Parallel Universes

listening to MGMT - Time to Pretend

Today I went to the Summerland Health Center to get my foot re-x-rayed. I crutched and hobbled all the way from Orchard Crescent to the Tim Hortons and got a ride up the hill because at that point I was too exhausted and my arms hurt too much to really consider scaling it on crutch. I was fifteen minutes late because I had thought the appointment was at Dr. B Harrold's office. I was also fifteen minutes early at Dr. Harrold's office to put the distance in perspective. Fortunately, even though they book every ten minutes, the x-ray specialist took pity and slotted me in. I didn't get any results back today, but I'm going for an appointment with Dr. Harrold next week, I've got my fingers crossed (really, it's getting pretty hard to type (with my fingers crossed, I wasn't referring to the foot (although it would be pretty crazy to learn how to type with one's feet))). As I was walking through the lobby I saw someone familiar and said hi (it took me a moment to realize I actually did know them) and she stared at me for a full, awkward, long second before realizing who I was and said hi. The usual "what did you do to your foot" followed by "I broke it" and "are you still working at timmies" followed by "yes" and then an awkward silence followed by me mumbling something about having to go and walking out the door, and I realized that we really had absolutely nothing in common now I'm no longer working at tim hortons and a few months have gone by. It's almost as though we'd been inhabiting parallel universes for the last few months. And it's funny how often that happens. We change. And if you haven't seen someone for a long time it can be like getting to know an entirely new person. I know for myself that I change constantly. Sure there will be things that will always stay the same about me, but I'm not the same person that I was seven months ago and I never will be that person again. I know that when I move back to the coast there will be a lot of people that I'm good friends with that I will appear to be an entirely different person to. For the last 7 months I've inhabited and been influenced by an entirely different environment, a parallel universe, to the lower mainland. It's not better and it's not worse, but it's radically different. So I'm nervous, apprehensive, looking forward to seeing you, looking forward to getting to know you again. I haven't kept in touch that well, and for that I'm sorry, but I do miss you. So here's to meeting again in a month or so.

fool sitting here typing

In Metronome

I was born on a cold day in Metronome
with the factories beating in time
and in an old, old cradle of sorts
my heart made the city's beat mine

now I grew up a son in the steely streets
my father the son of a beggar
and though the woman who gave me my life was alive
the city was my mother
and I would have no other

please come back to me woman in Metronome
you left me the day I was born
but I'll be waiting for you, here in Metronome
waiting for you to come home

as a young man I rode on the trolley car
and searched through the city for renassiance
I wrote my first poem about the sun
and I gave it to a friend

he took the first train getting out of here
and I never bothered to follow
though I miss them both and will shed a tear
I wouldn't take the train
and I know I would do it again

please come back to me here in Metronome
you have my words and my song
I'll be waiting for you, here in Metronome
waiting for you to come home

when I was a man my father died
as he walked from the house on the corner
he died in the streets with a pocket in his hand
and was washed into the gutter
for the city was his lover

interlude

it was another cold day in Metronome
and I found you in a cafe
we talked for hours until you went home
and I waited for you the next day

now each day I could find I would meet you there
and we'd ride on the trolley for hours
we'd sit on the tops of the factories
and visit the birds in the square
we thrilled just breathing the air

now the winter had passed and the spring had come
and I brought you factory flowers
then springtime passed by and the summer came
we walked in the shade or the shadow of towers

soon autumn had come into Metronome
then we felt the chill in the air
each day we would meet and go wandering
we loved and were loved in return

but November, November I should have known
I stood in the leaves in the square
I waited for you in the steely streets
I waited, but you were not there

and I cannot abandon cold Metronome
though I'd search the world entire
my heart beats in time with the factories
the beat of my heart would expire
though for you I would die

please come back to me darling in Metronome
without you my heart will go cold
I'll be waiting for you, here in Metronome
waiting for you to come home

Invasion of the Clumsy Lovers

listening to Clumsy Lovers

I had an epic dream last night, a really great one. It was an invasion of the bodysnatchers dream, pretty similar to the new The Invasion one, but it still had the awesome pods from the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Either way it was pretty scary. It started out as Dad acting pretty strangely and I was getting kindof suspicious of him, but then Dad asked Mom something really personal and judging by the way she answered somehow I found out that it was actually the rest of the family that had already been changed into alien clones and only Dad and Alpha were still themselves. Anyways, we all had to get out of there to try and find a safe house or warn the government of the invasion already underway. Eventually we got seperated and ended up at this old warehouse. I don't know what happened to Alpha and Dad, but Alpha's Jetta was on the second floor of the warehouse and Dad's flatbed was in the parking lot. Also we had met up with this little boy who's parents had already been changed and he had ended up with me. So anyways I ran into the truck with the boy and we were trying to find the key, but we were being mobbed by the crazy emotionless changed people so we had to boot it out of the truck and up to Alpha's car on the second floor. The only problem was that it had somehow gotten onto the second floor and the only way to get it down was to back up and drive as fast as we could off the second floor balcony, and that's where my dream ended.
I try not to tell people my dreams because they're usually pretty crazy and I'm not the greatest at telling them, but when I have a really vivid one I can't help it. Credits for the eastcoast music go Ashley travelling in Newfoundland. In other news I've got a crazy cast on my foot/leg because the x-ray technician thinks the break extends into the joint on the bone so I'm still off work, but hopefully I can get it off in a week or so because it's getting pretty boring. Also I'm working on a sweet song called "In Metronome" which I'll post as soon as I'm done.

Park Ranger

Lamp

I broke my lava lamp. In the cluttered room I stumbled, struggling with a puffy sleeping bag and knocked it off the desk. It happened instantly, there was no bullet time, no beautiful memories of hours spent gazing into its limitless depths and pondering the mysteries of the universe, no last moment grasp at its falling, lifeless, beauty. There was no time. One moment it was standing like a resolute sentinel, guarding the deskspace, and the next it was lying broken on the floor, never again to shine. I knelt as best as I could, encumbered by my half-cast, to mourn the loss, but necessity drove me onwards. I hobbled up the stairs, a feat which I was hesitant to repeat as I had done it only moments before. With towels and rags I dried its clear blood from the ground and swept its broken body and organs into an empty candy bag. I will miss you lava lamp... always.

pipe smoking professor

pulsing ruby jar
no more heat in your body
I lament your death

broken

It sucks being broken. On Wednesday night I was playing capture the flag in the dark, in bare feet, and I went to jump over a wall to get into my home base (with the opposing teams flag). I couldn't see what was on the other side and ended up sortof flailing and smashing my foot on the cement. Breaking it... or at least one of those bones in it. So here I sit, my foot up on Prince's cage, swollen up and puffy, confined in a half-cast, in the blazing heat of summer, trying to type. It's safe to say it was a stupid move.

Bird on the Hanging Tree

clawing at the crimson branch
and holding through the storm
of wild, throbbing screaming flesh
of old and young alike
of wool and dirt, a little bird
a little slowly understood
yet wholly free and holding still
among the body maelstrom

pound the mud and raise a toast
build nothing
know nothing
but round and round they go
call it a dance floor
call it a flesh fair
call it a warzone
call it a celebration
meaningless but for the battle
won on a muddy proxy field
a spectator war that everyone sees
a little bird fallen from the hanging tree
but round and round they dance
feathers in their hats and blood on their feet