The thing about buying weed in oka is you really don’t know what you are getting. Today it really is a mystery. As in mysterious mix, $5 a gram. As in I am poor or under employed. This holds some appeal. Stretching the dollar. No name chips and questionable weed; distractions have never been so … Continue reading Smoking the question mark
If writing is rewriting, I need to get faster at typing.
The clouds indeed partied. A beautiful day at the camping.
I remembered I wasn't a poet. Ot a writer. Or a has been. Then I remembered I was never was a something something. Then I remembered I'm not that person. Fuck the words. Fuck that. And then has no meaning. And then there was no more. I lied.
Once, when we were younger, and there were no words, we spoke freely and without resolve. Then time, and grievance found home in our hearts. Now silence seems appropriate when audiences grow louder. Oh time. Why’d you make me see you passing?
If you thought something more, well, it's the camping.
But Margaret Atwood told me I should just write, in a YouTube video ad. Somehow cars became words. She said write, so I did. Ugggggggggggg. And the need to agonize over every phrase, and the need to have a conjunction, a pause, a break; something other than just words, and punctuation. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr. Just stop. Words … Continue reading Oh damn, it was just too easy to stop
On a smoke break. After the rain. Clouds parted and a bit of the sun was let through. The cars drove by letting up fine mists of spray from the still wet roads. The sound more subdued. Less traffic, less people, less noise. The calm as day gives way to night. I do love a … Continue reading Car loop in afternoon sunset
I'm not really sure, but I made this at the factory.