EMPIRE.

'All human relations have shifted-those between masters and servants, husbands and wives, parents and children.  And when human relations change there is at the same time a change in religion, conduct, politics and literature'

V Wolfe. 1924

division.

The antecedent and the consequent's relationship grew farther,

a ratio recognizable to the untrained eye, 

an equation for an animal to multiply

to divide.

Engrossed in her own precocious addition to love, she chewed over our lust.

Wits quick as a wolf's reflexes,

sharp as a fox, 

she saw our consumption of one another,

the re-creation of arithmetic between bodies,

the quantity of space lacking.

Blood on her paws, rum on our hands

Clasped together, in hiding.

Formulating an escape from the captivating beast, 

we fled, subtracting one from the animals game theory.

The competition came to a close, the numbers ceased to please.

She went home unsolved, with a mystery threatening.

With mathematical minds, we deciphered how to repent,

from a question we'd never expected.

and a calculated union.

trustno1

Illustrious as Moses, divine in desire.

rare as the sage.

the leader, the wise.

One would argue, 

the fabulist, the illusionist,

the liar.

Cross continental appeal.

Shortcomings spanned over oceans serene blue,

stretched deep as her fathomless floor -

nonetheless, continuously convincing the masses.

Suspicion of the inception,

persevering regardless,

for the tree proves fruitful for the season.

Apprehension would be blasphemy,

unless the truth rears,

and with wild eyes, we cease to believe,

all we have.
For, to live in him is to exist,
and doubt would be death.

N O N E W Y E A R.

The temperature boasts tepid 

a most exciting adjunct to this new year, 

the weather in Scotland seems the only warm front.

Traditional thoughts could not promulgate a more bitter frost.

There is a mirror to capture my exterior,

to cast the length of my frame, 

anew and ripened for Springs arrival.

Though, my complexion argues, 

its likeness barren.

Worn from winds of a previous locale.

January's mistress emits ennui.

A sexual storm has calmed,  only a light snow lingers,

but the task at hand reflects a thin veneer,

a cerebral black ice. 

This proves to be yet another desire to just slip my mind.

solidarity.

Dark. The scene is dimmer then I once remember.

Carry Gold.  You'll require the glitz to entice them, to entertain and enlighten.

To liven.

My hair's natural curl has returned, and it's sheen alone has been the only light shed on home.

The air here, heavy with familiar scenario, hot with the sting of disaffected youth,

They assimilate their weight in goods, in jewels.

Their iron stomaches, their lead intestines fear nothing of the sort.

The masquerade of modern day,

Consumption seems the only way for my precious darlings,

their feeble minds and evaporating personalities,

those I hate to love, hence, love to hate.

END.

COOLGUYS.

"you know what I want babe?

cool guys like you outta my life"

- - - - - - -

dismiss.

divulge.

delude.

doubt..

deny.

destroy.

400 blows keen, crawling.

wish came true, now you've seen,

all but the

death of me.

READINGS.

Included:

The Gothic; cities in literature, urban representation, literary theory, late twentieth/twenty-first century genre fiction (sci-fi & horror) queer theory, object-relations psychoanalysis, vampire fiction post-1980, literature/biotechnology, late-Victorian prison autobiographies by women convicts, & The films of David Lynch

Sure,

Time to soak in all the culture that is humanly possible.

Forgot how it feels to live.

less to say.

the curtains draw clean to a close, a gash is stitched pristine

the light is best in the studio, 

in the morning.

up all hours, heart stares back literally.

with only time to waste, wasting precious time

coming,

to the end of an era 

greet the deceased,

with nothing sentimental,

in conjunction, we'll never be complete.

fuck, I.

manifest

the fear instills itself.  

some mornings I make toast and watch the glowing box glow.  

some days I stare at the ground, the ceiling, the sink.

time passes with nothing on it's mind.  

people forget I live and breathe.

I forget to live, to breathe.

I am a room, only an object.

I am, objectively, alive.

impartial to the hour, a loss of significant flavor.

I am sexless, loveless, I burn cold.

I watch our plants grow, through unaware of their progression.

their height.

What you see is my reflection,

the manifestation of a woman.

One Very Important THOUGHT.

Banana's contain a specific enzyme that speeds up the deterioration of other fruits when placed close enough. 

Easily, comparable to myself. 

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I sit still. I stare. I let the mosquitos slowly swallow my blood. I leave my shoes by the door. I fold the laundry. I butter the toast. I set the alarm. I cuddle, I coo. I read aloud. I criticize my body. I wonder. I eat. I scream. I stumble home. I move the banana's to their own bowl.

Eventually, everything rots.

the BREAD.

grazing the thin blue grass, 

in the EAST, facing WEST

he's focused on the word MAN, in the context of MEN

the bread, and the meat between each piece.

how could a woman carry a cock ring, a man cry himself to sleep?

the liberated lack of emotion versus the robotic movements learned by book.

hilarity, for our meaning of marriage stunted.

we too, loved hard. licked each others wounds at the crack of dawn,

sucked teeth, mourned the same loss.

idle on hillside ,

this Man and this Woman.

question our roles as our own, kind.

using our sex cells, our bottom lips, our crooked jaws.

if only, everything could be OURS.

but we're stuck somewhere between reminiscing and role reversal,

who could be 

the ruler of Y chromosome,

even if lacking 
one?

Non-Print.

M Y V E R Y O W N W O R D S


courtesy of Russ Martin.

?

a lady named bunny.

There are generally two sides to every story: 


Overdressed or Underdressed.
Overwhelmed or Underwhelmed.
Overexposed or Underexposed.


  All parties were present in the unraveling of events that occurred this halloween.
Dressed clad as my biggest fear, my face mocked itself every time I came across a mirror.  I was doomed, I thought, licking MDMA off a plate which I used to eat on every other weekday. Anxiety would ensue as I came across whiskers, a pointed pink nose and the distinctive ears that a rabbit holds.
Alex painted his face thick with white, immediately washing it off,  then proceeded to offer me a Klonopin. A drug to wash the former drug down with.
Russ paraded around pant-less, attempting to imitate Tom Cruise's moves in his prime.  
We all agreed they both looked adorably prepubescent.


Carrying the Champagne bottle, Jackie O and I hobbled, Russ lit his cigarette indoors and we screamed to a taxi without knowing the address of the Ghost Dance.
Nestled on Cheery Street, we gathered our accessories and frolicked into a room filled to the brim with Jellyfish, Monsters, Marionettes, Bloody Battered Women and an ancient Chinese Dragon, who later attempted to devour Jonathan.


Spinning through self-pity, drunken haze and full blown energy, I danced to my hearts content floating over the channel. High, staring coyly into the eyes of my very own Yip Yip, as he hid his headphones beneath the felt.
A backsplash of white canvas's, reflecting perfectly selected beams of light gleaming coquettishly.  Another bunny, with blood covering his face, haunted me for the rest of the evening.
With my partners in crime off to bed, I was on my lonesome once again.  Running into an enemy I call friend who's eyebrows were thicker then Cool Whip on cake.  I greeted her with glee which I always blame on the E. 
"Please, stop trying to steal my boyfriend, he wants me" 
When my monster returned, we kissed silently beneath his fur and cooed, in love with the things we could become, thus, became. 


The magic of the evening wore off after swallowing it in the bathroom.
I kindly removed my mask, soaking in the last of the water ripples, wobbling to the bass.
We headed home to a new space, as new beginnings began yesterday,
and continues to both confuse and excite today.




photo credit: Russless.

no future for naps in sight.

I’ve started swimming again, as though it’s something significant.


I’ve found a home on the top floor of a house quainter then one I’ve ever been blessed to live in. Not that I can complain about where I’ve formally lived.
A bachelor the size of a shoebox, a glamorous shoebox at that, containing pumps that cost more then the monthly payment, metaphorically speaking.
I’ve never owned shoes quite that expensive.
Fully furnished, accompanied by perfect smoking deck in a non-smoking environment.  


What’s a girl to do? 
Quit.  Throw herself over balconies edge?


Still lacking a job.  My landlord believes my Gay comrade is my Boss.   A year younger then me, his pre-grad profession puts my lack of motion to shame. 
I didn’t really have a plan of action after being deported
& Here I am.
On this frost bitten Wednesday morning, after signing my first lease and agreeing to give my time back to the city where I was bred, grew and faltered, I sigh.
Dazed, in what could have been an afternoon spent in the dewy meadows or billowing castles of Edinburgh.  My degree waits patiently for me.


Literature, we’ve always had a love/hate relationship.


I would consider this the after-life of my after-math.  Sharing a table at a busy Toronto coffee shop.  It’s zero degrees outside, and November hasn’t even hit us. I can hardly breathe, I’m feverish, not prepared to face another Canadian winter. 
But, this seems to be what I’m left with.
An empty mug, half a plank of sanded wood, a dead fly in my water, cold sweats, a contract, all of what amounts to many empty minutes that must be filled.
I’d rather do it with words. 
So along with taking my aggression out in laps around the pool, I’ll write it out.


Welcome me home Toronto, you’re stuck with me.
for now.