october mEp 2011

there's a snake on a train; and a pony in a hat; there's a christmasy scene, flowers, all that;
halloween strewn about, and a kid on a spider, a fish and a bowl and a pumpkin beside her.
there's a bucket of 'billes' (marbles), the gazette and the post,
a dollar store ball, rubber boots, and some toast.
no christmas lights work, burnt out in the rain,
through the sheers, a red blind, yes, red again.
a child and tv, the world where she wakes,

a woman, that's me,

complications;permutations;calculations;
lucky pauline, is all i can say
anonymity required

more java please on a sunday morning in montreal
stiff back; arch poots;
where are your mEpwords

well, thanks to the man in 5A anyways.

pauline gets to say it all
lucky her, heart and mind

"when the bee stings" your neck; in a restaurant;
and shouting at it, heads turn
what are "your favorite things", poots?

i want my breasts back, how silly is that, and not only hanging on the wall

are we all just a gradient of selfish
are we islands, or are we as one
can we dream without our thoughts; or think without our dreams;

burlington calling
visiting Russians, French, and Chinese
no Japanese, no Swiss,
we will model and mend PCIDSS
model and mend
lucky pauline
no coding required
somewhere...
there's a place
for us

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

this morning, in the park, i wrote my mEp story. one day i hope i can put it online.
i have always admired those online diarists who were able to admit to the entire world, what they were really thinking and or feeling.
unfortunately, my real thoughts, my real feelings, have always been too marginal for someone on the outside, lives a more than middle of the road existence.

alcohol diaries entry number II
"four bottles of wine?" exclaims she.
what is your point, i wish i knew, without modifying your opinion
yes, perhaps, distorted, muddle thoughts, lack of clarity, wakes poots, at seven am

midnight quarrels;

dreams of the everyday housewife;
midnight quarrels;
how much mEpping, does make a body.
silence - sore teeth -
a weekend of sun
ronan keating,

6: 26 am... the alcohol diaries.

in my dreams, the hamster escaped.
in my life, i layed my weary head at 8:37
and opened my eyes at 6:23...
opened them to certain clarity, to today, and tomorrow.
and although i didn't know what day of the week it was,
as clearly as i walked down the stairs on sunday,
my deflated physical self knew something absolutely, once again.
and, coining the phrase alcohol diaries,
began my journey back to California.

.

6: 40 am

once again, squeaky noises from a tiny creature, fill the house in the night
doesn't take much, does it.

scant sleep, skansen, no chewing today.

words, how much rests on them, when so much rests on them...
and when at a loss for them, the most meaningful sentiments get conveyed

winter will come, this year.

7:31 am

when i woke up this morning,
it was sunday
that was all