Monday, August 23, 2010


(Mirror-Mirror (test), from That's So Fantastic, 2010)

Looking from high above, two figures look towards the city that glows with a pulse, the one figure reaches closer to the other figure:
We used to rule this town. Damnit, it was ours. These moments were ours as well. My hand in your hand, that was ours too. And fuck it, my soul, your soul, was once ours.
An airplane crosses the sky, there is a banner attached to the tail of the vessel, and if it weren't too dark to see:
What happened?
A rock the size of Texas is traveling 537 mph towards Earth, it has about two decades to come close enough to Earth for it to be a threat:
(boy sees a falling star and wishes) I hope I find my way, I hope we find our way again.
A light turns off somewhere in the city, someone is crying, and her neighbor is watching her; helplessly, wanting to help out, the watchful neighbor is trying to fit together why the girl from across the street is crying:
It must be her dumb boyfriend, he's a dickhead! It could be a death, I don't really know how to approach people about that, hopefully it's just the boyfriend.
Somewhere far away:
A wave will turn larger, and it will ripple pass a young lad in his father's fishing boat, and it will rush to shore, and turn into a perfect wave. This wave will be ridden by a nobody, he will feel a supreme moment of bliss, perhaps it is the surf bug, maybe he will spend his entire life time searching for that wave, he has an ok job, he has ok friends, he is good at a few things, not great at anything, but that doesn't matter, right now he is riding that wave, that wave thinks it is taking him but he is taking it. And if it weren't for this perfect wave in this perfect weather we've been having, than perhaps this would all fall apart. If we don't have our happiness, we have our end, if we don't have our perfect wave, we have a lifetime of potential encounters. If we pretend we are already halfway there:
The wave dies, the water calms itself again, and the nobody surfs back to shore, walks to his car, brushes off the sand from his board, puts a towel around his waist, get a shirt on, gets in his car, checks his mirrors, looks behind his seat as he starts the ignition, and returns his eyes to the road ahead of him. He tells himself:
It is going to be a good day, and it is going to be a good life. (i just know it)(repeat)
The young man drives off, and the sunset now fills the beachside, couples are walking the boardwalk, they are holding hands, and if there was a camera there would be many pictures taken, but right now, everyone and everything is just enjoying the absolute moment.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Learning To Love Yourself (More) pt. 15

(A View Looking Down That Mountain, from YOU BETTER WASH BEHIND YOUR EARS!, 2010)


There can only be one for a few things, but let's not start on that lonely road right now. When there are flat circular stones to be thrown, and you have perfectly calm water that stretches on and on, then one must think if a stone could be so perfect, if your arm's strength to be so perfect, and the wind, and also the pitch of the throw, in a perfect universe. Imagine with me, if only for a moment of your time, if this said stone and your strength, and all other elements came together on something, and that something was put forth, and it passed all the trials, and it just kept going on and on, and on and on, on that journey through a perfect universe. The skies are always clear or overcast, or stormy, if you like things that way, and you can see for miles on end? And what if falling meant you floated softly back to earth, only when you wanted to return. What if the world and the many destinations that you dreamed of were at your finger tips (literally, you hand would close down and shallow the earth whole)? In a world so perfect, what if we all shared something so profound that we no longer fought, that we would listen into the stories of other people's lives and totally dig what they were saying, and that we were just one, one giant blob of flesh and endless connectivity. Being is believing, and knowing is not good enough. We need more, we need our hands to walk for us, we need our imaginations to be reality, and we need to fly, without planes, but with our minds, and jet-packs. We can still get hurt, we can still cry, but we will always smile, not forcefully, nor creepily always smiling, but genuinely and joyfully smiling. Why? Because we are so damn happy, we are good, you are good, we are great, we are grand, we are the world, and so-so-so much more. Can I get an Amen, can we get an Amen!


I Used To Rap

(THE KILLEGAL: A Morbidal View, 2004)

Sometime in July 04' I moved to Canada, and stayed at my cousin's house in Richmond Hill for a month. I'd been writing lyrics for a solo album for two years, and finally had the time to lay it all down. For 16 days straight, I lived half my days in the cold cellar rapping when everyone was asleep in the house, or when no one was home. When I emerged I sat at my computer for hours and hours making beats and putting things together. I was in fiery passion; my work of two years was being completed. Six years later here it is, from the underground, yes, from somewhere deep down inside.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

(i bet you think this story is about you) DON'T YOU pt.II

(Lancaster Trailer Park, from The Road to Montreal, 2010)

In the realm where Pyramid Song plays endlessly -the night fades, the day is melted behind curtains, and there is nothing left to fear. You, your face is faceless, plain and formless, with no expression and memory. I would call you by your name but I am afraid you are a monster now.

I called homies to go out and play. We'd skate the night away, with cuts and bruises, making fun of each other, and stealing our folks booze. Walls would fall that night and the stars seemed that much brighter to my stupid little eyes. I swore I could see the heavens fall.

Mary, that name, calling me back, piercing me in ways only deli meat could be consumed. I wish I never saw you, like so many others. I remember all-night rollerskating and our clothes glowing under black lights. There was Jeanelle, borrowing my "DJ" vest, it was orange, and she made it smell like her for countless days. I wouldn't want to see you now. I still hold the memories we made, higher than you can reach. What age has done to us, you probably have kids now.

Treasure maps of my youth, of Jurassic Park and K2, of snowy adventures and basement stories. How to kill a burglars, how to stop the invasion happening in your house from shady figures. Late night, and seeing the morning light fill my basement window. I remember all the hauntings that went on down in there and yet I decided to move where sounds can't be explained, where books fall, and memories are revisited with musings of fantastic.

Do leprechauns not exist, I was pretty sure they did. They lived far from here, in the fields, in the woods, in the alleys of forgotten streets, in a place that is so old creatures of myth still roam. Holding high my viking sword, I strike once, and another for jollies, I cursed those demons that put rage in my heart, and pity in my spit. I will sleep soundly tonight, I will sleep soundly tonight.

Too much for tomorrow, fall before you stand, can't you see it is all breaking apart. There are moments left and you have yet to finished your dinner, you sit and wait. I can hear it coming, I can smell it too. If you dig deep enough you may hide from it, I buried myself already. Come on, feel the noise, the rumble and shake that gets you going, that dance of savage, the girls are rocking the boys, the girls are rocking the boys. And in a minute we will see what this all means, what it is all for, and in a minute we will all not care anymore. It is going to be wonderful, I can already feel it.

Monday, August 2, 2010

i bet you think this story is about you (Don't You) pt.1

(a title that needed to be illustrated, and a page from my current portfolio, images of The Abandoned Island, 2009)


After they found his remains, they took his house apart, chair by chair, dresser by shelf, and book by book. The cops walked with their eyes down, as they carried away all that remains of my uncle. Eventually that house would be burned down, they'd say it was faulty wiring, but we all knew the only thing keeping his curse at bay was him dealing with it, in that house, and now that he's gone, that house is too.
I went searching for him. I waited twenty years before I was ready enough, and spent years looking. I wasn't always on the road, I ended up staying in a few places along the way for a few years too. I thought by the time I get a clue, it will be too late, I'll be an old man myself. Will my uncle even be anymore alive than he has been after his disappearance? One life will be worth two. And two as one. And one plus one is the loneliest number there ever was.


In the summer, I'll come find you, I will know you and that will be that. I'll talk to you like I spent a lifetime at your side, and that will be fine, because you're talking the same way to me, which only makes it true, we did spend a lifetime together, doing God knows what, in places I can barely imagine.
But right now I see a grand open field, sunk in-between two mountains, and a bay with a sea breeze that blows all the sycamores. I think I'll call you Sycamore, it's a good song too.


I can't remember what I wanted to be when I was younger, I can't imagine what I will be now. Perhaps I'm too afraid, because I'm close enough to something that if I didn't pursue it, then I'll only be giving up. I am not saying it is too hard, I am not giving up, I am simply being, exactly and always, in a center, in an orbit, around the world, in one place, at a time, for a moment, until then, and only until then I will say I am being there, and I am being here, for a while, now, I can say, I have.


It feels like years since I've last seen Thomas, I think these days are thinning out, like alcohol in my blood, I roll with a strange crowd these days, where friends are strangers, and the crimes I do are legal. I wonder if my kid self would be unimpressed at how normal I turned out, I wanted to rob banks and throw it all away, now I'm saving and working full time, I cry to myself, what does it all mean. In a world of double rainbows, I ponder the thought myself, and I am blown away at the portion. Against the grandness of grand, where limit is just a word, and an ever-changing and evergrowing landscape makes the strongest and biggest of men and women feel like single grains of salt. We're all part of one thing, one really big thing, that encompasses everything, and things we will never know. We can reach to the edge, but that edge doesn't exist in the real world, only in our minds.


Lastly, whoever you are, tomorrow you'll see, Sycamore, that this will all fade, that all this is meaningless, and when you see, I hope you understand, it has been years, it has been long since you've last been here, and all that remains is the shadow of where a house once stood. Where memories were made, and where memories were are forgotten, but since you're here, I want to tell you something, I want you to know that those memories, those moments, and that everything that was in the air, in our eyes, and in our words, will be great, or will never happen. What we have here, and what we are left with is a brim thought, on the edge just before falling, and just before flying, and that this moment, right now, is no longer. By then, it will be a sunset that has faded, and now the stars are all that remains, with dreams, with possibilities, and reflections upon a calm sea.

(and if you look close enough you can see the stars in your eyes, I know I have)

Technocolor Magic

(Mammoth, from Work-In-Progress, 2010)