-

I hate to deviate from the plan at hand, but in all my luck i'm drunk and at home again. I've devised charts and graphs to avoid such events; however my equations never involved you, so they're flawed at best.

.

i want it back. i need to have it back.

-

It's sorta like the feeling you get when you look around and see:
-piles and piles of filthy clothes
-two fully filled ashtrays
-several half-drank coffee cups
-glass cleaner / febreeze
-half-finished work
-mostly uncrossed to-do lists
-every inch of your desk filled
and you think, yeah, i'm fucking glad there's nobody around to fuck this up.

-

Remember us for our exaggerations, not our reality!

.

MY FIRST REGRET WAS WAKING UP THAT MORNING FEELING LIKE A MILLION BUCKS. MY SECOND REGRET WAS ANSWERING YOUR PHONE CALL. MY THIRD REGRET WAS THAT YOU DIDN'T HEAR THE LAST TWO WORDS I YELLED AT YOU ON THE PHONE. MY FOURTH REGRET WAS NOT REALIZING UNTIL MIDNIGHT THAT IT WOULDN'T HAVE MADE A DIFFERENCE. MY LAST REGRET IS THAT I STILL HAVE HOPE.

-

should i still wash my sheets every four weeks even if it's a bed in which no woman ever sleeps or i should i second guess shaving three times a week because shaving costs money and i can barely afford to eat and should i cut my hair short and be proud of my family's forehead and practice smiling in mirrors every spare glance i get and probably...

-

I COULD STOP IF I WANTED TO.

.

35 at 22.

.

I DON'T CARE THAT YOU CARE THAT I DON'T CARE.

.

/ ///// /// /// /// ///////// /// /////. // /// /// ///////// /// // // ////// /// /// / ///// // ////, /// /// / //// //// // ///// //// //. /// //// ///// //// /////// // // //// /// // //// / /// ////// //// /// //// / ///// // ////. //// ///! //// //// /// ////// ////! //// //// ////// //! ///// ///// // /////! //// /// //// //////// //// /// //// ////? //// /// //// ////? // ////? /// //// //// /// ////// // /// ////.

.

.

The sky was raging, the boy disappeared,
I fell on my knee
Atmosphere broke up, the boy reappeared.
I cried, “Take me please!”

Ice, it was shining.
I could feel my heart, it was melting.
I tore off my clothes, I danced on my shoes.
I ripped my skin open and then I broke through.
I cried, “Break it up, oh, now I understand.
Break it up, and I want to go.
Break it up, oh please take me with you.
Break it up, I can feel it breaking,
I can feel it breaking, I can feel it breaking,
I can feel, I can feel, I can feel, I can feel.”

-

-

WAYS OUR BODIES BETRAY US:

EVEN WITH EYES CLOSED, WE FIND OURSELVES LOOKING FOR SOMETHING.

.

TAKE A CHANCE.
LAST CHANCE.
NO MORE CHANCES.

.

"you weren't supposed to hear that."

-

DO WHATEVER YOU WANT AS LONG AS NOBODY GETS HURT.

AS LONG AS BOTH PARTIES AGREE, DO IT, WHATEVER.

WHATEVER FEELS RIGHT, AS LONG AS YOU BOTH WANT TO DO IT AND NOBODY GETS HURT, THERE'S NO REASON NOT TO.

AS LONG AS THERE'S MUTUAL AGREEMENT AND THE RIGHT FEELING, NO MATTER WHO OR WHAT.

WHATEVER FEELS RIGHT.

.

nothing ever didn't happen

.

• YOU
• WERE
• NEVER
• WORTH
• THE
• TROUBLE
  

.

you almost got away with it.

-

SO I GUESS IT WOULD PROBABLY be sorta like this place is so terrible and i feel terrible and this place is actually the worst and i'm probably too drunk or something and pretty loud i think i get pretty loud when i get pretty drunk and i think i maybe laugh too often and feel pretty ashamed at being a bit psyched on what a joke it is what a joke it all is but continue to push the bar the having an okay time despite it being a not-so-okay time bar and maybe you'll think that an okay time is what you'd like to have as well and come over to where i might be and say something like "you look like we have books or music or something in common" and i'd smirk sorta and say "yeah, 1994 screamo?" and you'd say "oh yeah, fuck you buddy, i'm sure you say that to all the girls" and i probably won't believe you but be pretty excited when you cite cap'n jazz and we smile super big together and yell really loud with fists clenched against chests "THIS WHOLE WORLD IS A WASTE OF MY TIME" and nobody else in the room would appreciate it so we'd laugh harder but the kinda laugh that is very strong so we'd smother our laughs in the other's personal space where neck and shoulders meet and i think "oh, how strange" and i expect you to say something really terrible and not what i want to hear like "oh, i've slept with the majority of the people you know" or "i'm sixteen" but instead you stand up straight and stretch and i do the same and hey wow you're shorter than me awesome and hey you haven't ran away yet so i assume i'm in the clear and i FAST FORWARD A FEW WEEKS AND we're hanging out in my bed maybe sorta naked watching season six of the simpsons because it has always been my favorite and it's probably your favorite too or maybe at least is now and maybe we kiss occasionally but laugh more frequently and it's pretty good we're both psyched on this arrangement and we're probably not having sex ever because i said once "can't have sex, sex steals souls and shit" and you probably maybe feel at least sort-of the same otherwise we wouldn't be in this situation and i blink and WE'RE PROBABLY SOMEWHERE having an okay time somewhere fine and it's okay great and probably something small and irrelevant happens and i decide at random that this whole thing is just silly and i'd rather be complaining somewhere so i won't call you back but at least you won't think of me as being too shitty when i accidentally cross your mind three years from now while watching basic cable.

-

LOST IN THE LEARNING CURVE.

.

you held it like you meant it.

.

AND YOU
said it all
AND YOU
indulged yourself
AND YOU
took it for granted
AND YOU
dismissed it
AND YOU
abused it
AND YOU
wanted it back again
AND YOU
had it
but you
you will never have it again

.

you don't have to worry about me worrying about you any longer.

-

AND YOU ALWAYS FIND ME HERE.

remembered pleasantries and
fake satanism stop
- - - - - - - ### it was all we had at the time

(there is nothing appealing about your stupid fucking face)

^^^^&
AND NOW
who's the one with
bug-bitten knees?

only nerving shopped to improve
lucky hazard in fondly
look-backing and migrate
as far and fatal but necessary
and not for overt underestimates
of the spokesperson of chasing.

-

i've had so many worst days of my life.

.

.

strobed screens and buzzing fingers.
day dreaming and night knocking.
broken bottles and empty bags.
musty wood and silent ceilings.
dry pigment and pencil shavings.
crisp air and dense heartbeats.
toxic visions and destructive patterns.
relentless love and overbearing hatred.
passive control.
subtle flinch.
make you all better.
make you see clearly.
make you want to want it.

.

NOT NOW NOT NEVER

.

i hate the way i love the way you lie to me.

.

.

at the same time the recovery which lost at all of that you or / at the very least that i was thinking that i was / i would like to thank the nominal affected
at the same time which i light when we talk about words i was once did not want to hear that
at the same time over and asked me / and to discontinue you
at the same time you are the real
at the same time may not too late in the day / knowing how everything considers
at the same time
at the same time away from me / second best i am not, the object is to be used and for us to throw we agree on is / talking about is not / i cry in your own face
at the same time be back
at the same time you preach to
at the same time i / good speeches never again
at the same time there is a lack but incitement to hatred which you i am, as well as i see it
at the same time that i do this leaves me that would like you to apply but i am not will never again / so harden everything i have left

this time there is no doubt i will / a promise i can only hold

-

"If principles are deceptive, only the reality of poverty and work are true."
- - -

can i see you sometime later?
yes, but not today.

all this admirable lineage to which the sudden solipsist turns and retreats, reworking repeats in paths; turning up sticks with a fancier style of footwear. a longtime refuser of acknowledgement, *) [as we all know] glazes over in all-heard before, sensing a memory and slipping it away / not for later, but for somebody else. not one thing can stir this *), no, remember, you don't exist! not you or me even, just *) and no, even a cat-call and a fuck you you you taken into context to facilitate a surely perfect ending.

a bad thing:
you and all your sheets are coffee-stained queen.

a bad thing:
me and my better half- the youthful prosecutors.

-

"up to this point, yes;
but beyond it, no."

)-of youth & humiliation

and die on my feet or
run to sleep with
your own name
and turn onto college street
for no one.

.

"NOT."

.

we will be selling poor shape at zine dream in toronto.
sunday august 29th @ the tranzac
http://www.zinedream.com/2010.html

.

-

"we shall see" what
this greater quiet means

candy-breath (or
isn't) sits
in caprice
sunglasses
and striking demonstration
=.-....in the morning scratched
that old unexplored lump
in our throat
(and your back corrects and)

rediscovered
all or nothing

-

the swallowed truth,
to a statistical "YES!" to everything.

funny, things
change (or don't)

but somehow, the
better one for it
is still worse off.

.

and i felt your gaze on the back of my neck and your fingers through my hair. and i felt your breath on my shoulder and your hand on my leg. and i felt my liver collapse and my heart fall into my stomach. and i felt a pulsing under my lips and a twitch under my eyeball. and i felt liquid fill my lungs and blood dripping from my kneecaps. and i felt knives up my spine and scratches on my throat.
and i felt complete.

-

day-to-day arranged to-do's and then
what often happens, happened

(coffee cup reaches teeth,
clinks in irritability)

colorless as the libertine's non-blush
and all points touching failure
careless in habit, all correct and
(marked gestures)
please, don't call me comrade

own adages suddenly less innocent,
more (thoughtfully) orderly
as if we're starting just
to reach the ending.

.

TOO SCARED TO SLEEP
TOO SCARED TO SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS

.

.

I NEVER SAID NEVER.

.

for the times you wake up in the morning and regret it.

.

ACCEPTING YOUR CURSE OF ETERNAL REFLECTION AND CHRONIC REMISSION BY SOURCING NEW MATERIAL FOR FUTURE SORROW AND FUTURE REGRET.

-

we never needed you.

.

toomuchtimewastedonsomethingthatneverhappened

-

face down in a cool breeze

a reaching-sky maxim
proceeding in praise
of the platonic

your state of permanent preparedness,
sensibly not-too-happy by
inevitable necessity ( -
of a grateful public face

(the voluntary
couldn't interest me)
like a brick through
the window of dismal predictabilty

.

-

(in an ex-nick-name's death)

ensuring we escape our title page,
fourteen-point and
"i'm stressing my dedication"

[our blemishes bring us together]

" - - - always fondle lovelessly "
mysteriously elsewhere rhetoric
/trusting; whispered; aphoristic/

yes, +shut (excuse me?) four
chords native our inexperienced
drink over-pour almost foreign
language buffer
sta-rtst-ops>>>>
[inbreaks / hands touch, mistakingly]

assuming barely responsibility,
sore cold and winded by staying
secular, or unthinkably civil

there is
a big black spot in the world
for you
somewhere

-

you () the sudden solipsist;
spreading over those
unfortunately nonexistent
or casually superstitious
(do i want this on my arm forever?)

in logical neccessity,
no-facts of realized limits

with no one need
(just an array of
loosely related things)

and a point
exempt of theme

as though, () implores "
your face, so changed!"
and words you step over
more easily, these words
as though renouncing the
larger echo, hoping some
things don't come back

purely theoretical,
my life-line mirrored
in double-negative
absolute value

even though we agreed differently
after all,

it's always either raining,
or not raining.

-

MEDIOCRITY IS THE KILLER.

.

you struggle to maintain your persona of a static jpeg floating on a screen.

.

the thrill of :

a) the chase
b) the gossip
c) the drugs
d) the suffering
e) the attention

f) all of the above

.

-

a few remarks
left to dry up

(what a confusing concept)

we started
far too literal
like blow-up
like our will was
never truly free

leaning toward our
best forward footing

-

once again we meet at last

in one further complication
of boots removed and left
(and lost) in sameness

lines being cut and
time, too much off and yet
not enough

to know he wouldn't have
acted as he did, so quick
with incorrect words spoken
by infrequently used lips

appreciating each sleep
and no-dreams, defiantly
resisting promise and
position

staying only
to recalibrate what still lies gray
waiting to turn into
an idea.

.

Conceptual Haircut
Conceptual Poetry
Conceptual Sleepover
Conceptual Protest
Conceptual Garbage
Conceptual Date Rape
Conceptual Picnic
Conceptual Shopping
Conceptual Graveyard
Conceptual Mixed Drink
Conceptual Bracelet
Conceptual Christmas Tree
Conceptual Ladder
Conceptual Baseball Hat
Conceptual Gymnastics
Conceptual Argument
Conceptual Ignorance
Conceptual Idiot

.

YOU KNOW NOT WHAT YOU PREACH.

.

-

absolutely all those, sleepingly late (after a crisis of conscious, 2010)

when he (who?) says love (long L?) does he (all past love faces blending) compare (what to who, exactly?) you (holding desperately to each syllable) to a flower (stricken from the ground?) or a fire (blazing through the financial district) that emerges in his vision (slightly blurred through right eye astigmatic) or heart (beating hard in heat)? does he (sickeningly smirking) kiss (like every other long-loved always) you (sweating already) on your cheek (crossing paths with lip-lines of others [many?]), contemplating (probability ratios resting somewhere behind his ears) how much (monetarily) further (all the way, all the time?) this (an experience, an experience, an experience) can (will?) go (with no intention of leaving your roommates couch [found in an alley somewhere in 2008]) before (are we past that point already?) we (murmered names, next to numbers) take (steal?) it (all?) a bit (not much, but enough) too far (unfortunately not the next town over).

does he (smelling of what?) shrug (arrogant as a guilded youth) and proceed (tenacious in touch [quick and desperate]) with a detatchment (similar to those before, similar to those experiences before) admirable (how many, now?) to even those (who, everybody, all? [not me]) as well learned (doubtful in any book) as he (in vague yearning).

but you (not mine, his, hers, no-ones), you (eager enough to acquiesce) think (thought) about trying (half-heartedly?) to change (it takes more than clothes), and stop (resist) such jaunts (what a joke it is) and declared (in an insolant intonation) rejection (unexpected maturity) of the masses (most of us [lets be honest]) and dedication (how sweet) to the pursuit (experienced, desire) of positive (there's no place for sentimentality in this line of work) achievements (how sweet it would be to completely forget history).

-

automatic poem for those i've left footnotes (2010, drying out outside of dufferin mall)


a hush into spinal straightness
as if increased height and increased appeal
are two hand-in hand, awkward and unset

instead,

the same cruel marksman carelessly casts
the most fortunate remark

stray well; lighters hidden in shirts and
appear, showcased brash proving those
elite talk sparesly and sleek
puffing smoke in clouds through
gapped front teeth

believe me,

the right words to announce my departure
aren't mine at all
but yours
unsaid, good lord,
why so quiet?

-

automatic poem for the blissfully unaware (dufferin grove, 2010)


sprawled out and knees up and novels
block out the sun and stretched out
in unisex fragrance

undying persistance and influence
peaks at palm-sized (pardon the
phrase) with a secret or two,
quickly paired-off and kissing sweet
and slowing down only when nobody
is expecting it

"the past is a multicoloured taffeta."

leaning towards lines with
no traces, nobody can find
an old repeater with nothing
but knees to touch
in infinity presses
or infidelity murmers.

-

automatic poem for secrets and secrets (2010, in a sweat-soaked collared shirt.)

a cold shower every hour

the return to the worst real life,
orchestrated in a stylistic sway
a simple scratch on the cheek
a circle scrawled and a V

we spoke, o countrymen, on your
behalf! - we say, fumble through
the act, clinical and quick!
own terms, degrade! our hollow
shame - your hidden agenda!

look-a-like-a-leering-side-walk
side-glance-stops-steps-and-stroke
necks-in-sweet-songs-on-rare-records

we read to recognize, as if better feeling
forbid! arbitrary and inadequate, as if
an engagement with the expert
sitting clever,
folding conversation into neat shirt sleeves
the populace sophisticate,
somewhere rustles
leaves

a miraculous sneak
on one bended knee

us, a collective parody
to believe in
nothing like that.

-

automatic poem for the craigslist apartment searchers (2010 on an even more foreign couch)


in heat we meet;

comfortable, settled in the status
quo, yet ardent of heart? followed
modern graphs and charts, knocking
reckless consolation and begs us,
'i'm yours!' callus half-natured;

burned at the stake in keeping careful company.

noting of an admirable deportation,
linking hands forever sealed in
radical aesthetics of the past

a greater public panic, outshines
our antilyrical ecstaticism-
the constant meeting halfway
troubled him inexuberantly.
is it truly such a difficult task
to make a motion complete?

pleading for the proclamation
of a courageous rush into a crowd
indefinable, but i'm not so sure (said)
if boundaries, anarchistically absent,
crossed, how do we go around the getting
back, passport lost?

-

automatic poem for the time-travelling pizza boy, 2 (2010 on a foreign couch)


mr. - - -
look away, i'm joking! (or
melting) suv grid this gift we
are about to recieve, occupied
and curious untangling of lights
strung early, through the

night whole mockery tails i don't,
then again, it's deep and all different,

there's a woman for you.

throw to block all bets and four years
ago this would hence seemed quite
shapeless, too custom to last. solution-
fine! may we 1/3, 2/3, resorts.

i advice against holding it.

oh, parallel creation! evil twins, my color
and i tell you, be not confused with hands up!

perfectly symmetrical violence

ours didn't, how'd you, i had to, why i never -
stylish headwound

-

(), our good friend (), as if to say, what, you're too good? for writing words? all of a sudden silent? no problems? shush? no, i don't believe you! none of us, your nasty talk, without it, where would we be or go even, cynical sweetness and verbal feet-sweeping with accuracy and ease, triumphant return of the constant moan! () what? iii - - - i looked for you today, today, i-i-i looked down at my feet and started to speak, i - o - i, () and you, &&& you, &&&&& us, ≠≠≠≠≠ us, yes/ / / /

. . /// / / /---AND

≠
us.

.

I SAW THE FUCKING LIGHT. I CALLED IT A FUCKING DAY. CALLING ALL THE FUCKING SHOTS. I FUCKING CAME OUT ON TOP. NOW I COME TO FUCKING TERMS. THE DEAL IS FUCKING DONE. ALL'S FUCKING WELL THAT ENDS FUCKING WELL. AT THE END OF THE FUCKING DAY. AT THE DROP OF A FUCKING HAT. IT ALL FUCKING BOILS DOWN TO THIS. ALL IN A FUCKING DAY'S WORK. NOW I CROSS MY FUCKING FINGERS. I COUNT MY FUCKING LOSSES. I WILL NOT HOLD MY FUCKING BREATH. I WILL NOT FUCKING CALL IT QUITS. I WILL NOT DIG MY OWN FUCKING GRAVE. I DRAW THE FUCKING LINE. I WILL NOT DRAG MY FUCKING FEET. I WILL NOT DROP THE FUCKING BALL. KEEP THAT FUCKING STRAIGHT FACE. KEEP THAT FUCKING CHIN UP. KEEP THAT FUCKING COOL. KNOCK ON THAT FUCKING WOOD. I LAY MY CARDS ON THE FUCKING TABLE. MAKE IT FUCKING QUICK. MAKE A FUCKING EXCEPTION. MAKE ENDS FUCKING MEET. MAKE FUCKING CONVERSATION. IT MAKES NO FUCKING DIFFERENCE TO ME. MARK MY FUCKING WORDS. I WILL FUCKING TAKE CHARGE. I WILL FUCKING TAKE PRIDE. I WILL TAKE THE FUCKING CAKE. THE TIME OF MY FUCKING LIFE. THE TIME ON MY FUCKING HANDS. THE TIME HAS FUCKING COME. FUCKING TURN UP. FUCKING TUNE IN. FULL FUCKING STEAM AHEAD. WE WILL SEE WHO GETS THAT LAST FUCKING LAUGH.

.

combative cunts and idle instigators.
i am revolted by your rebellion.

.

-

Does the secret to beauty lie in an irrational mathematical constant?
Does the secret to beauty lie in an irrational mathematical constant?
Does the secret to beauty lie in an irrational mathematical constant?

the whole is the longer part plus the shorter part;
the whole is to the longer part as the longer part is to the shorter part.

POOR SHAPE VOLUME 2

COMINGSOONCOMINGSOON

COMING SOON

-

i am so compulsively smearing eyeshadow on my cheeks 11:20 pm.

i am screaming along pop songs bedrooms with seven strangers, 1:15 am.

i am under a bridge lighting a fire with my best friend, talking about mass dissapointment, 2:45 am.

home, 5:06.

-

pharmacute.

.

-

RESEARCH YR CHARACTER (FOR THE MESH-WORN AND HOPE-LESS [SEPERATE FOREVER])

THE DESPERATELY AVERAGE AND THE OVERLY MEDIOCRE, pleading and slinking a noticably wide line pushing to be ahead by a hair AND IT STOPPED BEING ABOUT SUPERIORITY A LONG TIME AGO. please do not stop smoking for us, all long-time lovers of the rearview mirror. we held on so fucking tightly to those things we loved when we were younger, we loved everything so much with all our stunting growth! I AM TRYING TO TELL YOU ABOUT A PROMISE THAT IS SO VERY SECRET AND SO VERY REAL, and it's inside of all of us all everywhere, but the funny thing is that thing so many people say, that phrase, you know? that one about 'promises break all the time, no big deal ok.' keeping true has become frowned upon and frightening, these definitions fogging-up and floating thru our bedroom doors at nite? all ex-great forgetters of our time, absorbed in that big deep fucking pit of all of those lyrics you would sing under yr breath and all of those secrets worries and sad times there is that GREAT THING right there, it's like the feeling you get when you see a pretty faced girl and for whatever reason you are in conversation with her and that terrible phrase makes its way thru yr lips, and no, she can't say she reads much, there's just not enough time in the day, never been much of a reader. well, yeah, i mean, i go to art school, sure, and i am an actively participating member of the house-gallery scene, but i don't understand why people are spending all their time making stuff? why create when the goal is to participate? making a scene! the premiere flaw of us choked-up and suddenly hung. gasp. so it's as if there is some great secret here, i mean, the price-tags dangle on people so very proudly and that is a pretty fantastic thing it it's own right, but where is the direction? THIS IS NOT ABOUT SUPERIORITY, THIS IS ABOUT SOUL-SEARCHING AND SELF-TRUTH. so very many faces tinted pink with sunscreen. so pretty with white-washed walls. WHY DO I THINK THIS WAY? is there some sort-of long-lasting high-school resentment still stuffed away, feeling like the preps and jocks are now in streetwear and cut-off shorts? 100% brushed cotton, pastels, high-heels. extreme is so fucking mainstream. I TOTALLY AM NOT PINPOINTING YOU. this is not a fingerpoint song, i am reading people like pamphlets on mental health. there were times when the edge, fuck, that edge was supposed to be really sharp and sharp simple things were put on priority, now every poor kid owns 100000 pairs of shoes and funny bow-ties. our third attempt was half-hearted and barely-heated and defeated and holding our lover's hand was like grasping death's cape and promising tomorrow is going to be ok was easy enough, over the phone, over a short-talk of days spent (our versions different). now all sleeping in tanktops beside lazied lovers, changing channels appropriately and praying DEATH BEFORE REDUNDANCY.

YOUR POINTS ARE FORGETTABLY LOST, but all agendas must recieve appropriate tending to. we use all our muscles to keep from drowning, whether we want to or not. alienation breeds fear or maybe it's vice versa or situation-based, but they both breed contempt and confusion and if yr demons are banging at the heart-gates always, relentlessly, don't do it with yr voice! EVERYBODY HAS ONE, even if they have just a few scattered words. STAY RARE IN A HYPERCOMMON CULTURE. it's a no-pride no-shame no-luck no-fame no-love no-life no-hope no-harm no-fun no-friends no-time no-trail no-bother no-better no-reach no-response no-faith no-trace no-yawn no-win no-cash no-fashion no-future no-body no-thing environment, so you better write something down and use yr fists. ALL THINGS EXPIRE, pounding furious letters of fleeting love on keypads citywide.

.

.

CRAFTING DECENCY DESPERATE MEASURES FRESH START WITH RUSTED LIMBS AND COMPULSIVE ADULATION FUCKED CANT NOT WONT NEVER SAID I COULD DO BETTER BUT I BELIEVED IT ROMANTICIZED MONOLOGUES AND SELF MOTIVATIONAL SPEECHES PLAYED ON SILVER SCREENS SCRATCHED ON WALLS

SAME SUN SAME MARKS SAME BURNS SAME HEADACHE SAME SWEAT SAME SQUINT SMUDGED MAKEUP SOGGY BANGS BLOODSHOT EYES UNDER SQUINTED LIDS DRY MOUTH MUGGY LUNGS CHAPPED LIPS CRACKED SKIN

YOU WOULDNT EVEN BELIEVE IT

-

and a platform for getting your point across. or maybe exhibitionist tendancies? slowly becoming more influenced by your surroundings. closing parallels. classical depictions of the state of being in love. tossing your hands up to the substance-abuse chorus. draped unappealingly. a dexterity that would make a magician timid. pointing out perfect examples of fraud. a delirious pulsing of post-teen productivity. forgetting certain people i knew about once, they were not very good for my health. they made my eyes dark. craving that sort of physical approval. learn to burn those bridges while they still are warm to the touch. some actions need no reason. the terror whistles through the workplace. those things we needed long ago. streak of glossy pigment. embankments littered with psychic vampires. having expectations of no tomorrow or no future, the world has given them everything in their hands. no choice but to adapt. this party is a pretense. pretty princess treated better, gets a bit bitter about the best you have to give. buried under supposed new big hits in the scene. they are the new people to know, they are the better dressed and looking, thank you mom and dad. thank you everybody who believe in me. thank you, memory screen. total fear of total honesty. character asassination. marked with a sneer at a table for two. lines littered with all of these days, documented. to a tee. too many extra people in these places. the performance too over the top. sitting 'cross, pouring souls and probably feeling a bit better. admiring how much healthier you were two years ago. it left my head. remember steps, remember gaps mean precision and discernment for the sake of all present affairs. small steps. a small pair of shorts make you feel funny. open toed sandals and sundress, i am sorry for being unsure of conversation. a solo venture. surely, we all change sometime? eyes shift across the room. fifteen hands grasping cellphones. thank god for the future. we want to be like you! we want to be all knowing always! we want to know ourselves in frail gestures emphasizing true admiration and inferiority complex! cowardice with an ample chest! fear in distressed denim! house party bathrooms, everybody notices! these things, these good friends in good places! misery with a modest income! one labelled 'champion,' one labelled 'star.' praises flutter above assembled heads. barricaded behind slang and balconies! a great design, slightly flawed! of proof of possibility! subject of interest only to those less interesting. natural response to uncertainty posed by meek moral rationalism. you walk home in the rain because it feels fantastic. wild-eyed and usual rhymes. mechanically searching for those words again. some response. a real winner. finished just fine. deliberating over a phone call, seems unimportant now so i might as well forget about it. where would we go, anyways? real mad, authentically mad at each other. i'd never tell you where i've been, terribly blue-tinged. struggled through a few neighborhoods, gaining familiarity, furthering disconnect. worries can go away, but they might still call you a bit too late at night. my one true faith. a preferred difference in time zone. those ones who i've sheltered are the ones that i blame. staying true to something secret. i have to do something. shouting at the top of my lungs in a public place. something good is bound to happen. i feel it, everytime i bike to work. what do i feel like lacking today? snooze button slammed down four times on a tuesday. for our first born, the world. personal stories of a bad time that we had. it could have been worse. it was pretty bad, though. my conclusion? the known just as well answer you better. routinely reassuring in ellipses and second-hand prowess. putting something into existence though we know that it may not be a one hundred percent thought about thing. but we thought about it? must have. it was thrust into existence whether it wanted to or not, a sudden too familiar and split. too slow. it's the people who run off that i like the most. wonder what we do wrong to the other. bad hair, bad clothes, crackling in protest with every joint in melodic spinal symphonies. american made, well built. sometimes. sway in the sunlight, fell to knees, queen street east. we're not safe. thighs grazing hands tense. our shining. foul tricks in the same shoes. two sets of dining wear and i scan around for more. unfamiliar to your lips cigarettes residing in your coffee cups and sink. listening only to subtext. i am here. not anymore. i felt a surge of contentment. i ran where? followed who? it seemed like a good idea at the time. i was in a bad place. i will pay for this forever. it may be out of my hands. defeated by the future in a few fell swoops. a slight flaw in foresight. clapping in approval. words get back around. wouldn't you? i feel nowhere is that sort of feeling. undefined in our love. the sort of joke i laugh at. where are these wounds you speak so frequently of? unseen in glistening teeth, not apparent in a sidestep and stop for the streetcar, kiss me quickly. folded up napkins stuffed in your sneakers, staving off blisters. been streched out on a beach, celebrating the birth of need. high fived. sealing it with a promise of banknotes. you always can get what you want, at least for a short period of time. yours or mine? fists dedicated to expressive charm. quick sucession of textbook truths. i'm not that kind of person, you would say, you are waiting with a book in a very quaint place, the sort of place you would find very pleasant. somehow i don't really get it. we go a bit too slow, but it feels so right: a profound surprise. missed call mysterious number turns stomaches, right? scratch that itch in the west end. the same way we do things, same way of waiting. the which one is the weaker, once in a while.

-

stand -------- apart, mostly
silent space head tilt giggles
making light and making plans
hips swing into streets and turn
back, one or two stacato lip
presses of reassurance

holding out for something that
smells like sweat-tinged summer
shirts.

.

YOU
ONLY
DIE
ONCE

-

repeated legs twist wrapper round lower parts,
sort-of locks.

.

'you come here when you have no where left to go.'

.

doe-eyed smirks and clownish grins. blistered heels. car alarms. spanish song. filthy glasses. dim-lit daylight. animist concrete. you looked me in the eye and didn't need to ask what i was doing here. i hunt with a skip in my step evading an impending doom depicted by my empty pockets and an unusually defrosted heart. a new kind of kick, a new kind of loneliness. a brutally honest introspective, void of history and ample in context. through futuristic euphoria i have freed myself of haunting nostalgia, and it's about fucking time.

-

a memory, recalled (01/2010)

i believe our first sincere kiss shared was followed with a blase take on our secret desires to maybe die, or at least not caring if such happens.

- - -

sung-under breath, explain: divorce
these things, i'm saying, i'm, like,
i mean, i feel, i really, i just, i
just cannot understand people
or at least the things that people do
for fun, or friday nights that
fray connections / unsure to bridge-burn
and talk unsweet about success, i've been
poorest poor and late-paid payments, i've been
face-dulled and eyes-glazed as usual, i've been
far too worried about you these days, i've been
desperately seeking hand-holding, i've been
myself lately and it's starting to be a problem.

-

"Persevere ye bright punk rockers."

-

the disappeared

___ ___________

.

breaking skin on street glass, dripping blood on foreign pavement, forever leaving a mark, forever making my mark. shedding hair in far-off waters, spiralling down the drain, transmitting my infection through ancient sewers, my own genetic pollution. choke myself, cough up the remnants of my sickness, spit it out on supple soil, planting my disease, allowing it to spread. shed my tears, release my toxins, accept my poison, transform my condition.

-

drinking from the tap from every room in this house.




spilling all of my secrets,
all over ossington,
all over and i can't stop it.

-

walk quick room filled and
cringe, stuffy isn't it?
am best betting on blonde
twin peaks fan, 1983 born
dreams of sudden uprise and kitsch
art back in style
overhear 'your shoes are great!' feeling everybody has
a more expensive haircut than me
i think too much
i think too much
i think too much about overword sentance conversation
can stop there dead
in place, a point is made (crush coffee cup in hand)

.

UP THE ANTE
UP THE ANTI

-

struggle, struggle, occasional snuggle

-

exactly ours.

.

.

stay hungry, think better, report always.

-

you and all your sheets are coffee-stained queen

-

.

UNTIL DEATH DO US PART TIME JOB

-

we dedicate tonight's performance to quiet refusals
loud refusals and sad refusals
we dedicate it to secretaries, alcoholics and schizophrenics
we dedicate it to anxiety attacks, hangovers, worried depression
and all the other necessary by-products of trying to live free
we dedicate it to any endeavour who's ultimate unreasonable goal is autonomy
self-determination or joy
we dedicate it to every prisoner in the world
-gy!be

.

-

"We are pleased to flatter ourselves with the false claim to a nobler motive, but in fact we can never, even by the most strenuous self-examination, get to the bottom of our secret impulsions; for when moral value is in question, we are concerned, not with the actions which we see, but with their inner principles, which we cannot see."
-Kant, Groundworks of the Metaphysic of Morals

-

PUNK ROCK IN THE WRONG HANDS

.

-

-

"...an inability to experience pleasurable emotions from normally pleasurable life events such as eating, exercise, social interaction or sexual activities."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anhedonia

.

.

-

-

parental concern

-

.

get born, keep warm
short pants, romance, learn to dance
get dressed, get blessed
try to be a success
please her, please him, buy gifts
don’t steal, don’t lift
twenty years of schoolin’
and they put you on the day shift

- - -

.

FORCE FED AND STILL HUNGRY

apart of something

a great surviving disaster

grey-green eyed,
never getting fucked on saturday night
(or never getting fucked at all)

previously visited socially,
gleamed acceptance further
finishing table talk with glimpsed
at premonitions of future-fucking; somewhere
nice, somewhere public

long flat walk home, grey-black-grey eyes,
all of this happening isn't happening anyways,
no goodbye, pocket search coming up luck
less

in nodding silent agreement,
if you need me
just leave me a notice.

.

found material

.

despite all my rage
i am still
just
a splat
on a
page

.

AND SO I NEVER RETURN

a) back home as the same person
b) ever

dufferin mall / how do you feel?

television

POOR SHAPE

POOR SHAPE volume one is in it's final printing stage. as of the present moment confirmed dealers include aNYthing (new york), quimby's (chicago) and needles and pens (san francisco). since POOR SHAPE is based in toronto it will be available locally as well.

this blog will be used for excerpts and photographs related to the physical print edition of the book. feel free to download the pdf version of volume one or purchase a copy here through these links:

http://rarelyentire.bigcartel.com/product/poor-shape-volume-one
http://www.megaupload.com/?d=GKYE82GH

if you love or hate what you see or you would like to contribute please contact us at poor.shape.zine@gmail.com.

sincerely,
bee & dee