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sitting_alone_with_the_hum_of_computers
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pete
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i'm in this lounge,
just refreshing my hotmail page
every so often
in hope that there will be a new email
that i can read and write back to
like yesterday,
which i quite thoroughly enjoyed,
that email correspondance
with you.
it was refreshing, too,
you know,
to not just be sitting alone
without even that
mental connectiong crossing
some hills
and trees
and more hills
and a lot more trees
then some plains
that just go on and on
and on and on and on
til they reach the mountains,
and that is where you were
are
and i am waaaay on the ottawa river
(actually the rideau is out the window behind me)
and here i sit today,
not wanting to leave
and go to work
just hoping that
when i refresh the page
something will be there,
though of course
i wont be sad
if nothing is
because, well,
to be sad at a point like that
is just silly
like this blathe.
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040724
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Borealis
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greetings from the mountains
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040725
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pete
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the early morning passes in silence
the silence of the headphones
blocking out the sounds
that permenate all around
walking to campus
from the bus station
(where i waited for a bus
that wasn't going to come)
i heard the gov-gen's foot guards' pipeband
strike up and play some 2/4
(or 4/4, though it felt like 2/4 to me...
yet it has been too long
since i have played in a band)
they were accompanied
by the spit 'n dribble,
though the mil band was almost
completely drowned out
by the glorious instrument of war
(and now donovan just said
'hail altantis!
way down below the ocean
where i want to be
she may be'
such an amazing song...)
the still that comes
after the pipers stop
and the snare echoes into
the city waiting to embrace
the last vestiges of an older day...
the still that is born
in the hollowness of my soul
when the pipers stop
and the snare echoes
across the canal and lake...
the still that is born,
it is not true silence,
never can it be true silence...
oh the still that is born!
the still that is born
is accompanied by
every tree and blade of grass
continuing to sing
those solemn songs
until the next car
speeds by,
destroying the beauty and paece
of the only instrument
which in itself
stirs the ancestreal blood
deep within my soul....
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040725
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Doar
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.
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040725
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evsp15a
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the hum around me too
here in the desert
my cat sits on the monitor
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040725
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u24
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staying too late at work, when everything is turned off, it's so quiet.
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040726
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pete
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oner computer fills the air
with its silent hum,
here i sit
kilometres away from the new home
in the old home
trying to stay awake
was i lost before,
and now touching the solid ground
or will this false door
collapse beneath me
and send me sprawling
into the sewage infested
floodwaters of the ontonobee
as i wait for my bus to ottawa
tomorrow morning?
the dog barks bellow
and my fingers tap away
on this oh so loud keyboard
a pop rock tune
flows through the open door
from the room i used to call
my own...
here i sit,
all alone
with my brother on his computer
and the rest of the family
gone for the day,
for the hour,
for the time that they are gone
here i sit alone,
i saw an old friend
in the mall,
we share the same last name
and she was with a friend
from japan...
everything is changing
the restuarant is now
a tax centre,
the signs are different,
the academy still stands
though that old,
classy placard
has been replaced by something
entirely new
this town is lonely
it is growing,
so fast that its newly built school
is overflowing
after four years,
this town is lonely
it is growing,
so fast that it is becoming
a town of commuters
going to toronto
to peterborough
to work each day
filling the air
with their hate
and pollution,
and then wondering why oh why
is it so hard to breathe?
i am sitting alone with the hum of a computer
and my thoughts wander to friends lost
and friends that never were
and friends that will be
will this town ever be home again
or is it merely a stopping point
where i can recollect my past thoughts
and memories
to maintain a
semblance of sanity?
i'm allergic to the cats
to the dog
to the bad dreams
that plague my adopted bed...
last night
before slipping into sleep
i read 'living with cancer'
by my late brother doug
written in 1989
after he survived it
for the first time
he wrote it at age 10
and died at age 12
in his third fight
against lukemia...
and the memory no longer stings
and i am happy
i am happy that i can hold my memories
without the tears
and the shame of the tears
that fell so long ago
and the ridculing that followed
but i can still cry silently
and cry myself to sleep
though the memories haunt
my nightmares no more...
the hum is soothing
it tells me im alive
as the town turned city
outside
drives itself to dust and death
growing beyond its capacity
and drowning out
the farm lands
that would have
provided the once town
with its bread and beef...
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040726
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Borealis
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040726
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pete
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back again,
in my usual haunt,
the trip to lindsay
was short
and without much event...
saw some old friends,
as funny as that sounds
coming from an 18 year old
whose social life growing up
consisted of a computer
and group projects at school...
the three computers hum in time,
the rhythm seeks to draw me deeper
into the sleep which i have
become self-deprived
during the past days
living at home
sleeping in the bed that was once my own...
my thoughts go to you,
though i don't even know who you are,
i've only seen your face
and the way
your eyes tried to focus and failed
before you slipped back into sleep
as the bus rummbled down
through the highlands
of central
and eastern ontario...
my thoughts are yours,
though your name i will never know,
or where you are from,
or to where you were going...
perhaps from toronto,
on route to ottawa,
though you could be from farther
and your eyes
could have been set
on the old city
of montreal
where the U-boats
once addressed their
parties,
armed with torpedos
and intentions of death...
i'm sitting alone with the hum of three computers
filling my world
with senseless words
and that pattering of fingers
as they hit the keys,
as the eyes are peeled forward
as if typos really mattered here...
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040727
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witchesrequiem
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Haahahaha..
Is your name Marshall?
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040728
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pete
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there are three hums,
louder than before.
the deep blue blathe
stares at me from behind
the privacy screen
put in place so only one
I,
he who sits directly infront
can see what the screen has to say.
if privacy is so important
why can't i access some blathes
why am i blocked from accessing
this blathe,
to which i type
from if_you_believe
cause i can't get into the true home
fell asleep and woke in dream
what really happened?
memories mixed with dreams
i know i failed that test,
but, i know this is real,
the mark said 96%
i thought it was a dream
so i checked
and low and behold
bullshit pays off
sometimes, atleast
so here i sit
uncomfortable
UNCOMFORTABLE!
i want to leave this place,
but not til i blathe
and so i blathe,
probably in half sleep
in wonderment
in an inability
to really belong
inside this library
which is so similar
to that one
which was like a second home
in my childhood
yet it is haunting
the reserves are kept
where anyone can take them,
they are not hidden
behind the desk
the librarians arent as kind
they have not seen me
progressively grow
from age 2 or 3
to age 18,
where i am now
the florcenant lights are creul,
not bright at all,
and the hum of the computers
is not the comforting sound
i'm used to,
but a distrusting
roar
trying to
overwhelm my body
and soul
and reject me
and throw me away,
i the castaway
that the truffle pigs find
buried with their prize
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040728
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