Monday, August 06, 2007
pinball
i'm not stupid,
but i don't always think so.
if you don't know
what you want to do,
you better fake it.
or you won't get anywhere.
but i don't always think so.
if you don't know
what you want to do,
you better fake it.
or you won't get anywhere.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
chapter two: the roughriders
I’m not sure how long I’d been KIA. Not long enough though. Because every single second of my resurrection was a living, burning hell. The Re-Gen injection dangled from my chest like a stupid arrow. Amazed, I focused downwards on a ponderous bead of blood, sliding down the silver needle. So mesmerized by the oddity of the syringe protruding from my heart, for a merciful moment, the unholy stench of my immolation didn’t even register. Only after the searing hammer of pain slammed me into total awareness did I inhale the putrefied taste of burned human flesh.
Regenesis, as I later learned, often kills again. The accompanying pain is so intense, the recipient’s heart perforates from the pressure. Encore la morte. Within 48 hours, of the 3% revival rate, half again expire due to catastrophic stress. And even when the dead live, they’re often blacked out; so depressed they’re useless for life.
The day of my resurrection I knew none of that. Just the cauterizing agony of my life regenerating one searing cell at a time. But inside all of this, beyond my physical torment, there was a cold awareness of something else. An inarticulate, malevolent presence; a moray coiling in some dark subconscious fissure. Like a guilt, or a shame lurking inside your guts, washing up against you in the middle of the night. An incrimination. A taunt.
Then it was gone.
An armoured hand appeared around the syringe and unceremoniously jerked it out. I coughed and vomited.
“He’s back, sir.”
“Fine. Now, let’s get moving. Roughriders, mount up!”
Captain Roland Forty-Four rose fifteen feet into the air on the back of the largest cat I’d ever seen.
“Welcome back sonny.” I heard my father say. And then I blacked out.
Regenesis, as I later learned, often kills again. The accompanying pain is so intense, the recipient’s heart perforates from the pressure. Encore la morte. Within 48 hours, of the 3% revival rate, half again expire due to catastrophic stress. And even when the dead live, they’re often blacked out; so depressed they’re useless for life.
The day of my resurrection I knew none of that. Just the cauterizing agony of my life regenerating one searing cell at a time. But inside all of this, beyond my physical torment, there was a cold awareness of something else. An inarticulate, malevolent presence; a moray coiling in some dark subconscious fissure. Like a guilt, or a shame lurking inside your guts, washing up against you in the middle of the night. An incrimination. A taunt.
Then it was gone.
An armoured hand appeared around the syringe and unceremoniously jerked it out. I coughed and vomited.
“He’s back, sir.”
“Fine. Now, let’s get moving. Roughriders, mount up!”
Captain Roland Forty-Four rose fifteen feet into the air on the back of the largest cat I’d ever seen.
“Welcome back sonny.” I heard my father say. And then I blacked out.
Friday, August 03, 2007
chapter one: hangfire position
Beans yanked the garage rope down and shut out the blazing sun with a metallic clang. He turned to face us, shifting his Tigers cap up on his head. We were all sweating and breathing hard, arranged in a semicircle opposite him. A week before the invasion, climate authorities had been claiming it as the hottest July in the last fifty years. Everyone was talking water conservation. Radio News instructed old folks to stay indoors. That was six days ago. Now the radio was silent.
Inside the stifling garage, the five of us set down our packs, adjusting to the shadows. Any movement caused puffs of choking dust to swirl, so we kept as still as we could. Beans hunkered and wet his finger, then started to lay out lines on the sooty concrete floor. He pointed:
“Ok, we’re here. This is Royal York. This is the park. Here’s Pop’s. Benny, your dad’s truck is for sure out back?" He flicked his eyes over to Benny.
“That’s right Beans.” Benny crowded forward and licked his own finger. He drew a couple lines on the garage floor, adding to Beans’ map. “But they’ve got the school. The car lot....”
From the get-go, the plan to make the run out of town was a longshot. The Concern had us all tagged. Chicken’s leg was broken and both Benny and Bobby were going grey from the Afflict. Professor Niehl’s jam charge was about 15 minutes from spent. Things were gonna have to happen fast.
“We all agree, we can’t make it through the park, right?” Nods. “So, it’s the alleys then.”
I leaned in to situate myself on the diagram. Across from him, it took a second to reverse the plan, but then I figured out where he wanted us to head. It took another second to realize what it meant.
The rest of the guys had seen it too. Cigarettes appeared and Chicken looked down at her busted shin.
“Comments?”
He’d meant it for me. I knew saying nothing was the only way to keep panic at bay. He knew it too. It wasn't like, at fourteen, any of us had given much thought to death, til now. We shared steady eye contact and instead I methodically checked down my arsenal.
“Five capsules, double-sixes are stocked. Regen pack stocked. Let’s take the fucking alleys.“
Maybe the rest took a heartbeat, but the guys sounded off in good order, one after the other. Beans’ eyes cast the Eagle at us.“Alright guys. The alleys. Let’s do it.”
All told we were pretty well-armed. But travelling that way, through the alleys, we’d be naked. Any airborne, or if our jam wore off, we’d be begging to get husked. The Concern were bringing in the heavies now. No need for cloak-and-dagger stuff. It was raw power. Total destruction. But at least we could see what we were up against. Better than the terror of not knowing who was real,and who’d been replicated.
Me and Benny took one arm each, supporting Chick. Bobby leaned up against the backdoor of the garage and filled up with breath. Beans was in the back and he looked at each of us in turn. We were ready. Steady.
“Go!”
The first meta-slugs took Bobby in the chest, pulverizing him into red mist. Somehow Benny propelled himself and Chicken forward out the doorway. Spinning away from them to the right, I fired wildly into the sun. Monstrous shapes closed in. They had us surrounded. In that first blast of white light and heat, all I could perceive was the crackling of slugs zipping past my head; then feeling Chicken crumple down and then Benny’s truncated scream. Behind me enormous bodies pummeled the garage; huge, paralysing concussions. Burning chips of wood and metal stung my face and hands. I was on fire. Through the warble and hiss, i jerked back towards Beans but there was nothing left. No garage. No Beans. Nothing. The downsplash from the rotors of the heli above blasted the flames. Almost a balm. It was over in seconds.
Inside the stifling garage, the five of us set down our packs, adjusting to the shadows. Any movement caused puffs of choking dust to swirl, so we kept as still as we could. Beans hunkered and wet his finger, then started to lay out lines on the sooty concrete floor. He pointed:
“Ok, we’re here. This is Royal York. This is the park. Here’s Pop’s. Benny, your dad’s truck is for sure out back?" He flicked his eyes over to Benny.
“That’s right Beans.” Benny crowded forward and licked his own finger. He drew a couple lines on the garage floor, adding to Beans’ map. “But they’ve got the school. The car lot....”
From the get-go, the plan to make the run out of town was a longshot. The Concern had us all tagged. Chicken’s leg was broken and both Benny and Bobby were going grey from the Afflict. Professor Niehl’s jam charge was about 15 minutes from spent. Things were gonna have to happen fast.
“We all agree, we can’t make it through the park, right?” Nods. “So, it’s the alleys then.”
I leaned in to situate myself on the diagram. Across from him, it took a second to reverse the plan, but then I figured out where he wanted us to head. It took another second to realize what it meant.
The rest of the guys had seen it too. Cigarettes appeared and Chicken looked down at her busted shin.
“Comments?”
He’d meant it for me. I knew saying nothing was the only way to keep panic at bay. He knew it too. It wasn't like, at fourteen, any of us had given much thought to death, til now. We shared steady eye contact and instead I methodically checked down my arsenal.
“Five capsules, double-sixes are stocked. Regen pack stocked. Let’s take the fucking alleys.“
Maybe the rest took a heartbeat, but the guys sounded off in good order, one after the other. Beans’ eyes cast the Eagle at us.“Alright guys. The alleys. Let’s do it.”
All told we were pretty well-armed. But travelling that way, through the alleys, we’d be naked. Any airborne, or if our jam wore off, we’d be begging to get husked. The Concern were bringing in the heavies now. No need for cloak-and-dagger stuff. It was raw power. Total destruction. But at least we could see what we were up against. Better than the terror of not knowing who was real,and who’d been replicated.
Me and Benny took one arm each, supporting Chick. Bobby leaned up against the backdoor of the garage and filled up with breath. Beans was in the back and he looked at each of us in turn. We were ready. Steady.
“Go!”
The first meta-slugs took Bobby in the chest, pulverizing him into red mist. Somehow Benny propelled himself and Chicken forward out the doorway. Spinning away from them to the right, I fired wildly into the sun. Monstrous shapes closed in. They had us surrounded. In that first blast of white light and heat, all I could perceive was the crackling of slugs zipping past my head; then feeling Chicken crumple down and then Benny’s truncated scream. Behind me enormous bodies pummeled the garage; huge, paralysing concussions. Burning chips of wood and metal stung my face and hands. I was on fire. Through the warble and hiss, i jerked back towards Beans but there was nothing left. No garage. No Beans. Nothing. The downsplash from the rotors of the heli above blasted the flames. Almost a balm. It was over in seconds.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
(civil society)
Ok, explain Temperance.
The explanation was that it was for civil society. Because who would farm if you could drink? 'We gave you the land to make a country.' Etc. And what would the women and kids do?
Exactly. A drunk husband. All I’m saying is the other argument is, you know, don’t tell me what to do. I don’t need your help. I’m straight.
I know. But you’ll make a case for anything.
Well, suicide then. I mean... Altho, there are the failed suicides. Is it really just a cry for help? Legislate against incompetence, a hedge against expense?
I knew a failed suicide.
Yeah?
At the hospital when I worked on the elevator.
Oh yeah. Who?
She was 18, she jumped off a building
how many floors?
Not high enough. 8th floor.
8 isn’t enough?
Ha. Apparently not. There was this other guy who shot himself. Permanent wheelchair, para. He’d offer to let me touch the entrance and exit holes, little soft spots on his head.
Wow. What caliber was the gun?
Why?
Small bullets’ll spin around inside your skull and pop out the other side.
That’s what he said.
So, would he say he was more inclined than ever? “In the mouth next time” ?
You’d think. No, I asked him once, ‘what do you think now?’ And he said, ‘Well, now I think I was a fucking idiot.’
Like, ‘I’ve got to get my shit together.’?
That’s what he was like. There were others. The ones who were speeding and crashed.
Right, they’re like, why me?
This one guy was driving his sports car and he was leaning out the side window to talk to someone and he hit his head.
Oh my god.
Quadriplegic. He was angry everyday.
The explanation was that it was for civil society. Because who would farm if you could drink? 'We gave you the land to make a country.' Etc. And what would the women and kids do?
Exactly. A drunk husband. All I’m saying is the other argument is, you know, don’t tell me what to do. I don’t need your help. I’m straight.
I know. But you’ll make a case for anything.
Well, suicide then. I mean... Altho, there are the failed suicides. Is it really just a cry for help? Legislate against incompetence, a hedge against expense?
I knew a failed suicide.
Yeah?
At the hospital when I worked on the elevator.
Oh yeah. Who?
She was 18, she jumped off a building
how many floors?
Not high enough. 8th floor.
8 isn’t enough?
Ha. Apparently not. There was this other guy who shot himself. Permanent wheelchair, para. He’d offer to let me touch the entrance and exit holes, little soft spots on his head.
Wow. What caliber was the gun?
Why?
Small bullets’ll spin around inside your skull and pop out the other side.
That’s what he said.
So, would he say he was more inclined than ever? “In the mouth next time” ?
You’d think. No, I asked him once, ‘what do you think now?’ And he said, ‘Well, now I think I was a fucking idiot.’
Like, ‘I’ve got to get my shit together.’?
That’s what he was like. There were others. The ones who were speeding and crashed.
Right, they’re like, why me?
This one guy was driving his sports car and he was leaning out the side window to talk to someone and he hit his head.
Oh my god.
Quadriplegic. He was angry everyday.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
ultimate ensemble
parsimony
stiegl
bix
cecil taylor
ego
WoW
txting
method
milch
middle school
facebook
gallic wars
gemmell
chandler (raymond)
acid western
weight
lob wedges
lies
rotary telephones
big pushes for disaster
the incredulous stare
elric
tegmark
stiegl
bix
cecil taylor
ego
WoW
txting
method
milch
middle school
gallic wars
gemmell
chandler (raymond)
acid western
weight
lob wedges
lies
rotary telephones
big pushes for disaster
the incredulous stare
elric
tegmark
Saturday, June 30, 2007
half off nothing
seriously, let's congratulate ourselves on our snack food innovation. the choices are endless and ever evolving. it's wonderful. honestly, all snack food wants is for you to love it. it could be chips, or maybe flavoured jerky or some traditional confectionary product. is pop a snack? maybe you like blueberries. it doesn't matter. we have snacks covered.
wow. what an awesome evaluation. is that just the beginning of what you learned tonight?
fuck you.
typical. that's exactly the response half the world would have typed.
yeah? half the whole world, or half the english typing world?
whatever you fucking idiot.
yeah. you say.
ok i'm getting the air.
i'll come.
fine.
...
...
wow. what an awesome evaluation. is that just the beginning of what you learned tonight?
fuck you.
typical. that's exactly the response half the world would have typed.
yeah? half the whole world, or half the english typing world?
whatever you fucking idiot.
yeah. you say.
ok i'm getting the air.
i'll come.
fine.
...
...
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
deus ex machina
in 1998, when most of my friends weren't yet separated and i had a career trajectory, my distant teenaged cousin came to toronto to visit. things were really happening then. albums were coming out, novels were being published. we had invitations to events. sometimes, we were featured. then and now, i can't remember what it was like to be 18. how heavy it was.
anyway, my distant cousin comes to visit. she's on a pass from an institution in guelph, but she glosses over this. i abdicate any adult evaluation; fronting it's cool to let them be. kids. you want so bad to be on their side; but they are insane and unafraid. anyway, we got a pulse. the next day, as she boarded the bus back to the institute, she cheerfully hoped to avoid the urine test.
just the other day, she found me again. we hadn't communicated since that weekend. but i have thought of it often. i got a letter from her. she included a couple photos. in one, she's standing next to a Triumph, in a gravel parking lot full of motorcycles. she's got goggles up on her army helmet and she's giving a look to the camera that registers right on with me. i recognized her immediately. she's my side of the family.
anyway, my distant cousin comes to visit. she's on a pass from an institution in guelph, but she glosses over this. i abdicate any adult evaluation; fronting it's cool to let them be. kids. you want so bad to be on their side; but they are insane and unafraid. anyway, we got a pulse. the next day, as she boarded the bus back to the institute, she cheerfully hoped to avoid the urine test.
just the other day, she found me again. we hadn't communicated since that weekend. but i have thought of it often. i got a letter from her. she included a couple photos. in one, she's standing next to a Triumph, in a gravel parking lot full of motorcycles. she's got goggles up on her army helmet and she's giving a look to the camera that registers right on with me. i recognized her immediately. she's my side of the family.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
broke neck hoople
"i am not the fine man you take me for, no no.
i come in april to sell a string of horses
and try my luck in the stream.
what i got for the stock
i lost at the wheel,
and the flake i washed up
i drank the fuck away.
i sold my boots
and owe nine dollars to a whore.
i don't know if i'll make it home at all."
i come in april to sell a string of horses
and try my luck in the stream.
what i got for the stock
i lost at the wheel,
and the flake i washed up
i drank the fuck away.
i sold my boots
and owe nine dollars to a whore.
i don't know if i'll make it home at all."
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
pilot
there was this show on the radio about this religious guy who died...
yeah.
supposedly he did good things. he built schools. he asked people to fund different things. christian values.
yeah, christian values.
he made comments after september 11 that people who were gay or different, they'd have to calm themselves. like this was god's retribution.
...
anyway... working man blues.
it's next.
great.
yeah.
supposedly he did good things. he built schools. he asked people to fund different things. christian values.
yeah, christian values.
he made comments after september 11 that people who were gay or different, they'd have to calm themselves. like this was god's retribution.
...
anyway... working man blues.
it's next.
great.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
socialized
no thanks. the world already moves too fast for me.
you're so antediluvian.
...
ok, fuck. i get it.
that's all i'm saying. who has the energy for that?
we used to. you used to.
yeah, we used to. but we're wiser now. number two, it's incredibly expensive.
the problem with today is this fucked up career infrastructure.
exactly.
work your fucking ass off.
what?
work your ass off. that's how it works.
don't feel like you have to. that's all i'm saying.
why can't we get more *novelty?
exactly. what happened to the flea circus? or death by quicksand?
ha. ask ricky jay. ask gilligan.
did you hear that alec baldwin called his daughter a thoughtless little pig?
that's awesome. you really dont' realize until you become an adult that adults have no idea.
exactly. but they fucking exploit it.
getting up on a daily basis and fucking making things work with other people...
yeah.
fucking tax evasion is the last frontier.
milch.
yep.
it's a ploy these days, outrage.
...
[later on, there's this terrible panic. i mean, unbelievably terrible.]
*money
you're so antediluvian.
...
ok, fuck. i get it.
that's all i'm saying. who has the energy for that?
we used to. you used to.
yeah, we used to. but we're wiser now. number two, it's incredibly expensive.
the problem with today is this fucked up career infrastructure.
exactly.
work your fucking ass off.
what?
work your ass off. that's how it works.
don't feel like you have to. that's all i'm saying.
why can't we get more *novelty?
exactly. what happened to the flea circus? or death by quicksand?
ha. ask ricky jay. ask gilligan.
did you hear that alec baldwin called his daughter a thoughtless little pig?
that's awesome. you really dont' realize until you become an adult that adults have no idea.
exactly. but they fucking exploit it.
getting up on a daily basis and fucking making things work with other people...
yeah.
fucking tax evasion is the last frontier.
milch.
yep.
it's a ploy these days, outrage.
...
[later on, there's this terrible panic. i mean, unbelievably terrible.]
*money
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
not how i want it
i plead with my old lady to put down the gun. i say, sweet pea, if you don't kill me, which a twenty-two will not do, i am going to fuck you up. But she is steady. when a woman decides she's going to kill you, she likes it when you beg. She wants you to beg. Women sometimes say that they love a strong man who can cry. But they are lying. They want a man that will get them money. That's why I'm pleading. Because i'm like any other mutherfucker. I just want my shit to be cool. I want it tight. So when this old lady licks her loose lips and demands new shoes and baseboards and babies i automatically swing around for the exit. But she's saying all this crazy shit with this single action sprouting and it hits me, 'she's telling you she loves you!" but i've never been right about anything. she squeezes the trigger and of everything she's fucked up in our three glorious, soaked weeks of romance, killing me isn't one of them.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
just to hit glass
hey.
jesus. it's 4am.
i can't do this without you.
i hate you. don't you remember?
yeah, but how am i supposed to make my living?
can't you hate yourself?
jesus. it's 4am.
i can't do this without you.
i hate you. don't you remember?
yeah, but how am i supposed to make my living?
can't you hate yourself?
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