art-time-collective

Taking the light rail in, standing to avoid company. I think, maybe this suits me. Meeting the world with a glum frown that comes off as practised, professional. Frown that tells you not to worry, I’ve done this before. It might just be the way that everything is swaying slightly that makes me feel so sleepily morose and lazily beautiful. I wonder at a distorted reflection if this is a good length of stubble for me or if that’s an accurate representation of my jawline. I think, this is the kind of vanity that makes or breaks you. The kind of steely resolve in your own self-interest, or self-interestedness, that is one-hundred per-cent guaranteed to make everybody your friend, Or: They’re Just Pretending. Glancing around to see if anyone notices my breath becoming ragged. Pod People, and me too. Blank expressions, betraying not a single shred of our lone shared intention. We are going to get up every day, and we are going to go to work. We will never tell you why.

Filed under: unicorns | 2 Comments »

the high tension wires hum on a still day
hear them when the cicada buzz dims
when the sea gulls that gather in parking lots are quiet and fed
these new towers we watched them raise already rust
red brown mascara tears streaming from each bolt
and we all stop and look and ponder impermanence or whatever
or just listen to the hum when the cicadas level off
when the gulls are restful in the sun
the hum is steady and low and, people used to say, cancerous
carcinogenic like chewing gum or cigarettes or the sun
empty lots near the big towers at low prices for thrillseekers
for those of us who don’t mind telling friends and neighbours, no
it’s just a myth, and, anyway, do you hear the hum?
wait for the cicadas to fade into the trees and the wind to slow
and no sea gulls here but the crows try hard to do their job
seeing the need for a creature that eats fries off the ground
and carries on loud conversations in single syllables
and scowls and gets scowled at
as they scream loudly to anyone who will listen and understand
HELLO, YOU DON’T KNOW ME, BUT I AM A CROW
perhaps adding AND I AM IN THIS TREE
or swooping to the ground to investigate a dropped lunch
filled mouth quieted so we can hear the hum
warming our ears; subtle underneath the 17-year cicadas
that squirmed out of the ground to socialize and fuck and die
ratcheting buzzsaw sound that sweeps across town in great waves
and we’ll all miss them in the 18th year but we won’t know what’s gone
we’ll notice more hum, more gulls from further away
and we’ll breathe in the thick summer air
and exhale our waste in a long sigh
and try to sleep under the towers, looking up
watching airplanes cut long scars into clear sky

Filed under: unicorns | 1 Comment »

this love of ours growing like cancer, taking over
things which do not belong to it
corrupting cells
feels that way in my chest
rushing swell and i’m praying not malignant
or would be praying if i did
instead watching cigarette glow
latticed with outer dead layer of ash
which scatters into wind whipped world of Ottawa
our valley home of shifting pressures
of gusts and lulls
and you laugh and kind of clear your throat
with a joke on your mind you can’t quite work out
something something
of lusts and gulls
i flash a grin at you that i envision dashing
charming, et cetera; now shifting weight nervously
as if ready to run or dive right
making stunning save
but instead taking your small hand
burying it under mine
feeling warmth and life and all your material parts
everything moving lubricated under skin
i think of how i’ll write about this later
or if i don’t i’ll invent it
manufacture from scrapyard memories
some years down the road
and when it’s done i won’t remember still
but will feel bone and tendon moving under soft skin
odd echo in lonely fingers
and will somehow know every pain and angst
of the early days of our pagan love
that has always asked for sacrifice
that has cut out my still-beating heart
only to return it gently
and will somehow feel again that tumor
expanding in my chest somewhere behind lungs
beautiful sickness, fever like warming by the fire
worried house might catch
still piling on wood
building pyre for something dead and gone but not us
whose hearts still beat, still pound

Filed under: unicorns | 2 Comments »

ft. garbage juice on bass

Filed under: unicorns | 1 Comment »

Filed under: unicorns | 2 Comments »

One day we rise from bed and it’s the future
outside a man coughs and coughs and spits
wow, we think to ourselves,
what interesting customs there are here
in this time
we scan the place for differences
and for signs of the past we left behind
we find yogurt, two days expired
we find very little else to eat, surely scavenged
by irradiated future men
but not so irradiated that they’d eat expired yogurt
we imagine the chunks, the odor, the sour
we feel lucky to be alive
our bodies sleeping for who knows how long
so vulnerable in retrospect
we vow not to let it happen again
we grow crazy eyed and half feral
in the following several minutes
stomping around, dragging knuckles
grunt grunt
this is how things are now, we have to accept it
it’s bleak but we can survive
and I don’t have to turn in that paper
and I can breathe

Filed under: unicorns | 2 Comments »

tired eyed shamblers walk blearily
through hangover haze that the
sun pushes through enthusiastic
cutting paths through shuttered eyelids
walk past scab-kneed skate kids
with bits of asphalt in their palms
and engravings of past mistakes
shining white on tan skin stretched
taut across scrawny bone
scampering back to boards ejected
while mechanized frustration sits
fuming and moaning beyond barriers
exhaust drifting, building clouds
that will never build rain, drifting purposeless
decorative shawl draped over The Commute
the occasional horn erupts but too tired mostly
all asking the omniscient third person
what’s taking so long or why am I here
sometimes colliding sometimes dying
very inconvenient deaths
then doors push open and throat clears
and hi if it’s too late for breakfast
I’ll have a big mac, frowning glancing at wrist
then slowly home
derelict sesame seeds leaping free
sparrows cock heads sing thanks and think
what a perfect day
phone is beeping exasperated
two missed calls from work
low battery

Filed under: unicorns | 4 Comments »

i catch you looking at me
or near me or close enough that
everyone thinks you’re staring in an embarrassing photograph
you are listless and beautiful
your glance trailing off, losing momentum before it reaches
and falling gently to the floor
a redbrown leaf
kept leathery not crisp by late rains
and mist and fog
and this humidity that chokes everything but only gently
enough to make you slow and shiny
i wonder if you see me or see anything
you wipe your brow, you correct your slouch
you slowly slip back into it
ass sliding frictionless across dewy lawn furniture
you mouth some words and they might be to me
i think you are saying:
don’t you know this is everything?
i look over my shoulder and look back
you are sleeping

Filed under: unicorns | 1 Comment »

y’all get clickin

Filed under: unicorns | 5 Comments »

click it imo

Filed under: unicorns | 7 Comments »

sitting down in the crater
out behind my seventh-grade school
she says listen to it like music
[there is a siren somewhere]
the wind is blowing, rattling trees
there is a baseball game

(its late and dark, the lights are on)

jingling dog; buses hum past
mosquitos fly about, an unstoppable menace
we lay as long as we can stand it
the grass feels nice and she is beautiful
even hidden in my hood
we’re walking home and i can’t remember

a single

thing

we talked about

i remember the way she looked, how she sounded
i listen to her like music
she tells me i am the only other thinking thing
she is stumbling as she walks

Filed under: unicorns | 2 Comments »