30 second eternity

When he was asked to dissect the Specimen, he hesitated, or felt what he believed to be a slight apprehension given his obvious position of power; standing above her white silk dress clenching a fork and knife in each hand. She had settled in only moments earlier against the wooden panel boards anticipating the consummation of her livelihood. For a moment, the Specimen squirmed and he noticed a smile on her face appear as she settled in to the ground and accepted the oncoming cutlery. She knew after this, as the Specimen, she would be forever transformed; no longer that unscathed and precious container of organ tissue and neuropaths. He, on the other hand, was merely participating and had no inclination that gravity and time were planning a coup on his conceptualization of the two forces of nature and imagination, respectively.
He acquired the tools from the Specimen's companion and knelt down. The descent was prolonged in his mind, and the Specimen didn't appear any larger at first. He blinked and was soon staring right in to the Specimen's brown eyes, and they twinkled back; she was petrified. He dug the fork into her thigh and pulled back with the knife. He worked his way up the Specimen's body, past her vagina, her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck, where he looked at the Specimens lips and noticed it quiver in confusion. He took a few bites from the fork with her meat and swallowed; she stared at his adam's apple as it ascended and descended with each quaff of the Specimen's blood stained blouse and supple flesh.

Imagine a montage of photographs, explaining a story with time-lapse, where every next frame is an irregular jump in time ahead of the frame you previously experienced. Imagine holding those frames as printed images, in your hand, and flipping through them at your own will, on your own time. It is foreseeable that you could spend the rest of your life cycling through those images but do you ever watch your favourite movie on repeat? If it cost you only thirty seconds of actual time to watch that montage or film as much as you'd like, would you indulge? Would you fear the complexities of aging in this time frame? Would you embellish the legitimacy and power of imagination within each photograph? Or would you collect only sequences of frames you particularly cherished? Would you prefer to throw them in some digital box, and be able to revisit each of those moments again? Would you cultivate a new understanding and emerge from that thirty second time frame with explosive amounts of knowledge, wisdom, understanding; previously nonexistent?


He helped the Specimen up with one hand and proceeded back to his seat, where from afar, the Specimen continually reassured herself of his proximity; as if bound and dependent. He stole glances of her profile from time to time for the rest of his life, to date. He realized that that experiment, in the lab, and that thirty seconds with the specimen, would have lasted an eternity in its own right, being frozen in his memory. Every new moment would have been another layer or sequence of photographs to add to the big box of time and space; an alter reality where the only things that exist are them and the world. It would be a physical manifestation of their bond, and their idea of the world; yesterday's souls in the world of tomorrow.


If you could understand that transformation and the weight of your brain matter increasing at a phenomenal rate after a 30 second period of mental stagnation and physical unawareness, you are propelled back into the world you were first born as a new specimen, bound by the mitosis between two hearts and the brains that power them. When you emerge, no one will know you had left. For everyone, nothing will change, but for you, it will all look different.

No one will know the wiser, because the universe is good at keeping secrets.


Are you?

palinbeck

A broken clock is right twice a day you say?
Well who represents that broken number?
I believe it's the talking heads and celebrity politicians that hold the worst in mind.
Who represent a minority in a society where they can shout the loudest.
Look now, they are freaking out, acting completely dilluted, trying to win the masses with doomsday rhetoric.
It's yesteryear's sway of words they try to play on you and everyone else just sits back and laughs. You're a broken clock, you're no longer functioning or serving a purpose.

Though twice a day you are right.
For those odds, I can't say it's worth giving you most second looks but I will be struck with a sensation of odd and metaphysical confusion when the day I do look up and your time is verified truth.
That is when my body will shudder and my eyes will blur in self-defeat, and I will not go alone.
We will laugh idly in confusion and watch it walk out to the end, and if they have the TIME, their will be done.

"Can you not see that we must fight for it?
Can you not see that they are thinking the same thing?
We're laughing them off but they do pose a danger.
We need to outsmart them for the better of everyone"

They are a mirror of their enemies on the opposite side of the prime meridian

They will do the same things to this side of the world.

swaying minds

Reading a book based on politics
is an arduous use of time
to learn the same bullshit
you can get from five minutes
of television.
I tell you nothing of what you read
is any more real
than the fantasies of
one egotist.

isn't this how it started?

Worried that I might kill my dog.
Burning incense
and smoking tobacco-laced,
marijuana cigarettes.
I'm pondering nervously
about my own selfishness
to continue smoking
as this thought, I pen
to identify with a
human audience.
Now the bright irony
in the prose of this situation
is coming to my realization
and it is
in no
way
pleasant.

a psychologists field day

Last night I dreamt what I would define as a psychologists field day.

At first I realize I am in a wood cabin of sorts and it is shaking. Members of my family and unknown faces alike, work together to empty the space of all valuables. It is transforming into a restaurant space.

I walk outside there are soldiers flanking every direction. I walk back inside. My dad congratulates me on planning a fine victory and escape method and for bringing peace to his civilization. I have come under the assumption that our cabin is a giant prison cell being escorted by an army of 10 thousand strong, medieval soldiers and I have coordinated our daring method of survival but i cannot recall what it is despite the fact that it is a plan that is currently in execution.

Soon after I decide I have to go to the washroom. I go to the washroom. In my pants. I take off my underwear and say, "that is fucking gross, have you no dignity?", I look at the underwear, they are the pair of underwear I usually consider "lucky". They have never brought me luck.

I walk outside the cabin naked through a new exit donning ten foot hgh velvet curtains. I get lost in them exposed to immediate darkness, confusion, then immediate light, and blindness for a brief moment to reveal a dusty city street where I see Leone, my friend, selling books. One of the collection of books that stand out to me are seemingly original prints of Lord of the Rings. I notice that she is flipping through them, and answering wittily to everyone who asks if they are real with comments like "no I am just good at photoshop". These prints are real, or at least, I assume them to be real in the dream. I remember they have a distinct rough edge to the paper and all the font is itailcized and only consumes about a half of every page. The pages are not double side printed and I think this forces the books to be larger than they genuinely need to be.

Then I wake up to my alarm.

M&Ms

A tall, thin man walks quietly along the beach, feet washed over by the rolling waves. He picks a seashell up from the ground and lifts it up to the sky where the details of the shell are lost in a silhouette around the aura of sunlight. He has created an eclipse which he stares into intensely, wondering between thoughts of priorities and lovers if he will soon go blind. The details of the shell are all but lost without the direct influence of the sun, but they reveal themselves through tiny refractions of light bouncing off the sand and into his hand as he hands the shell to an apparation of a woman who is now blissfully accepting the seashell as if it were the greatest gift she ever received. She smiles at the thin man and holds the shell to her ear. He is intrigued by this mermaid on the beach, and trusting of her, but onlookers are in wonder as they see a thin man, alone on a beach, with a seashell floating before his eyes. They wonder if he is a magician.


The mermaid and the magician walk together under the setting sun and the onlookers retreat to their homes in awe, to tell the story of what they just saw. The mermaid invites him to the ocean, to meet the King of the Sea. The magician is afflicted by this invitation for as a child, he once drowned. He asks to hold the sea shell once more. It is larger now than it has ever been before. He smiles at the mermaid who seems to have disappeared back into the ocean, where she swims away gracefully laughing and coercing the magician to swim to her.

The magician looks at the seashell and watches the ocean. He notices the ocean is on a decline, like a snowy slope in Northern Canada that he once had performed his most magnificent of illusions on. A dog watches the magician curiously as he stumbles nervously toward the mermaid in the ocean, which the dog cannot see. The dog advances closer and begins barking. The magician is afraid of dogs and begins to run toward the mermaid until the depth of the water has matched his height and he hops on the seashell, now the size of a small dingy.

Like a vessel of fear and intent, completely sentient, it carries him off to the mermaid where they meet in mid sea and kiss until the weight of their consummation forces them to the sea bed. The magician is breathing and thinks, "This is my greatest illusion yet," and the mermaid releases herself from their liplock. Suddenly he loses his breath and panicks.

The air from his lungs escape him and his fright immobilizes him. He can only see the light from the sun fading on the ocean ceiling and soon he is sinking into a tight, body sized cave. The mermaid, lands on his body and kisses him, floating back up toward the shore. He cannot chase her and with his last breaths and remaining sources of light information he can see the seashell sink gently over him as it covers the only exit to the cave.

Now the magician can breath, but he is afraid to break this containment space. He ponders for hours about whether or not he wants to be reintroduced into the seemingly deadly sea. Soon after he becomes famished, in a way he's never felt and he laughs uncontrollably, almost insanely, as he kicks off the seashell cover and it floats up back towards the sky, once again eclipsing the light. The seashell cuts in an out of the path of light like a strobe casting sporadic shadows and he sees, in slow motion, that he has grown a pair of fins.

Maybe I'm an ignorant Canadian

OKay!


WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE...



Obama is an elected official right? Leader of the country.
Didn't he get like 67 or 77 or some percentage?
The percentage doesn't matter (some of you may say it does)
but the matter of the fact is that the MAJORITY of people believe that Obama can lead the United States and it's citizens to a more 'prosperous' tomorrow.
Even if you disagree with that, it doesn't matter to me.
See my problem is these people, crying, CRYING on CNN
CRYING FOR FUCKS sake.
WHY?

because Obama wants to address the schools, he wants to talk to the kids, he wants them to understand politics, understand the country and grow up working hard staying in school eating vegetables and studying to become scientists of tomorrow.

BUT WAIT
there's more.
THE HATERS
the racists.
YES
RACISTS
the fear-mongers.
YES
YOU
ARE AFRAID of "socialism"
when all he wants to do, is let your kid know that life, BELIEVE IT OR NOT, is in fact hard.

instead you don't want your children to grow up understanding the context of their future?
you don't want them to see an intelligent leader, and you don't want them to what?
to learn?
Obama asking for kids opinions is wrong because children shouldn't be involved in politics?
I SAY NAY NAY!
this is essentially democracy at it's finest.
after all, you elected him to make the big decisions. You elected him based on the probability that he has YOUR best interest in mind. He loves the country, he loves your kids.
I believe he does.

He doesn't want to turn your children into socialist dogs. He's not starting a youth-army service. He's not asking you to fly planes across the ocean and bomb other countries.
He's showing compassion and giving a voice to the citizens who need it most. The children who will grow up paying for YOUR mistakes. So yeah, they need a little encouragement.
Really, it may be better if Obama was an evil Nazi, set on hypnotizing your children to emancipate themselves from the parents and devote themselves to the country. Watch those little girls of his grow up and later tell me you don't wish your kids were as startlingly intelligent and mature as them. If Obama hypnotized your kids, the whole country would be better off, because you suck at parenting.

Don't forget though, that your kids are the foundation of the country's future and if you raise them to turn a blind eye to a black man behind a podium,
you are teaching them to be bigots.

which is far worse than anything Obama will say on wednesday.

Grow up America, you're fucking it up for the rest of us.

Quadrant 1: Idolize Quadrant 2: Idolize Quadrant 3: Idolize Quadrant 4: Idolize

Are there bears in Marilyn Monroe's hair?
As seen in Andy Warhol sheets.
I hide in my room and peek at the world
Through a colourful box on my desk.
From that place on the bed
against Marilyn Monroe's head
I can create and see
all of our crazy antics,
and I ponder quite slowly
about what Warhol would make
of all our 'mistakes'
and obvious foresight.
Maybe he was as ignorant as we are,
maybe he was the start?
Monroe was the image of purity being slain
and Warhol told us off with colourful stains.
He humbled the artist in playing completely dumb
and we idolize him for it.
We idolized Marilyn for it.
We idolize the internet for it.

ctrl + f "mary-land"

ctrl + f "mary-land"

things i might possibly 'miss' about mary-land
she is calm and quiet, a 'shock' from bustling busy new york city, but
she is no less sporadic
she had a lot of trees.
she had a community of people who liked tv.
she is full of conversations.
she can possibly have radioactive water.
she is likely a candidate for places to 'settle down'
she listened to a lot of diverse music, none of which i disliked
she has negative space, and parallel lines within her composition
she is friendly to animals and likes to preserve wildlife
she feels slightly incomplete in memory
she could possibly be unreliable but
she is totally worth the risk
she is a highly irrational concept to pursue
she is sparsely decorated with 'unneccessities'
she is hard to reach but easy to find

the other day, I brushed arms with mary-land
and today I don't know where she is

54 days till Egypt

Karel was always interested in people. She wanted to visit all corners of the world just to get to know them. One place, in particular, seemed to fascinate her; Egypt. She would always dream up big ideas of her little self floating on a magic carpet, swerving between the pyramids.

As she grew older, she became accustomed to new responsibilities. One such responsibility was learning 'truth' from 'fiction'. Karel was often criticized for being stubborn, and was cast off as "incountable" by her peers for never learning this. She did learn that magic carpets were impossible, and that the Egyptians had a rich history of exploit in faith-based monarchies.

She studied at the college, Ancient History: Egyptian Studies (go figure), and worked at a boutique in a trendy city neighbourhood. She felt busy and paranoid, and often stressed, but she was determined to get to Egypt. Her coworker's would often hear Karel say, "When I get to Egypt..." and various hopeful premonitions. Then one day they heard her say "54 days till Egypt..."

That same day, Karel had suffered a huge loss in grades, and she was unsure why. She decided to cut back on her hours and get serious about her job. Karel worked on weekends, and became so devoted, her coworkers noticed a constant paranoia in her towards the customers. Karel called the security so often over the next two months of the summer semester, that eventually they became friends and eventually became tireless of Karel's antics; finally asking: "When are you going to Egypt?"

To which Karel responded, "54 days."

The security guards continued to visit whenever Karel called, and sometimes, she'd even be right. She was feeling happy, and her grades had improved. Her time at work had been productive, and she surely had accumulated enough money and resources for a ticket to Egypt. One day, Karel finally proclaimed to her coworkers, "One week till Egypt!" and they surely took notice: "54 days passes by so fast!"

The security guards visited her several days later, but she had not called them in. They were accompanied by police officers, who cuffed and arrested Karel and took her to the station. Her coworkers later learned that she had been shoplifting for many months and even selling some of the spoils.

Now she can't leave the country.

Just my luck

I'm not in a closet
I just can't get any women
I came from this blog
Where for six months 
I'd fictionalize my fantasies
Avoiding the reality of my inhibitions

I knew there was one
that was right for my loving
but time had to soil
the excitement for each of us


I don't think it's fair
That everytime I try to mainstream
My heart gets soiled
By my disinterest

Now I found something intangibly
Promising in your words
Five months to the day
In our first correspondence

Now that my fear is gone 
I have taken the jump
Off that cliff by the lake
Where we spent a drunken night

Except I never went
And you were never there
As I realized when I awoke
Alone the next morning

Next time lets just be honest and save us both the bother

Now I'm coming 
And you don't want me anymore 
That's okay
Because I don't know what I want either

But you barely know me
So don't pass judgrmnt
On words represented through font
Hear my voice, Feel my touch, 
Lets sit in silence
Before you let your hopes 
Wrought

See my smile
Heed my kiss
Embrace the conversation
Don't let your fears
Destroy our progress
The success is based on perception. 

Floyd is loyal 
Floyd believes
That's why he's coming all that way
To take the risk
For nothing ventured
Nothing 'gained'

I am honest 
Despite previous experience.
To myself I make no promise
Of your allegiance

All I can say,
Is I'm worried all the same
The nervous illusion
That you're not what I expected
 
I know you're just nervous,
Afraid that I'm a flame
Ready to whither and wimper
At the hands of your withdrawl

Though I will try
Because you're worth it
Despite the shortcomings in both of us
There's a basic person
Who believes what
I feel
And knows what I believe
I may not be the one
You wake to every morning
But for three days lets
Let fantasy be reality
And heed no warnings

My bloods been poured on the eagles wings

Today is a surprise party.
Today it's a surprise party for my friend Deanne
It is her birthday
We rented a bus
It is a large bus that extends twice the normal length of a regular party bus.
There are couches in it.
It is slowly being occupied by people I did not invite.
Who are these faces? They are having a good time.
I am okay with their presence.
Where is Deanne?
I find Deanne having sex with Leone and Kennedy.
I've never met Kennedy.
He is handsome.
Deanne's never met Leone
She is gorgeous
She is British
Deanne likes the British
They all like marijuana.

Miguel grabs my shoulder and tells me,
"we can't genuinely be friends,"
I get upset briefly.
Miguel introduces me to 'his friend' Ferlinghetti.
He is a nice dude.
He too likes marijuana.

We are traveling on a large bus,
It is getting larger and larger.
The bus driver won't tell me where we're going
He won't tell me if we've arrived.
We have arrived.
I only know this
Because the bus turned into a house
It is a large house.
There are budding friendships everywhere.

Eric mentions California
Daniel mentions marijuana legalization
Kennedy mentions his toy M-16
Ferlinghetti mentions Congressman Huxley wants to destroy
'good times'
Everyone gets mad.
Leone dances around Deanne,
Fanny and Samantha join in.
Morena and Mao start smoking a joint
Now everyone has got a pipe.
Our bus driver turns into Morgan Freeman
Hello Morgan Freeman.

Morgan Freeman invites penguins inside the two floor- once bus- now mountain lodge.
Kennedy and Ferlinghetti are speaking in a corner.
They leave the room. My eyes follow them, but I stay with my arms around Champagne and Fontaine.
They get into an SUV
Within twenty minutes, they are in a Greek Styled, post American-Revolution, political institution.
They approach Congressman Huxley.
Huxley pauses in shock when he sees Kennedy
He thinks Kennedy looks like JFK
He does, he's sharp and handsome, wearing a long brown coat and slicked back hair.
It's cold, both Kennedy and Ferlinghetti have a scarf.
They shoot Congressman Huxley
In the name of Freedom.
They make an exit
The cops don't see them
They are white and affluent looking.
They escape.

I see their SUV rolling up.
I lift Megans head from my lap to see the fuss
A steady stream of very passive cop cars settle at the gas station across the street.
They produce weaponry and approach our BusLodge
They wait.
I can see through the barrel of their guns.
They are pointed at our doors.
Waiting.
I hear a whisper from Kennedy's SUV
I see Ferlinghetti zip away on a motorcycle
That motorcycle is going fast
but it wasn't there before.

The cops chase Ferlinghetti.
Ferlinghetti plays games
Breaking and accelerating like he's playing grand theft auto
he has smoked too much marijuana, he thinks.
I gave him shrooms earlier.

Ferlinghetti is hospitalized.
Kennedy sees him in bed.
The oddly large male nurse strips away the
"county hospital" sheets to reveal
"county prison" sheets.
Kennedy is shocked and gets in bed.

Ferlinghetti and Kennedy have not been caught.
They get away.
Because they are white
and somehow the law is ignorant to their crimes.
They are in trouble for speeding.
They make a plea
Now we're celebrating on the bus,
Driving to Cuba
Yes Cuba
Where we'll be safe
Because Ferlinghetti and Kennedy
Had made a plea
to Let the cops
come after me.

Then I woke up
and I am still in suburban Ontario
Realizing a subconscious part of me
Desperately wants to be an American.

Deanne calls me to thank me for the surprise party.

POEMS MOST PEOPLE WOULD FIND GOD AWFUL

'Genocide
On the buds of
My Tongue
Pesticides
Inside the walls of
my Lungs
Discharges
Outside my organs
of Fun


Body
Completely aware of it's self-
Destruction
Mind
Assured in it's
Persecution
Fear
Consuming the patterns of my heart
beat again'


Inconsequential?

MOTHER used to call me a DOPE

Andrew 13:36
haha
but yeah they do want to show you they care. i think further more though, they want the security of you being alright. twenty years of being insanely devoted to one human being, your life's work, you wanna make sure that person is forevz
Andrew 13:38
and so, from what i've realized by smoking weed and drinking and doing poorly in school; my parents are more concerned with my emotional well being and like surviving and having the mental capacity and preparedness to deal with attaining success and the pursuit of happiness

JACKY

When I brought you home, you threw up in the Toyota Tercel. It was 1996.

You were days ahead of death in a Hamilton kennel, you long legged, unwanted, mutt of a Jack Russel.

We ate hot dogs that night, while our mother plead to our father, that you were the missing link.

Our father wouldn't have it personally, but couldn't say no; that's matrimony.

Our brother and I were ecstatic; our mother felt like a martyr, and our father sat home impatiently, anticipating the newest member.

I made a silly joke, to make our brother laugh, because at this point in his life, he snorted, and you just snorted back.

We all were entertained. Our father smiled, and your place in the home was ordained.

For the first few months, we wouldn't let you go. You jumpy little mutt, scaping away between bedrooms where we held you closely on a leash.

You got to meet Stella, un gatto nero e bianca.
Upon command, you'd chase her tail around the hall, but you knew we loved her, and were just as loyal.

When Stella had kittens, you protected them from her, and of her three litters, we kept the smallest one that she delivered, and called it Lola. She was your kitten, until she ran away. Then she was your regret. Until we got Owen, you had few friends.

For a busy family, we were, and let you have the house, we did. All day you'd sit there, imprisoned in a mansion of drywall. Your nose wet with the smell of steaks.

I trust you got it lucky Jacky, they thought that no one wanted you, but we took you home to a chef and made sure to always spoil you.

We soon learned how you loved marshmallows, before we all went camping. Then we stopped at Baskin Robbins, and I bought you vanilla ice cream.

If you were the sheep dog, the bigger dogs were your sheep. You would always be giving them a lesson or two, in the proper conduct of a family.

We trusted your bark was good enough, because we'd never let you bite
and you'd tell us when you were mad at us, by eating up our shoes.

A quiet rebellion, because I think you knew, that you were just as dependent on us, as we were to you.

Likely as I type this, your fur is being soaked with our mother's tears.

While our dad's head slowly floods with the tears he's too afraid to shed.

Our brother is waiting impatiently, on the other side of the world, to fall asleep and dream about his 'favourite girl'

You kept things honest, for a beggar, and we trusted us to let you know when you wanted something.

For 84 years, 15 to me, you smiled with your eyes and chased the waves along the coast of Wasaga beach.

Or at least, we're sure thats what you saw, when you lay down on your bed to sleep, and dream, of waves and rabbits, and a shoreline made of dog-treats.

Today you rest in peace.

I'm going to miss you Jacky, you had a black patch on your left eye, and we'll always share that similarity.

Now you're turning to dust. A needle in the neck. A chemical shooting through your veins, to the rotten brain inside your head.

Last night I gave you a hot dog, and marshmallows, and vanilla ice cream.

I never wanted to see you suffer
My only regret is that I wish I knew how to bark better.