9/10/09

Sludge


Kitchen sink waste
Refusing to go down
Black sludge filling my dreams
Scent of decay ruining my nostrils
Seeping down, down, through the floorboards
Trying to make its escape
To infect the rivers and lakes
Ruining my floorboards,
Ruining my day
Black as night, toxic
Smell the evil, the bad intentions
Out comes the bleach, yet
It only dilutes, not penetrating
The core, only adding to its power
By any effort to destroy it
Deep, dark depths, a reflection
Of the evil within your soul
A ghost in the pipes
Made physical by years of neglect
Now roams the rooms
Free again to torment, paranoia
Bubbling up; grease, decay
Broken dreams, forgotten promises
Leaving me to clean up the mess
Bending my back, leaving this dirt
Under my skin, a scent you can’t cleanse
And this exists under all of our kitchens
A simile for improper maintenance
Of pipes and of life
The more metaphysical mess
Isn’t so easily washed away
Into the gutters
Once it is contained
You carry it with you
Forever looking for a disposal site
For the darkness, the blackness, bile
Spewing up from down below
Like Satan’s vomit
The water will flow clean
Once more
With time

8/27/09

A Thursday Poem



because i was worried
that the walls were collapsin
maybe i shouldn't have taken so many pills
from that unmarked bottle
i found behind the garbage bin
in the alley

7/29/09

For Hank


Hank, You disgust me.


When I think of you, I’m reminded of a stench, akin to rancid cat urine, sour, acrid, attacking the nostrils which remains in the fabric of my memory for days, months, years, a lifetime! I believe even dog shit to be above you. You are a ninny, a rat bastard and a fool, not worth tuppence to a soul. I’m frankly surprised you haven’t yet offed yourself and saved humanity from your evil, cantankerous, malignant, misinformed filth. I wouldn’t stop and give you the time of day if your life depended on it and I was made of clocks.


You fraud! Pretender! Would that I had magical abilities, I would transform you into something useful, perhaps a roll of toilet paper, as shit seems to be attracted to you. Excuse my vulgarity, but Hank, you seem to bring out the worst in people. I can barely look at you without become overcome with an unquenchable urge to find the nearest sharp object and de-octify myself! I doubt that would bring any reliefhowever, as no one can forget the pure vileness of your image. You look like someone tried to put out a forest fire on your face with a pickaxe, you humdrum kaleidoscopic human garbage disposal!


FIE! Fie on you! If there were no moral or legal consequence to my actions, I would not hesitate to strangle you in the most violent fashion and nail you to a stump in the town square, where people would come from miles away to shit and piss upon your wretched lifeless corpse. Restaurants would be invited to dump their used deep-fryer grease upon you, and you would be vomited on most riotously and finally set on fire, an outhouse built upon your ashes. May you contract syphilis and disappear, you worthless fleshbag.


Jibber-Jabber

7/21/09

A Pathetic Apology

I’m a sad case for a writer, considering I’ve never written anything of much value. Perhaps this admonition will embiggen your spirit (if you are a small man [and please note here I do not give in to this political correctness scam] or, if you are already inflated of ego, then it will lift you to new heights) or simply make you feel sorry for me. I don’t mind the latter, as this is how I’ve gotten into most of my recent relationships (despite their few-and-far-between characteristics). No matter what you think of me, let’s all agree upon this (and if you’re not into the prospect of blind agreement, please read no further): my correspondence to you is enjoyable, and if nothing else, provides a welcome vacation from the dullaries of everyday life listed as follows: caring about things, employment, laundry, dishes, talking and/or interacting with a significant other or family member (girlfriend/boyfriend, husband/wife, mother, brother, father, imaginary troll that lives under the bed and makes strange noises in the night [making you jolt awake terrified as you try to adjust your eyes to the darkness not daring in that instant to reach over and turn on the lamp, heart pumping, I hate that fucking troll]).

Despite my deep and intrinsic sadness, perhaps we can all find some value in these lighthearted ponderings: you, read these pathetic attempts at stringing words together in a coherent fashion and smile, perhaps, at the very least, not cry. Me, while my tears soak the paper of drafts 1 to 6 of this letter, feel a small sense of satisfaction of having made a difference. Albeit this difference is so small, so insignificant as to barely register in the annals of history, I’ll concede that it is not completely in vain. Someday, someone somewhere somehow (seemingly: a Somalian Sommelier summering south of Spain) will read these words tattooed onto the rear end of his camel (how these words became tattooed on the rear end of a camel, or why the Somalian was so closely examining its rear end I fear we shall never divine) and say “Gadzooks! This was a troubled man, let us remember him for what he was: a lazy, good-for-nothing vagabond with a poor work ethic and fear of personal relationships.”

The point of this discourse I have long forgotten, but the means by which we have gotten to this point are clear: one man, meaning to move mountains merely by mentioning miraculous memories. I apologize, I am regretful, I rescind my rights to regale you with tales of love and scurvy at sea. You’ve suffered at the behest my penstroke long enough. I have taken so many liberties with language that I should by all intents and purposes do the honourable thing and ask its father for its hand in marriage. It would, at minimum, legitimize our bastard love child borne of too many Simpsons re-runs. And it is with a heavy heart and a weathered spirit in which I leave you no better than I found you, but with this humble apology to carry you on your way.

May a Shark Bite Me,


Jibber-Jabber

4/14/09

Oh ye Learned Men of Olde



I'd like to share with you some insights (perhaps to make up for weeks and weeks of no affirmations you poor darlings) entitled:

Things I've learned over the last little while

1. Writing is hard. Like really goddamn hard. Don't take it up. Poetry though, is pretty much like riding a bike. Only the stupidest, most uncoordinated or lazy people are incapable of doing it. The best part of poetry is that it doesn't even have to rhyme! It's like stealing.

Or am I only telling you to give it up because I will stand out when my first novel is published? Now I just have to start writing it.

2. Most song melodies have just been re-used from older songs. It's almost as if there is simply a waiting period (say, 30 or 40 years) until it is acceptable to use that melody again. Pay close attention and you'll see. An attachment to this: it really shows Canadians' taste in music when Nickelback is the most successful band.

3. Once you hit 25, people 5 years younger than you are automatically cooler. I think this has less to do with being trendy or "scene" or whatever other retarded label people attach and more with a certain energy that comes with youth. I see it happening all the time! As time passes, many of my peers become satisfied with just living, carefully not offending anyone, and accepting the limits of our society. I do believe though that this is a result of our civilisation slowly crushing the enthusiasm out of its youth until they're forced to become "responsible" adults.

*and here I was interrupted by:

4. Nozy co-workers. There's nothing that spoils the day more than when the boss has left one of your co-workers in charge and they go on some crazy power trip and accuse you of spending all afternoon "on the internet" which is totally true but you thought you were buds. Then they say they're "disappointed in you." Sorry I don't slave away at my work like a maniac and take work home in the evening. I guess that's why the boss puts you in charge! My internet usage is not bothering anyone. and you turning your neck to look over at what I'm doing 25 times a day sounds WAY more productive. How do you be the bigger person when someone is just shitting on you? Some have said that they are just jealous because I get my work done faster and more efficiently. If I wasn't getting my work done, then there would really be cause for concern.

Sorry, ranting.

As you can see, I haven't learned too much over the last little while. Am I, like so many of my generation, drifting into conformity and complacence like so many paper ships on the ocean, driven by the wind of the younger generation, only to become water-logged and sink lazily into obscurity? I hope to God not. If I do, please slap some sense into me.

Steadfastly,

Jibber-Jabber

2/27/09

Design Challenges #1


This poster design involved alot of information, coupled with an image that the client wanted in its original form. Some English to French translation was also necessary.


2/23/09

Mr. Sting - A Poem


My desert friend; my confidant

Found in all the greatest haunts

For all the poison you disseminate

A love that won't discriminate

We humans that are brave enough

Cross species lines and pick you up

Only to quickly learn;

The biting pain for which we yearn

I feel I could shut my eyes

And rest forever here;

You could make a home

Out of my skull - Oh Stingy One!

These arid places you call home

You'll never need to roam alone

Beware the slithery devils whom

Sneak and slide right up on you

So battle-ready you must make;

How I hate those Goddamn Snakes

Inhabiting this god-forsaken place.

Mighty Crab of Land

You make me feel like quite a man;

Sting me, sting me, sting me thrice

Despite all of my mom's advice

I remain a faithful comrade

In your army

Of hard-shelled saber wielding warriors

So for now I pace these winding corridors

Waiting for my chance

To dance with death

My friend

Mr. Sting.

2/5/09

With egg on my face I return. I'd like to blame my move from Ottawa - the coldest place on earth - to the bustling vibe of Toronto, but I fear that certain people won't let me get away with that. I'd pretend to apologize but rather, I'll rant about the one and only thing about my new home that drives me nuts - poor sidewalk etiquette.


I'm not sure whether it was Ottawa's wider 'walks or the fact that there are fewer people, or maybe it was just that everyone still retained small town mentality (i.e. manners), but I never experienced the jostling, pushing, shoving, swearing, spitting, and general rudeness as I do now.


On a daily basis I gird myself to dodge around people that decide to stop abruptly, play Red Rover with the teenagers walking in large groups, or the people biking on the sidewalk. I mean, I know at 5'11" I'm super hard to miss, you might even be in awe of how large I am and get confused and walk into me (insert godzilla reference here), but it really does amaze me how awful Torontonians are on the sidewalk. I fear that I am turning into one of them - even if you say "excuse me" to get around one of those "slow walkers" they have no intention of moving. I find myself fighting the urge to plough through groups of people as well......I must head to the country quick to reconnect with my core pavement values for fear of turning into one of them.

1/26/09

Will YOU Be Ready?


I'm sure some (or all) of you have heard of the Great Ascention of 2012. Yes, that's the one. The Great one. It's the time when we humans evolve into a higher being; some would say a being of pure light, or if you play the religion angle, then maybe angels? I don't know. One thing I'm sure of though is that I'm not going to be goddamn left behind. However, many millions of people will be left on the living hell of a dying wasteland that earth will soon become.

I know you're skeptical right now. You're saying: this sounds crazy! How do I know for sure that this "ascention" is going to happen anyway? Well, you don't know. The same way that people believe in God! It's called Faith, read up on it.

I suppose a more apt explanation would be Pascal's work with probability (after spending a lifetime as a mathematical genius then suddenly finding God and abandoning all earthly tribulations) in which he reasoned that the effort it took worship and devote his life to God had a much bigger paying payoff than taking the chance of God not existing - I mean, who wants to end up in Hell?

I hope this sheds some light on the whole situation for you. I feel that it's my duty to prepare as many people as possible for this (but only the cool ones that I like - who wants to spend eternity with some joe-schmoe?). Here are several things you can do to prepare:

1. Meditate for 5-6 minutes per day...imagine collecting all of the sun's light in an ever-expanding ball above your head - see how long you can keep it there.

2. Detach yourself from your earthly possessions; they can't come with you! Neither can your little kitty Sniffles, sorry. Try to make peace with that.

3. Try to be as physically fit as possible so that you'll be prepared for any eventuality.

I know we can do this. Together.

Yours in Ascention,

Jibber-Jabber