Money Matters

money matters

like monkey bladders 

splatter dumbly

onto any humble mumbler's

tattered mental jumble

Gospel

Last night a coward visited me

in a dream. 

He told me how to approach life.

I asked him

Silently first, then aloud:

How can you teach 

while being such a fool?

I felt aggressive and assertive

but he deserved it.

spittle whiplash

i think about spitting out

this thick and clinging gout

lingering in my throat.

And immediately hence

i consider the thoughts 

of each person in earshot;

whether or not 

i make myself better, healthier in public 

for fear of turning someone off.

For Ginsberg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The tiny robot that stole my personality

I would not want to waste all my lines into the crag of msn conversations. There is something about the medium of messaging that eliminates any possibility to be memorable. Details, fine. But what of the witticisms that become incompatible with one’s memory? Those spontaneous audible-laugh-inducing quips? Wasted! Away they slide-o down the sloppy mush-leaf clogged eaves trough of intangible communication. Yet another sigh escapes these tired lungs. What a sacrifice to make for minutes revelling in the sweet indulgence of convenience-tainment. This is very dangerous. The bonds made in person with laughter cannot be digitally replicated, a fact we all must know and ignore by now. The time spent squinting and pushing tiny buttons is time away from looking through air at faces and listening to voices talk about crudely unimportant issues.
In short the more one sacrifices time experiencing people, the fewer redeemable points are accumulated towards the ultimate prize of joie de vivre.
It is important to realize how expensive diddly-gizmos are.

so i was walking today to the movies and i found someone's cellular phone. i immediately put it into my pocket and proceeded to handle it obsessively, as is the fashion. later, i investigated it to the best of my abilities. after invading as much digitally stored privacy as i was capable, i now have no use for the device. i am in an ethical conundrum. likely i will slip it into someone's bag at the market tomorrow, or put it in a coffee cup and give it to a homeless person.

dirty floor: 1 individuality: 0

i was thinking at the airport about a winnie the pooh sticker on the floor. the floor there, and most zones where the floor is a perfect flat plane, eliminates variation of levels on which people stand. Their physical qualities and mannerisms become the only variable in places that are constructed, static. I attempted to conclude that human individuality is amazing and a great phenomenon. This was rejected by the falseness and pretentions i noticed after watching interactions and the lack thereof. the floor all the while was consistent and provided equal treatment to all. it was also crusted with the dirt of shoes from all over the planet (shoes of those who can afford air travel), workers and politicians, children and lonely bachelors, the wealthy alongside Tim Hortons staff, pilots and washed out quasi-artists like myself.

the fact that a floor is manmade is no redemption, tiles and concrete transcend the inconsistency and emotional impressionability of their makers.