She was wild and beautiful and sad and always testing and training my brother and I.
“How many people love you, joseph?”
“i dunno... lots?” i would answer, smiling curiously.
“Lets count them!” she’d suggest. As if nothing would ever match this moment in sheer precedence.
“Ok...” i would then whisper, touching my hands together in a silent clap.
“OK!!!” she would laugh, “Well I know that me and your big brotha are big fans of yours...” And she’d pry open two of my fingers, squeezing the tip of each, for my brother and herself. “How many is that?”
“Two, mommy.” I would say.
“And what about Molly?” Molly was our cat.
“Three.”
And i’d be pleased with myself.
“Good boy.”
This is how i learned to count.
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
How to Quit Smoking for GOOD: the Quick and Easy Way
When attempting to quit smoking cigarettes it is important to keep in mind why one is driven to smoke cigarettes in the first place. The stressors of everyday life are the cause of most people’s nicotine addiction. And in this world of environmental crisis, nuclear armament, economic recession, and global overpopulation, who can blame you for lighting up?
But worry not, for ours is the most effective detoxification regiment for this new more realistic world. Use our simple principles of preparation, relaxation, and self-application to finally give you control over the course of your life. By eliminating the stress in your life that makes you want to smoke in the first place, I can guarantee that THIS last cigarette will be your last. All you have to do is follow these three EASY steps.
Step One: Preparation.
Like any journey, yours requires some preparation before departure. The first thing you will need is a box of nicotine patches. Get used to the idea of the patch. The patch is your friend. It loves you. You will also need to buy your last pack of cigarettes and if money is not a consideration you may also want to buy some other item that you enjoy to help relax.
Step two: Relaxation.
When you arrive home, take a deep breath of fresh air, knowing that your life as a smoker is nearing its end. You may want some music, a hot drink, or some sweets to help you settle in. But what’s most important is that you feel as comfortable as possible.
Step three: Self-Application
At this point, you’ll need to open your boxes of medicine. Now the fun part! Light up a cigarette and enjoy it, for it will truly be your final smoke. Now that you’re relaxed, smoking your final cigarette, start applying patches to yourself.
The method is the most effective when patches are applied to the vital areas [such as the chest, armpits, groin and face), but the rule of thumb really, is the more the better. If you finish your cigarette before finishing self application, feel free to light up another. The treatment will only become more effective.
Once you’ve used all your patches, you should feel satisfied, knowing that your life as a smoker is finally over.
Visualize the things in your life that make you need this addiction fading away. None of your problems will ever matter again, because you have eliminated stress and nicotine from your life for good. Your debt is gone, you never have to show up to your job again, and you’ll never again hear from your jilted Ex’s. Because you will be dead.
Congratulations, you have quit smoking.
But worry not, for ours is the most effective detoxification regiment for this new more realistic world. Use our simple principles of preparation, relaxation, and self-application to finally give you control over the course of your life. By eliminating the stress in your life that makes you want to smoke in the first place, I can guarantee that THIS last cigarette will be your last. All you have to do is follow these three EASY steps.
Step One: Preparation.
Like any journey, yours requires some preparation before departure. The first thing you will need is a box of nicotine patches. Get used to the idea of the patch. The patch is your friend. It loves you. You will also need to buy your last pack of cigarettes and if money is not a consideration you may also want to buy some other item that you enjoy to help relax.
Step two: Relaxation.
When you arrive home, take a deep breath of fresh air, knowing that your life as a smoker is nearing its end. You may want some music, a hot drink, or some sweets to help you settle in. But what’s most important is that you feel as comfortable as possible.
Step three: Self-Application
At this point, you’ll need to open your boxes of medicine. Now the fun part! Light up a cigarette and enjoy it, for it will truly be your final smoke. Now that you’re relaxed, smoking your final cigarette, start applying patches to yourself.
The method is the most effective when patches are applied to the vital areas [such as the chest, armpits, groin and face), but the rule of thumb really, is the more the better. If you finish your cigarette before finishing self application, feel free to light up another. The treatment will only become more effective.
Once you’ve used all your patches, you should feel satisfied, knowing that your life as a smoker is finally over.
Visualize the things in your life that make you need this addiction fading away. None of your problems will ever matter again, because you have eliminated stress and nicotine from your life for good. Your debt is gone, you never have to show up to your job again, and you’ll never again hear from your jilted Ex’s. Because you will be dead.
Congratulations, you have quit smoking.
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
my shadow next to yours, lit by streetlight onto pavement.
he squeezes her hips
and she squeals but doesnt run
in a white room
on a white bed
her black skirt is easily undone
his hands which feel unreal,
very much exist as he undresses her
on white sheets
with white teeth
her painted black nails grip white silk
as he possesses her
and she squeals but doesnt run
in a white room
on a white bed
her black skirt is easily undone
his hands which feel unreal,
very much exist as he undresses her
on white sheets
with white teeth
her painted black nails grip white silk
as he possesses her
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Saturday, 14 November 2009
Meditation
The skin of his knuckles split obediently between bone and brick. His forehead is fevered with rage in stark contrast to the cool stone it is grinding against. His arms are the pistons of a locomotive's combustion engine, as he pounds away against the brick wall that he knows will never be deteriorated by his punishment. His hands, however, have already begun to. But he doesn't care. The pain is what he came here for. To this darkened back alley in the wrong part of town. The same part of town everyone visits to do their own personal dirty deeds. Among hookers, dealers, hustlers, certifiable madmen, and street urchins he feels noble and downright spiritual.
"Everything you need to be happy is within yourself." The psychiatrist at the Mental Hospital had said. This new breed of white suburban bodhisattvas sickened him. He hated to watch centuries of eastern religion and philosophy co-opted for American self-help books. And now here he was, co-opting it for his own purposes. This thought only made him angrier. Red trickles down the wall; the one thing in this world that he knows is irrevocably his.
So he pounds away on nigh invulnerable brick, knowing that the only one he has to blame is himself. For all the things he rued about the state of his psyche, no one could ever accuse him of being in denial. Quite the opposite is true, as he plants his feet in the cement, face to face with this city, trying to make it all go away, one feeble attack at a time. He watches his blood trickle down the wall, and through constant jolts of painful release, sees the only thing is this world that no one can take away from him. This blood is his.
He leaves pieces of himself behind, as he turns and walks away. Dogs judge territory by less than this. His hands are first bruised, then bloodied and finally broken: Bruised as his ego. Broken like the spell his rage had cast. He walks into the open street a humbled man, shoulders sunken with fatigue, chest heaving impassioned puffs into cold air.
"Everything you need to be happy is within yourself." The psychiatrist at the Mental Hospital had said. This new breed of white suburban bodhisattvas sickened him. He hated to watch centuries of eastern religion and philosophy co-opted for American self-help books. And now here he was, co-opting it for his own purposes. This thought only made him angrier. Red trickles down the wall; the one thing in this world that he knows is irrevocably his.
So he pounds away on nigh invulnerable brick, knowing that the only one he has to blame is himself. For all the things he rued about the state of his psyche, no one could ever accuse him of being in denial. Quite the opposite is true, as he plants his feet in the cement, face to face with this city, trying to make it all go away, one feeble attack at a time. He watches his blood trickle down the wall, and through constant jolts of painful release, sees the only thing is this world that no one can take away from him. This blood is his.
He leaves pieces of himself behind, as he turns and walks away. Dogs judge territory by less than this. His hands are first bruised, then bloodied and finally broken: Bruised as his ego. Broken like the spell his rage had cast. He walks into the open street a humbled man, shoulders sunken with fatigue, chest heaving impassioned puffs into cold air.
PULSE
Those naughty words I said,
that were whispered and reverberated inside your head
(and continued in my absence,
making you as drunk, dirty, and free as good absinthe),
simply must not be forgotten
until the fruit of carnal knowledge is fermented and rotted.
Naughty words were uttered with fingers to flesh,
while my lips were monitoring the pulse on your neck.
(Your heartbeat shed light on your quivering needs
as my hand moved slowly up your leg from your knee)
With ecstasy you understood my hands in the dark
As i cut into your flesh without leaving a mark.
...
that were whispered and reverberated inside your head
(and continued in my absence,
making you as drunk, dirty, and free as good absinthe),
simply must not be forgotten
until the fruit of carnal knowledge is fermented and rotted.
Naughty words were uttered with fingers to flesh,
while my lips were monitoring the pulse on your neck.
(Your heartbeat shed light on your quivering needs
as my hand moved slowly up your leg from your knee)
With ecstasy you understood my hands in the dark
As i cut into your flesh without leaving a mark.
...
The Lover of You : The Surgeon in Me
If I had died, just to be by your side
would you not still weep in the wake of my demise?
And if I had initially lied just to be by your side,
would you still lay awake at night with bloodshot eyes?
What if I had split open your ribs, in search of your heart
with a surgeon's attention to detail and art...?
Would you still lay, splayed open, and say:
"Don't you ever... ever go away."
No. You'd just scream and scream
until your sure I know exactly what you mean.
And in an obscene dream,
you'd see me and believe, finally.
That it isn't me that has ever been your greatest need
but something less attainable
but something you are doomed to find
as soon as you are stable.
would you not still weep in the wake of my demise?
And if I had initially lied just to be by your side,
would you still lay awake at night with bloodshot eyes?
What if I had split open your ribs, in search of your heart
with a surgeon's attention to detail and art...?
Would you still lay, splayed open, and say:
"Don't you ever... ever go away."
No. You'd just scream and scream
until your sure I know exactly what you mean.
And in an obscene dream,
you'd see me and believe, finally.
That it isn't me that has ever been your greatest need
but something less attainable
but something you are doomed to find
as soon as you are stable.
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