Category: Blog

languid, slow to rise an imagined embrace drawing me back to dream —but not to build— new realities float by untethered by action needing building blocks of concrete —not desire— braced against the winds of whim...

Well, last week’s heatwave peaked right on schedule on Monday afternoon, and it maxed out at 108 in my town instead of the predicted 111. Granted, whichever spot in the blazing sun on my concrete patio that has the outdoor temperature sensor that’s connected to my central air system...

Ahem… *clears throat* “Fuck Canada! Fuck Canada! With all their beady little eyes and flapping heads so full of lies… It seems that everything’s gone wrong since Canada came along… They’re not even a real country anyway!” The flags in the park across the street are at half mast...

An Tíogar stretches his neck chin up to the sun longing to be scratched behind the ears never enough will I ever ride that tiger? Yes, though perhaps not in this world but in dreams big paws pushing the top of my head I laugh and he roars stretches...

So… greetings from Hell week: And outside: Monday will be even worse: 41 degrees Celsius (yes, I know I mix Fahrenheit and Celsius. I actually like Fahrenheit better, though.) This seems appropriate: Well, at least it’s a relatively dry heat. I remember when I lived in Vancouver there would...

So, today’s long rambling rant isn’t me bitching about bands or whatever, it’s me bitching about me. But also society/culture, but mostly me since at the end of the day, I am responsible for what I wear. Y’see… I haven’t been happy about what I’ve seen in the mirror...

delayed respect affection (almost affectation?) but no: now is the time. courage in the face of the jeering —jealous— crowd every tidbit of new —old!– information delights me sparks more respect than I ever thought I could muster for you....

Only a few more days til this Mercury retrograde screws off back to Hell for a few months… until the next one. So, I mentioned before that my brother was in Mexico as part of the process of relocating there (and I will likely follow within a year or...

So… last week, one day my first-thing-in-the-morning habitual checking of Instagram brought me the following comparison (with some names removed to protect the bitter): [Party Band]’s Instagram story that day was 5 year old clips of [Party Band’s singer] with a hair up his ass snarkily lecturing the crowd...

little boy, so far from home trapped in a (semi-)grown man’s body with a man’s needs afraid to be alone cutting lines like record grooves blast away the silence big big bumps the better to not hear you with —my dear— the better to not hear that little voice...