Means of Seeing what the eye brings

April 22, 2009

we stood in line

Filed under: art,friends — osteoderm @ 2:15 pm

at the Vancouver premier of The Two Towers. Earlier that evening, she’d testily defended her ambiguous sexuality. I drove her a little crazy; I had curiosity, and she always a curious creature. This I remember. And even know, here on my desk, I have a picture of her, sidewalk standing, reading, outside the window of the diner we once shared a space and time in.
Now she has an online magazine, and I like it. Isn’t that nice?

April 19, 2009

the rhythm of the weight of water

Filed under: learning,paperwords — osteoderm @ 10:39 am

I

that’s right
it’s just like you

i take the water in
breathe the water in
pour it inside of me
right down inside of me
that’s right
that’s how i drink it in
once the fluid that forms the fluid once
molecules of hydration
tumbletoss and turn
once the fluid that forms the fluid once
once fluid that forms the fluid once
once flows the fluid that forms the once

that’s right
not even you
too daft to understand this thing
a simplesingle thing
a drink a draught a certain craft
the way we the world
sluice our throats a
parted-lip chuckle
a coarse shaven
hair back hand
wipes away a glow of
sweat a softwave
symphony brassy and delightful
no, not you
surely not you who
in moments desperate moments
unclips this safety belt
from your understanding
did you not even once
give into thirst

taste the formless mystery
inside every bulbous
creature of water
creature of craft and deity
creature hung long low and pendulous
creature sagging with the weight of water
oh of the weight of water
water and waters that we each and all had hung
come sprung and unsprung
that dripping beaded sac

oh but you
who coloured every thought
shaded every drop with
your own formless form
nothing so formal as this deep wallowing drinking
into the core i’ll drink to the core
i’ll drink to
the core i’ll
drink to the
core my throat all and at once
weighted now with water
my stomach pulses with that weight
my neck stretches to encompass this swallowing
endless now teeth and tongue each sucking at the other
until i stink of it

there is no rhythm
except the rhythm that
the rhythm that
is the rhythm that
and the rhythm that
the rhythm of the weight
and the weight of the water
of the rhythm that
of the weight of water
and so i pour and so i am poured
and so nothing makes a fluid sound so
fluid as the sound of fluid poured

so dance you
let the ways and means
dribble from your lips
and dance dance your dance
let the ways and means
dribble drip from your lips
touchstones as the fountains go
and i high on waterwine
will pass kindly the skin
from one mouth to another
press allrushingly the pressure presence

and that’s right
the water just like you
drinking in the water you
drinking in the water you
drinking in the water

II

and there
and that with that
and this is the dance we dance
over and through waters
swimming or sailing
floating or flailing
we pull this fluid
like comfort all about us
oh ah yes
there’s more of this
where this came from
comes from
goes away from
returns from

and so we go
going on parting
water cleaving waves
with hands hurried
or otherwise fingers
curled and curling
tears from dry eyes
motion stops motion
captured in some secret animation
some far and sacred place
where wallows the softy dying hulk
of remembrance
true and for truth
with no matters save
the deepening of spirit
or rhythm of waters

that rhythm of waters
that rhythm of
waters that rhythm
that staccato interlude
that finds us
again alone in
dance we jerk
and surge against
the tide rushing tide
with broken meters
feet and meters
where repetition finds
us repetition finds
us holy and washed
free from abandon

spat from the whale’s mouth
turned over once again
over and over
once again over
one last spasm sees us
our hearts souls and
sacrifices coughed out
into being once being
once being once again
until that weight
the holiest of weights
presses us down

III

and so then
we press on for
shore those stones
rise and risen
from the beat
of the leviathan
leave this sinking thought behind
press onward pressingly
forgetting the moment of
panic
bite it down
between our tongues
chew and spit
the blood away we
two three me
my hands and I
slap and flail

this and that surface yields
escapes my pressing flutterfeet
lets me hear the laughter
knows my each and every failing
shows me temptation
whisks it away
comes at me in
dreams as dreams
flashes the single
light the lamp
a moth on the horizon

water
writes letters in the dust
inexplicable letters
one in every language
one in every dustdrop
pittapat pittaping
collapses from the sky

water
shied and shy
darts and ditters
stutters across
skies and eyes
sheets and sluices
falls across and over
drums along and down

water
waves as rain
crumbles inwardly cuts
slices chokes
and holds us here
disobeys this simplest request
propels me nowhere
gives me nothing
but lap lapping laps
lap dancing dance
swirl swish hiss

washes sand between my toes
pushes land beneath my feet
washes every curse from
my mouth my pores
spits and pisses me
names me as
my own sole accuser
gives nor gains solace
until I can do nothing
save stand to kneel again
plunge face into the stream

and swallow you swallow
you each and every
swallow you each swallow
and plunge swallow
each and every swallow
plunge swallow each
and swallow you each
swallow plunge and

drink in every
one of you
heavyhanging
shallow and slow
counting out the time of eternity
time and times
until all is counted
counted out
counted upon
and forgotten

March 23, 2009

another reason why

Filed under: paperwords,philosophy — osteoderm @ 4:54 am
    “A writer publishes to be read; then hopes the readers are affected by the words, hopes their opinions are changed or strengthened or enlarged, or that readers are pushed to notice something they have not stopped to notice before. All my reporting life, I have thrown small pebbles into a very large pond, and have no way of knowing whether any pebble caused the slightest ripple. I don’t need to worry about that. My responsibility was the effort.” – Martha Gellhorn

March 22, 2009

a ticket to the epic weekend

Filed under: friends,travel — osteoderm @ 9:08 pm

I’m in the throes of a last-ish minute throwdown, getting all my ducks in a row for a weekend in NYC. I’ve got a week to go, and I’m feeling a little under-prepared. No plan. No accommodations. No budget. No idea!
All I know for sure is that I’ll be meeting an old friend for fun and hijinks in less than a week, in a city neither of has explored.

Sitting on the couch this evening, I starting to sweat a little, but then I remembered a few other epic weekenders in my past, trips that had some key points in common with this upcoming one. There have been other weekenders and road-trips to visit more friends and places, but it’s the really random and unforseen trips that stand out.

There was the classic Fraser Lake Grad Weekend: Months previous, I had met a traveling highschool drama group from a tiny northern BC town, some members of which I had staying in touch with, and who subsequently invited me to attend their graduation. I hitched and ‘hounded my way north, and spent a crazy and memorable few days in the company of these near-strangers. I crashed at different houses, met great families, enjoyed immense hospitality, and witnessed Trooper in a school gym (?!). I had no idea what sort of experience I’d have once I got there, and frankly I’m still amazed at how wonderful it turned out.

Then there was the Toga Party. I’d been a patron of a (then) new restauarnt in Kamloops a few times one summer, and gotten to know (or at least be recognized by) a couple of the staff. One of them had casually thrown an invite my way, for their inaugural staff party. Staff Toga Party, that is. I hitched back to Kamloops later that week with a toga in my backpack. Got tipsy. Swam clothed across a backyard pool. Was loved by waitresses, hated by boyfriends, and traded joy with all.

And of course, Hallowe’en in Squamish. Again, befriended by travelling students… months later, hitching to Squamish to show up at this party where I was unknown to 7/8 of the other attendees. My costume: Clean-Cut Guy; shaved the wooly ‘burns, got a crewcut, lost the earrings, wore pleated khakis and a Gap turtleneck. Strangers wondered why I didn’t have a costume, while the folks who’d met me before said I had one of the best costumes there.

All three times, I had no idea where I was going to stay, how I’d get around, or what would happen on the ground. Each time, my experiences so outstripped my expectations as to make them inconsequential.
NYC is bound to be a little big, but I have to remind myself that the city is the backdrop, not the event; the experience is bounded only by the friends I’ll meet and make, the good times I’ll have, the tall tales I’ll live to tell, and the simple unexpectation of the epic weekend.

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