#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


November 1 – 30 Participating NaNoWriMo 2019




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Put Those Crayons Down

crows over cornfield
crows over cornfield

A friend of mine recently discovered Google street view & has been ‘visiting’ various houses, apartments, streets, schools she went to in the past. Some of which has triggered unhappy memories, some happy recollections. Soon there will be GooglePast, or an iPast app, where you can gaze into those old days – there must be a sci-fi story about this already – where one can see a brief glimpse of that first kiss, that first queer bashing.

the red guitar
the red guitar

A couple of recent Go Viral prompts sent me into my past. I went into my personal archives & unearthed several ‘paintings’ I did in the early 70’s. It’s been some years since I looked at them at all. I took pictures of them & have posted a couple as pics to go with my daily poem. A couple I couldn’t bring myself to to even photograph though – troubled memories with real razor blades incorporated. At least I was expressing my pain somehow – using the blades on the paper and not myself.

nice hat
nice hat

Critics (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 lines

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 imbalance of some sort

then 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

your too old too fat too queer

put those crayons down

it’s too late for you


writing sample
writing sample

Here’s another of the April poems:


I did this

it was not what I set out to do

it got out of hand

took on a life of its own

made my life hell for a while

wishing I had better control

that my technique was more precise

needing it to get back on track

be what I dreamed it could be

I couldn’t get a handle on it

but I saw it though

even though I was disappointed in myself

and now

people tell me

it may be best thing I’ve ever done

how did I do it

I don’t explain

I accept the praise

they think my lack of boasting pride

is some sort of humility

but my silence is because

I don’t understand

how it came to be

yet I’m certainly glad it came to be

though me

tea time submarine
tea time submarine