daturas' garden

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Location: Ontario, Canada

September 28, 2006

lately i feel like petting goats.

i dunno what it is. little empty eyes and sideways chewing. teeny people teeth and stubborn personalities. an empty knocking when you tap one on the hard hollow head. i want a little one to start eating my sweater and make me laugh. i remember being in highschool, chewing on the sleeves of my uniform sweater out of sheer boredom. the sqeak of cheap wool between my teeth in my memory still makes me cringe. i'd like to be one of those heavy woolen mountain goats, living on the brink of death everyday like its nothing. a natural habitat. i wonder if they realize how easy they make life on the edge look. this one just looks like a star headed reindeer yoda mustache dog. stil, its making me laugh out loud and i wish i could sit with it and have hooven tea. funny thing is, in my head this profound face is only wise to those blind to trickery. he's a goat and he doesn't know shit.

speaking of...greg and i are going to see a show tomorrow at a very small pub in newmarket. our fellow humanitarian, a vegan coffee slinger by the name of dean is performing folk music and i can't wait to hear it. he'll be onstage with his band and his jammin dad. i think they're myspace is under construction. he shared with me some spoken word that was clever and random, senseless sense. his latest read is a book called Humanure. not only is this an incredible act of environmental friendship, its also available in hebrew! his dedication to this is nothing short of inspiring, he's got it all planned out. the land, the commune, the system integration, the funding, the education...we should all be so lucky to grow such meaning out of lifes unending shit. like mushrooms. or something.

September 14, 2006

right this very moment i'm wondering if there is anything that i'm just naturally good at. anything that just feels like home. or anyone for that matter.
i would take my keys, start my car and drive right now. the weather is perfect. its cool and almost rainy. i don't even need music. just to drive farther and farther with no direction. in fact that would be the point. the more lost i get, the more i know i'm going the right way. my eyes will shut on the side of the road and open to anything. will i wish i had someone with me to share the roads or calm me down when remorse sets in? (that is assuming my cells at one point do start to panic at any random momory of being lost.) right now i don't even care. i'll have people to tell when i get back. thats what its really about isn't it..a story?

i miss impulse. feeling nomadic, planning to be up/down/over/away for a week at a time is only stressful. still calculating. i'd like to know that when i hit water i can go around or just learn to swim. don't fret for your latte. tell me travel stories. i don't understand how its at all possible to be working, social, go go going and still feel so obnoxiously stagnant.
let the beastie stare. i haven't been listening.

September 04, 2006

Racing Existential

if i had a wish
i'd wish i were
a fast moving car
so fast -a blur

i'd enter a race
with the name "Black as Sin"
with one goal in mind
and that would be to WIN

all of the fans
on their feet in the stands
cheering for me
like a huge symphony

with a cool demeaner
i'd weave and i'd swerve
while the other race cars
would slowly lose nerve

the white flag would fly
as i came passing by
a sign that would be
the final lap for me

one more to go!
so let's put on a show
for the wonderful fans in the crowd!
wait, i'm hearing a voice
but can't make that choice
to ask it to calm or be LOUD

coming around the final turn
i decide to ignore all the chatter
when to my surprise what i see with my eyes
is something most folks couldn't gather

in less than a moment the decision is made
not to slow down but keep going
the track ahead of me begins to fade
but i relentlesly press on without knowing

i've entered a hole
and imagine the size
is something not worthy a guess
the feeling is cold
too dark for the eyes
and something else, i must confess

it seems that in here there's no reason or rhyme
no sense of balance and no sense of time
where rhyming schemes and self-context
are not important and allowed to flex

this is where, and when i wrote
this little poem with attached side note:

please be kind and enjoy this story
of me as a race car, driving to glory!
i don't expect much thanks or praise
only a simple toast with glasses raised

"To the car once known as 'Black as Sin'
and the boy who made that wish
to become a race car, race and win
instead of becoming a fish."

-a guest headscape.


...my sister brought home a puppy.