a mayday past

so we sent to vancouver to see the weakerthans finish up their cannuk tour. damn if they don’t pay attention to time up there, unlike the evergreen clock being always off, always. never right. we probably shouldn’t have left these concerts layin’ about to nail the coffin in our love to the last. but low blood sugar demanded something after walking way too much in the big city up north bcway.
so we sat down at a way too expensive tourist trap with a beautiful view of the railyard. none the less the duo we were, were shown to a oh so tucked away table for two with a bit of grecian pillar to make the mood. not haven’ it. the poem below works to remind of just how bad it had gotten, and just how sick this chick could be. feathered the nest and the bird is now flown. good riddance and you’ll see why.
the show set to start at 8 was well under way when we finally arrived tryin to enjoy the left over time we had to share there. but the band or the club being punctual beyond recall had set the show going round about then, so when we arrived to catch the headliners at round about 11. two songs left to watch as the clubbers queued up to dance and we raced in to see a mushroomhead permagrin on the band as they finished their set and came back for a jamfilled encore. two songs and the end of a set. all those miles, those unsmiled moments, when sleeping was the only cure for the cure singing primary
the very first time i saw your face/ i thought of a song and quickly changed the tune
the very first time i touched your skin/ i thought of a story and rushed to reach the end too soon.

walpurgisnacht vancouver

it is a romantic table…
too bad it has to be
wasted on us!

“…when my one and only love
was the…”
{you’re so vain}

the flinch of your eye
and the way the muscles
tighten in your face
all speak of this hate
hate –

something you accuse
me of “bitter old man”
i want to quote you & quote
all the pain you lay
down –

bring me to a place
where the memory of love
is defamed and disowned
“if i had known, i never”

because it is so much easier
to block me out turned aside
left behind so the shadow
doesn’t remind you of yesterday’s

there is an image i do not wish to forget.
the words come out of your mouth,
“stupid, stupid, stupid.”
and your fist beats against your
head, your face. your only desire
to obliterate your pain and
dis-ease by self-abuse destruction
annihilation of the self, self-
abnegation – i hate me because
of you, because you made me feel.

methho in a whitetrashtruck behemoth

what did we do to deserve this?

i don’t get it. everyday i wake up and the news just gets more and more surreal. i mean what idiot put in the phillip k. dick novel as a template for the 21st century? i spend the day wanderin’ around in webland lookin’ at all the gloomdoom dumshit news and it makes me just wanta foment (format?) revolution. luckily my stumblefriends keep me sane and smilin’. coz otherwise i might have to go off on that methmistress in the ohso big white truck drivin’ her half in the middle and havin’ the nerve to shout “hey” at me, like she thought it was some goddamned pixies cover. i mean i was avoidin’ a fuckin’ peasant in the road right, i mean pedestrian. and like she was even at the corner when i cut it to avoid ’em. not to mention my stereo in the bitchin’ chevy luv (aka equinox) was blaring gang of four so damned loud it is amazing she has that kinda lung power. my response. i slow. and yell back as i turn to see her ugly mug starin’ in the sideview mirror…”what?” as in what didja want? what the fuck are you gonna do now? ask your methhead passenger to shamble out and kick my ass? or didja want to chat up the cops in the copshop next door as to what should be done? almost felt a twinge of roadrashedrage, but then the music was loud and i needed to return to the empty library and surf some more. not like i wanted to stop for a confront anydaze. specialways not withsome lame ass whitetrash methwhore…no disrespect to trailerparks nor workinggirls, we all have our place in this fucked up cherryontop world.
work work work. sounds like a song by the godfathers. not like i do much except check out computers and send people in the direction of the bathroom. oh yeah there is this ill (interlibrary loan – for you non-library folk) that should be submitted. some genealogy book that another nit is trying to find her roots with. they are all fucking dead! what about tomorrow? yesterday is history, doomed to be revised, edited, and repackaged for your consumer glee to livejive at your leisure via dvd immersion. wee.
fuck all i just wanna drink some margaritas and smoke a phatty. but then none of the writin’ i need to do will get done. and there is an incomplete or two that need fixin, and one of them just might get me sittin’ behind a conference podium at haaarrrvaaaarrrd next springtide. reading about boston at the moment in stephenson’s zodiac. a motherfuckin’ eco james bond. a delicious little romp through toxicity and boston harbor. anywho. must get something done, besides listing my general discomforts…haven’t even begun sharin’ my dark and disturbin’ view on this really twisted and traumatized day we face with the likes of curious dubya on the job. fuckwit. no, on second thought, he ain’t good enough for that…there really aren’t words for the likes of ’em. leastways not ones he ain’t slaughtered with his dumbshitschtick…fuckin’ kennybunkport maine motherfucker. gives us texans a bad name he does.