martha/maria

Well, Hello there Mister…erm…isses,

I’m glad that we have the chance

To meet under such informal headings.

It’s really rather hard to believe

The Annual Black and White Social has plagued us once again.

I know I got the invite ages ago-

I believe your secretary sent it to me.

What was her name again?

Martha… Maria… It starts with an M right?

Maybe a P?

Oh my wretched memory-

Who knew all those years

Of bottle tokes, joints, bongs,

Zongs and Cheech and Chong would actually affect me?

I personally know at least 100 grandmas’s

That say masturbation will make you go blind-

And I’ve tested that theory 14,945 times…

Sorry, 14,947 times,

And I can still see their wrinkly hands.

Every single stroke.

This being the sole reason; I never took science to heart.

Anywho…

This may sound like an excuse list

But refuse this notion

For this is neither folklore nor commotion,

But honest quips

Spewed forth from my lips

Let me begin from the beginning…

So about this invite

I meant to write

To you back in the day.

Please understand

That I struck sick

When some rubber stick

Got stuck in my anal gland.

It was a colonic gone wrong

I won’t string it along

But I milked a day off of work.

It’s not my fault

That five real women

Whose breasts were jiggling

Tricked me to join their cult.

I mean seriously.

When a group of girls say

“Hey, were getting colonics- Interested?”

You really just have to expect the best!

So after the bleed

I sat down to read

The message that Martha/ Maria sent.

El mesaje had vanished

To which I blame god

For the facade

That he’s not English- He’s Spanish.

I thought to I

Hey, you ought to try

A trip down Colombia way.

So I booked a flight

After smoking pot

Hoping to spot

The missing message along my plight.

I know what your thinking-

This gomer did all this just to locate a message

So he could enter his stupid poem into some

Wacky-ass named competition.

But I’m not a gomer, because at least I’m fighting for a dream.

And I’ve looked dozens of boners in the eye-

And I told them to go and ‘fuck themselves’.

I said “They have good intentions here at Wergle Flomp-

It’s not their fault that they never learned how to learn”.

And I meant that shit. Every single time I was forced to explain myself.

So off I went…

Well Colombia took

A turn off book

And straight into a pile of blow.

It’s freaking great

I shouted and danced

And pranced to trance

And raged till quarter past eight.

One week passed

So fast…So fast,

And I met a cleaning lady

Whose name I forget.

We changed rooms

And she brought her broom

And swept up after sex.

Two weeks passed

So fast…So fast.

I ventured to Machu Picchu

In search of the invite.

I found neither

But got higher than ether 

Transcending in the form of a pillow to ten dykes.

Three weeks passed

So fast…So fast.

And I found myself boarding a plane

Not knowing why I initially left.

I became a Peruvian godfather

And was bitten by a piranha

No wonder, I sighed in jest

You know when you retrace your steps

And then an old thought kicks in.

Like when you go for a walk to get some eggs and bread-

Which happens to be the only two things  

You have been living off of for the last month,
Because your boss spends all of your pay on kimchi and Hooker Hill trannies.

So on your walk to the store

You’re singing little made up songs in your head like;

“Hey trick, I’ma work that clit! Hey trick, I’ma work that clit!”

Or “Skip the nip, go straight to areola. Hit the clit, unless a hairy mole ahhh”-

And once you’ve purchased your routine eggs and dull bread

And you’re retracing your steps back home,

The same song kicks back into your head out of no where-

Well that’s the sort of thing that happened to me.

The second I touched down in Toronto

I remembered why I went to Colombia-

It was to find the whereabouts of my invite to the poetry competition.

So back on land

Empty in hand

Still in search of the lost invite,

I plucked an idea;

To talk to my dad

Who was dolled in drag

If he knew Martha/ Maria?

I sauntered into thee

Local brewery

With one question to ask,

I searched for my pops;

With mug in hand

Ready to slam

But everyone was dressed as cops,

Now, it’s not like I get into this situation often,

So you kind of just have to run with it.

And much like the colonics…

Hope for the best.

Ohhh, and I spotted my pops.

So embrace I did

Now father and kid

Dressed in drag to the tits,

He says do you see her?

Dressed in wig

The Fuzz, 5-0, a pig

That’s her Martha/ Maria.

I inched my way

With a conscious that weighed

More than my belt and holster,

Excuse me miss;

I’ve traveled the world

And shared tubes with girls

Just to have you read this.

And this is how

The poem right now

Had traveled just to reach you.

Its story told

Is the epitome

And legitimacy

Of sex, drugs, and how to sell your soul

headed to cali

We left Popoyan and headed to Cali, the augmentation Mecca.

We greet our taxi driver with caution “How much?” I ask, the driver replies “metoro”- we jump inside.

We found Hostal Calidad, embedded hillside overlooking the many full breasted hookers of Cali. Buzzing to get in, now my speech may become a little harsh and biased solely because I lived this moment prior to writing it, but this four eyed, nerdy hand flailing, loose-lisped, greased up, temper-tantrum prone, steamrolling with power, Napoleon complex, anally raging, Colombian homosexual opened the door- we didn’t have a good vibe from the start.

We took the room, strictly because it was late- luckily there was a good group of people chilling about, otherwise the almighty glory holed manager would have lead a lot more heat on us.

We ran into Jeremy, an old mate we met in Mancora, Peru and the three of us went for a jaunt to the local mom and pop liquor shop. After shelling out pennies for a bottle of aguadiente, a sweet licorice liquor resembling zambuca, i realized I just threw away a few good pennies.

Anyways it was already bought and we had some schwepps to mix so I said farewell to sober hood. The first club we hit was a 20,000 peso all you can drink orgy. But getting there with an hour before close left us in a rush to down as much booze… fast!

I… am not a good all you can drink drinker, nor am I a good all you can eat eater. It’s a complex of mine- but that’s where the parties at so I indulged.

Rum and cokes. Vodka and juice. Whiskey this and that’s. Then Jeremy walks over to me with a drink “ taste this” he says handing me the drink “I know the bartender”. I immediately puked in a planter that was thankfully standing right next to me- and I could feel the fire growing inside of me.

The lights flash- beastlike Colombian bouncers circle the terrace. “I’m trapped”, I mumble crouched in the corner.

A beckoning call brews through the thick sweaty air “todos vamos”. The bar is closing and they want everyone out- they don’t want me, I’m not in trouble and I won’t have to perform anything with my ass- I’m saved!

Exiting the club I met a metal head in a jet black Metallica shirt- who says hes from the states. We shoot the shite for a little while about his childhood and returning to his family that once let him go- he seemed to be at peace and not harboring any anger the only difficulty is that he doesn’t speak Spanish and his parents don’t speak English- talk about awahhhh!

He told us where the after party was – the famed discotech district of Juanchito. We grabbed a taxi and drove through the night to our unknown destination… the tires rolling along dirt roads through foreign neighborhoods until lights started beaming through gaps… it got brighter and brighter until we crossed a little bridge into the famed town- it resembled the Vegas strip in the only sense that it didn’t sleep and you knew things happened here that wouldn’t be making its way back home.

We entered a club and I made eyes almost immediately with a chocolate beauty, middle aged with a sexy figure, and we were drawn to each other through music. We salsa’d around the room swinging and swaying and shaking our sweaty bodies to the fiery tempo. What I learned was that after each dance both of you would part ways and wait for the next song to be played before you’d be back up on your feet again.

The lady and I met up on the floor throughout the night, locking lips and swaying hips, bodies bound by the music. The art of dance can be very beautiful and moving and it can be erotic and nasty much like they art of reggaeton- which is like ass fucking only with clothes on.

viva la paperboy

Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkk- Not again!

Yep, another rainy morning for the overworked, undersexed, rarely appreciated, often overlooked, complaint ridden, life hating, living at home bedroom adjacent to mama’s, car borrowing, in the negative bank account, sleepless, fucked up scheduled, university degree holding paperboy… sorrrrrrrrrrrrry… PAPERMAN!

Imagine a life with no gratitude. Everything done right is expected and every little mistake is criticized and printed out in bold ink on a nice white sheet of paper. What’s so lovely about this paper is that it can’t talk back to you- Sure, you can curse it and crumble it, even fart on it… but it’s still there reading LOUD AND CLEAR and perhaps now a little rank “MISSED DELIVERY 46 BEAVER CRESCENT”.  This wouldn’t suck as much had it been your first week on the job, but when you know for a fact you delivered to 46 BEAVER CRESCENT because you do EVERY morning- and have for the last 10 years without a thank you- it’s just a kick in the taint because now you are getting docked 3 dollars, when you only get paid .17 cents to deliver it.

Now this problem wouldn’t have even occurred if your customer took a second to take their head from out of their potato chip eating, greasy stooled, trans-fat laden, reality TV watching, 3 second nut busting, never read a book in their life, drooling mouthed, gigantic toilet-paper shit covered asshole and just thought to themselves “ Hey it’s raining today…  maybe my paperboy put the paper in my mailbox where he always does when it’s raining; as opposed to the porch when its dry- ill take a look. OHHH WOWWWEEE what a surprise, there it is”.

You would think that to be too HARD of a thought. Perhaps the 1 foot it takes to waddle to your mailbox would possibly cause heart failure you fat-yielding-fuck, or maybe the cool breeze is just too harsh to embrace in the morning you retarded, short-bus, backwards shirt wearing cock-smoker. So next time don’t assume you didn’t get the paper- Take a fucking second to look in your Jesus , Buddha, Hashem, Allah or Goddamn mailbox because the paperboy knows that if you DON’T get your precious PROPOGANDA that its gonna cost him. FUCK!!!

Then we have the regular everyday complainers!!!! These gomers need to be face fucked with a rusty lawn mower!

“My papers wet!”

“Double bag it”

“Put it between my doors”

“In the mailbox in my backyard”

“Don’t throw it at the end of the driveway”

 “No elastics”

“I’m disabled”

 “My paper’s creased”

“Don’t walk on my lawn”

“Deliver quietly”

“My wife’s a whore”

On and On and On and On!!

If all you lazy fucks who get home delivery have nothing better to do than complain… why don’t you cart your own degenerate ass down to the corner store and purchase your own. It would save a whole shit load of paperboys/girls/men/women from waking up and being YOUR legs. And if anything it would put an end to the system and force these Paper-People to go off and get REAL jobs. A career perhaps! See what I mean… a thankless job!

So next time you rise at the crack of noon and ho-hum your way to your front door in search of your paper- think about the Paperboy who eked himself out of his warm bed at 2:00 am, drove his shit-box to pick up his paper-stack to go out and deliver to all you wasteful fucks who haven’t gotten with the times of reading the paper online. Instead of boo-hooing about your paper being an inch out of place… why not tip your paperboy or leave him a soda on your front porch to show that you care. Because isn’t that what everyone wants in life- to know that someone is thinking about them.

And who knows maybe your paper won’t be farted on- because we all know that if you complain... the shit doth rain!

Viva la Paperboy,

unhappy halloween

Death and destruction are his middle name

Luring children to his layer is his little game

Once the candies all gone

It’s an unhappy Halloween

So watch your kids close

Because tonight he’s out preying

With strange power

Come strange responsibility

Got me searching the streets for the deranged with agility

Drank a whole pot of coffee to sustain my ability

He’s going down tonight if I go insane or it kills me

Death and destruction are his middle name

Luring children to his layer is his little game

Once the candies all gone

It’s an unhappy Halloween

So watch your kids close

Because tonight he’s out preying

Strange powers with wielding force

Leading me on course

To an abandoned building

With broken ceilings and floors

Always praying for the best

But tonight I’m fearing the worst

It’s been a year to the day

Since his last victims curse

Death and destruction are his middle name

Luring children to his layer is his little game

Once the candies all gone

It’s an unhappy Halloween

So watch your kids close

Because tonight he’s out preying

I heard a faint sound

From underneath my feet

So I put my ear to the floor

So I could listen to their speech

“If you don’t finish dinner

Then you can’t trick or treat”

I tried not to make a peep

But it was hard

Cause I’m a big man

Sneaking around

And trying to take charge

Tonight this man’s not getting off the hook

So I busted through the floor

And the earth shook

Beams and tiles came crashing down to the ground

While a great whirl of dust

Started circling around

I couldn’t see nothing

But I heard feet running

So I ducked to the floor

Pulled my gun and started hunting

Death and destruction are his middle name

Luring children to his layer is his little game

Once the candies all gone

It’s an unhappy Halloween

So watch your kids close

Because tonight he’s out preying

With my gun drawn

I was moving along with swiftness

On a hot pursuit of a psycho who’s the sickest

And he’s gonna die tonight

Because it’s on my wish list

Wishin’ I finished him in minutes

Once I leave him dick-less

And he’s bleeding

With a gag to lag his breathing

Chains pierced through his back

And he’s hanging from the ceiling

Skin peeling

You could see his eyes screaming

And he can’t do nothing

Because tonight it’s my evening

Death and destruction are his middle name

Luring children to his layer is his little game

Once the candies all gone

It’s an unhappy Halloween

So watch your kids close

Because tonight he’s out preying

So let the hunt begin

For the unhappy Halloween

writers art

Lord,

    I really

       Think Its

          Great that

             The Winter Is

          At

        The

        End

          Of

         Its

            Ridiculously

         Cold And

       Seriously

    Unappreciated

Season

jewish?

Over dinner I told my father who was donning a golden Star of David medallion as heavy as was gaudy- screaming I’m Jewish- “You are not Jewish”.

Drunk as a man who drinks before showing up to a family dinner-

Mom and I are not taken back- nor are we that he proceeds to talk about himself the entire night.

Nor are we that his actions are loud and abrasive. Nor are we that he preaches loneliness… And nor are we that he sneaks aside to pay.

He’s a good man with a good heart- and his intentions are well… if he just learned to keep away from the booze.

singing problem

Hi, my name is Louis and I have a confession. I have a singing problem. I wake myself up every morning because I am singing to loud in my sleep- and it just continues throughout the whole day.

I can’t help it; it’s not even a conscious thought anymore. I’ve been to several doctors, and they keep pushing drugs on me- and I told them I don’t want to go that route, it’s not healthy, but I’ve usually been drinking and cave in and take them anyways.

I just break out on subways, restaurants, bathrooms, while teaching. I was singing so much that I had to go out and start a band, you might have seen us OLD MONEY, (shameless plug noted).

The only hope for me is knowing that I’m not the only one out there, a young urban professional; let’s call him Jed Pavolich came to me with the same problem. And we have been getting together to discuss our problems and try to put a positive spin on it.

So if you are anyone like Jed or myself, perhaps we could all meet and sing about our problems! HELP ME

clasp of my hand

With just the clasp of my hand

I can grasp the land

From the Canyon Grande to Amsterdam

Ampersand

 I can close my eyes and drive while high

Shoot scotch on the rocks for one block

Almost get caught by the cops

but sneak by

you just gotta relax and take a chill pill

I told you I don’t fuck sluts , but maybe he will

Go all the way and back

Eat that rotten snatch

That stank like a batch of shat

Rats

Shouldn’t have had that second bottle

Cause that gnarled tooth troll

Is really started to look like a model

With a tight figure 8

The type id eat like a steak

And like the blood off my plate

Ace

In the sleeve

And its tattooed on my arm

My lucky charm is living hard

Guard down but still in charge

Murder

Is what I do to mics

You shoulda seen the fight

Coroner pronounced him dead on sight

20-20 is for suckas

20-40’s what I use when im checkin out your mothers

Loving is what I love to do

So get it through

Ooooh is what the ladies do

When they swallow sweetlou’s legendary goo

Gooie gumdrops

Its fun to run it till the gun drops

Blaze the place till the sun stops

While some cops

Still chillin at the donut shop

Thinking sprinkles or not

When they get glazed with a shot

Swish

Straight through the basket

This hard style im living

Ill never outlast it

Snap

That’s outlandish

Id rather be chillin out on a beach somewhere Spanish

Oley

Catch my drift

A lot of shit passes these lips

Asses and clits

Get lapped up real quick

If your booty clapping

Ill spit

Hot fire till the day I tire

Or hit the pit

capish

winay pichu

The world is in the palm of my hands, a mere seed waiting to be planted.

Hidden in the clouds a secret garden consumes energy and breeds life in heavenly amounts. An overwhelming state sends my body into chills knowing I am in the presence of something magical.

Worlds and cultures collide at soaring heights.

A looming peak dances over the infamous Machu Pichu for adventurous trekkers who wish to see true beauty and magic come alive in a new perspective.

I choke for words to describe my feelings.

Slowly my dreams are coming to life, as I claim my stake on this world. The amazement of becoming familiar with new lands draws me to the brink of tears, as I mould my existence.

I’ve seen a miracle. My eyes scarred by the touch of magic. The seed has been planted.

May.8.08

three dollars and a lifetime of memories

Our plane touched down in Leticia, a small town in the south-eastern part of Colombia that bordered Peru and Brazil. Our plan was to take a boat along the Amazon River to the city of Iquitos, Peru- with only five days to catch our connecting flight, and on a backpacker’s allowance; our journey began.

            We found a decent flat only five minutes from the river, but spent more than twenty trying to talk the price down. I love a good bargain brawl- you know the one that leaves your conscious unsettled to the point it might have jeopardized the safety of you stay. Finally coming to an agreement that we were overpaying- we hit the streets in search of a ticket for the boat going out the next day to Iquitos. There were two companies in town and you can guess it- they were both sold out. So we threw on our dishevelled faces and pleaded with them that we desperately needed to be on that boat. Pulling us aside, he slyly whispered to us “meet me at the dock at four; I’ll see what I can do”. What he did was give us give other river dwellers seats- as we crept onto the boat, we left a dock full of landlocked unfortunates.

            The boat was not exactly what I expected. I had in mind a quiet open-seated riverboat that gracefully waltzed down the chocolaty river- instead it was a deafeningly, claustrophobic speedboat that motored past all the beauty.  As we stopped to board new passengers- we were eventually kicked out of our seats and placed in the engine room at the back of the boat. This actually turned out to be the highlight of the ride, as we transferred to the bright and breezy back- we soon made beds out of all the travellers’ luggage and took in the rest of the ride.

            The boat docked and we grabbed a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled taxi, to a recommended hostel “Hobo’s Hideout”. Love the moniker, don’t you? We paid for a room and headed into town for a bite to eat when it all began- swarms of colourful taxis, reckless tuk tuk’s, cars and jalopies sped down our side street in a blaze of glory, furiously waving flags and mashing on their horns as if the end of the world were coming- it turned out to be over a soccer match. To my very eyes it appeared that they were celebrating a victory- I later heard it was a tie. But as all of this was going on in front of me- I had no time to think, so I did what any adventurer would have done. I lunged myself onto one of the passing tuk-tuk’s and joined a gang of cheery youth, shouting and hollering- to me it seemed like innocent fun. I soon learned a lesson about misjudgement as my caravan drove further away from the city core.  This wasn’t the part that threw me for a loop; it was when we entered their rival’s part of town and had to duck when a hail of rocks began showering our taxi. I was hit in the chest, and a nameless passenger was also hit- both of us walking away unharmed, though the gang with a little more hostility than I.

            Parking their tuk-tuk on the edge of town, we got out and discussion of retaliation ensued.  I just replied “No me gusta. I don’t like”- it’s all I really knew how to say, to explain my lack of interest. So this is where we parted ways and I rode safely back to the town square in yet another tuk-tuk ending my little adventure.

            The next morning we met Walter at our bus, and bribed the driver to let us sit on top of the bus with the luggage- two dollars later we had the best seat in the house (figuratively speaking). Arriving in Lautus, we stocked up on goods and boarded our multi-coloured, river boat to our unknown destination in the midst the Amazon jungle. As our boat departed- a smile crept upon my face in amazement at the true beauty of my surroundings- my dream was now reality.

            Two hours into the ride we came across an intersecting tributary which boasted an array of pink, silver and black river dolphins. I giddily jumped rocking the boat, enthusiastically snapping pictures, only ever managing to capture a tail or fin as they frolicked in and out of the murky water.

            We eventually arrived at Puerto Miguel, a long narrow sandbank that was lined with makeshift houses on stilts- keeping tides and unwanted gators away from little kiddies. The village was without electricity except for one gas generator that was hooked up to a booming stereo. We sat down to eat some dinner and later played catch with a hardened fruit with some of the local kids. We talked Walter into taking the canoe out in search of alligators, so the three of us loaded into the canoe and paddled off just as the sun was going down.

            The dip of the paddle, the swinging vines of a playful monkey, the baritone of the lonely toad and the powerful gusts of the heron’s wings that straddled the rivers thickness; replaced those of cars, telephones and the hustle of everyday life- as the stars began freckling through the sky. Though we never did see a gator, it didn’t take an ounce away from the sheer presence of beauty.

            The next morning we went for a quick dip in the river before departure and were introduced to a couple of nipping piranhas. We both hastily jumped out of the water after I was bitten on my finger and Ryan reached second base with his nipple biting friend. After dressing we said our farewells over warm beers and rock and roll blaring from the boom-box. We got back to our hostel in the evening after sharing a rooftop ride with a heap of vibrant bananas and waving to every soul that we passed.

            It was our last full day in Iquitos and we decided to take a tour of the slums of Belin. From above, the homes were littered with sheet metal roofs, tarps and wooden flats, while the streets were ridden with waste. I’m not going to paint it beautifully, because it wasn’t- what was beautiful, was the people. The bright smiles and life that radiated from this port was phenomenal. Children flying homemade kites, teens losing soccer balls to the river and fighting at who had to retrieve it, canoes passing floating houses sending regards in waves and whistles, toothless grandmothers smiling over babies- and as I took in all this beauty I found myself turning in circles trying to capture everything standing at the edge of a soccer field, when I heard a voice shout “Hello”. I turned around and made my way to a young man I would grow to know as Teddy. He had a beautiful wife and child and invited me into his home. We talked about life and sports and the similarities in our cultures, as well as differences- and over a short period of time a crowd of people had gathered intrigued at Teddy’s English or perhaps that a couple of foreigners were perusing their neighbourhood. We exchanged emails as we departed and returned to city square.

            The town had an important agenda this evening as Peruvians from all corners gathered in the town centre- signs in hand growing with anger as the masses continued to multiply. We walked back to our hostel as the scene got more violent. Now locked behind the hostel entrance we killed the lights as protestors marched up our streets rattling gates, smashing bottles and chanting- all I could make out was the word ‘muerte’, meaning death in Spanish- I had no clue what I was in for. All I was thinking is that I have a plane to catch tomorrow and I want to get out of here alive. The night carried on with streaks occasionally making their way past our hostel and the noise of violence echoing through the streets. While sitting in the back courtyard sounds of footsteps banged on rooftops above ours heads- we had no clue what was in store, I don’t even know how I fell asleep, but eventually I did, fortunately rising to yet another sunrise.

            The day was dead, nothing was open and we frantically called the airport. They told us that the airport was closed, but was opening in the evening. With our flight being at seven we had managed to luck out. Apparently the strike was over rising prices in the economy and the people were taking it to the streets- you should have seen the police running away from the citizens- it was a very powerful moment. We hopped on a tuk-tuk and I left Peru with three dollars to my name- but was left with so much more.

timeless classic

With these smooth beats

Made by Anonymous D

It’s guaranteed to leave its mark

Like hippopotamus feet

In the jungle or the dessert

It don’t matter what the weather

It’ll leave you soaring higher 

Than birds of a feather

Until It comes swooping down with talons

And strikes you

Now you’re losing blood by the gallon 

Ill write you

The situations thick

Your pains are growing

Like Allen, 

Quick, grab my hand

And ill lead you 

Our of this land

Before you fall to the man

Cause you’re a lamb

And I’m a man 

With a fork and knife in hand,

Who’s getting ready to eat you

First by verse

So stick to your own territory

And think twice

Before you pick up a microphone 

And bore me

You’re left feeling sorry

With your head 

Between your legs

The same story

So quit pushing and catch me

This beats a timeless classic

Like The Great Gatsby

I’m putting time in

And paying my dues

I’ve got a lot of hours clocked in

Writing in my room

And I’ve passed up a few brews

To finish a tune

So while I diminish these dudes

And take them to school

So they finally understand the saying

“That’s playing a fool”

While I keep it cool

Like the arctic

My games on point

Like a dart hitting a marksman

Who’s wearing a shark fin

Let the open sea be your coffin

Death to all rappers

Who got caught coughing

Or fat rappers

Who got caught eating to much chocolate

My mind will never stop

It’s like the second hand on a clock

And it’s fuelled by the memories

That I never forgot

My passion for word play

Lives close to home

Like the clever Sherlock

So let me take you

On an endeavour for pot

So, quit pushing and catch me

Sit back take a hit 

And relax g

You can’t force it

Or string it along

You either got it 

Or you don’t

Or you bring it all wrong

So go ahead

And sing the little songs that you wrote

In a shower, in a car or in a boat

It’s all a joke,

My wordplay will provoke

The biggest sceptic

To switch from epilepsy shakes

To Coke floats

So go…

Quit pushing and catch me

And ya’ll can leave the rapping 

To the master, Peace

april 24/2008

the sultan

There was this beautiful young sultan that wanted to own all the sand in the world. So with his father’s inheritance, he started buying beaches and oceans- slowly accumulating a great deal of land.  He would spend all day roaming his secluded beaches only stopping to build sand castles.  He loved his time on the beach. He was able to dream.  He could vision bigger, grandeur castles with moats and secret tunnels and bridges.  He studied the tides to tell just how far the ocean would swell and build his castles just out of harms way. As time lapsed he acquired more beaches and built more sandcastles.  The beaches became littered with his creations- each on carefully thought-out and acutely different from the last.  He was very particular about his obsession and soon began enforcing barriers to make certain no one would tamper with his majesties. He once caught a young peasant wandering one of his beaches off the coast of Morocco, and not to go into detail, he made the child permanently aware that he had been somewhere he shouldn’t have been.

He began losing sleep over his desire to own every beach in the world. He even started tricking and scamming people off their land. He started purchasing entire islands, filled with children, husbands, wives and all sorts of workers: chefs, builders, seamstresses and craftsmen.  He kicked everyone out of their homes- giving them sparse time to collect their belongings. He had small vessels that he crammed the inhabitants on, and shipped them to mainland.  Within the snap of his fingers, islands were empty- leaving him in a paradise to create at peace.

One night while sleeping, he had a vision.  He could take advantage of the builders and craftsmen to design elaborate castles, and he could have the chefs cook for the builders when they themselves weren’t building.  The he thought, that would give him more time to acquire more land and further his impetus on covering the world with his majestic sand castles. So into action he steamrolled.

Islands filled with simple happy souls at work and play were in for drastic changes.  No longer free to roam they had to meet quotas of sandcastles built and to enforce this the sultan arranged a hierarchy of inhabitants- giving leniency and tolerance to those in charge of keeping order.

Sandcastles began clustering up all along the beachside, often measuring 3-4 stories in height and some only mere feet from each other.  The sultan was now hard at work purchasing new land, breaking down the individuals, and positioning those in charge- that he was spending more behind the scenes of the operation- but his life was going to fast to acknowledge.

And with an almost fairytale ending, the sultan had finally bought all the sand in the world.  It had taken him 46 years but he had completed his lifelong dream.  The sultan now in his 60’s, had aged almost double from the toll and pressure of running across the globe; constantly searching, fighting, stripping, rebuilding and conquering those in his favour.

Now 62 and not the beautiful young sultan he once had been- finally had time to sit and enjoy his lifelong achievement.

He began his journey to embark on his masterpieces- stopping in the west indies to gaze at his beauties. Boarding ship after ship he basked in the greatness of all his castles meticulously jutting from the earth in perfect unison.  He shipped to every corner of the globe, in South East Asia, Europe, The Americas and he eventually made it back to his birthplace.

He had not been back in over 40 years and he had a hard time fighting for a memory.

As he walked around his timeless home, he made his way to the veranda that overlooked the Mediterranean.  With each step he took he began getting powerful sensations.  It was his memory finally catching up to him.  He got closer- step after step until he was entrenched in a dream.

The young sultan hung over the balcony- eyes fixed on the calmness of the ocean that day-and as he stared a reflection appeared.

‘It was the upper torso of this monstrous castle his father had created with a team of designers and personal friends.  And it was with this vision that the young sultan ran down his whirling concrete steps to the infinite grains of sparkling white sand. And as he dug his hands past the sun-baked exterior, the coolness from within brought his body to life.  Each day after his studies he would rush to the sea’s limits and with outstretched arms and his white satin sleeves rolled up past his elbows he would get lost in the sheer depths of it all.’

Waking, shaken from his dream- his body lay sullen among the white sanded beach and

legend has it that the aged sultan began to cry. He cried for spending a life devoted to selfishness. He cried for ruining the lives of those forced to pursue his dream. He cried for losing site of his childhood dream. He cried because he was alone.

And it is said that the sultan shed one tear for every single grain of sand that he had owned- and it was these same tears that washed away all his castles- all but one on each of his beaches. And if you are lucky you may be able to spot that lone castle remaining, and it is said that it will speak to your soul and warn you never to lose site of your youth.

theft in india

The act of theft from a child in India is reprimanded by driving over his arm with a vehicle leaving the child scarred for life and rendered futile for the remaining years of his life.

How is it that a child can be punished by the mind of an adult? Children are not fully grown in mind and act as children- then why should they have to live the rest of their life damaged for a crime they committed under a youths conscious? Not only is it unfair and unjust, it is disgustingly horrific that these actions are being implemented by minds that rule countries. It sounds like the childish minds have been reversed. We need more great minds in power. An individual, who is looking for greatness out of his people, should know that this act won’t deter children from stealing- children will act as children, and thus likely, starving will act as the starving. We were all one young- and acts like these will crush a society not help it flourish. 

march 6/2009

fists o malice

These fists o malice

Holding mic’s tight for the kill

These hands have touched the lands

For pleasure out of thrill

And these eyes

Have cast out on the sea of many shore

And this tongue has lashed out

To settle many score

oct 21 2010

impossible

There are a lot of people that you will meet in life that will tell you things are impossible. You might wonder why I chose these words to catapult my journey, though I am not going to explain- for the ones that are driven to explore; driven to push boundaries; driven to live and learn more about themselves than they ever thought they could- are the ones who will understand.

“The simplicity of a fish jumping out of water or the pull of ships horn has enough light to guide this vessel through any weather.”

I left Seoul just as the rain crashed the party without invitation like your drunken father at your 12^th birthday; or when you have the house to your gf and yourself and your mom unexpectedly comes home- though this time I was prepared. I threw on my raincoat and tightened the rain cover straps over my bag that was already tied down to my bike, and I left the Chinese  restaurant after 30 minutes of workers ping-ponging helpful directions to a destination I wasn’t even searching- note to self *never ask for directions in a room of more than 1 person.

I battled though Friday traffic in one of the world’s most vehicle infested cities and didn’t emerge until I was over 100km deep, cursing the creator of the combustion engine and twats that installed the unsynchronized lights. I know where I am but pouring rain and traffic force me to change route instead of the number 1 highway I intended on riding. I ended up fighting through unknown roads which would have been welcomed had it not been the beginning of my journey and the rain. I simply just wanted to cover ground. After stopping at a handful of GS25’s and 7-11’s and confused conversation amongst random convenience stores and hamburger shop workers I finally get myself on track heading south along the west coast .

 Now mind you I’m on a motorcycle and laughed off the rain and traffic, but I have just entered plague country- a black mist litters the sky as millions of forefinger sized chamjarees (dragonflies) dip and dive across the expressway. Birds patiently line the side of the road and take turns gorging on the buffet of lifeless bugs that have been hit along the commute.

Since I was riding at the same speed as the blinding insects I felt as if I could reach out and grab a handful. If I had a frog riding passenger it could have slashed its tongue in every which direction and reeled in a winged treat.

With my mouth shut and shades covering my eyes I could only avoid so many before they started pounding my bike, face and chest- with a force double that of being still I am in wonder how they didn’t crack my glasses. As they thumped my chest and barren legs it left short stinging sensations- sometimes they would land upon my lap and I would have to throw them off my their lifeless wings.

On two occasions it got wedges between my helmet and ear and the buzzing and wriggling of its broken wing sent me into frenzy as I forcefully pulled over my bike and threw off my helmet all in one motion. This routine lasted through three districts and over 60 km- I don’t know where the fuck they were headed but it must have been one hell of a party.

I pulled my bike over once I saw the familiar giant fluorescent E that attracts customers like swarming bugs.

Leaving work at 230 I didn’t reach Boryeong until 730 where I stopped at the Emart to pick up dinner for the night. The coasts of Korea are home to an undesirable amount of fish restaurants which is why I ended up at a supermarket for dinner.

There is something about supermarkets that give me energy- it might be the increased flow of oxygen or perhaps the women in miniskirts dancing in the frozen food isles; but it all leads to me shouting at deli workers who are singing the nights discounts and flirting with the bakery women. Boryeong Emart wasn’t any different. A group of middle aged women asked me questions about my trip and modelled for a few photos.

After checking out I heard yelps from the interior walkway- it was dog-lockers! Yes… dog-lockers!

this is a love song

This is a love song

This is a love song

This is a love song

This is a love song

But not the kind of love that strings you along

I’m talking about the kind of love that’s deep and long

hobos hideout

Our plane touched down in Leticia, a small town in the south-eastern part of Colombia that bordered Peru and Brazil. Our plan was to take a boat along the Amazon River to the city of Iquitos, Peru- with only five days to catch our connecting flight, and on a backpacker’s allowance; our journey began.

We found a decent flat only five minutes from the river, but spent more than twenty trying to talk the price down. I love a good bargain brawl- you know the one that leaves your conscious unsettled to the point it might have jeopardized the safety of you stay. Finally coming to an agreement that we were overpaying- we hit the streets in search of a ticket for the boat going out the next day to Iquitos. There were two companies in town and you can guess it- they were both sold out. So we threw on our dishevelled faces and pleaded with them that we desperately needed to be on that boat. Pulling us aside, he slyly whispered to us “meet me at the dock at four; I’ll see what I can do”. What he did was give us give other river dwellers seats- as we crept onto the boat, we left a dock full of landlocked unfortunates.

he boat was not exactly what I expected. I had in mind a quiet open-seated riverboat that gracefully waltzed down the chocolaty river- instead it was a deafeningly, claustrophobic speedboat that motored past all the beauty.  As we stopped to board new passengers- we were eventually kicked out of our seats and placed in the engine room at the back of the boat. This actually turned out to be the highlight of the ride, as we transferred to the bright and breezy back- we soon made beds out of all the travellers’ luggage and took in the rest of the ride.

The boat docked and we grabbed a tuk-tuk, a three-wheeled taxi, to a recommended hostel “Hobo’s Hideout”. Love the moniker, don’t you? We paid for a room and headed into town for a bite to eat when it all began- swarms of colourful taxis, reckless tuk tuk’s, cars and jalopies sped down our side street in a blaze of glory, furiously waving flags and mashing on their horns as if the end of the world were coming- it turned out to be over a soccer match. To my very eyes it appeared that they were celebrating a victory- I later heard it was a tie. But as all of this was going on in front of me- I had no time to think, so I did what any adventurer would have done. I lunged myself onto one of the passing tuk-tuk’s and joined a gang of cheery youth, shouting and hollering- to me it seemed like innocent fun. I soon learned a lesson about misjudgement as my caravan drove further away from the city core.  This wasn’t the part that threw me for a loop; it was when we entered their rival’s part of town and had to duck when a hail of rocks began showering our taxi. I was hit in the chest, and a nameless passenger was also hit- both of us walking away unharmed, though the gang with a little more hostility than I.

Parking their tuk-tuk on the edge of town, we got out and discussion of retaliation ensued.  I just replied “No me gusta. I don’t like”- it’s all I really knew how to say, to explain my lack of interest. So this is where we parted ways and I rode safely back to the town square in yet another tuk-tuk ending my little adventure.

The next morning we met Walter at our bus, and bribed the driver to let us sit on top of the bus with the luggage- two dollars later we had the best seat in the house (figuratively speaking). Arriving in Lautus, we stocked up on goods and boarded our multi-coloured, river boat to our unknown destination in the midst the Amazon jungle. As our boat departed- a smile crept upon my face in amazement at the true beauty of my surroundings- my dream was now reality.

Two hours into the ride we came across an intersecting tributary which boasted an array of pink, silver and black river dolphins. I giddily jumped rocking the boat, enthusiastically snapping pictures, only ever managing to capture a tail or fin as they frolicked in and out of the murky water.

We eventually arrived at Puerto Miguel, a long narrow sandbank that was lined with makeshift houses on stilts- keeping tides and unwanted gators away from little kiddies. The village was without electricity except for one gas generator that was hooked up to a booming stereo. We sat down to eat some dinner and later played catch with a hardened fruit with some of the local kids. We talked Walter into taking the canoe out in search of alligators, so the three of us loaded into the canoe and paddled off just as the sun was going down.

The dip of the paddle, the swinging vines of a playful monkey, the baritone of the lonely toad and the powerful gusts of the heron’s wings that straddled the rivers thickness; replaced those of cars, telephones and the hustle of everyday life- as the stars began freckling through the sky. Though we never did see a gator, it didn’t take an ounce away from the sheer presence of beauty.

The next morning we went for a quick dip in the river before departure and were introduced to a couple of nipping piranhas. We both hastily jumped out of the water after I was bitten on my finger and Ryan reached second base with his nipple biting friend. After dressing we said our farewells over warm beers and rock and roll blaring from the boom-box. We got back to our hostel in the evening after sharing a rooftop ride with a heap of vibrant bananas and waving to every soul that we passed.

It was our last full day in Iquitos and we decided to take a tour of the slums of Belin. From above, the homes were littered with sheet metal roofs, tarps and wooden flats, while the streets were ridden with waste. I’m not going to paint it beautifully, because it wasn’t- what was beautiful, was the people. The bright smiles and life that radiated from this port was phenomenal. Children flying homemade kites, teens losing soccer balls to the river and fighting at who had to retrieve it, canoes passing floating houses sending regards in waves and whistles, toothless grandmothers smiling over babies- and as I took in all this beauty I found myself turning in circles trying to capture everything standing at the edge of a soccer field, when I heard a voice shout “Hello”. I turned around and made my way to a young man I would grow to know as Teddy. He had a beautiful wife and child and invited me into his home. We talked about life and sports and the similarities in our cultures, as well as differences- and over a short period of time a crowd of people had gathered intrigued at Teddy’s English or perhaps that a couple of foreigners were perusing their neighbourhood. We exchanged emails as we departed and returned to city square.

The town had an important agenda this evening as Peruvians from all corners gathered in the town centre- signs in hand growing with anger as the masses continued to multiply. We walked back to our hostel as the scene got more violent. Now locked behind the hostel entrance we killed the lights as protestors marched up our streets rattling gates, smashing bottles and chanting- all I could make out was the word ‘muerte’, meaning death in Spanish- I had no clue what I was in for. All I was thinking is that I have a plane to catch tomorrow and I want to get out of here alive. The night carried on with streaks occasionally making their way past our hostel and the noise of violence echoing through the streets. While sitting in the back courtyard sounds of footsteps banged on rooftops above ours heads- we had no clue what was in store, I don’t even know how I fell asleep, but eventually I did, fortunately rising to yet another sunrise.

The day was dead, nothing was open and we frantically called the airport. They told us that the airport was closed, but was opening in the evening. With our flight being at seven we had managed to luck out. Apparently the strike was over rising prices in the economy and the people were taking it to the streets- you should have seen the police running away from the citizens- it was a very powerful moment. We hopped on a tuk-tuk and I left Peru with three dollars to my name- but was left with so much more.

timone track

I’d like to see a sea of people dancing in the crowd

Bodies moving to the sound

Inhibitions to the ground

While I’m rocking out

Nothing weighing on my mind to talk about

Left the baggage at the door

To hit the floor and walk it out

So go and walk it out

Go on walk it out

Soulja Boy or Dougie let your bodies do the talking no

Put your guards down and drink up

To all the ladies with the big cups

And all the booby jokes that I think of

Are all fair game

For when I rap onstage

Forget the brush let me paint a picture with word play

first snowfall

Today marks the first real snowfall of the year!

My car almost died.

I baked for 7 hours and had sex with Trish twice before work.

I’m lying in bed congested in the head,

Heater on with the window cracked-

Room clean

And about to read Kerouac’s Dharma Bums

Today’s been a great day!

in the middle

I’m a backpacker that has prematurely

Been mounted upon the mantle stuck between

The constant chatter of my repetitively depressed transvestite

Father and my all business tongued mother.

trip around korea

Are you crazy?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no way you can do it”

“Yes, I can. I will. I don’t care if it breaks. I’ll walk the rest of the way, but I need you to get it in the best shape possible.”

“Alright, well…come back in a couple hours”, the mechanic chuckled as he walked back into his shop.

There are a lot of people in life that will tell you things are impossible. You might wonder why I chose these words to catapult my story, but I’m not going to get into detail; for the ones that are driven to explore, driven by adventure, driven to live and learn more about themselves are the ones that will understand why I chose to ride my motorcycle around Korea.

Now this never seemed like an impossible thing for me to do, and with my contract ending in 3 months I wanted to take advantage of my time spent in Korea and leave with the full experience.

My 10-day journey started with a trip to the mechanic, a borrowed tent, a stop at Dongdaemun’s camping district, a handy Korean road map, the knowledge that you can pitch-a-tent pretty much anywhere along the coast (just check with the locals first), and the idea to circle the country; everything else was left up to the roads.

1)  

Jeju’s Jeongbong waterfall is quoted to be “the only Asian waterfall that falls directly into the ocean”. I like the ferocity of this quote so I decided not to do any research to find the truth in it and just let it be.  It truly is a breathtaking site and worth the 2000 won park admittance; it is also located within 20 km of Seogwipo’s other waterfall Cheonjiwon. 

2

After driving along the shore roads on the west coast of Jeju, the rocky cliffs forced me to merge onto the 1132 expressway which is where I found this sexual wonderland (not to be confused with Jeju’s other sexual wonderland Loveland). The Sex and Health Museum is home to grand sculptures of people at play- much like these sexy women who urged me to snap these erotic photos.

3)

Lonely Planet Korea claims it takes 7-8 hours to climb Hallasan’s summit, and I would have followed that advice had it not been that I was rushing to catch a ferry to Busan and hadn’t the time, which is partly excuse of the goofy look. The hazy background often comes-and-goes due to the altitude and location to the sea; the mist passed within 5 minutes but my camera hadn’t the life left.

4)

This ajumah approached me with a sweetened deal of 5 king crabs for 50,000 won- so after stopping at the local shop for some butter to melt in her microwave I took her up on the bargain. Yeondok’s port is home to a seafood market that is surrounded by restaurants with tanks swelled with ocean delights.

5)

After cruising and sleeping on beaches and mountains all along the coast line I pulled into a Baekam on a cloudy day and met Bryce the owner of this Baekam Springs Hotel.

Each bedroom is furnished with a bathtub that is pumped with natural hot-springs water, or if you are just passing through; you can opt for a cheaper alternative and just use the bath-house for 6000 won, either way it’s a very relaxing excuse to stop in Baekam.

6) This spectacular fountain rests just off the shore of Kolaybul’s white sandy beach. At night the town gathers closely around and watches the colourful streams dance to Andrea Bocelli’s Time to Say Goodbye.

7) It is told that a young man and woman paddled a boat out to an island, in which the man had to leave shortly after, promising his quick return. That night the waves grew violently and he was unable to make the venture and it was the same storm that threw her from the island ending her life. From that day forth that fishing village was struck with barren catches as it was said that the woman’s tears had warded off the fish. The people of the village began creating phallic wooden carvings and sending them to sea as a tribute to the virgin woman- this action resulted in the end of the curse and the village once again flourished with great scaled bounty.

8) Walking out of Daechon’s E-Mart, I was startled to hear the sound of muffled barking as I witnessed this dishevelled puppy as one of the new victims of dog lockers.

9) Jeongdongjin is home to a happening beach-town pumping with late night karaoke and long sandy beaches. Its name derives from the Joseon Dynasty out of its directly-eastern position to Seoul’s Gwanghwamun. 

10) After spending the night sleeping on a mountain along the Mokpo’s West Sea, I woke to board the 4 1/2 hour ferry boat to Jeju. It is a good idea to book your tickets a day in advance to avoid the lines in the morning. Prepare for choppy waters but all the nice people on board make for a smooth ride.

11)Unlike my previous boat ride; Jeju to Busan’s 11-hour overnight ferry gives you much time to catch up on needed rest. Prepare to bring some ear plugs for the late night television viewers in your cozy room of 100. 

After 1340 km on my bike and one sore ondongy I departed on my 230 km trip back to Seoul. Stopped at a red light just outside of Jeongdongjin, several police officers were standing car-side before one called me over. I doing nothing illegal just followed procedure and cruised through the red light to meet him. The cop anxious at a chance to meet a foreigner asked me my name and age while checking out my bike. Before letting me go he asked me where I was going; Seoul I said, as he chuckled mimicking my mechanics reaction. 

trip to paris

I went to the jays game today- biking in the rain to meet Jord and Cory quit we scalped 10$ tickets and snuck into the 100 level seats and watched the jays kick the rangers ass as they swatted 3 dingers in a 7-2 victory. I left in the 7^th cause of parking issues and cruised back to Dundas losing my Korea hat along the drive. The day before Tim and I took a leisure cruise to Paris, Ontario- a town lying on the shore of the Grand River that looked like a photo from the turn of the century- each building stood firm from its original structure. The length, if even, of a football field ran the towns strip; two dollars stores, a few cafes, the ubiquitous Chinese restaurant, a pub, canoe rental, candy and ice cream parlor, all of which had its feet in the sand of the Grande hosting a grand view of its own. Being labor day weekend the only store that caught my attention was closed- there is nothing more enjoyable in my books than to peruse towns for used book shops- it lets you peer into the lives and interest of the locals without the rigidness of the already standing buildings that have premeditated their daily choices along the strip. I believe I will come back next week with the mother on my bike to enjoy the old world feel and buy some more soy candles from this wonderful ladies garage.

sept 2010

a walk in the park with open eyes

The shoemaker,

Stares at the blistering souls

Of every woman, child and man that step past his shop

The locksmith

Stares at the clasp of jingling keys with heightened sense-

That same jingle that haunts his dreams for those homes

That have been broken into

The squid vendor

Stares at every hotdog held in hand

Wishing that Korea had not been modernized

The jeweller

Stares at every naked finger, neck and ear

Dreaming that everyday was a special occasion

The florist

Stares at every tulip and chrysanthemum

Hoping it will shed new light in others lives   

The palm reader

Stares into each soul that passes by their tent

Cursing each one under their breath

The wedding planner

Stares deep into the eyes of soul-mates

Envious of new love

The interior designer

Stares at wardrobes and pocketbooks

Envisioning a fashionable yet affordable utopia

The stuffed animal schemer

Stares and taunts each man

In respect to his woman’s worthiness

The stocking salesmen

Stares at the legs of women

Hoping for subways filled with ladies

And wishing each day be colder than the last

The accessory retailer

Stares at unadorned individuals

Hoping that their garments

Catch the attention of any set of eyes that inch a glance

The mirror merchant

Stares as you eye yourself

Desperately hoping it catches you in good light

The silkworm vendor

Stares at the faces of those

Who just caught scent of the tasty earthed creature-

In wonder of just how far the smell actually travels

The golden pop salesman

Stares at the swaying heads of the depressed subway passengers-

Hoping that a tune

Will bring them out of their worn down, overworked state

The military guards

Stare blindly; only keeping track of the

Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds,

Fractions of decimals of fractions of time that remain

Until their ‘duty to their country’ is served

The elegant elderly

Stare at the aged faces of other elders dressed in rags-

Fully aware they await the same death

Only they are dressed accordingly

The obese

Stare at the reactions they receive-

Wishing that they too could literally fit into society.

The children

Stare at tall buildings, fast cars, and corporate monopolies

That have advertently hedged their way into innocent minds.

I’m loving it.

While the homeless

Stare with wild drunken eyes

Glazed upon suited yuppies and swollen pocketed youth,

In search of generous handouts, loose change and dropped wallets;

Roaming the streets for makeshift cardboard lay-over’s,

Breathing grates to ward bitter winter nights,

And back alley dumpsters

take 6

Quick everyone up in this spaceship

Before this bass riff

Is giving all of you face lifts

Take 6

It’s better than take 5

With 6 fingers

Just think of the hand jive

steel city

The Steel City

Birthplace real pretty

With the sun shining

Skirts out

Make me feel giddy

Reminiscing about my first booty

When I was a kiddy

Ended up breaking up because she acted to immi

No she didn’t?

Did she?

Sure did!

Girls name was Whitney

Real pretty, 16, firm titty

plus she dig me

But time keeps on tickin’

Its not so innocent

Its not like the first time

That you ever got it wet

Since then you’ve faced reject and disrespect

Scene a lot a shit on TV from Iraq to Tibet

It’s enough to wring your neck

Or cave in and write a check

Fuck the government just take my name off the list

And you can take my house

Just leave me the front step

And Ill live there in a tent

If it keeps me out of debt

Cause a house

Is just four walls

of imprisonment

You work your ass off

Just so you can sit in it

Now that’s not living

Meaning missing

Blind vision

Only driven by things that glisten

Up my tuition

So whats it gonna take for yall to feel like a kid again?

Get your lunch money stolen by the bigger man, little man!

Now how do you feel

Kinda bitter and belittled… damn

Now turn that around

What traits have you crowned

Ill let you think about em’

Go ahead and jot em down~