A Perfect Pause, In Spandex
Early in the business day,
late in the summer,
the bike couriers are perched atop big heavy glossy marble blocks.
They’re quietly waiting to be called upon.
They’re in great shape.
They’re still clean and fresh from their showers.
They’re enjoying the shade.
Notes on the footpath from Cox Lake to Cold.
Rocky landing on the Cox Lake side.
20 or 30 meter incline, roots and rocks.
Otherwise, fairly flat trail. Not many tight turns, some little ups and downs.
Old still forest for the first half into grassy, mossy, rocky stuff. Downhill to a muddy start onto Cold. Autumn visits: be expecting so much mud! Not an issue, I’m sure, in the spring & early summer, though.
September 2nd 2000 and eleven.
Woke up at 9am. It’s Friday of Labour Day weekend and do I have things to do. Like shower. And cut tonnes of glass for Ang and Matt’s candle holders. And arrange something with Cait so Chris and I can have all that meat. And clean the house up nice for honeyskins. And pack and leave for Esprit. The rest of this weekend is going to be no messing around. 3 days of diving into rapids is what I’m expecting, terrified of, and ready for.
This bar, at the rafting company, is made to look and feel like a country bar. Red and white gingham tablecloths. Pool table. Wood everywhere. New country on the stereo. Old country from the band that’s taking a nice long break.
“Kokamo Mambo, Kokamo Jumbo”
I drove 6.5 hours and waited my whole life for this particular moment, this pint, and to hear this particular white haired man play his guitar and sing his song in his Hawaiian shirt, “Kokamo Mambo …” His French accent is making it all possible. The next tune is called “Reefer”. He wrote that, too. The songs aren’t that great, but I’m beginning to wonder if this is Leonard Cohen in disguise. White pants. Now we’re on to “A Man and A Woman” and I just don’t know what’s up anymore. This guy has hijacked the bar. With music. His music. Now he’s taking a break and he drinks tequila. There are so few of us, we’re all in the moment. I just found out it’s actually called “Kokamo Mambo Jumbo” and NOBODY else plays it. It’s his song, okay? The album, which is pending, will be called Kokamo Mambo Jumbo, Back To the Jungle. Keep your eyes peeled.
Just look right at it,
There’s no use in pretending it’s not there.
Look at it,
don’t let it make you turn away.
Here to arrive
in golden light.
And the shadiness you deal in –
I can’t shine in that kind of darkness.
Fish sandwich store, waiting on a fish sandwich
Waiting on a shift in the weather
Waiting on the passing of time
Waiting on the passing of a feeling
Waiting on your next love shower coming my way
Imagining what you’re up to, where, and who with
Wondering what you’re eating, what you’re saying, whether you’re smoking
Whether you told me everything you have to say
Whether there are thoughts in your mind that you won’t say, even if prodded
Waiting on the future.
How sustainable is this?
When does it stop? Where will it stop? How will it stop? I haven’t made plans for this and, consequently, am obsessed with death. Not that I’m not enjoying this part. I am very much. Do I feel unprepared? Do I feel ill-equipped? Are there things I’m forgetting to do? To think about?
I have no idea where I got this, or if I made it up, but I like it
“Mr. Hudson, you are a thief.”
“What have I taken?”
“It’s not so much a question of what you have taken, but rather, what you have failed to give back.”
They’ve been waiting
and waiting for the day when the people who are prisoners to their own broken hearts see that they hold the dice in their hands –
dice that have been waiting
and waiting to be rolled again.
Not that it’s a question of luck, either.
Just a willingness to participate
and open ourselves up
to the possibility
that we don’t already know everything.
And a broken heart doesn’t just come from losing love. It comes from the feeling of losing anything precious. Anything we relied upon. Anything we’ve been unable to replace. Anything that, once we’ve lost it, we can’t turn around and bestow upon someone else. Anything we can’t give back.
Dying young of old age.
Such a tragedy.
[Song] You Wanted a Wedding, I Wanted a Marriage
Chorus: You wanted a wedding, I wanted a marriage
But this marriage was a mirage, an illusion, a delusion,
And now I can see, this is our only conclusion
Coming to the alter was just another one of your one night stands
A fleeting glance, a last dance
With a whole lot of pomp, and circumstance
It was going to be a great night
It was going to be a long life
It was going to be everyone we knew
Thick or thin, we’d see it through
Any weather would be a blessing
I’d be working for us, and by your side I’d be resting
Before all our friends we’d confide
But when you were done with your white dress you were done being my bride.
I didn’t see this coming,
I thought we’d talked it through
Was this the idea, all along?
Again, I play the fool.
Is it really true that we won’t be here forever?
Put me to work.
Put me to love.
Put me on the edge.
Put me in touch with the part of the reality of the mystery that knows what it is.
Then spin me around,
and put me in touch with the part of the reality of the mystery that does not know what it is
and put a mirror in my hands,
a mirror facing outwards.
This Time Of Year
Green fields turning brown look like gold because they’re in the sun, which is also diminishing. And how we love things that are on their way out.
My mother has always been beautiful,
but I see it more and more.
Her gaze seems to be growing longer. And softer.
People From High School, Why Do I Never See You?
Do we keep just barely missing each other?
Or are we really that spread out?
Keep me seeing that graffiti heart smiling, eyes wide open. It finds my good mood.
Keep me seeing you walk in from all the afternoons I’ve waited for you here and there, knowing you’ll be here soon and remembering that you’ve waited for me on several occasions as well. As far as I know, we’ve always shown up for each other.
Boring But True
I keep always forgetting that it’s two thousand and eleven.
Thank goodness it’s a short year, because it’s quite annoying to not know which year it is.
I keep thinking 2010.
Both those years sound better to me. Less of a mouthful.
I look forward to the future, and to knowing the year again.
Owen walks slowly at all times –
in all weathers,
on all grades of ascent and descent.
He likes it that way,
Or at least that’s what he says,
And one can only assume that he’s telling the truth.
There’s so much space in this world.
It’s a wonder that we make any connections at all.
October Night Alone
These moments, they pass through me
Time and time again.
The wind breathes, ceaselessly.
All happens all around me.
The subway: Quiet in its eventlessness.
Mothering: Everywhere passing.
Fullness and Emptiness: Everywhere all through the city, full and quiet.