Shakespeare in my ear.
Shakespeare in my chest.
Heart art and sound,
Knowledge stale and stagnant I fear.
Here I will digress.
of maybe thoughts profound.

But more likely not.
Shot my mouth out.
Blank and un-comprehending.
Stop, just stop it.
I want some sort of stimulation,
Variance. A new way for this information to go in.
Black faced and blank.
All this artistic, exclusivity and wank.
Want for inclusion, understanding and good ideas.

Why are you teaching us like this.
What’s got you so stuck in the past?
God, my eyes are sandy.
My soul dishevelled.
Maybe its my status.
Not sad, not happy.
Just waiting, some kind of transitional space.
Without a trace, blanket emotion.
I could get sad,
drunk to fell, to change.
Occupied in my space, only just.
And yet my age.
My age is something I thought on.

So 20’s. What are you fixated on. Sex, drinking? Meeting all kinds of folks.
Being a bum. Occupying yourself, by whatever means and needs you dream and deem necessary.
But 30’s something changes. You spends ten years feeding into becoming a working cog.
Bogged down in some idea, the safety and hospitality of society.
Wined and dined, feeling like everything will be OK if you just produce something.

Pretending that any one person fits my build.
I don’t think right now I like anybody.
I don’t want or need anything from anyone.
I want to be alone.
But even then the dissonance,
the need for some kind of company.
Doldrums, they have been described.
Maybe that’s what it is.
Gosh, I could bitch about this or that for hours.
and nobody would listen.
And why would I?
To what effect? Some kind of expunging of emotion.
My nervous tick?
My twitching chest.
The soreness of my left ankle, left foot,
my tired back, my bitten lips and terrible right shoulder.
The knee that will never again be the same.
The swim I never went for.
The face that is too wide.
The hair that is so unruly.
The smile with its chipped teeth.
The neck that’s too thick, like the legs that lay beneath.
the twain’s splitting from the body.
The hunger, farting, digestion.
Swelling, and sickness.
Ravenous, narcissistic inconsistent.
Wintered sitting soul that resides within the basic and boring body of a middle-man.
Not top or bottom despite the polarized feelings that flit from one to the other.
Back and forth, but only landing for the briefest instant.
Those mistakes of the unconsidered words that I so often preach.
And hairy, like a peach, my sickness grows.
Mold, festering heart of stagnation and indignation.
Maybe I just need sleep.
Rest and a day off.
The psychological battle of being accepted and knowing people.
working for the friendships,
of my underarching happiness,
inevitable as it may be.
The smell of old hippo-meat clings to the air as I enter the flat.
Put your bongs down child.
Embrace the world for it may still possess something nice.
But why do I apply onto others.
Let them be and do as they please.
Why aren’t I happy with what I have got.

Am I? Must I? Be so affected.
Is this subsistence of existence an example of growth or learning?
Yes yes, that’s certainly something that happened.
But the ship has sailed and left me on the dock,
and now I feel like i’m wasting away.
Don’t fear your bleeding teeth,
my red-reproduction – so joggers bladder overflows the cauldron of my mind,
and more. The taste in my mouth, bitter, acidic.
The coffee I take now, in a takeaway coffee cup.
The dread.
Defeat, the change which has come over me isn’t for the better.
I have lost.
Lost and lost, lots and lots.
And now I am no more, than the barnacle or cyst of one that clings-
To a chair. And man, is the chair of the board.
Bored of sitting. And yet it is just this that I must partake.
For god’s sake.
Take from me these horrible and blind feelings.
Let me sense something more,
push boundaries and experience new and exciting things in only this respect.
Where once I rode up hill, worked hard, sweated and enjoyed envy.
Not I sit miserably, un-laughing, growing fat with downcast wonder.

How can I break this.

Today I got a haircut and a hot shave.
There’s something decidedly refreshing, relaxing and rewarding in the pampers of a haircut. The pointless chatter, the points of insight and the white lies you tell the barber. Their gentle dabbing, slapping, cutting and spraying of perfumes, oils and hair. As you fear that your look is being destroyed. Your inner turmoil over your style. The wiping, after each grating action that removes a bit of your facial hair. The concentration intertwines with the honest vulnerability. The gentle touches, the craftsman’s approach, gently assertive. Molding, shaping, sculpting.
Pushing on your chin, alignment, symmetry.
The soft skin under your chin, a hot straight razor, tests the skins surface.
The sound of leaves dragging over tarmac, or hay as it gently cracks under foot in a bar somewhere.
Out of the cold, sunny as it is this Canadian November.
Wooden interior, hanging lights, trophies mounted on the wall.
Like a ski lodge.
“Who cuts a barber’s hair?” I think to myself and I finally close my eyes to focus on the sensation of this encounter. Relaxed and trusting. No longer taking part in the conversation. Carefree. Blessed with faith; the abandon of worries that plague the new customer.

Owe vs Own. Etymology.
Arte
I should watch the doco on the cartels of lightbulbs.

Live without compromising future generations.
Genetics

Bb – Brown
bb – blonde
BB – Brown

Virus’ aren’t alive.

Don’t forget punctuation.
“COMPLELLING”… nonsense.

In this example, Macbeth can be seen in the light of the warrior and glorified and successfully resplendent warrior at that, however this is the track for his ascension and the perceivable barriers that are placed before him only those relating to humanity and not specifically his gender, it is this link between humanity, (or humaneness) that encompass gender and the further filtering and precognition that relate to femininity and masculinity and its these trappings that Shakespeare deftly tries to peel away, identify and question.

How do I eat this apple?

I had another thought. Progressive, reconstructive, destructive, broken, nonsense.
“Great”

Get two words.
Don’t put a space between them.
For example: Hit that
So it become hitthat
But remove a letter. A letter of your choosing for poetic effect.
For simplicity, for a fantastical and magical effect.
Don’t yothink that woulbe a gooddea?
Maybeot. Somelook better than others.
its just a typing script.
Good/bad practices that are accepted.
Like on my phone when instead of a space I put an ‘n’
Yeah manni’m good. Notngoing out tonight. Nah man it’s been a reallynbusy week.
Findingnthat space bar can be difficult. haha

Lets smash this, give it a shot.
A full entailment, unveilment, sale mate, settlment. Mettle mean. Man a tee.
Maintenance. Countenance. Flourish. Parish. Partish.
Friends People. Messages. Megg.
meegy.
Kaito, message.
music, Rowan.
Life’s meaning.
message and attribution.
Words in a song that aren’t words, and have no meaning, yet still have power.
Are potent. And strictly emotional.
Noxos, noxis, noxes, toxic. Nocturnal.
Warm water and wine time. Fine, blimey.
Daily prayers, biblical.
Hope. Fate, death and destruction.
Darkness, and blind to the inevitable. The synapses closed, not rubbing.
Not excited, alive, human, conjoining or able.
To link all things together.
To find what I seek.
That deeper question, that function, and help, the AID of comprehension.
That black and white of the piano keys.
Touching different note, twinkling like the stars in the sky.
Pointed, visible, yet vague beyond comprehension or numerical value. No time, no effort made. Sick and deathly to be so transfixxed. Hopelessly lost.
Outstanding, subduing. Shackled by out fear of the outside.
Of laziness. Hoo-hooo?
Out sugar addictions, childish ways and mean, our loss and pathetically short, barely regimented lives. Nonsensical. Brains made to make us last as long as we can.
But sometimes thing, all things, everything we sense, speeds up. And we just glide on through.
Put your salmon down, quit and hope, spash and grab at hospitality’s hope.
Up close and personal. GOD ADS. Shame on you, but i love. Love rock planet.
I read a great sad thing about love yesterday.
People say they love objects that are inanimate objects. This is perverse and undoes our vocabulary.
People posit and position themselves in a way as to seem superior.
Where do you draw the line between the idiot, the fool and the honest. Furthermore the disabled? Who decided this spectrum? Ah yes, lets measure, chop into brains and try to demonstrate and understanding. Jesus CHRIST. I could blagg, I could brag,, be a god among all in a world of the demented. How sporadically functional I could well be. Lets play the drums.
The hairy hairy drums.
Pool and silk. Sex on the pool table.
An album tour, by the vasco era.
Define all those words.
ANACHRONISTIC.
yes yes yes yes yes.
would the writer murder his own mother for money, thankyou Faulkner.
and the poetic, uprising, damned.
The yellow smoke and hating yourself.
The cat meets dog, analogy, growing old but still tempted, disturbing and honest.
Lemon pie apple tart organised. Orgies and door men.
The woman in charge of the lift has her ups and down.
I use my work to drive me, onwards to other tasks.
Coward, but hey we’ll revisit this moment perhaps, one day and wonder, yes yes we will wonder.
And THE LIGHTHOUSE, it could well be good, i’ve heard good things after all.
and that beady eyed bastard wasn’t all that bad. Thankyou for Bon Iver.
BONHIVER.
BON-EE-VER.
Reminded me of “and then I just chundered everywhere”
Gap year bollocks. GAP YAHH.
I’m literally in BURMA.
and all the jazz, about “PRAH” Per-ahh… *Peru*.
yaaaa! PRAH darling.
Language and its functions. Hypocrisy will always be for me.
Guzzle guzzle, swollen eyes and world wards.
We are all dehydrated.
Something to mark the time, scars and all.
Burns, victims, insatiable hunger.
How long for a full reset.
Wipeout, meltdown, shut-down. Tones and whistles as the bombs fall.
What will tomorrow bring?
Don’t forget to vote, if you want to.
People don’t have to vote.
Some aren’t qualified.
Imagine if there was one person for the time, that was qualified and because of the majority, the platform, mischance of sick and wayward, weird hap of stance and chance, change and make us all blind to fact and necessity.
But if it is, then it would and if it didn’t then… Nothing.
aye laddie. Nothing.
Don’t leer or Lear. For nothing.
That is all.
Signifying nothing, pah and fie and hark.
And all that jazz.
find me a tune that inspires beyond.
I’m yet to finish this drink and feel up to this.
Feet cold, not ever. Not like last night.
Added Bruno to my friends list on facebook, there is my one mention per day.
God life can be structured and banal.
Tour.
VASCO.
Frosted flakes!

I wonder if somewhere out there.
I wonder if somewhere out there, there are people that think like me.
With the same beliefs, hopes and fears.
They see the lights of the city at night.
And they see an opal.
They see the planet as a macrocoms.
They see the planet as a microcosm.
The big is small and significant.
The significan is an unseen natural order.
“Gravity dude” – as a fool once repeated to me, over and over.
God how that annoyed me. I’ve the blessed trouble of asking why.
The problem. The task, the innate.
I am the boy looking up,
looking out, smiling and fighting tears in the cold wind.
Tired but a moment from coming into energy.
Just wait. I digress. A poor man’s mind.
Man oh man.
Unconscious, eyes open to all I do not see.
Floating, in and above.
Full of air – don’t you see.
I bet there are people out there like me.
I should look, I try to ask.
But I can’t explain my ideas.
I’m bad. Not the best.

So the world is like an atom.
The motion of the solar system around our sun.
The sun is the centre of some middle manifestation.
A giant part of what we can comprehend using sight – directly.
It takes so much time to set up in the mind, like pins.
Like bowling but so far from it.
The materials that make everything up.
Our definitions and language is so young.
Our consuming a sickness.
Unsustainable I think, I worry we’ll die out before we get the brains to fix us.
To get factual, not mumbo and jumbo.
If our planet was once green and the burning off of fossil fuel causes the darkness, what will we become.
Will earth turn arid. A red planet in Time?
From Green and Blue to Red.
What are the materials that we attribute to colour.
I look out at night and I see the Opal.
We attribute wealth to stones, and we see them for their colour, their makeup,
strength, use and after a fashion their allusion to our internal.
How strong are these stones?
How durable and sure of themselves.
Are we planet from emerald and sapphire to DIAMOND?
Will we glisten and reach outer space?
Or will we turn ruby, burn up our resources and become barren, like clay or dessert sand. Common and disfigured? When was our charcoal stage?
Were the ice ages us as a snowball? Can we last? Do we just dig?
Bury our heads in the sand, as the heat rises around us, we’ll suffocate.
Selling fresh air, if that’s our future then I know why she did it.
Why she ended it all.
But there’s so much, much to experience that can be a little blessing.
Couldn’t your sickness have just riddled you and left you ridden on the couch.
I know pleanty that would have ridden you, just not me.
Not your breath. Not your own charcoaling of your soul.
My aversion to the burnt smell of tar.
I am afraid of the pitch within my mind, so I need it not on the breath of loved-ones, nor in their lungs.
Is cancer curable? Are the insufficient systems in place at the momement just a business opperation? Skinny love, put on your beanie, step out into the cold.
Hang it all.
Ask my friend Rhys, Reece bars. I am be twix.
Why not wine about it all.
Fill that void, he said. Fill the void with what?
I don’t know, you just occupy the space, hand no hankerchief or tissue, what’s with the importance of the tears and snots that you wipe up anyway.
Significane is again misattributed.
Are we all just posturing?
caught on a small, minute and miniscule loop of thought?
Potty trained for all things?
Quick quips, lost in the already occured.
Gods the tears stream.

Seizure as placebo thing.
Bit hands that reach for your mouth.
Save your tongue,
blood, blood, blood everywhere.
And my tears dried in my mind.
And I just watched.
Cold feeling.
Sensation.
Emotion. Stunning,
Oh I was stunned.
Sick, morose and morbid.
Useless, but allowing myself my only function.
Stare, comprehend, judge, allow affection.
The rise and drop.
Sugar.
I’m sorry.
I’m so bloody sorry.
I wish I could have made self sacrifice.
That wonderful look you had.
Those games.
The games we play.
Nails pinching eyelids.
For fear of missing the watch.
Stay awake, or go away.
Choose if you think you are,
if you think you can.
Nature nurture.
Genie elements.
The suicide narrative, but none of their parents did it?
Because, oh well maybe, they reproduced then did it..
“them’s the times” alack. A lack of knowing, is always with me.
Why and the why of whys.
Sloppy rig, be dashed!
let me loathe.
Loath for want of something else, always.
Put your sugars away,
lock them in a tower.
its all been done.
Unique? We are duped.
The duplicity of my reality, the tandem, and retardation of my mumbling grumbling quantom of nonsensical wantonness for friendship and shared numbness. A lostness, hope for a wrapper for my life.
To tell me, with instructions what was needed then, will be needed then. And then and then and then.
Now and then and then. Future and past and so.
So what?
Sew.
my fucking holy shorts.
Eat my shorts.
What’s that doll?
Running hot. Cold feet, piano and my thoughts.

Will the planet ever be green again?
Will we outlast the Topaz in the sky?
I can’t even stare at it.
Its unreal to me.
I can only bask in its glory.
I know why you believe in god.
Its like the sun.
Pray.

What the fuck is going on here.

When you exercise do you steal energy from the universe?
Why am i still thinking so small.
God dammit.

Surely there is something smaller than atoms.
we aren’t so naive to think we’ve discovered the ULTIMATE building blocks to all things. Our rules for science and are the best we’ve got and we’ve got shit.
Smeared on walls, or broken down and recycles, constructions made from trees.
Suffocating in the byproducts. Our bipolar disorder of dread and happiness sought oscillates, reverberates, ripples through us all. Is shared, as a burden on naivety that can’t reach beyond the clouds.
Bi-products -haha.
Thanks for the lollies.

So there must be something smaller than atoms.
What causes gravity?
You can’t see it.
Do we just use maths and the word QUALITIES?
Can we understand that we’re lost in the mist?
We’re blinded by the sequins of the sky.
And this address and broken my own heart and its tragic.
Tragic.

Our size. Matters.
We aren’t large or small.
We don’t HAVE perspective.
I don’t mind the creations-
the ideas and constructions of shapes.
perfection doesn’t exist?
Then we deny the function of our days.
There is mystery.
But there is order, is happening.
Action. Fear reality or not?
Do I stand and try to prove this to myself?
As my chest rises and falls.
I could climb on the roof, hell!
Yell and shout, cause a fuss.
and money, oh the money i’d pay.
And the death row i’d be on.
Skid row.
A skid mark of society.
My day to fucking day.
Jesus Christs. Girl.
Baby. Squeeze lime into my eye.
what do I want.
What do I want to say.
What do I attribute value?
Destroy me, let this dead guy sleep.
Put me in a washing basket,
heavy soil.
tumble dry.
Hit me with the spade,
Cut my throat with the blunt tool.
Knock me out, see if my will,
my thinking, wanting, need for life.
A desire keeps me on-going.
Maybe i’m too torn from the real.
Maybe I’m ahead of myself.
But I want to share, to ask honestly.
because I want to know
WAN’T
WAN”T
‘WANT”
To know, if you’ll help me attribute value, share and understand.
I’m afraid.
I’m alone, annoyed and the fear and dishonesty.
The scarecrows wandering each day.
Nobody, the sheets that you are wrapped,
ensnared.
God my headache.
Watch this shit,
this ship- go down.
How long is our moment.
Naked getting.
Economies, trade and survival.
Put the money where the mind is.
And just be happy.
First place in the race to nowhere,
nothing and doom.
Sparring and sparks, are meaningless.
Is the journey of Niggle and Marlow important?
How long will their memory last?
THIS IS WHAT DETAINS ME.
THIS AND THE MACROCOSM AND ITS SAMENESS TO THE MICRO.

You’ve got your mother eyes.
I don’t.
What’s going on?

They say “TWICE” on a condom advertisement.
Like having sex twice is some sort of unicorn moment.
Strange.
My teacher today said “Literally” as a throw away complimentary adverb.
Strange emphasis if you ask me.

I had a dream a few nights ago. Passed? Past? Nights past.
I’ve had dreams of loose teeth. And then finally I had a progression, my teeth from the top back corner of my mouth came out. But a great many came out in a solid block of my bloody gumline. I don’t know what it means.
I wonder if we are all one consciousness, some kind of hive mind, all intersharing information on a sensational level that we are yet to understand.
If that’s the case, I wonder why there are some people I don’t like, or don’t understand on a face value.

I’m drinking peppermint, tea.
And spending most of the rest of today in bed.
I am shattered.
I wonder how many of the different variety’s of pear I have tried?
I have a lot a lot of reading to do.
Better find me some references and set some alarms in the event that I nod off before class again.
The struggle is real.

Six and nine. When one is seen upside down, there is no difference.
Yet being upside down is seen in a change by 3.
Symbols and their meanings change.
Yeah great, nobody cares for a basic digress.
Lets talk of sex or something real.
Well six is the devils number, and is only one vowel away from our target audience’s desire. I’ll tell you something real “we had sex”. I remember her saying.
I was sickened somehow, shocked.
Scat Jazz – “squirt jizz”.
The french ears hear what they want, I myself was rolling with laughter.
Scat, shit.

Pick up some leaves
Write the significance of a journey.
Wash clothes
Jog.

Six is significant to me, because hats the amount of sleep i’m functioning on.
I ate peanutbutter for breakfast and an apple and a carrot.
Last night I had two steaks.
I felt weak, and strange, and off.
I feel that again today but for different reasons.
My head is a bubble,
My thumbnail is red.
The uOttawa computer system is cooked.

Elouise- is the owner of Bluemen Studios.
Where I had coffee in the sun, drank water, chatted and watched the plants grow as the cars drive by. Green and grey, yellow and blue, black and dusty white with envy, wonder and mystery.

“I said I would serve Narnia
But i’m nearly slicing myself” -November 1, 1:33am

You’re so disabled.
You better watch out for fruit flies.
-(whispers) because you a vegetable.

Just one day.
One poem and
But one desire.

Sleep with sunglasses on!

The most recent eggcorn I heard:
“I’ll have my eggs sunny fried up”
… You mean sunny side up?
Yeah.
Egg-corn.

It is what it is,
people are human,
You always become the thing you hate the most.
*Like someone that makes no sense, but repeats himself.

I never visited the Grand Electric in Toronto.

WHAT ARE BLOORS.
Oh my god I rememeber the reference.
That series, Charlie Bone was it?
The pianist, magic and snakes and scary stuff.
BLOORS! Whoa.

Will shall be sterner, heart bolder, spirit greater
as our strength lessens.

O solve me the riddle of life,
The teasingly time-old riddle,
Over which many heads already have brooder.,
Heads in hats of hieroglyphics,
Turbaned heads and heads in black skull-caps,
Heads in perrukes and a Thursday other
Poor, perspiring human heads-
Tell me, what signifies Man?
Whence does he come? Whither does he go?
Who lives up there upon golden star?

Bungee jumping tomorrow.
Super scattered, food baby.
Tired, angry, want for chatting.

Off to the pool today.
Whelming feeling of watching a person be attacked by a bear.
Trying to write my thoughts of what it is in narratives to go on a journey.
What does it mean in Shakespeare’s day to be a man.
I miss Scotland. Not really, I just think of it sometimes.
No shave november. Meets Mo-vember.
Got deadlines. Lots to think about.
Should probably do some washing. 3pm, coffee.
Yes, yes that will be good.
As my mind focuses, needs swell. Ideas blossom.
Outcomes man, talk outcomes. Coffee blistering ideas.
Pop and burst on the page.
Like acid burning through. Demonstrate the real.
Quote from the books.
Be real.
Try and rattle the cage, don’t suppress your thoughts.
Like the guy that speaks of his car.
Envelop your ideas, have them out!
Havat you thoughts.
Have them marked.
Yes good, convey away young man.
Be fearless. Bear all, grin while you do.
The crazy meaningless, the stresses and strangeness of “IT ALL”.
Let it out, off your back, and be convincing.
Commit, enjoy,

What do you fear:
US ALL. HE SHE ENGAGEMENT.
(The WMC) War Museum Canada.
Tanks, guns, designs, stories and eye tests.
How we kill eachother.
Take over lands. Conquest.
Strangling others wasn’t enough.
How we develop our sickening ideas.
Standoffs. Subtle in the microcosm-
Disgusting in the macrocosm.
Barely holistic.
We are the rotten cell.
Can we adapt, or will we turn into the fungus.
Show me that parallel.
What a strange idea.