-

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