And then

What should I do?

Funeral Blues

Funeral Blues
by W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Tuesday, June.

Juney Tuesday stands at the bus stop
Stomps her foot
Hears a noise and looks up.
Gum Shoe
It's not a mystery
Her step is stuck.
When
One two three
The bus roars past-
Misses it's turn
Blocks up traffic
Blows it's horn.

Juney Tuesday sunburned
With a manuscript
and a shoulder bag.
Going home.

Home Alone Baseball Game.

Post grilled cheese sandwich- I watch Elvis Costello chat up Zooey Deschanel on television.

One.

Wilson, Carl.

Let's Talk (About Love)
(brackets mine)

Pg.77

...Brain science has shown how musical pleasure is structured by expectation and familiarity, in a particular song (when will the pattern resolve, and how?), between songs (is this music like other music we know and like?) and between genres (do you know the rules of this kind of music?). Balancing repetition and novelty is crucial.

The Next Little Bit...

This blog has been neglected to the highest degree. Like celsius, lately. I've been feeling guilty for not blogging and as such haven't even come near this place in months.

Doctor.(Homonym)
Remedy.(Synonym)

I'm going to start slowly, a toe-in.

A sort of hello-this-is-what-I'm-reading.

In quotes like.

Coyote in the Beach

In the future looking backwards, in the photo albums, this will be the rose period.
The glow period. Early.

Thinking about the nature of honesty, and secrets. We know we can't say absolutely anything to anyone. For the sake of peaceful relations. For the sake of propriety, for privacy. We can omit our disagreements, our tactlessness. We can stay silent.

How far does this go? Could you have a long relationship friendship with someone secretly disagreeing with decisions they make always? What about their haircut? What about something vital? Could we silently allow? Forever?

And the other person, would they want their friend, their intimate as a friend without knowing their strong opinions good or bad? Would they be happier not knowing? Would they rather be friends with you (as a doll)?

It's like Susan Sontag's idea of (x). It's very x-y. Secret personalities. The answer of course, I think is that we only become close to people whose dark and secret opinions match our dark and secret own. Or the ones whom we can't offend.

The other relations in our lives, largely acquaintances, maybe relatives see our x-ish personality. X, the scourge.

......

In Toronto right now there is a coyote loose in the beach. He killed a chihuahua. Newspaper headlines announce that the city is now hunting him. Bureaucrats are hunting the hunter. I don't think it's fair. While he killed someone's pet, to him it was just a bug, a squirrel. Now I imagine the circle is closing in on said coyote, in a shrinking habitat, and a shrinking city.

My heart literally stopped when I read this

Engagement

Whaaaaaaaaaaat???

Life in Large Format

Walking home in a fur coat
I pass homeless men
Hop puddles in worn down shoes
without
arch support

SPLASH

Into a puddle
Causes panoply of thoughts, unpleasant

Perturbed am I by soaking sneaker
frostbitten toe, frozen

naked

Along the way I've met my man
he helps.

We hobble up Shaw street
Korean grocery bag on one arm

We shiver while we pass
Big screen televisions
Corner store DVDs and
One thousand Christmas lights

Sunday

One more email and
It's one more Prize for Poetry.

Cash prize-deadline,
Can-you-string-those
Words together?

And I'll send it in with a full name
He doesn't go by.

Then we wait by the window for news
or a
Bird

Something about fear of death by carbon monoxide poisoning.

In my dream, in the old house, she is pacing by the window, hysterical. Each passing car she points out. Each passenger, each driver, another one who doesn't love her. I scream at her "forget it!"

I storm out. She falls apart.

From the Daily Show re: C-A-N-A-D-A

Reporting from today's Globe and Mail:

He spoke of Prime Minister Stephen Harper's move to suspend Parliament rather than face a non-confidence vote that could topple his government.

“Force him from office? You can do that?” Stewart half-whispered to the camera. “Because we've had no confidence in our guy for quite some time now. And he's taking forever to leave.”

Stewart then showed video footage of a protester yelling, “what are you afraid of, sir?” at Harper. An incredulous Stewart mocked, “Sir? You're heckling him, it's not a job interview! Do you Canadians save all your obnoxious-ness for hockey games?”

Stewart also noted that Canada's chief export “is jokes that they are the butt of.”