#Connect #Disconnect

I love the way the Net allows us to connect & disconnect at the same time. Facebook settings that allow me to Friend but not follow, that allow me to invite while preventing others from inviting me. Twitter settings that allow me to follow but, if I choose, to mute & to block re-tweets of wet kittens. Connected & disconnected at the same time.


We can control who sees us but we can’t control how Facebook, Twitter etc uses our very presence to control us, to sell our privacy. Google maps shows what hotel I’m book at in DC even though I’ve never entered that info into google. I look at something on online retail & ads for it show up on my Yahoo account, on FB feed too. Smart, but not smart enough to know I’m not interested.


I’m not complaining, just observing. I accept that there is no such thing as privacy on line, though I sure hope my Apple’s built-in camera is only active if I activate it. I trust that when I turn my computer off it’s really off. I’m pretty sure that my pvr, my dvd player are only sending information to me & not back to someone who is watching me though a hidden portal in the time/space continuum.


Not that I have such sordid, raunchy or politically dangerous activity – I’m no treat to the fabric of our political system. I just don’t relish the thought of anyone seeing how dull my life actually is. I don’t mind being observed I just don’t want to be judged 🙂


I sat down to do a post about my online life – WordPress, Facebook etc but this notion of privacy took over. The notion of image, control, online profile, encryptions – to what end? I get hits from around the world here at WordPress – I always love to see where – Brazil! North Korea! People who get to know a little about me & yet whom I will never know anything about except their, maybe, country of contact – I wouldn’t be surprised if the wasn’t a program that disguises country of contact. Don’t be shy, say hi, or send me $ 🙂


Joining Amelia

I don’t want to die

I just want to disappear

vanish without a trace

bones never to be found

here one day and gone the next

seen walking from the subway

but never to arrive home

erased from reality

leaving only this string of words

to trip searchers as they look for clues

for hints

of where the heck is he

what ever happened to him

to become a cultural oddity like Earhart

to show up on Investigative Reports

Scene of The Crime


they would infrared the backyard

looking for those bones

search the ravine under the viaduct

question the neighbours    my friends

some of whom

might even recollect what I looked like


even when I was around

there was so little known about me

some knew where I lived

others knew I didn’t live alone

some knew I was a natural blond

others knew I walked a lot

no one had the whole picture


as those elements are slowly pieced together

it still wouldn’t add up

even if they could get all the facts

even if there was a witness

to the whole of this life

like security camera footage

the picture wouldn’t be clear

enough for them to know

where the heck did he get to

he was here one day and now gone

into thin air – into myth

returned to the Seven Sisters


to the ache of your nearly understanding


I don’t want to die

I want to vanish


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#War goes on & on


4 – war mongering

what is there to say about war

that isn’t pointless redundant anti-climatic

what can be said that makes a difference

those who might listen

have already come to a conclusion

no minds can be changed

no new direction can be found

there is no sudden startling brilliant

new avenue of escape    reparation

retribution is the only choice


neither side can win


when this war or any war is over

it is because both sides are exhausted

from trying to press conference

the other into submission

each expects a token of sincerity

an apology neither is will to give


what images don’t trivialize genocide

no matter how many TV eyes

are tuned in on either side

what happens is behind the scenes

in some little secret room

in Washington London Peking

what we get to see


the feast for our eyes

bombed out cafes schools hospitals

the innocent on each side bear the brunt

because the war mongers

are safe in deep hidden bunkers

pushing buttons on their pvrs

to watch the latest CNN diatribe

about the godless on the other side


what changes can we make

someone is always waiting in the wings

getting rid of one leader

only makes room for the new one

the devil we don’t know

isn’t much different from the devil we do know

and the strife continues

each side sure the other is supported

by secret factions


what is there to say about war

that go beyond rhetorical signifiers

beyond jingoistic reflections

what can be said

that might bring it closer to ending

because an end to war is what we want

isn’t it


and if it isn’t over there

it is here

down the street from me

teens play out bully tactic duplications

of whey get fed in the news

between rappers diet reports and garbage strikes

the little local faction

mirrors the world picture

and there is nothing much

anyone can do about it

how can one take a side

when neither is right


what can be said that makes a difference

other than use words to build a safety net

and hope the net holds


Section four re-states the theme with variation. Musing on who profits not only from war but from covering the war. Reporters who get paid more than the soldiers they are interviewing. As if there will be a new answer to the question ‘how did you feel when you pull the trigger?’ ‘when you face someone pulling a trigger.’ Of course those soldiers rarely get interviewed, it is pundits, experts on international affairs who get face time, it’s the corpses of soldiers that become backgrounds for the graphic that leads to commercials.


There is always a hope that new leaders can make a difference but leaders have no power to make a difference. Look at how Obama was hobbled by political resistance to making any real change in the USA. The pretence of democracy satisfies the masses anyway. Today the ‘rhetorical signifiers’ have to contain # for added authenticity. A way of showing support with a key stroke that is nearly anonymous.


As we live in a culture of increasing violence and denial of responsibility I am not surprised at the indifference younger generations show to many things. Texting replaces f2f conversation just as the acronym ‘f2f’ replaces actual words.


Rioters in American streets aren’t part of a civil war but unruly ingrates. The death of a dozen whites is front page domestic terrorism that must be punished, the death of a dozen blacks is the action of a troubled mind that needs to be forgiven so the healing can begin. But no matter what it’s call ed the body count keeps going up.



November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo


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how much is that car in the window


Guitar Harp Flute

card Here’s a handful of seemingly random cds to get me to the end of the ‘miscellaneous’ part of my classical collection – it’s grouped either by instrument (guitar, flute etc) or performer (Segovia). Narciso Yepes: Spanish Guitar Music; a double set with him playing Rodrigo, Castelnuovo-Tedesco & on it DeFalla’s Gardens of Spain. Ransom Wilson’s Flute Encores along with some Baroque. Finally two cd’s of Nicanor Zabaleta on the harp playing Mozart & Rodrigo.


Some of these are lp to cd transfers, some store bought, as it were. Rodrigo’s Concerto de Aranjuez appears a few times here – on guitar & also harp – it’s one of those warhorses & deservedly so – delightful & sturdy: story because it has become a jazz staple – even Miles Davis has had a go at it.


On the Deutsche Grammophon, Yepes double set is also deFalla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain which is a sublime divine, impressionistic piece for orchestra & piano that always transports me. I do have more than one version of this piece & each them is magical.


Ransom Wilson – well the lp cover sold me on him – handsome man with dexterous fingers & strong tongue work – the pieces are short, show-off encores & the lp is a delightful introduction to flute. Zabaleta is a harp maestro – one cd is a an lp to cd transfer & the other store bought – it includes the Mozart concerto for flute & harp – another of my all time favourite classical pieces. On the other he tackles the de Aranjuez transcribed for harp.


Family Matters

‘Did you hear about your cousin Josephine?’


‘Well, she left that guy from the circus.’


‘You know, the trapeze artist. That’s a stretch – artist. He couldn’t draw a line in the sawdust, if you know what I mean? Anyway, she’s left him for some banker.’

‘Good for her. Didn’t your brother end up with some banker, as well?’

‘No. Dave settled down with a dentist. Imagine. Some people have all the luck.’

‘Dentist! Well good to have that in the family isn’t it?’

‘It didn’t last though, Dave’s now with some man who owns a construction company. Roofing, that sort of thing.’

‘Can’t complain about that.’

‘Well, you know who can complain though, is Dad’s second wife, Sally – remember Sally?’

‘Who could forget Sally. Those macaws ruined the furniture in less than two weeks. Who knew birds shit so much?’

‘Anyway, Sal found out that her first husband died and left her nothing.’

‘What did she expect?’

‘Some people expect the world. I heard this from your half-sister Jewel.’

‘Oh, how is that bitch anyway.’

‘I don’t know why you and Jewel never got along. She is really very sweet.’

‘So is arsenic as you swallow it.’

‘My my. Bitterness becomes you.’

‘So what about Jewel. How’s she doing?’

‘She was looking fine. Just got out of a 28 day rehab program and seems to back on her own two feet for a change.’

‘Instead of on her back, you mean?’

‘Ha ha.’

‘I ran into your ex the other day too.’

‘Which one?’


‘Chuck. That was years ago. He was my first. Actually I don’t think we ever got married. You know. Just as well, he didn’t have much to offer, if you know what I mean?’

‘He certainly kept you happy.’

‘Honey we were twelve, so what do you expect?’


‘So how is he.’

‘He’s doing well. Sold the steak house and has moved along to a chain of motels.’

‘Motels? Do tell.’

‘Along three inter-states, so he hopes to be rich one of these day. You should have stuck with him.’

‘Twelve-year-olds aren’t noted for their ability to see the future potential of many thing.’

‘Right. Did you see that special on Greg last night.

‘Which Greg? Your step-son or my son-in-law.’

‘Neither. He’s Dave’s son.’

‘But I thought Dave was with that guy is construction.’

‘He did test the waters before once or twice. Greg was the result. Named him after our grandfather.’

‘So how is this Greg doing.’

‘He did win that Academy Award two years ago.’

‘He’s been in more treatment centres than June though.’

‘They must have paid off. He was looking good and has a new picture coming out next month.’

‘Good thing we have such a busy family. Isn’t it.’

‘I suppose. Give us a little something to talk about. Speaking of which, did you know that Carl’s mother has left them. Run off.’

‘Not with a Fuller Brush Man?’

‘Ha ha. No found out about the other woman, she did.’

#Toronto #music #guitar #harp #photography #review #amwriting #flashfiction


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five card


That Hat Is The #Antichrist in #sfAlchemist

The Alchemist is an hilarious, fast-paced commentary on greed, mystical double-talk & befuddling men’s minds with the female sex. Set in the playwright Jonson’s time the story could so easily be today with its references to putting a door in the right place (feng shui anyone) – word spin: ‘casting’ coins isn’t ‘counterfeiting’ them. The need to get something without working for it – the hard work in this play is by the alchemist finding ways to cull coins from his clients.


A fine ensemble  cast lead by the excellent Stephen Ouimette rampages through the text with fully realized performances, changing characters from scientist to puppeteer, bawd to queen of the faeries, butler to Igoreque lab assistant. They handle the language with zest and articulation. Sublime costume work supports the humour – air balloon pantaloons – an exquisite ‘Spanish’  disguise with a ‘hat is the antichrist.’


I loved this production and would have to name check nearly every cast member for their memorable performances, even the villager walk-ons have terrific comic moments. The packed house easily surrendered to the momentum of the performance & I don’t recall a show that had so many laugh-out-loud moments. She Stoops to Conquer certainly had its fair share but here they seemed to flow fast & yet were paced well enough one didn’t drown out the next.


My only quibble was the use of recorded pop music – the lyrics were hard to make out & so they didn’t add anything to the show itself . I’m also tried of the ‘nipple’ self-tease – men rubbing their own nipples as an expression of some sort of sexual energy. It’s a very contemporary gesture that was out of place in this production; something that came from an actor or the director, not from the characters they were playing – as if they didn’t trust the audience to get the innuendo of a moment without underlining it this way.


An excellent production. Highly recommended. If this is one of the ones that gets a DVD release by all means buy it. Check out my other Festival reviews: Love’s Labours Lost: http://wp.me/p1RtxU-1ik; The Physicists http://wp.me/p1RtxU-1j4. #sfPericles: http://wp.me/p1RtxU-1ka; She Stoops To #sfConquer: http://wp.me/p1RtxU-1mE




is the full moon

you felt the pull of

last week

does it hold you now


did your early warning

leave you immune

to such indirect sun



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Dangly Bits

Dick – that’s right this post, in stereotypical gay male style, is about dick: cock, penis, balls, nuts, dangly bits. Dick on line to be more precise, or rather the amount of it. It’t about the willingness of men, many claiming to be straight, to post cock shots grinning into dusty mirrors. Quantity as opposed to size – because size is too easy to manipulate – if it doesn’t look real it is probably photoshopped.


If you don’t realize that porn created the internet retail, high-speed, hi-def, as we know it, then you are leading a very sheltered life. The need for secure credit card flow was vital for that industry – without that there would be no PayPal, no Amazon, no online banking. Porn proved there was a market for online shopping, that people longed to buy anonymously from the comfort of their homes. And that they wanted it fast & crisp.


Back to dick. Even when I was on dial up I was amazed at the ease of finding & downloading explicit pics of men – nearly all were, what I call, professional. Clearly posed, well lit & sort of banal but hot all the same. I knew there was amateur sites but who wants to pay? Plus dial up was slow. Then I bumped up to high speed & HD.

Wow! a whole new world of dick was presented to me. Tumblr floodgates were opened. I have learned to close them to control the quantity. But what really surprised me was the number of men willing to drop their pants for a camera – often in front of some mirror – in front of mirrors anywhere – change rooms, washrooms, bedrooms, car mirrors. Selfies galore – all ages, sizes, races, types.


There’s also instagram, vine, kik, snapchat, that are driven by dick pics – I don’t for a minute think these sites would grow if all we were getting were cute pics of kittens, babies or gramma’s birthday.

I suspect this endless stream of pics (of any sort) has created a new attention deficit culture – we remember only while we look but insist that each time we look it’s different or there’d be only be one tickled kitten gif. The endless streams allows for enjoyment of things we might not otherwise care for – race, size, get washed away in the flicker of dick pics.


One last word about size – big ones photograph better but thanks to photoshop everyone can become larger. I’ve seen the pics of the same guy only with his dick shopped larger, shopped thicker only, hairier, no hair, cut, uncut, even successful transplants. I stop believing what I’m seeing – it’s just like reality TV – edited for viewer fantasy not physical reality or often possibility.


Safety First

I pack the salmon salad

into a recycled plastic container

to preserve the earth

for a nanosecond each time I use it

is this the biggest risk I’ll take today

whether it will fit

into snug reusable confines

so that I am safe secure

comfortable protected


will I cross a street in the middle

will I try a new brand of tooth paste

minty gel tooth resurrecting fresh

will I go into a coffee shop

order everyone to the floor

screaming sweating swearing

life isn’t fair

everyone here will pay the over price

will I drink too much and pass out in a dumpster

get tossed into a compacter


will I dare God

to protect me from myself

from others

will I fly with knives hidden on my person

try to set fire to my tennis shoes –

will the fridge be be cold enough

to keep my salad from turning to poison

will I sit here and wait

for a mosquito bite to send me to the grave

do I dare

roll down my pant legs

tumble with an unprotected dick


is this what it has all come down to

these years of being mild in the street

leaving me here safe secure

not puzzled by it all any more

in salmon salad complacency

I don’t feel I came to the peak

I sense I finished something

that I don’t remember starting


why does it seem so much bother

to don my disco duds

hustle on down to the dance floor

when at one time

I couldn’t wait

show off my feverish moves

darting and hipping around

shake it baby shake it one more . . .


I don’t even feel a sense of loss

for the grab gut bust muscle

of music and indifference

I’m sure the stoic disinterest

men show each other

hasn’t changed over the years

then again maybe that’s what I need

someone else’s indifference

to butt my butt against

could that be the risk

or is it easier to make my salmon salad

tamp it into the container

and the container is the right size

praise be to God


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War Continued


3 – mind made up

I want my mind made up

so I flip between channels

different viewpoints

opposing sides say the exact same thing

which is closer to the truth

and which is merely closer to the facts


the facts seem to be these

no one knows

even in the minds of the liars

they are telling their truth


I don’t know which way to go

turn off the TV

turn off the world

blow out the stars one by one

with vengeance and retribution

an eye for a sigh

without a second thought

because second thoughts lead to hesitation

and I can’t afford to hesitate


it is up to me

to separate the real from the reality

to pluck the fact from the data

to make some sense

of sand kicked into eyes

the truth is in there

on a grain of sand

I have to find the right one


I want my mind made up

but don’t want to admit

how little I really know about what is going on

what I do know tells me

that even if either side gets their way

no one will be happy

even the winners are gripers

hands out for the warm compassion of money


I don’t want my mind made up

by facts data interviews

images of freshly self detonated teens

who knew what they wanted

they did it

left all this behind

for a dark fraction of the truth


I may not know which way to go

but I do know

I’ve made my mind up

I’m not going that way today


Another section that started with a phrase, this time ‘mind made up’ – the seductive notion that if I watch the right TV moment, read the right book, then I’ll have enough information to come to decision. It becomes increasingly impossible to do that based on the diverging facts we get bombarded with – of these ‘experts’ can’t agree, can’t come to a consensus, is it any wonder I end up confused and frustrated – which leads to ‘who gives a fuck.’


Around the time I wrote this suicide-bombers were appearing with devastating effect. I’d read that many of them where teenagers. I thought of myself as a teen, those floating years of trying to carve out an identity & could grasp how easy it would have been to fall under the ‘spell’ of a ideology that made such a heroic demand of me. Something that defined me with an absolute purpose so that I didn’t have to think at all. An ideology that made my mind up for me.


I wonder how many of those teens were really escaping cultural pressures. Girls who didn’t want to be forced into prearranged marriages, or boys with sexual longing for the boys in a society where that love could never be realized, to if was death would be the punishment if they were caught. Purification by self-sacrifice.


It gets fuzzy as to what the winners win – fighting for freedom – freedom to do what? ‘I fought this war for you, so you could be free but not for you to …. (fill in the blank)’ – freedom of speech?  I recently watched a show about clotheslines: Drying to be Free – in many sunny areas the USA it is illegal to dry clothing out doors! Not even on clothes racks. It’s considered ghetto, trailer park to use the sun to dry clothes, to opt not to waste electricity for an electric dryer. Americans may like individuality but they worship uniformity. Freedom? WTF.


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November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo


November 18, Wednesday: judging at Hot Damn! it’s a Queer Slam – The Supermarket., Toronto


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Hold Out


Jackson Browne’s first two records: Saturate Before Using (named after the cover graphic) & For Everyman – display strong songwriting but Late For the Sky was his breakthrough. I didn’t pick these two up until much later & if Late hadn’t been such a success they would have vanished. Which is what Jackson did himself, after the live Running on Empty he took a break. Running is a great live album that reflects life on the road, drugs & loss of direction with a dynamic back-up band.


He released a few things but it wasn’t until Hold Out that he really resurfaced – this is another powerful romantic, music & image rich recording. During his ‘break’ he did some voice training & his vocals are mature & emotive without overselling anything. If you have no Jackson Browne this is a good place to start – not as emotionally overwrought at Late for the Sky or as wallowing at The Pretender it strikes a the perfect balance.


The other recordings I have are good solid work: Lives In The Balance, Lawyers in Love, which includes his unexpected hit single. Then he sort of vanished again to return in 2008 with Time The Conqueror – which I bought to revisit old memories. I’ve done this with many of my formative passions – Joan Baez, Dr. John – to see what they have aged in to. ‘Time’ is a warm reunion with an old friend. His voice is a bit rougher & the music a bit more laid back but it is a fine lp. He still looks fine too 🙂




‘Are there any more questions?’

Dyna surveyed the class. The rows of seats rose in tiers around her. She felt small in the centre of the semi-circular room. The slide projected behind her seemed so massive. She was happy to see that most of the faces she encountered were still awake. A hand fluttered in the tenth row.

‘Yes. Casey Stelle, isn’t it?’

Dyna liked to demonstrate her ability to remember names.

‘Yes. I wanted to know if … well … how could such a crime go undetected for so long.’

‘Casey, you have to put it into its proper cultural context. At that time people didn’t talk about such things. It was a closely guarded secret.’

‘Yes,’ another hand shot up. ‘but it had such a deep resonance at the time. How could it go undetected.’

‘Jeff, that isn’t so strange. The fact that it wasn’t talked about doesn’t mean it was undetected. People knew of it, but out of shame or other cultural conditioning didn’t deal with. They didn’t ignore it but at the same time they turned their back on the events. Went on as if it hadn’t happened.’

She stepped from the podium and looked over the students once more. Books were being closed and back packs being back packed. As sure a sign as any that this part of the class had come to an end. As usual a few students descended to talk to her. She turned off the projector was was glad to have the gloom of the room return. The blood brightness of the slides made her feel on display.

The first to reach her was Jeff.

‘Miss Dark. I didn’t want to get into this in front of the class. Not enough time anyway as it turns out, but I still don’t quite buy your theory.’

‘It’s not for sale Jeff. I merely presented one of several approaches to the circumstances. After all, wife beating once wasn’t a crime. Women who complained about it were shunned for being unfaithful to their husbands. Today that has reversed Women who don’t complain get shunned.’

‘But this case isn’t at that scale.’

‘Now it’s me who doesn’t buy your theory.’

‘You could at least hear it out.’

‘Okay Jeff I’m listening.’

Their eyes locked. Jeff’s face reddened. Dyna knew she had this power to silence and wasn’t unwilling to use it now.

‘Another time.’ Jeff glared back at her and started up the stairs to exit the classroom. He tripped on the first one and fell.

‘Serves him right.’ Dyna thought with a small laugh.



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November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo



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My Brilliance

My recent post on Shame (http://wp.me/p1RtxU-1le )was inspired by my brilliance – that’s right – my brilliance – does that sound egotistical? Conceited? Shouldn’t I be ashamed to make such an admission, where’s my sense of modesty?


I use affirmations – some on a daily basis – to counterbalance the cultural messages we all get bombarded with – i.e. you’re fat & fat is bad; you’re queer & that makes you less human; you’re old & not sexually attractive; you’re not pretty, white, black, fit, rich enough for happiness. An affirmation I’m currently using is: ‘I am guided to the best way to express my brilliance.’


The arguments in my head against this affirmation, against even admitting this, are: it sounds egotistical? Conceited? Shouldn’t I be ashamed to make such an admission, where’s my sense of modesty? If I’m so brilliant where’s my Governor General’s Award etc. If it’s not making $ it’s useless – now there’s a cultural message that’s impossible not to hear & just as hard not to get trapped by.


me & Frank in DC

In the past couple of years I’ve begun taking selfies (http://wp.me/p1RtxU-UV) whenever I’d come across a mirror, often in washrooms, but sometimes in the street: store windows, actually tossed out mirrors. This pushed me to look at my body image, at how I feel about people who post selfies – who do they think they are etc. You know, I’ve got a great smile. There’s also lots of pics of me performing, on stage, & those are great fun even though I have little control of how I’m going to look – it’s hard to pose & perform – or wonder is that my best side?


brick walled at Loyalist

Seeing them has lead me to a greater acceptance, at least an indifference, to how I look. Besides when I’m on stage I’m always brilliant so I look fantastic.


This is an old piece that looks at some of those old affirmations (http://wp.me/p1RtxU-io)

Critic (put those crayons down)

you call that colouring

if you can’t stay in the lines

why bother

why waste money on colouring books

you’ll never be an artist

till you can colour within the lines

you’ll never be a great writer

with handwriting like that

you have to write between the


not over them

not in slanting dribbles across the page

you’ll never be a writer

till you learn how to spell

you don’t smoke up

were never sexually abused as a child

don’t have a chemical in-balance of any sort

you don’t have enough suffering

to be worth listening to

you’ll never be genius

you’re just too well-balanced

to be authentically creative

you’re too old

too fat

too queer

so put those crayons down

it’s too late for you




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She Stoops To #sfConquer

I remember having to ‘study’ Stoops in high school but that’s the end of the memory. The title itself remained in my mind as we had many puns around it – She Poops to Concord – was one of them. So seeing the Stratford production was a revelation – first off no high school memories were brought back by it.


sunset pinks

This is an energetic, well-paced, production with an excellent ensemble cast lead by a hilarious Lucy Peacock, abetted by Sara Farb whose comic timing & screams were a … scream. This is a comedy of manners & situation (yes, it’s a sit-com from the 1700’s) as opposed to one of clever language.


out out damn swifter

Layers of misunderstanding, mistaken identity & missing jewels that verges on Feydeau farce – no doors were being slammed in this play. It’s one of those plots in which if the right word had been said at the first opportunity, or any opportunity for that matter, there wouldn’t have been plot at all.


Jimmeny Jesus

The revolving set was a delight – I’m sure it’s getting double use with Carousel on the same stage. I loved the spot lit cat awaiting the rise of the curtain, & the glittering jewel box illuminating all who looked into it was a delight. Several laugh-out-loud moments had the packed house roaring in unison didn’t allow for anyone to nod off 🙂

An excellent production & highly recommended. Next up, & my last Stratford show this season, will be The Alchemist next week. The line up for next year has been announced (http://www.stratfordfestival.ca/whatson/nextseason/2016) & I may have to move there for the summer to see everything I’d like to see.


thin ice of a new day

Check out my other Festival reviews: Love’s Labours Lost: http://wp.me/p1RtxU-1ik; The Physicists http://wp.me/p1RtxU-1j4. #sfPericles  http://wp.me/p1RtxU-1ka – next up is #sfAlchemist.



shall I compare thee to a hand

severed from a corpse

an unidentified left hand

isolated insulated in ice

not yet murky with drifting pinks

lit from below by a cool blue

as blue as your eyes

when you concede

that even though you are right

you will never get your way

so this wild wound

will howl at the afternoon sun

fearful of losing its shadow

in the comfort of my affection


Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy more music – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet



November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo



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War Suite 1


War Suite

1 – prelude

the gay rights I have here

do not exist there

where queers are aberrations

denied the right to be

so why should I care

if they slaughter one another

do I have enough selflessness

to support what would support me


2 – I like pictures

(as long as I’m not in them)


I like pictures

images on a TV screen

I can see the event

without having to feel

the actual in which it happens

the twin towers instant replay

gave me the shock of the new

the rumble of rubble

and distorted screams

that I could gasp as in my living room

I could walk away from all of it

turn the page of the magazine

and the image is gone

recycle the newspaper

and all the tragic events

are now their way to be re-pulped

the news takes the emotions out

while the garbage man

takes the images away

I look at my white stove

my safe tidy house

images of war push me away

like photographers pushing medics

out of the way to get pictures

what f-stop did they use

to catch the sun reflecting

off the corpses that way

pictures are scentless

no smell of blood of broken bones

of fetid unstirred air

mere grainy instants

that never move or change

a reality that isn’t real

the smuggling of footage

becomes the story

their original content safe

while it’s impossible to rescue people

we preserve their deaths digitally

what occupation is that footage from

the left bank or the right bank

the World Bank

those rag tag rebels around the world

wear the same camouflage cargo pants

the same tattered combat boots

the same unwashed grey blush

on their cheeks and arms

but they don’t smell

I don’t have to put up with that

when I can just sit here

secure in my tidy house

give my half sigh

about the way of the world

and then off the TV

dust my gleaming white stove

go to the store

without having to worry about snipers

I like pictures

as they turn every moments into an image

they become

the best weapon of mass destruction

grey01Canadian shield?

This is the start of one of the longest pieces I wrote – each section flowed almost as a single piece & in editing I broke it into sections, put them into a more of a order as I found the flow. There are more verse breaks in the original but for some reason Wp eliminates them 😦

These first two sections started with the opening lines. The Prelude was to establish something about the writer’s perspective & the complexity of wanting to be supportive but at the same knowing that such support would not be reciprocated. It’s an interesting moral dilemma – one of the reason why I don’t write a lot of political driven poetry – I’m too cynical to think either side really gives a shit about its moral stance it merely wants power to punish without consequence or to protect some corporation’s profit margin. If there were no profit in war it it would cease. I there was no profit is poverty poverty would cease.


shield curb appeal

This also reflects how, like many, I can get hypnotized but news coverage – CNN on scene with reporters asking other reporters probing questions. I’d watch expecting to hear …. I’m not sure what I expect to hear – but I would get more images, or the same one over & over again. Justifications as opposed to explanations or data as opposed to sensible conclusions.


not for breaking windows

As I’ve blogged before, my life got a whole lot happier when I stopped watching the news, about anything, and stopped reading newspapers. I get all the news I need from FB trend alerts (just joking). What made that process easy was accepting the fact that we are shown only what someone decides to show, that it gets spun to suit some agenda. Terrorism threats are permission to curtail personal freedoms. To point this out makes me a terrorist.



Hey! Now you can give me $$$ to defray blog fees & buy more music – sweet,eh? paypal.me/TOpoet

November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo


Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr


truth lost in the trees



these are facts I want to wrestle with