When a Canadian met a South African

These half of two years have been blessed with many new characters

Be ready for the party, June/July

M & Y

Lullaby

Chuck Palahniuk's book Lullaby is so far my best loved




Courtesy of Jacinda Larson

Siberian Breaks

Sleep as the goer
the bridge that watches the light speed through
and cries while the spirit stumbles
and inside missile for the protection of you

maybe it's silent
the voice can't bear anymore strain
but speak without even knowing
and streams outside in the direction of truth

there's no reason there's no secret to decode
if youc an't save it, leave it dying on the road
wide open arms can feel so cold
so cold
feel so cold

balance the books, the ledges, the loons
the disappointed look on the faces
that squint at the moon
let's see it with shadows enhance
and then vote to decide who'll advance
silver jet plane, making a turn
exciting the brain that expects it to crash and then burn
it's not the life lesson I'd've guessed
if you're conscious you must be depressed
or at least cynical
but someone might still eat the steaks
even if they're tough
spending the day
chewing the fat
floating away isn't roguh but it's not enough
oh marianne, pass me the joint
the sandpaper's tan
go-getters are surfing the point
and london's a cratch on the lens
it's over before it begins
silk 'round her neck falls down to her shoulders
the older I get, the more I suspect there's a trick
but really there's no trip at all
that doesn't result in a fall
or a faltering
but something might spit out the bait
even if it's real
rolling away
missing a spoke
close to the ground like a wheel but it's not a joke
holding the line
clutching the phone
nobly wasting the night, but it isn't right
it's not right
smelling for blood
praying for rain
running away isn't rough, but it's not enough

(FAVORITE PART OF THE SONG)

the low tide is telling me, when it's over,
to breathe in everything exposed
and comes back to cover me with a blanket
being here's always changing tunes

the empty sky surrounds me but i can't see at all
wide open arms can feel so cold
and you can sit beside me and tell me what it's
worth
but I hope I die before i get sold
I hope I die before I get sold
I'd rather die before I get sold

if you find the soul that you lost
frozen in a starry void
take it within and hope the sight of blood
can will signs of life to return
back to the way that it was
long before it made a noise
to keep on quietly reminding you
what's never created or destroyed

wake as the swell peaks
the close-outs drowning the birds with roars
and howls scare the new unkindness
that picks and laughs at the carrion scene

forces you see breath can always go into hiding
and wait 'til it passes over
or stay far gone for all eternity

MGMT

Being Here Is Always Changing Tunes

How else can I capture what I want to be captured?

5:03 am

Awake for hours, waiting to watch the peach sunrise slowly take over the blue night. Listening to 'Boy With a Coin, by Iron & Wine makes the moment worth while. Birds waking, transit starting, is what I hear through my open window. Dark objects like a crane, and the glistening buildings downtown steal my attention. I can feel the Monday slowly coming together from a restful sunny weekend, and its alright.

Part of My Addiction

Once upon a future in a far away land, a gentlemen burrowed, in a god forsaken place, a peaceful place, a respectful place, his place. The colors around his reality illuminated rich beauty into his slow paced heart and deteriorating brain. Repulsing it, like the strange, unknown forgetful dreams. It was perfect.
The air was abnormally thick and warm breezes caused the sand paper to flap aggressively against the cabin, making the man wear boots, socks over his trousers, an oxford, and a sophisticated shawl sweat shirt. The clothing pieces reveal mainly 'cotton' and 'wool, cashmere blends', usually what the Last People placed on their fashion garments for luxuriant purposes. It was perfect. Outrageous!
Seasons brought even rain pours and whitening storms. The grey midst above in the open space would disappear on and off like a light show, bringing the white rays onto the grounds. Sometimes the wishful man hoped for long flashes of light at a time. Giving him the sense of all that was special and secure to him. It was perfect.
The man is alone, thoughtless, pathetic. For its his brain's survival mechanism, feel only what there is to feel. Which is what is. The constant coverage over the historic memories shelter his facial reaction, leaving him emotionless. The pain of depression becomes numb after the years of The Change. Its the way it its. Its perfect.
But sometimes.. The luscious colors, random fashion garments, southern whitening storms, open the vault to his knowledge, and he finds himself, enjoys himself, remembers himself. He is happy. Its Outrageously perfect!

Sir Mitchell Toews

Here are two out of many others


Goddess of night, Nyx, watching over God of Death, Thanatos. Hypnos, God of sleep is not shown, but he is next. Nyx is the mother. Thanatos prepares a poppy for his awaiting brother while the heavy valley lays peacefully between two far away mountains, shutting the light out to bring their mothers nightly visit. The night is peaceful.


The garments sufficiently brought life to her reflection. Time and life is of the essence.

PAINT WHAT YOU SEE

THIS IS TWO THOUSAND TEN

THIS IS OUR EXPRESSION

THIS IS ACRYLIC PAINT


THIS IS MAKING THE CUT

THIS IS MARILYN

THIS IS POWERFUL ENERGY

THIS IS I