MOVED

This has now moved to http://whinging.wordpress.com

Morning

wake up, in a mood
feeling like dog shit
after a night of restlessness
stumble out of bed,
to the bathroom
to relieve yourself,
the dog comes up
with his “good morning” stretch
and a gentle bump from his muzzle

then its over to the kitchen
for a glass of water, or OJ,
whatever is more convenient
then to the wood stove

re-start the fire from the
embers of yesterday
realising there isn’t
enough wood and then
have to go to the shed

the raccoon that has made
the shed his home
skulks near the back
trying not to be seen
by the flashlight
or the over excited dog
who knows it’s there

fill the bag with wood
picking pieces that will
keep the fire going all day
some smaller lighter fir
mixed with heavier arbutus
haul it back inside
dog ever at heels

crumple up pieces of the
free newspaper
arrange embers, fresh wood
and paper to allow quick re-lighting
leave door open a quarter inch
to allow adequate airflow

head to office in basement
check email
not that anything of use ever arrives
check news
not that anything of relevance
happened overnight
head back upstairs to
check on fire
dog ever at heels

close wood stove door
head back downstairs
put on shoes, coat, hat
grab leashes
take dogs on morning walk

return,
make breakfast
eat while making lunch
usually tempeh with steamed veg,
or tofu with rice/noodles
or something similar
pack lunch
get fresh underwear, socks
and shirt for work
head to basement bathroom
shower

think of how easy life is
when there is no one around
to complicate it
life alone would be ideal
you get things done
on time
there’s no interruptions
no one else to consider
just you and the tasks at hand

get dressed
still thinking of how
well suited you are to life alone
walk into bedroom
dog ever at heel

see her sleeping
hear the silence punctuated
only by her slow steady breathing
realise that without her
you would be lost
nothing

kiss her cheek
tell her you love her

trudge out into the world

An ode to the plain

there’s something special
about black, crisp text
on white
something that makes it feel
that bit more important
I could be reading any old crap
but if the layout is agreeable
and the text is exquisite
I could look at it for hours.

I used to type everything out
on an old typewriter,
bought for $10 at a yard sale 1986,
I would try interesting way
to get the text too look different;
feed the paper diagonally,
sideways, type half the page
and then flip and continue upside down.
interesting spacing,
double, triple, quadruple spacing
words jumbled together
kerning too small to be easily read
challenging the reader

nice heavy paper
with a bit of grit to it
to really hold the impression
of the hammer,
not just the ink
I’d also prefer it if the
ink would sometimes smudge
like it always did on the K and the P

with the advent of desktop publishing
on even the most basic computers
I tried to recreate these idiosyncrasies
document after document
and then the web came along
and website after website
I would try something new
something grungey, dark, hard to read
new, fresh, pushing design to it’s limits

after all these years,
I’m back to plain black text
on a white background,
sometimes slightly off-white,
but never detracting from the text;
simple
plain
black text

move on

always looking to the
new thing
always;
forward into the
shiny
plastic
future;
the speed at which the
future is coming
is a constant,
but the speed at which
you can join
the new thing
is fleeting;
get on board
spend spend spend
if your neighbour has it
get the next one
move on;

to be stagnant
is to be obsolete

Medication

It grates;
these noises that surround
the hammering and yammering
of the construction workers nearby
the neighbours 3500 Diesel truck
chug chug chugging as he
warms it up
(it’s not even cold, 7C, lightweight)
the sound of a heart
beating in ears
the dog whining in the corner
(has had food, walk and love, but still whines)
stomach churns
becoming worked up
agitated

close eyes
focus on breathing
slow heart rate
prepare
for a light snooze
to the sounds of Shostakovich

I’ll fuck anything that moves

but I won’t touch you again.

I’ve screwed fat, smelly women.
Women who are unaware of proper vaginal hygiene.
Freaks who like to be punched in the face, asphyxiated, humiliated as they orgasm.
Whores with wide pussies that feel more like a dry blanket than a snug love tunnel.

I’ve fucked in dirty hovels where the bugs run down your back, legs and arms oblivious to, or not worried by, the fact that you are actually moving.
I’ve had my dick sucked by toothless women with open mouth sores.
In dirty alleys and broken down cars.

But you
I wouldn’t touch even if paid.

You, of all things in this world,
disgust me.

P-P-Piano

the twinkling
tinkling
of the keys under a masters
gentle touch
has the ability to send me
into a calmer, more reflective place
but, heard at
the wrong time
it pounds on my head
grating my every last nerve
thankfully today
is not one of those days

keep it going

No use in stopping now
you passed the halfway mark
some time ago
keep pushing forward
it will all make sense
in the end

It’s the silent times

late at night
or preferably first
thing in the morning
when the brain comes alive

i can pound on a keyboard
all day
or scribble with a pencil
and it’s most just
gibberish that comes out

but these times
when not a person
is stirring in the house
and the only sound
is the low drone
of traffic on the nearby street
i can think straight

Bastards

What am I,
a fucking old man?
that I need to sleep
in the middle of the day
kills me
burning good daylight hours
just because my body
can’t seem to handle being
awake for more than
a few hours

sure,
I’m ill
my body is rejecting
me
and everything I put in it
but god be damned
I’d love to just sit and read

but then the arsehole next door
starts up his fucking Harley
revvving that goddamned beast
outside these walls
and the cunts at the back
with their constant hammering
sawing
yelling jokes at each other
all conspiring to not let me
convalesce

I’d rather
be out there
in the world
contributing to the noise
not allowing someone else
the peace I so
desire

but enough of this
the napping couch awaits

bastards