notes, musings,

_______________ Notes, thoughts, things going through my head   (which is at the top of my heart )  (my heart like anyone's is a mysterious place a ......... what's the word? something that I need to find  ... opppsss there's that the 'capital'  i          

  cornichons rhymes with bouchon

some people enlarge us/others shrink us

  they say a photograph steals one's soul     (hahaha how does one write 'laugh'?)

   what then does a poem do? ___   offers portal to better places    __ at best the line(s) of flight creating bypassed and roads to better head (and naturually  body places) the body places |

music , on the other hand,is a pile of shit| when it disgraces us with its false routes out to the song ' of death and self destruction| so many hundreds of so called songs are blasted with self induced malaise, miserable nostalgia, and the music buries the feeling, it  wipes it across 'guitar' chords.  where the intesnity of an emotion and its greatness comes from something, if it's worthwhile at all, that cannot be buried. im saying this as i just heard some awful gush on france culture and elsewhere today    .

      i shut it    off   .

  a voice speaking in the margins

   mais les marginaux sont quoi?

 re: Montreal __ the memory of a city .   . no  . it's time for me to go.     i hate what's been done to it, it's not the place I knew and loved,

it's become a small retracted place definging itself by the petty race of langauge 'laws' the death of culture and not its celebration

 the hundred or more 'festivals'  contain many imagitive and wonderous things however, they are in my view also a burial site of what's not said 

  of what's erased daily hourly the loss of street names,

    of roads,
  of schools

forcing immigrants to speak the so caled majority language all of it is typical of the

 yes that's an incomplete sentence

  so what of it?

 and one

(phone note to self) 

a man with a  sore back/ & broken teeth does the whirl
 around with a woman from across the sea


  what has been done to our city?

    the good/ bad
  the spoken/ written

retraction or /and flight and creation

       who are we?


  d reams yesterday night a city  i am lost

   where am I?

does the i become I? as happiness might be found?


who are the song of green and winter?

   there are greater cities in the world
  where art pours off the buildings and steams off the street. what sacrifices were made.

   i am  or i've spent so much of my life living on the fear or at the sense that  an act of violence is coming

          my nerves jump /my back
      's ready for the hit

       a tense machine waiting for hurt

   .  writing often provided a way out  / if it doesnt  ill give it up
  do collage

   stand on my head

           go piss on the waves

   of the nearby 'lake' or estuary

        -------------------- but writing is not a god.