Destinesia

THAT TOWER DOWN THE TRACK

2005-05-28T07:48:47Z

"Now I bid you farewell, I don’t know when I’ll be back
They're moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track
But you’ll be hearing from me baby, long after I’m gone
I’ll be speaking to you sweetly
From a window in the tower of song"
Tower Of Song / Leonard Cohen

METHODOLOGY

2005-05-28T07:41:10Z

"Whatever I do is done out of sheer joy; I drop my fruits like a ripe tree. What the general reader or the critic makes of them is not my concern.
Henry Miller

CAPITAL CITY

2005-05-21T07:56:43Z

You overhear a tourist say to his wife :

"It's not the end of the earth but you can see it from here."

One day you will take the wrong corner - oblivious - perhaps scoping out some hot chick across the street or paying attention to a yahoo hollering from a van window - take the wrong corner and fall into the black pitch of the abyss.

Mapless.

So much for you kid ... here there be dragons.

IN THE JUNKYARD

2005-05-20T08:32:23Z

~some unfinished design work that I did for the long defunct Monkey Machine~

CRIMINAL WISDOM

2005-05-20T07:27:59Z

"If you're going to run an illegal business, you better be driving the best car, living in the biggest house, fucking the best looking people and spending every dollar you make because sooner or later you're going to get caught."
Heidi Fleiss

METHODOLOGY

2005-05-19T08:13:26Z

"Keep doing what you are doing and you'll keep getting what you are getting."
~Anonymous~

hypnogogic @ 2005-05-17T01:00:00

2005-05-17T08:06:09Z

~30 OF THE MOST RECENT IMAGES POSTED IN LIVEJOURNAL~

THE FAR SHORE

2005-05-17T07:58:05Z

Tonight - he thought -

Go to America. Live on her streets. Sleep on roof tops in LA. Disappear into an Arizona hippie community. Get drunk in New Orleans. After ten days of hitch hiking, shake the dust of Texas from your jacket and dip your feet in the sea. Live in a house made from car tires. Write poetry. Find God in a Greyhound station. Believe. Or don't believe.

Try free love.
Try panhandling.
Try, for the first time, praying from your knees.

He thought -

There lies America.

Under a veil, her twinkling eyes of deceit.
Under sheets of smog, under acid rain, under songs of gunfire and the nuclear bomb, the golden streets of America.

And your love, without reason, growing from the loose soil of fantasy.

One star in the sky.

Complete

ME & THE EX

2005-05-15T20:21:03Z

Being overly self critical - I'm not a fan of my own face. Or at least, the way it turns out on film.

This photo - taken at the bus terminal when I left Vancouver last year - is one of the few photos of myself that I actually like.

GAPING VOID

2005-05-15T18:56:19Z

COMMON KNOWLEDGE

2005-05-12T20:04:44Z

Seraching for answers at 3AM and for once, finding them ...

STOCK FOOTAGE

2005-05-11T08:44:55Z

From the last couple of weeks :

Fighting the wind to read your newspaper.

This afternoon hangs like a dagger of light in the corner of your eye.

Walking through China Town with Mingus on your headphones. Pink cherry blossom petals and cigarette butts in the gutter.

Haunting green eyes.

The second hand bookstore clerk in profile.

Under a long limbed tree outside a sunny side walk cafe - you hear a voice by your side. "Can I take your picture?" In a halo of light, a young woman with a beautiful smile and a phallic looking camera. Sure, you say and while she steps back to line up the shot, you stare into the camera's lens trying to reach her eyes. "No, no," she says, "Go back to what you were doing." Okay. With your feet up on the chair across from you, your notebook on your knees, you go back to your writing. You hear the click of the camera, a sweet sounding "thanks" - but by the time you look up from the page - she is already walking away.

Another empty pen. Another blank page.

Three birds eat cookie crumbs from the palm of your hand. A bird on your sleeve. Another on your book bag. They all scatter when a barrista comes out to clean tables. Rag in hand, she says, " I see you have friends."
"Yeah." You smile. "An audience."

Q & A

2005-05-10T20:00:49Z

Five questions from tuckova :

1. regrets... you've had a few. mention one.

"You my brown eyed girl

Do you remember when we used to sing,
Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da "

That song came on once while browsing in the Drive's only magazine shop - Magpies - and it left me misty eyed. Glossy magazine in hand, I flashed on the day she lit candles in the bathroom, drew me a bubble bath, turned out the lights and commenced to scrub the nicotine stains off my fingers.

No one before had ever shown me such kindness ...

Her name was Grace Petit and my one and only true regret is how poorly I treated such a wonderful girl.

2. fly me to the moon... or, where would you most like to spend six months? expense is not a concern.

Betty Ford.

*Ba *Da *Bomp *Bomp!

'Nuff said.

3. it was a very good year- if you could relive one year of your life, which would it be? alternatively, is there a year that you can point to and say, "that's when i went through a dramatic change, which was..."

My answer is the same for both sides of that question. 1999. The year I called an end to a half a decade of celibacy - the year I stopped living as just a mind and returned to my body, big time. The year I took off - quit my job and threw all my responsibilities into the wind. The year I stopped writing poetry and tried to live it instead. A year of frolicking in the sun and on movie sets. A year of making art, of exploring the senses, of living hand to mouth, of running wild in the streets on the edge of the apocalypse.

4. exchanging glances... to what degree do you consider your internet friendships "real"? to what degree do your real life friends get involved in your internet life?

As real as my relationships with the regulars (of which I am one) hanging out at the coffee shop down the street ...

Some of them I only know by face and to whom I have never said a word. Some get a nod, the occasional hello, maybe a conversation if either party is up for it. Then there are those who travel in the same circles. There are your friends, your fellow freaks, that familiar face that you don't really know but that you really want to meet ...

Each and every encounter with it's own depth and meaning.

Some "regulars" on this cybernetic coffee shop patio have been with me since I started scattering my thoughts across the internet five years ago and even though I have met none of them in real life, after five years of almost daily interaction I would be hard pressed to say that these relationships were not real.

As for my "other" friends ...

Even though only a couple of them post regularly, I have infected about half a dozen close friends with my disease.

One of the things I like best about having an online journal is that it allows one to stay in contact with people from around the world and maintain friendships - that otherwise - time or distance might weaken or even kill.

5. only the lonely... are you better in a relationship or out? why?

Unable to step outside of my skin and impartially witness my own behavior while in a relationship, I think only my close friends would be able to accurately answer this one ... (anyone want to give it a shot?) ... but pushed, I would have to answer "in". Generally speaking, I think we are all better people when viewing the world through loves eyes.

THE VEIL

2005-05-09T07:12:49Z

Tonight - he walked down to the water, sat on a log and watched the lights from America.

Only one star in the sky.

Tonight - down where the waves licked the pebbled shore - someone played guitar.

One star and fog on the far shore.

CAPITAL CITY

2005-05-03T02:59:12Z

He over hears a woman comment :

"Victoria is getting old. I've been here too long. I want to move, you know. Go some place quieter."

A table away, he's thinking - and where would that be, lady? Your grave?

THE EXCEPTION

2005-05-03T02:54:43Z

The restraining order came through. I am now no longer allowed within fifty yards of myself.

BULLSHIT DETECTED

2005-05-03T02:48:20Z

[from Odd Culture]

DIG IN

2005-04-20T04:20:39Z

Dig into the words and find yourself.
No problem. Right?

Right.
You keep thinking that.
Keep thinking you can turn it on and off like a faucet or a light bulb.
Keep thinking - no matter what speed you break through the barrier - that you, not fate, not luck, nor inspiration - propels you forward.

Five thousand nights doing the waltz in the garden of verse and what have you got?

An empty purse and a heart out of order.

Lakeside.

Tonight the lights of loss reflect in the water.

THE WAY THE CROW FLIES

2005-04-06T20:17:44Z

" Outside the car windows the corn catches the sun, leafy stalks gleam in three greens. Arching oak and elms line the curving highway, the land rolls and burgeons in a way that makes you believe that, yes, the earth is a woman and her favorite food is corn. Tall and flexed and straining, emerald citizens. Fronds spiralling, cupping upward, swaddling the tender ears, the gift wrapped bounty. The edible sun. The McCarthy's have come home to Canada.

When you live in the air force, home is a variation on a theme. Home is Canada, from sea to sea. Home is also the particular town you came from before you got married and joined the forces. And home is whatever place you happen to be posted, whether it's Canada, the U.S., Germany, France ... Right now, home is this sky blue 1962 Rambler station wagon.

Having adjusted his rearview mirror, Jack glances at his kids in the back seat. Peace reigns for now. Next to him, his wife opens her purse - he reaches forward and pushes in the automatic lighter on the dashboard. She glances at him, small smile as she takes the cigarette from her pack. He winks at her - your wish is my command. Home is this woman."
The Way The Crow Flies / Ann-Marie MacDonald

GLAZED BY BREATH AGAINST THE TRAIN WINDOW...

2005-04-04T03:38:40Z

Low clouds crash against the mountain tops and spill down to the valley floor as fog. White rivers run down black faces. The North Shore under dreamy gauze.

GHOSTS OF SPRING

2005-04-04T01:11:39Z

[originally posted May 11/2003]

In the rolling pasture that surrounds the farm, a hint of chrome through still naked willows draws me to a grouping of gutted vintage cars rusting in the shallows of a slough created by the spring run off and while I squat at the edge of black water, Moose - a monstrous St. Bernard with one eye - bounds into the pond after some newly wedded geese. If this was a Kodak moment, the terrific spray created by the massive dog would hang in the air like exploding glass sculpture while the geese - for this instant, still life - hover in silhouette against the afternoon sun.

If this was a postcard love, my words would sprout like new shoots of grass on a hoof scudded ant hill. Your mail box would ring with frog song.

SNAP

2005-04-03T22:32:13Z

Checking my mail
and ticket prices in an east side cafe.

METHODOLOGY

2005-04-02T03:00:15Z

"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake. "
~ Napoleon Bonaparte

DEATH'S BLUE EYED BOY

2005-03-31T19:57:36Z

this isn't shadow boxing Mista Now
I'm thru with pulling punches
ta hell with a pretty face

GAH!

2005-03-30T18:37:17Z

Gotta lighten up on the booze ...