December 2024
Stream of consciousness writing
December 26, 2024
5 mintue timer.
Rocket to Nirvana
Start the rocket and shoot far up into the wool sky blanket and rip through, sending star dust blood down to sprinkle around the earth, settling in every lung and building cracks. This is the original air to breathe, without restraint to its silvery oxygen, that lifts you up further each day past the murders of crows and the clouds. I can pull you up here high as the rocket can go, fleeing into the crushed velvet of sky and glittering violet and golds. Brush your hair back, pin it up with a moon's hook through the eye of a needle and press deep into the skin that was earth's balloon that spins without notion of where we are. It can't find us up here. We're too high up. It can't call us back. We won't go back to the buzzing, spinning electrical noise below. Deep silence and holding our hands for stability, leap further outside the universe we know, to somewhere else we can't imagine. We are never turning back. Opening up the door to the blinding light of the edge of all creation to feel the glow of god like energy of the nothingness of peace.
December 25th, 2024
5 mintue timer (finished 10 seconds early)
Clawing Upward
When the sermon is done and has spilled out finally through cracked lips and sweat, the restless fever blinds, and you can't catch your breath until you are a lost researcher trying to find the answers to something you know nothing about. It's an ache to calm that never calms, only becomes a slow drumming beat inside your head until you think you are going deaf. It's always there, just behind the concrete bone of cracked openings where the knowledge has seeped out like matter. You can't mend it or put it back. You claw up the cliff but fall further down with every loose pebble. Drawn out cancellation of the emptiness of soul reservoir which has been begging for rain for a long time, cracked and dry dust blows away from you, never able to collect the pieces of fine powder to build it up whole again. This is what the dark brings when you're looking for light, and this is what the light brings when you're so blind you beg for some darkness. Never quenched. Never satisfied.
December 24, 2024
5 minute timer
Water Flows Under Closed Doors
Silently sweet rituals that remember the bitterness of grief over the sea's deprived sand. You and I walked along here a decade ago wondering if the numbers on the doors would equal to the combination that opens the lock with clicks that echo over the night empty streets. They didn't, but we liked to think they would. I leaped over the rocks and plunged into the grass that was brown and dull with lack of water, even though the ocean was just a foot's step away from it. The tree above, sucking up all the sun and rain. Nothing left for it to borrow from old roots. The wind blew through the grass, sounding like a thousand hushed whispers in a language you could not understand. We felt so foreign and stupid to their voices. That's nothing that mattered as we laughed it away nervously, knowing those doors will stay closed, and we had to do something else. Dreams only exist riding on the backs of birds that scattered over city skyscrapers, picking through the trash for nourishment. We craved thirst but lost the water.
December 23, 2024
5 mintue timer (stopped 10 seconds left)
The Mind of the Afternoon
Robotic wedding of corpses in the hills where the banks throw coins in the river and retirement of the coffee cups in the sink lots of noise buzzing out of the light sockets in plastic machinery that smells of burnt wires. Take back the poly and the cotton gauze off the wounded afternoon of empty cupboards that creak open over the counter and blocks the light from the windows. Nothing amounts to something when you look over to the bookshelf that has no pages and void of words, they spilled over the sides through the door space between the wood and into the floor boards that were neglected to polish in 50 years. Cats yawn with dogs and curl up in the yews Silence then when they sleep until the crows start to fly out of the sky cracks and wake up the taxidermy moose head over the mantle and all the world starts buzzing at once like live electrical wires jumping to life after cut down. You check your watch. See it's past the sun dial and turn to me with a smile. You know what I'm thinking, don't you?
December 22, 2024
5 mintues (stopped at 6 seconds)
Street Light Auras
We move and erase the sky that dipped into the skyline when the buildings stand like giants in the distance over the hill. Their blinking eyes flipping on and off with many eyelids that move in separation of each other. Mouth of the harbour agape filled with water that throws up over the rock bones on the side. Birds picking at the creatures in between and under. We empty into the street light aura, full of liquor and music talking in poetry found on bathroom stalls the pipes that filter through the building bringing secrets to the sewer where you hear them laugh and scream all night too much too soon. Lots of ways out of the city sewers if you are determined. We were there, we escaped and so can they who scream into the late hours. Fun never lasts, and soon you get smacked awake, however there is calm like sitting here with you under this city night sky studded with stars and the wilderness of buildings stretching up tall with pride. They made it out and so did we. We just had to stretch far enough. No more bowing and crumbling at foundations. No more splashing into cars that hit us into asphalt afterlives.
December 21, 2024
5 minute timer (stopped 15 seconds early)
Ocean Walk As the Lilacs Die
The way he moves up the steps passing by the dying lilacs that shake their perfume in one last gasp, scents the kiss he gives me that shakes the birds from their slumber in the tree tops as I mistake the moon for his eyes. The ocean threw back its hair in a flirtatious toss as he walked past it. I know it beckons to him to sleep in its arms like all women do. I wrap my arms around him like the ocean would wrap over him and pull him into it's bed, the glint of seashells crackles under the dock work lights. This pulls him back past the dying lilacs shallow breaths and bowed heads, as the mead in the cup by the bedside goes neglected with the glow of the street light outside the window reflected inside it, casting its reflection through to rest over his mouth.
December 20, 2024
5 minute timer (stopped 14 seconds)
The Rider
This wasn't the scene to spill over the sides of the chair and empty yourself into the storm drains. This was the place to deny the mountain's height existence and climb, knowing you will reach the top without full seeing the distance. Sometimes mind over matter works, and you cough out the gravel that slows down your body. You move faster and realize you are amazing. If only you can see how to do that, as I can see it. The nightly rain falls over you like a beautiful gloss, making you majestic, and you rise up on a silver horse and leave with a rumble down the road where you disappear out of site. You're heading for the mountains, heading for the climb. You can get there. Just one foot in front of the other. The time is now on your side, my dear. You can do it without convictions and the chains that held your feet down to the concrete. Fly on that chrome that shines in the moon and burns eyes in the sun. You are part of this road and it is going to lead you where you need to be. Nothing else matters but when you come back, hold me and tell me you won, even if you didn't. I will wrap you in my limbs, and we will sink into this mud and grass and never resurface until the next day's sunlight wakes us up from stone slumber.
December 19, 2024
5 minute timer (Stopped 4 seconds early)
The Wage of Frost
The wage weary of northern Frost sits down on the bench thinking about the time that everything in the air had the taste of sodium, and the cough-up of mining town phlem. The past was the past, and frost gets off the bench to search for the light from the store window to read the map of where to get to nowhere, and the warmth of the quota punching coal fires that settle down over the hills to the valleys, and it was there that it would warm itself until it melts, and then finds its way travelling through sidewalk cracks, to find a drain to then find a river, to meet the ocean, and travels further away from here. This dead town with coal mine lung dust that cripples with each cough. Sunsets no longer will be grey, and the time on the town clock actually moves with the sun and moon, like tides do, carrying frost far from this place. Guided by will and moon, it will never look back. It will push forward and onward to the better wage, and better warmth and clear air. This was frost's promise to itself, and a promise that it won't freeze again.
December 18, 2024
5 minute timer
Inside the Pages
Reflecting on the language of a name while fields of quotations spring up to meet the sun of the word, this is what it's like to fall inside the paper and look around at the words on it. See them tall and long, much like buildings of a busy city where comas and periods come rushing by, off to other words and emphasizing structures. Then the melody of poetry floats in the air like a gentle breeze that blankets around the white floor with blue ley lines that create structure, so everything don't fall and collapse on itself. Masters of poetry peer down from the sky like gods and goddesses giving birth to more stanzas and I see it all and yet not fully aware of the meaning of the word sculptures until I look closer and see most reflect me and the world around me. Here inside these pages, I can't even comprehend the larger area of a book outside all this. This is the world. This poem and these lines of blue streets and the punctuation busing themselves to keep everything in order like little cops. This is the passion of writing and the writer's dreams when they dream in words, giving breath to concepts dripped in ink.
December 17, 2024
5 mintue timer.
Moon Dials and Sun Clocks
Past the orange house now brown you are there at the gate with the bowl in hand and coffee cup talking about moon dials and the sun clock that has struck you down, and you told me about the time the clay came out of the earth to move into the back of the yard and resides there now. You are part of this clay. It holds your heart in it's hands like an honoured gift. You know it will never leave, and it makes your heart eternal that way. So crazy, but yet I listen and know that there's a song or poem in all of this and take mental notes of your visions and revision of your lives you lead in the past. It's starting to turn dark now. The coffee is almost done, and now recedes back into a small drop at the bottom of the cup, reminding us that everything drains out in life. The coffee and life. We are not here for long so take the pace of the sun by the way of the clocks and the watch on my arm is just human time not celestial, and I pick up your crystal and hand it back and say I feel the vibes from it, but I didn't. Your long grey hair glinting like sterling silver strands dashing to and fro on the wind. You are the hippie that reflects the shore of the harbour and I turn to go wishing you well.
December 16, 2024
5 mintue timer (I went a couple seconds over to finish my last sentence)
The Crows and the Phoenix
Cream dreams make coffee for guards on duty and empty visions ripped out of the eyes of the Phoenix before it turns to ash becomes yours, and you then set the blaze and renew the ashes to dance with sparks of life. Opened up boxes of blonde golden hairs wrapped around a heart still beating. Eating nothing but air and light, and at least 50 people remember how it used to be when that heart was inside a person who was so fiercely strong that legends would be created in the stones of villages long past. Where did you go? You were here. I have memories of it. I remember when you passed by me at the café and smiled, and we ended up sitting in a park together talking about life and how this sky is your fire that birthed you. The crows scattered on the power lines like dots over Rue St-Denis, and we knew that you had tips on how to get them to give you little shiny things. They knew your face, the crows, like I remembered you. Icy blue eyes that made every woman in Montréal forget her name, and you then shattered into a thousand feathers like a phenom phoenix who splashed down into a mirror of self ashes waiting for another spark.
December 15
5 minute timer
Night Fields
The moons hook embedded in the eye of earth when the grass swoosh back and forth fanning the sky and dusting the stars to one side. We slice through the tall grass, sway too and fro from the edges of the field where we think we could jump off the side into nothingness and the void of stars that live under the earth. No one sees those, but they're there. We can smell them like glittering icicles that twinkle and tink all night if you listen hard enough with your ear to the soil. The little shuffling of worms keep them dusted and shinny. We would eat of the apple from the trees that gave the taste of bitterness like licking stones and river water that cuts through this landscape like a transition dream that moves you forward deeper into the nighttime when all the world sleeps or works hard under factory machines that grind and whine we are here. Clear air filling our lungs and hands that will give breath to a new day in just a few hours. The sun opens its lazy eye, and we go home to sleep well into the afternoon, then crinkle back the sheets like tinfoil and I brew us a coffee dark as last night's sky.
December 14, 2024
5 minute timer
Kool-aid Dreams
kool-aid flavoured summer time liquor ice dreams moving through the mist and into nostalgic music and smells of coppertone and popsicles. We had fun didn't we? Splashing in the apartment water faucet puddles and chasing around the rocks of the lawn's carpet of green sweet scented herbal grass, moving faster and throwing higher than ever before. Who knew this would be something that didn't last forever those summers? That childhood? That fun? Where can it be now? Everything moves so quickly in the flash of a stream hit by lightening it's gone. People are gone and times are gone and at the time, you thought it would last forever. It can seem like a far away yesterday when you think on it. Hard to believe we've been there, compared to where we are here. Nothing can bring it back sadly. I would give a breath and a kiss to have one more splash in that puddle with you or the scent of wet cardboard stores and that roll down the drive way of swamp land memories where the cat tails grew far taller than me and were such magical things, thinking they grew into the tails on cats. We wish for yesterdays so much. Simple and carefree.
December 13, 2024
5 minute timer set but stopped writing with 21 seconds left.
Thank You
All through the glass was a smash-through splatter of beginnings and endings of bullet days of last year and this year and the future filters through the cracks. Laughing is here in this cage, and you can't open it until then. A gift for your darker times, and when the dark times come, flick up the light switch to on, to watch it scatter away like cockroaches at the sight of light scattering into the cracks in floor boards and walls. We dusted the shelves and wrote our names in snow with moonlight piss and switchblade symphonies, when the dawn came we cuddled together on the sofa and watched claymation dreamscapes and landscapes of cardboard houses that melt in the rain. You are the best to chill out with when those roads are wet and slippery, and it's too dangerous to go home. I sleep here curled up like a cat next to you and touch your heart with an invisible hand to say thank you for this bed, and company, and clay pots still gather dust under the moon's smoke and coughing fits as it inhales the stars.
December 12, 2024
5 mintue timer
The Dance
Pull back the sun veil and see where the wind went. It was here and now gone to give way to the rest of the day when the rain drifted onward away from here. Maybe in the direction of you where you sit watching the birds act erratic because of the on coming wind. They scurry to busy themselves with worms and sprinkle down over the telephone wires that crisscross the city. All the old men watch eastward as the sun starts to set, and they taste the air is going to be filled with rainstorms in the midst. Better to rush home from this coffee to slip into the door quickly before it comes. It knows your movements and where to hit you with its blast of cold. It is relentless with trying to tear down the leaves in the branches as they clash against the darkening sky, waving on thunder strips and shake with a swaying witchcrafty dance under the closing eyes of sunlight to the opening eyes of the moon. There is nothing left to drain off in the street gutters. The rain washed the dust clean down the drain to the sewers, where it's the rats that have to sweep well into the night.
December 11, 2024
5 minute timer
Snow Falling Asleep
That sort of snow falling, blanketing the streets in silence and glowing street lights. The way it turns everything into a picture that could be framed is a talented painter's hand brushing over the little corners of everything here. White snow against black sky. The mouth of the harbour swallowing most of it. The glitter of flecks of ice on the windows makes magic to the cozy insides of the eyes, where we rest with drinks in hand. This is the holidays on show. Parading like a beautiful postcard sent from some distant relative that only sends postcards and little else. Not a word from them the rest of the year. Moon keeps time over the city and illuminates the spot where the animals go to curl inside trees and little burrows until the thaw. Their eyes close, little pieces of fuzzy felt and sleep until spring says "wake little ones." They then put out their little story book fire places, and go outside to greet the sun and thawing world with sleepy eyes and new beginnings start there.
December 10, 2024
5 minute timer
The City's Final Phone Booth
Hang up the receiver instead of hanging on, the cord crossed over itself leaving a twisted tangled line, lines that are like ley lines that move city to city, through dead air and dead space tossing wet leaves down to the violent ground around the place where you are at the monument, and I am at the shore where nothing but space remains and the deep impenetrable dark fog around us all. There's nothing left to talk about and nothing left to speak to the phone about when it's all been said soul to soul and that crossed lines distort the speaking like we were robotic and talking in monotone tales. This phone line was dead long ago. Someone stole the box containing all the quarters out of the bottom, leaving a hole where the change went. Is that where you reside? The hide and the found there underneath the old phone booth telephone where the line was cut long ago? Nobody speaks inside there. The booth is mute.
December 9, 2024
5 minutes
Under The Tree
It came that way the way you were going to go to move backwards from in the dark of the night you synthesize the music around the grass that brushed it's green against the night backdrop of the park and the coffee was warm and comforting, and it provided that bit of protection against the chill we always said that we would meet here below the roots of this tree where we burrow like animal children into the ground until we reached the core of the earth's apple. Spit out the seeds and hope they plant anew, growing as tall as the sky's dome above us. Birds would nest like little play dough type creatures snuggled into it's branches here in this night-park where everything is still except for the laughter of two men sharing a beer in the distance and the hum from the downtown shoppers that the world seems to be a kaleidoscope of lives churning in and around each other in their own space and pace. We leave the tree, and the seeds, and move back towards the harbour where the boats dock like wooden horses coming into a stable waiting for a drink.
December 08, 2024
5 minute timer
Writing prompt: Footprints
The Crow Child
The rain pooled inside of footprints, and cars screeched to a halt outside a window where the footprints have vanished, and there was no search effort to the tracks leading out into nothing that melted when the rain reclaimed the snow turning to flat ice that glinted under the full moon's bright face. 20 years and they never found you. As if you evaporated when the spring came, leaving no bones in the ground, and no more essence of you on earth. I bet you flew away like a crow. High up into the night sky and now live behind the glittering of stars that you turn out the lights to when you go to bed. You have this new life up there. You go to work and return home with just as little pay as you did down here. Still working yourself to the bone, but happy for what little you have. You never cared for material things when you were a crow person, who soared high and left this earth behind. I know that the Creator built you a nest. I saw the twigs you sneak on my back steps sometimes. Hear your caw, but never see you. You're not early like that anymore for human sight.
December 7, 2024
5 minute timer with a word prompt of land and sea, though I went a bit over 5 minutes to finish the final sentence.)
(Untitled)
He knew how to snap lead that lived in his heart until it got so cold that it would crack open and expose the water inside that rushed deep and full like the sea that lived within, and all the fish that lived in his sea-heart that would shimmer like little gold flecks when the sun hit it. He wasn't what he thought he was. He thought he would thrive where he was, and he did - for a time. When the sun hid inside a blanket of black velvet, and the moon would illuminate the gold sea heart fish, he would look away from his house and wonder what was inside the forest beyond. It was dark and he knew she was wild. Choose the safety of the sea, or the wild of the forest. She was cold as he, but she had depths that ran dark like roots that burrowed to the core of the earth. There she was warm, and he knew if he broke past the dark and the snow she would unravel for him her vines and branches and welcome him into her warm dark depths. But he played it safe and didn't stray. He instead dreamed of the dark wolf fur of her, and the wilds of her heart, and she dreamt how he could water her roots to make her grow strong.
December 6, 2024
5 minute timer
You and I
15 and then 20 and then 100 you come here and you move to the beat and you move me and you and I sway and dive into the airwaves of sound and you and I break down the barriers and you and I bridge distance and you and I touch with such a force the world shakes and breaks in two you and I never broke down and you and I never back down and you and I never backwards only forwards and you and I move to this song and sound moves you and I closer and closer still when the music has stopped and you and I move away from the speakers and deeper movements back down the stairs to the streets and you and I slip between sheets music moves you and I closer and closer until we are both just and I and I and You and You all encompassing like the universe of sound and back beats beating hearts faster as we are I and You and Me and We and one by one we are one on one and this song is playing just for us and we made this song that brings us to one I and one You and eyes connecting to I and you and me and we and night waves of music in the air between sheets and music notes ring up tempos and we sleep in silence of sound you and I
December 5, 2024
5 mintues (stopped 10 seconds left)
Telling Time
Many times after time and time after that time and time immemorial we concentrated on our watches, and clocks, the analog flipping of numbers, moving us forwards not back, and we know that every time we see a clock it reads 11:11 no matter the am or pm of time moving backwards and forwards and there's a shift everywhere in time keeping time to the tune of the ticking and chimes and bells and vibrations of time that stopped the timer of the moment the sand that empties out of its vessel keeps ancient time before AD, and it all started with the big bang the beginning of time before it had numbers. The time it had numbers was because we invented the numbers to count time, before numbers what was time? Just a ticking in the universe? Just a sun passing by in the sky? The sundial howls at the moon dial and tells us that time is running out and in keeping time is held in our hands in glass windows we put on our wrists and pockets. Our way to holding onto time.
December 4, 2024
5 minute timer (stopped writing with 14 seconds left)
The Glass
A snowflake slides off the hook of the moon to land in my glass on this December evening watching the people below in the streets move up and down as on a film made as stock footage of a busy city street scene we are part of it all, the film moving forward in life and dreams like an old VHS tape with dust in between the strips. I finish the last bit of wine in the glass and hear it tink on the window sill like a muted bell that hasn't chimed for a long time in an old church that is left dusty and barren. Forgotten on some old land somewhere. Where did those people go? Who remembers that land? It is as if the earth swallowed them up and there was nothing left but this church on a hill, that phantomly rings it's bell sounding like the wine glass on my window sill that had a drip of snow melt into its redness. Christ's blood, the bell and the silence of lost lands in this busy city street below the window where the cold air blows in like drifts of a loud lullaby. It's almost time to sleep and dream of all of this in distorted ways, like old films that got mashed up with another until it's a resemblance of what it was in the beginning, all playing through a window sill like honey hued sepia.
December 3, 2024
5 minute timer
Old Records
dusty scent of old record cardboard and vinyl and I transport into a after feild of memorywhen I put the needle on you and let is ride your groves and into the dips for the sound of nostalgic dreaming fast and slow and like a curling of smoke caught in sunlight drifting back this is the power of music and the power of you to remind me of these times. Old records never die Ian says and I believe him. I know some day I'll play this song and cry and know that later I'll have another memory to this song. You live in this record sleeve, and will live there long after you leave. The harmony and memory ever ingrained like record groves on my mind, skipping to
one much loved spot and I fall into your arms and we dance once more to this and then make love to that, and then curl in a blanket on the floor listening to these songs and the rain keeping time outside the window above sprinkling in on us from time to time with the wave of sound and the fire crackle of needle meeting vinyl. This is time, this is sound, this is what it means to love something so much and never letting it go. I to you, and you to me, and us to music.
December 2, 2024
5 minute timer (though finished a sentence when the timer went off.)
Soul to Soul
Slow water ebbing distant flows like bellows of horns over the water from big floating mechanical whales in the distance coming into dock. Ripples trickle over the shiny rocks, who press their little faces up to the sky for answers to their lives - the hows and the whys. Wear are here to live for you to shine looking up at us. We must be like giant gods looking our gaze down. Share your stone energies with me so I can know your histories like the rain knows the tales told by clouds. Blissfully clear this mirror to mirror we look into each other and ourselves human to stone and stone to human, each of its own flesh as granite, and granite as flesh.
December 1, 2024
5 minute timer
Words and Street Lights
Reading in the dark except by street lights is the way to open up to what is under the page of the book and somewhere in between the letters is a shadow of mysterious meaning that can probably spell out the name of god. You look further into it, and go deeper into the page and try to decipher, but it's always just an eyelash length away from you. I feel that way when it comes to your lips and the motion that feels like I'm speeding down the dark snake road on my bike when the motor is in a frenzy and I try my best not to skid out on the black ice. You tough me awake from reading and I realize there's no meaning in this book, and nothing in between the words. You are too awake for me to dream with. I close you like the book, and get up to read alone back against a street light that hums a droning backdrop to the scenery within the book and me. Moths scatter like pieces of paper above tinking against this light where they too try to look inward to find themselves by going inside out of themselves and the light. 15 minutes in and they give up. Flutter way white against the black sky until the light no longer has them in a grasp. They vanish into the ink.
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