip. They say that towards the end her hair was perma-fried, dry like flowers pressed between book pages, face matted in cover-up looking like old paint, and developed a penchant for kicking back cold ones with liquored-up poolside boi-oh's. <br /><br />Yes, really. <br /><br />But then she died during childbirth and was martyred thus, a selfless woman from her womb to her tomb. Her boy dresses like a queen, he must be nine? No, nineteen. Sometimes I see him walking mid-afternoon in the mid-week heat, up then down again and round our street, as a drunkard gadabout gutter-kid. A fitting funeral march for his mother, I say, circling high and anything but dry in a type of mourning disbelief. Someone should say something. <br /><br />Well, yes, I know. Yes. Yes. Yes. Uhuh. You don't say. Well, that is something, isn't it. <br /><br />Actually, I did see them snuggling round by the waterfront after mass last Sunday. We had all decided to walk down to the park; the church was anything but well ventilated all throughout the service despite the high ceilings. I swear, our priest's accent is so heavy, half the time I think there's been another Vatican reform and we've gone back to preaching in Latin. <br /><br />He might be from Bulgaria. <br /><br />Well, they were wrapped loosely round each other, looked like preening geese, or gnat-plucking apes, I haven't decided. <br /><br />Well, no, I thought. No. No. No. Nuhuh. You can say that again. Well, I wouldn’t fret, it can’t be. <br /><br />That just might very well be his problem. These days you need to schedule a wedding one-year in advance, and there are even these new-age Internet almanac’s that can filter sunny days from rainy ones for you. But then you need the one-up on next season’s –sorry- a four season fore-notice prediction of sorts on veil sales, and frock thoughts, and tabletop costs, and whether any toddling tot can take the waddling spot of flower girl, with the all but important anticipation of related maladies and allergies that might involve either the child or that season's in-season species of flower. <br /><br />No, I don't think I'm suggesting flowers can be allergic to small children. <br /><br />Well, yes, I think. Yes. Yes. Yes. Uhuh. You don't say. Well, that is something, isn't it. <br /><br />Tea? Well, I did hear of this truck stop that opened somewhere overlooking the underpass where moonish-belly-jelly-donut-popping-back-crass-country-crooning-catapillar-crustache sporting men, looking like IRA gangsters, go for the brew. It's a bit of an operation, this one, as if anyone's heard of greasy gossoons on the long haul from country tip-to-tip stopping over for tea. <br /><br />Well, it's become quite the thing in this niche of a community. Unbeknownst to themselves, or anyone else for that matter. They can't seem to face-up to the situation, and spend breaks bent-over beer mugs concealing chamomile before the miles awaiting them, belying of something more robust I imagine. It becomes rather unfortunate, however, when football jeering and cheering and clanging cups causes scalding tea to spill over onto their laps, and what would otherwise be passive fretting over soggy pants becomes an all too painful effort to keep from screaming. Stifled screaming, imagine! <br /><br />Well, no, I thought. No. No. No. Nuhuh. You can say that again. Well, I wouldn’t fret, it can’t be. <br /><br />Did you hear of my two-houses-over neighbour single mother Sue's son Sam? Well, what happened is that after his birth she became a high-end Expat associated with an Airplane insurance firm, and spent five years travelling across the world and left the child in the hands of the household's French nanny. The mother, having missed those imperative first years of development came back to a young boy fluent in a language she couldn't speak. A burgeoning career kept her from attending language classes, and so to this day the only conversations exchanged between the two consist of “bonjour’s” and “au revoir’s,” because who doesn't know how to say hello and goodbye in French, really. The mother would be stationed in Bangladesh, the son still back here, she would say “bonjour,” over the phone, and he likewise. She would say “au revoir”, and he likewise. They would hang up the receiver contented on having spoken, and go on with their daily affairs. <br /><br />Why didn't the boy learn English. Something to do with a learning disability, or autism. <br /><br />No that's the thing, according to the nanny who I spoke with, God knows how long ago, there's no real resentment between the two, no frustrations whatsoever. Apparently, they are perfectly fine, just happy with their situation; no other affection needed asides from that expressed through a “hello” and a “goodbye!”micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-34182577563075749722008-07-13T12:33:00.000-07:002008-07-13T12:42:50.411-07:00backvalley<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpaquaPuaI/AAAAAAAAAQc/jbzPqcUDB4g/s1600-h/bopcrop.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpaquaPuaI/AAAAAAAAAQc/jbzPqcUDB4g/s320/bopcrop.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222586407948630434" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpaq3s-g9I/AAAAAAAAAQk/N4qm-rkJRC0/s1600-h/IMG_8426.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpaq3s-g9I/AAAAAAAAAQk/N4qm-rkJRC0/s320/IMG_8426.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222586410443113426" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHparRAbVUI/AAAAAAAAAQs/hA8dtOWCJeE/s1600-h/IMG_8515.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHparRAbVUI/AAAAAAAAAQs/hA8dtOWCJeE/s320/IMG_8515.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222586417235580226" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHparhBxp0I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/S_rm4tVCE8U/s1600-h/IMG_8499.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHparhBxp0I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/S_rm4tVCE8U/s320/IMG_8499.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222586421536204610" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpZf4xfFBI/AAAAAAAAAP8/RLKxahRZkxE/s1600-h/flicks.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpZf4xfFBI/AAAAAAAAAP8/RLKxahRZkxE/s320/flicks.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222585122240271378" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpZgHAtdVI/AAAAAAAAAQE/RBKJuSdPtYk/s1600-h/fluffss.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpZgHAtdVI/AAAAAAAAAQE/RBKJuSdPtYk/s320/fluffss.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222585126062224722" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpZgURQxSI/AAAAAAAAAQM/aaetR957VSE/s1600-h/bubbles2.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpZgURQxSI/AAAAAAAAAQM/aaetR957VSE/s320/bubbles2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222585129621308706" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpZg98G29I/AAAAAAAAAQU/OBE1RV4SVPw/s1600-h/bubbles.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SHpZg98G29I/AAAAAAAAAQU/OBE1RV4SVPw/s320/bubbles.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222585140806867922" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-23814657114428348422008-06-18T15:37:00.000-07:002008-06-18T16:05:52.568-07:00this house<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SFmUL1tneZI/AAAAAAAAAP0/4tjn8lWCh6k/s1600-h/IMG_8269.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SFmUL1tneZI/AAAAAAAAAP0/4tjn8lWCh6k/s320/IMG_8269.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213360974775941522" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SFmTyrSE7rI/AAAAAAAAAPs/UuKlIiVWnxM/s1600-h/sitting2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SFmTyrSE7rI/AAAAAAAAAPs/UuKlIiVWnxM/s320/sitting2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213360542479347378" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SFmQD4dSbTI/AAAAAAAAAPc/f884ssDPw3Q/s1600-h/sitting.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SFmQD4dSbTI/AAAAAAAAAPc/f884ssDPw3Q/s320/sitting.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213356440027295026" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SFmQEcATlXI/AAAAAAAAAPk/dB6ImQJuPtU/s1600-h/stairs.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SFmQEcATlXI/AAAAAAAAAPk/dB6ImQJuPtU/s320/stairs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213356449569412466" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-65418767428539461902008-06-08T15:18:00.000-07:002008-06-08T15:22:22.966-07:00windows<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbP7Q9FYI/AAAAAAAAAN8/NOmnJylFapA/s1600-h/sackillu.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbP7Q9FYI/AAAAAAAAAN8/NOmnJylFapA/s320/sackillu.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209639198125790594" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbQbgin-I/AAAAAAAAAOE/ClgCkkdObIs/s1600-h/sacksack.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbQbgin-I/AAAAAAAAAOE/ClgCkkdObIs/s320/sacksack.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209639206781100002" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbQj1lN-I/AAAAAAAAAOM/h4yHANGXzOM/s1600-h/snowprints.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbQj1lN-I/AAAAAAAAAOM/h4yHANGXzOM/s320/snowprints.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209639209016834018" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbRE-nxTI/AAAAAAAAAOU/0ByYIMPcHkc/s1600-h/waterdolo.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbRE-nxTI/AAAAAAAAAOU/0ByYIMPcHkc/s320/waterdolo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209639217913120050" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbRrENPXI/AAAAAAAAAOc/3n-Gc-r7FX4/s1600-h/window.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExbRrENPXI/AAAAAAAAAOc/3n-Gc-r7FX4/s320/window.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209639228137094514" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-59686862328426501372008-06-08T14:06:00.000-07:002008-06-08T14:09:59.601-07:00sister's appt.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKgqXOSMI/AAAAAAAAANM/gt64R_iO3d0/s1600-h/bestdreary+curtains.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKgqXOSMI/AAAAAAAAANM/gt64R_iO3d0/s320/bestdreary+curtains.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209620793948784834" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKhVjsreI/AAAAAAAAANU/-h9jui4rgd0/s1600-h/catcat.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKhVjsreI/AAAAAAAAANU/-h9jui4rgd0/s320/catcat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209620805543833058" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKiEwcDwI/AAAAAAAAANc/Wskb7W8Z_14/s1600-h/IMG_5946.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKiEwcDwI/AAAAAAAAANc/Wskb7W8Z_14/s320/IMG_5946.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209620818213736194" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKizpJo4I/AAAAAAAAANk/DPGZzMMSBsI/s1600-h/peeking+best.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKizpJo4I/AAAAAAAAANk/DPGZzMMSBsI/s320/peeking+best.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209620830799635330" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKjjE5jYI/AAAAAAAAANs/nokBnnrM__I/s1600-h/redcouch.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExKjjE5jYI/AAAAAAAAANs/nokBnnrM__I/s320/redcouch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209620843532488066" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-44366565749554935922008-06-05T13:35:00.000-07:002008-06-05T13:39:50.527-07:00lea<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhPBPg5r4I/AAAAAAAAAMs/XBc0C3JalwI/s1600-h/MIREOLDTIMMER.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhPBPg5r4I/AAAAAAAAAMs/XBc0C3JalwI/s320/MIREOLDTIMMER.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208499851816972162" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhPBjMcpYI/AAAAAAAAAM0/Y0l6Gmj4S9o/s1600-h/OLD+TIMMER+BAZOOKA.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhPBjMcpYI/AAAAAAAAAM0/Y0l6Gmj4S9o/s320/OLD+TIMMER+BAZOOKA.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208499857099892098" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhPCEgmXoI/AAAAAAAAAM8/fO15Jy925oM/s1600-h/OLDTIMER.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhPCEgmXoI/AAAAAAAAAM8/fO15Jy925oM/s320/OLDTIMER.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208499866042785410" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhPCck12YI/AAAAAAAAANE/b-WhjWakNYw/s1600-h/PINE.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhPCck12YI/AAAAAAAAANE/b-WhjWakNYw/s320/PINE.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208499872503028098" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-70938279840731097622008-06-05T13:32:00.000-07:002008-06-08T14:17:30.972-07:00st. laurent<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExMY-NOTMI/AAAAAAAAAN0/JhLdjw6AQxc/s1600-h/IMG_7960.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SExMY-NOTMI/AAAAAAAAAN0/JhLdjw6AQxc/s320/IMG_7960.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209622860859854018" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhN5kmU-8I/AAAAAAAAAMM/_WLGkIMb6DM/s1600-h/dingysatalite.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhN5kmU-8I/AAAAAAAAAMM/_WLGkIMb6DM/s320/dingysatalite.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208498620526296002" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhN6PQZ94I/AAAAAAAAAMU/xqcxTrclg80/s1600-h/oldtimmerdingy.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhN6PQZ94I/AAAAAAAAAMU/xqcxTrclg80/s320/oldtimmerdingy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208498631977072514" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhN6uqeIaI/AAAAAAAAAMc/FfruhI4oYA0/s1600-h/oldtimmerscar.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhN6uqeIaI/AAAAAAAAAMc/FfruhI4oYA0/s320/oldtimmerscar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208498640407896482" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhN625rlkI/AAAAAAAAAMk/E0T-NJCGPeo/s1600-h/flower.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhN625rlkI/AAAAAAAAAMk/E0T-NJCGPeo/s320/flower.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208498642619176514" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-88077398841767530022008-06-05T13:28:00.000-07:002008-06-06T18:21:15.698-07:00pneumatic<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMv4vT1aI/AAAAAAAAALs/vF3zcbCn4D0/s1600-h/SOULS.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMv4vT1aI/AAAAAAAAALs/vF3zcbCn4D0/s320/SOULS.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208497354622358946" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMwDhHC3I/AAAAAAAAAL0/X9eLjlmK78M/s1600-h/SOULS2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMwDhHC3I/AAAAAAAAAL0/X9eLjlmK78M/s320/SOULS2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208497357515590514" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-49700815195272386192008-06-05T13:26:00.000-07:002008-06-12T10:07:26.141-07:00trawling darks<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMPFPK_rI/AAAAAAAAALU/c82IYbbBjo8/s1600-h/dark.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMPFPK_rI/AAAAAAAAALU/c82IYbbBjo8/s320/dark.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208496791041539762" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMPWNAGAI/AAAAAAAAALc/5jVkRA5YYnc/s1600-h/darks.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMPWNAGAI/AAAAAAAAALc/5jVkRA5YYnc/s320/darks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208496795595839490" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMPkSIAVI/AAAAAAAAALk/1SR93rfxv6U/s1600-h/best.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SEhMPkSIAVI/AAAAAAAAALk/1SR93rfxv6U/s320/best.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5208496799375425874" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-4274518670646289742008-05-24T21:50:00.000-07:002008-05-24T22:23:42.792-07:00My recipeOne footpath, two country lanes and one alameda laden with green palms. Two back alleys, one foothill, and three yawning moors. Two pebbles, one quartz castle, seventeen boorish carabao. Two zebu, four burly bruins and nine tipsy taffy-like rolling dales. One petal, two stems and maybe a bit of artichoke. There’s one cygnet, two St. Laurent clad v-neck hipsters, and one arborescent squigy punk. Five winks of a firefly electric circus, then one parading of hawthorns and haycocks, looking like mountaintop ruffians, like Crescent street gangsters. One hyphen, one sunlit pother of trans-galactic space-skin particles, dallying about a window frame like acrobats tossing. One coffeepot moon, one spoon pate as a hubcap, nineteen thousand rocket ships, whirling whizzing and pissing. One staccato snort of a cicada, one palm reading session with a seer by the overpass, one forest growing out of the back of a homeless man, one inbox, one billion gay people, three drunkard towers of pancakes for every Sunday from now until the eventuality of sometime whenever. And don't you dare forget a lot of midnight crying, toilet bowl psychology sessions, orangutan guffawing, pit-a-patting hearts lessons, speaker-to-ear-to-brain-connections, mid-Marbollo affair regressions, and to turn off the oven when your done.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-62655790265444139692008-04-19T14:06:00.000-07:002008-04-19T14:11:37.371-07:00rugs<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SApfvGhHHHI/AAAAAAAAAK0/UqJo9fOtTDU/s1600-h/IMG_7386.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SApfvGhHHHI/AAAAAAAAAK0/UqJo9fOtTDU/s320/IMG_7386.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191066783305899122" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SApfvmhHHII/AAAAAAAAAK8/mGVKPNy-kWc/s1600-h/IMG_7397.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SApfvmhHHII/AAAAAAAAAK8/mGVKPNy-kWc/s320/IMG_7397.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191066791895833730" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SApfv2hHHJI/AAAAAAAAALE/lg8XIUbKlG4/s1600-h/IMG_7424_1.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SApfv2hHHJI/AAAAAAAAALE/lg8XIUbKlG4/s320/IMG_7424_1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191066796190801042" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SApfwGhHHKI/AAAAAAAAALM/QQyn4cmpcJE/s1600-h/IMG_7435.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/SApfwGhHHKI/AAAAAAAAALM/QQyn4cmpcJE/s320/IMG_7435.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191066800485768354" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-21348735422588639642008-04-18T21:32:00.000-07:002008-04-20T19:57:42.296-07:00washable, washability you can trustWhatever happened to Piccadilly moustaches. To racist STM bus wonderers. To stay-at-home Mac and Cheese luncheons with Bob Barker, pretending to be sick, pretending to be old. Is he dead? Someone said that he’s been a corpse for years and they have him suspended by strings playing Plinko. His lips are probably harder than old breast implants. I don’t remember whether my first cat was half-black or mottled. I sometimes read books in my sleep, and wake up while eating sandwiches, or talking with dead relatives on the telephone. My shoes and stomach are filled with gunpowder. If I move or feel anxious, I might rocket off. I have to confess, at one point or another I probably pictured you naked. My mom says I have body dysmorphia, I think I’m just young. Once, I realized I was a gay vegetarian and nearly keeled over laughing. Naya’s bottled Evian water. Have you ever been licked by a cow, or misspelled independent, or fantasized about Alexandre Despatie, or killed a cockroach with a hammer. I haven’t either. When I was little, I used to hide for hours from my mom in the grocery store, until she was neurotic and flailing in the meat section. I am, I am, I am, I am. It’s incessant. Did you catch the reference? Some companies only allow their employees to write in blue pen. It’s such a relief to be rid of form. Garden gnomes are conspiring again. Eyelids have adjustable shutter speeds. Virginia Woolfe never had a formal education. 78% of people have traveled elsewhere without their cat. Mormons are mostly left-handed. We turn right 51% of the time. Hamster’s blink one eye at a time. A frog’s favourite color is blue. Moose can pee for fifteen minutes. Nick Ward can pee for nine. A Creatine-pumped frat once lay a 33 inch terd. There’s nothing worse than bathos and machismo. Sentimentality’s pretty bad too. What is it about men in plaid that just gets me. Do you think we could use a calorimeter on a teenage heart, to see how much energy they waste on angst and bad poetry. The world’s been imploding ever since sniglet became a word.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-65960470861992835912008-04-18T20:40:00.000-07:002008-04-19T10:38:54.906-07:00brain freeze contestTotting tot between tall jackets at Wal-Mart, clothing racks as stage curtains. Then a heave, a plastic hammer, he’s screaming and then the nanny rushes down the staircase with the Lanocane. Grazing shins with old men on the bus. Yellow stained fingers from organic chemistry class. And then it folds over and the moon, pale as a Canadian palm, sighs. We ramble, we tic-tac-toe with two-bit talks, the lint between your toes. Like an alien cloud forest. We were launching a lunar mission, though somewhere in our gasp between satellite and earthen crust, we slipped sidelong into a wormhole, and became a grin as Orion’s belt. There’s no sense<br />tossing loose change off the CN tower and killing the cavalcade of a preschool march beneath us. Are we tied? Geriatric ward jig of a bus engine, propane soup. Battery acid ice cubes. Alkaline-powered merry-go-round. I wish everything was as it was, powered by a shaft, a turbine, a crank, powered by the church, by the host, by the sermon, by flimsy fags tussling in a hay stacked barn, by palm reading, by codgers adjusting their belts, by Mr. Rogers espying the waste of a soon-to-be nubile nine-year-old, by shoelaces untangled like tree branches, by miss-buttoned overcoats, by the flanks of his horse, by a giant heap of banana pie, by a 9X9 square matrix, by a plasma shotgun, by those three footless birds on the McGill flag, by my grade three teacher who smelt like old coffee, by intestinal turbulence, by our carbon footprint on the boreal forest, by our lives expressed in hyphens and flicks and one drawn out semi-colon that can hardly breathe. The ocean’s an expanse of sometimes extending into never, that’s how far away the horizon is. Until you’ve been to Quebec, and sought after fruitlessly for the one English stop sign, then you’ll know how wretched it is. Speaking French feels like holding your breath underwater. The earth tries to breath, but it orbits too close to and asteroid belt and often chokes on all that dust. I remember talking with a harvest moon, and conversing with my cat. Countries are like soda labels. Yemen. Nova Scotia doesn’t actually exist, unless stumbled across. The East end is a myth, a corporate ploy to up oil prices. Old maps depicted continents as if they were chunks of Nicaraguan cheese. I mostly ever feel things so I can update my facebook status.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-62544794371149726982008-04-08T20:57:00.000-07:002008-06-08T14:12:46.961-07:00wraiths<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/R_w_BRJAbNI/AAAAAAAAAKc/Q4xt1tnZrcM/s1600-h/adjustedmoreglow.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/R_w_BRJAbNI/AAAAAAAAAKc/Q4xt1tnZrcM/s320/adjustedmoreglow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187090161837567186" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/R_w_BxJAbOI/AAAAAAAAAKk/CvY48p9P_vo/s1600-h/kneecapssmall.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zVkrfAnqz9E/R_w_BxJAbOI/AAAAAAAAAKk/CvY48p9P_vo/s320/kneecapssmall.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5187090170427501794" /></a>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-5131670628550966532008-03-14T16:21:00.001-07:002008-03-14T16:21:51.706-07:00STMBelly filled train cart, then a jolt. Totting tot topples over, wheeling round woman like a whorl, the fox trot and click of a metro rail jerk and joggle. The red-nosed man swells like a coffee pot, thrown over with the surge, then the geriatric ward jig of wayworn bodies shaken to shambles. We unpeel. Then a heave, hefted from the undertow of a gullet, hands sprawled out like ferns, bent-backed, furrowed brow and stern. Regenesis on the railway, we unfurl back into uprightness and rearrange, reassert ourselves, and the tunnels swallow us back into that gorge. I’m that reflection there, light diffused on the other side of a Plexiglas window. That disorder of small body noises, hollowed out cavities like a turkey dinner. But it changes now, between Atwater and Lionel, arguably bumpier than any swath of Montreal asphalt. I pour into him like water into a bay, even if it’s just the press of my back into the denim of his jacket, it’s a secret kept inside a chest and the crowdedness offers some gauze of pretense. And in that one drawn-in inhale of the metro submerged between stations, the flick of his zipper nearly makes me keel over dizzy in a tizzy. Then the snap back and clack of a briefcase, the outpour, the disembark, the shuffling of Dock Martins, the sloughing-off of our underground skins, Lilly-white in a bus terminal, behind us the chuffing carries on. The STM parade, a nether-world cavalcade, just an asteroid belt of moonish mugs circled round and round again in the digestive track of the city, churned into mulch. Skyscrapers sway like boat boughs, those masts; sidewalks matted with cigarette bud pâté. No more balloons, just plastic bags caught and swollen in tree branches. We carry on.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-13278813305679456812008-03-09T13:16:00.000-07:002008-03-09T13:17:20.167-07:00Senior Citizens Aggressively Dancing<object type='application/x-shockwave-flash' data='http://dandydwarves.cachefly.net/scadshorts/mar07_embed.swf' width='408' height='266'><param name='movie' value='http://dandydwarves.cachefly.net/scadshorts/mar07_embed.swf' /><param name='WMode' value='Transparent' /></object>micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4213342059292981353.post-68841502939843451452008-03-08T21:37:00.000-08:002009-04-18T09:49:00.962-07:00MagnumsThe cappuccino machine is blowing its nose. Then a clamber, the rosary like jangle of a spoon tossed into a cup, gaping windows stencilled by the heavy palm of a pine bush with white light poking through, looking like linen dressed over a tabletop. Overpriced blood brownies. Swell of scurf as an air born sun flower. There’s twenty dollars somewhere in my knapsack. Breathing deep into the atmosphere of the brew feels like a kiss, like the steeped water is murmuring back. I can’t believe I spent over five bucks on a brownie. Coffeehouse as the crossfire of a thousand sideline glances, like a shooting range staccato, like cicada popcorn, one step through the door and your pop pop pop. Who washes these carpets anyways? Dimpled doll face with auburn hair like a dream. Salt and pepper pappy with unnecessary v-neck. School teacher’s son sporting Dock’s with mangy frock and enough facial fuzz to give a boy hives. Finding the focal point of a spoon with my nose. Waiting’s metaphysical indigestion. I turn it over, he should be here. I shouldn’t be. <br />Twiddling thumbs turns to finger tip masturbation. Nape of neck like the oily underside of a grit filled frying pan. Tear at your eyelashes for a wish. Breathing the brume of the brew again. Sip it in with a pucker. God dam it. <br />Crazy crosswalk woman pours through the door, she’s vibrant as a snow cone, smeared lipstick, Blue Morpho eyeshade, a vaporized Mimi Bobeck, the lot. Hair carries an electric current, enough to power surge the West Island (though, not much does). She is as frumpy as an old couch, orders two to go, door swings behind her. The door sways and shuts. The walls are sublimating. <br />Plate scattered with crumbs, I launch for a lunar mission and scour the remains. A sigh slumps, a heave hefts, staying put like a chair after closing hours. Wrist watch as vicelike, a rabbit snare. Who’s watching? I know I’ve been here ten minutes, go back to the melodious legato of your laptops. Droning away like the Easter vigil of bent-back Brits. Space, tab, and click. Wikipedia as the consciousness for a nation. Hillary wore purple pumps the other day and won the vote of the East village, somewhere. At least Tim Horton’s would have seemed like a truck stop, I could’ve just sidled out through the door as if I were heading back off onto the 40 with a bulk of bovine as shipment. But no sirree, this here’s a classy joint that let’s you sprawl out over a coterie of chairs, lulls you in with it’s pretence of homeliness, and then clomps down at you like an oyster. Here I have a place, an identity, rising from my chair calmly would ensue in the lifting and aiming of a squadron of magnum-pointed eyebrows; I’d be bulleted like Pyle in the head. <br />I choose to wait. The lampshade flickers like a fly wing. There’s a scone bopping along in the ocean of her chest. I wonder what misanthropic actually means. I am a cappuccino clairvoyant, the bowels of that mug muse of one yellow rain jacket, something to do with a half-eaten sandwich, but then the foam rolls over my grainy scriptures before I can resolve my predicament. I whine a bit, I pine, then bite down on my lower lip till it bleeds.micewalkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11936702896955764017noreply@blogger.com0