spirits awaken...

The following was said, after the lights were turned down. After the night had set in, I closed the door and felt the draft. Of your spirit escaping me from within. I walked outside of your old house. Still trying to figure out all of your issues. You left your tears on a thousand tissues. They've piled up on the floor. Next to the crack in the door, where from underneath there was a light breeze setting in.

Don't fall down tonight. Everything isn't all right, but it's not the same as it used to be. You've heard them say these words before. They're just flash cards for you to ignore. Billboards and advertisements on the television set. There's never been a chance like this. It's too much, so much that you can't miss. All lies and camera tricks, smoke and mirrors and mannequins without heads. So close your eyes and go to bed. Dream softly and rest your head.

ships and stars

ships and stars, the view from mars
and all the astroids in between.
the earth looks so small compared to it all,
a boiling third rock from the sun.

hope and dreams, go up in flames,
with your smile they come back again.
though we may never be the same,
we can see the sun through the rain.

Death by mini-bar

Tiny voices in empty rooms,
black sheets cover the sun.
Windows baring crescent moons,
a battle with keys gone unwon.

Sitting on the bed,
little bottle in hand.
Head in the waste basket,
mouth parched like sand.

Look at the clock,
tick one, two and four.
Clothes strewn about,
headache raging, pills galore.

Out in the morning,
passing people stop to stare.
Lipstick on your teeth,
and yellow scrunchies in your hair.

It'll all be over soon,
you tell yourself while you smile.
Turn down the music, and the lights,
you'll feel like a human in a while.

Greasy food and a cozy bed,
some place soft to rest your head.
Across the room, sits the empty bottle,
soon enough you start to waddle.

Hour passes hour, the friends begin to call,
already plotting your next place to fall.
Back on your hotel bed and turn to the right,
the mini-bar sits, seeking its prey on this night.

along the way

you didn't see, you only heard.
you didn't speak, you turned away.
there were lies, and there were words,
and there was nothing left to say.

because it was the two of us it was harder,
because there was only war, and never peace.
two destinations on a troubled map,
roads never crossing, only bridges,
and all the water underneath.

only silence on the telephone,
no spoken words, only radio static.
I found your picture in the addic,
I wiped the covering dust away.

The face I saw, I used to know.
outside the world was layered in snow.
there was a ringing at the doorbell,
it was you,
you were on your way.

There's wasn't two of us, there was one.
We'd found eachother along the way.

Eyes open

I'm looking for an angel,
there's nothing left to say.
Didn't realize that you had wings
until you left the other day.
The world still spins around the sun,
the sun still sets in the west at night.
The lights of Vegas still shine brightly,
as desperate people place their bets.

They don't know about the spring time,
only promises washed away.
Like looking at that poor school boy,
asking how'd he get that way.
He was a brick sinking in the water,
waves lapping against his head.
He didn't have all of the answers,
liked to shake his head instead.

Marathon: field notes...

So it appears that I have not been writing weekly updates about the half-marathon training I'm doing. Well, two months, too many kilometers to count, and some minor aches and pains have past since then, with much to report.

It's Easter Sunday, in the am, just got back from a run. Today the faithful Running Roomer's and I set out for 16kms. 10 weeks into the training schedule, this is the biggest test, though not the farthest our group will run. Temperature wise, I couldn't have asked for a better day to run, though a little less wind would have helped!!

Today's course had us running from the corner of O'Connor and Wellington to down past the War Musem, along the riverside bike/running path, heading west toward the bridge to Alymer. (I forget the name). Getting to the bridge was tough this morning, the past two weeks I've had to keep the running to a minimum due to an ankle injury I can't seem to shake. I've been riding my bike alot to keep up the strength in my legs while I rest my ankle.

As I arrived at the bridge, I turned to face north to head across to Quebec, when I was greeted by a gale force wind!! Not really, but it felt like it. At this point my watch read 31 mins. I could definately feel the off time creeping up on me, as the bodies of my running mates ahead up me dipped below the horizon and out of sight. I was alone. However, training for something like a half-marathon is 90% mental, so you have to keep focused on the task at hand, even if it is getting across a damn bridge with 20km wind in your face!

By the time I reached the crest of the bridge, I regained the vision of my running mates, but that comforting visual quickly faded, as they ran behind some trees. Passing some bikers and a couple of runners, saw me reach the end of the bridge and head onto the path, to follow it back downtown. Running along the path was a great test of strength, as the terrian dipped and rose at several points along the way. It took me through marsh land, over some plank-covered bridges and through a small community park.

At this point, I could feel my ankel starting to scream at me, evidently I'd been ignoring it all this time. It didn't catch up to me until I reached a portion wherein, I had to cross a set of train tracks. One problem; a train was being loaded with extra cars, making ready for a trip. My watch read 67mins. An attendent working on the train told me to wait 5 mins, so I waited...and waited. I got fed up with waiting so I hopped a fence and continued on my route to the Alexandrea Bridge, past the mesuem of Civilization.

I stepped foot on Ontario soil, as my watch read 78mins. Before coming out this morning I set myself a goal, to run the 16kms in under 90mins. Though the pain in my ankle was increasing with vigour, I made it back to the corner of O'Connor and Wellington at 87 mins, and continued down to the store in a total time of 89:31. Not too shabby, for a guy with a throbbing ankle. Next weekend we run 12km, then two 18's, a 20km, and a final Sunday run of 6km, so hopefully i can rest my ankle enough to keep up my speed. Otherwise, I'll have to play through the pain!!

wishing well

make a wish,
throw a penny into the well.
I've wandered all around,
asking strangers what's your picture of hell.
the sun hasn't been shining in days,
need a ladder to escape from this purple haze.
is it door one, two or three,
this resting place is big enough for you and me.
a night like this so black and cold,
watch your step this dock is old.
bring your book, and we'll read aloud one verse,
she doesn't even carry a purse.
grab some wood and we'll start a fire,
let go of your earthly desires,
come with me and you will see,
we'll paint a picture of heaven.
Somewhere, away from this distaste,
landminds and toxic waste.
At night we'll look up and see the moon,
asking if change is coming soon.

Sheets over your head...

Help me out,
cause I don't know what you're looking for.
Put one foot in front of the other,
and walk right out the door.

Now and then,
could you let me be your friend.
If you're crying underneath the pillow,
let me try to make it better.

I'll be right behind you,
your personal fantasy guide.
You can trust me,
don't hold out your hands,
as you're following down.

fireflys

last thursday,
four years ago.
I saw your footprints
on the wet grass,
leading to the hill.

I went searching for you,
but never got that far.
The light outside was dim,
only shining from one star.

And I walked through the darkness
outside your house.
Screaming at the top of my lungs.

Ended up at the lakeshore,
staring at my reflection in the water.
Dad said you'd know the feeling,
when you have a daughter.

nonsense

the roses aren't red,
because the petals are dead.
and the demons danced,
at the foot of the poet's bed.

the hardest day...

it's the hardest day
some might say...when you have to say goodbye...
there's a candle burning,
on the table...and the wind comes and blows it away.

I've got your image in the mirror
the picture couldn't be drawn any clearer.
As I walk out of this house...I turn to say...

it's the hardest day
some might say...I think I found something out about you.
When the rain is falling...you're name I'm calling...
I've got something else to say.

You packed the car
and drove down the street...I could hear the radio.
They were playing sad songs,
about boys and heros...

I think that they were talking to me.

you and I today

Are you out there,
are you waiting for me...did this happen
can you come for tea...
and I'll be sittting,
out by the tree...I'll see your shadow underneath the door

I'll put my head back,
and you drive the car...foot on the gas
taking us far...
Away from the nights...out past the lights
out to the place where they don't know our names...

signs of life

The world is waking up again, the sun is beginning to spend the day beyond the reach of cloud cover. All over the city people ride their bikes, walk their dogs and meander through rows of sidewalk sales. The grass is beginning to show signs of life, as blankets of snow retreat to puddles and slowly, they evaporate into the sky.

ad for cheap cigarettes

I need time to help create.
To sow the seeds of love,
in the fields of hate.
Spoken words are a beating drum
next to a pile of broken bones.
The world is watching as you climb to the stage.
Looking people straight in the eyes
to expell your rage.

Ghosts of the fallout

When she closed her eyes, her mind always returned to the crying and the deafening screams. She walked carefully, taking each step slowly as she made her way through the thick blanket of smoke and screams, that blurred her vision and dulled her senses.

She could hear the sharp, high-pitched cracking of the fire as it moved through the concrete and fallen timber of the once proud homes of her neighborhood. Like a cancer it spread, from one house to the next, and almost as quickly as her eyes could blink, the neighborhood vanished. Nothing was left but the soft sound of smoldering ash and the dark, drab colour of soot.

There was no laughter, there were no children playing capture the flag in between the rows of homes. She kept walking, and, willing the sunlight to break through the sufficating layer of smoke covering her head, she dropped to her knees.

She could feel her pulse rise and fall, and rise and fall...it repeated itself for several minutes. She couldn't hear the birds, nor see the sky... she was lost.

Marathon...I'm running for.

Presently, it's snowing outside. The wind is coming from all directions and it's causing a burning sensation on my face. The first few minutes of running in weather like this is tough, something most people, even runners won't think about. I must admit, I usually head inside to the nearest treadmill, as insipid as that sounds. No trees, dogs or people to watch as I'm running by, blood coursing at a steaming pace through my vains. But today isn't about running outside or inside, in bad weather or on a sunny day...it's about running.

As I communicate this to you, I am training for a half-marathon, that's 21.1kms folks!!! It's my first and hopefully not my last, baring any unforeseen injury I might sustain along the way. No, no, so far it's been good, week three of a sixteen week training schedule. I have always been athletic, so this comes sort of naturally to me, not to toot my own horn! But, even with prior athletic experience, I'm learning the joys of having to get up on Sunday morning and run.

At least I'm not alone, I have the rest that fill out the Running Room clinic on Slater street. Every tuesday we meet for a talk and a run, usually a short one that I try and run too fast!! Last tuesday I noticed a sign on the front door of the store. It was an annoucement for a breast cancer run, 'Run for the Cure'. I started to read the poster, a date, time, the distance, all the usual suspects that pertain to advertising an event. Then I noticed something else.

Though it wasn't hard to miss, sitting in the center of the post. They were little cards, like name cards at a wedding. Each one had writing on them, and each one had something different written on them. One said, 'For my daugher, my hero' another read, 'For my father'. On everyone, there was a dedication of one form or another, in memory of people's loved ones, who had either died, or as one read, 'For my sister, keep fighting', for those who were finding the courage to live on. On the bottom of the poster there read a single question- who are you running for?

Seeing these cards left me thinking of a few different things for the rest of that night's run. One was my loved ones, my grandmother fell victim to cancer ten years ago this passed year. Another feeling I got was, what I'm a running for? Though I'm not running in that breast cancer race, I must be doing it for a reason. On a basic level, I'm running because I want to get back in shape. On another, I'm running it to see if I can. Then there's the 'cross it off my life's to-do list' which is a good motivator.

As I sit beneath the glow of a candle flame, outside the snow still falling without hesitation, I'm wondering why I'm running this marathon. There is another 13 weeks, so this won't be the last I have to say...

my recurring...

When I close my eyes, I return to it. The image remains there, forever and still, burned into my memory. When all is quiet and there's not a soul in sight, I let myself slip back and slowly give in to it's forces as they draw me closer. All is black and quiet, just the gentle accompaniment of the sound of noise, nothing in particular, no focal point.

In my dream it's always raining. Not violent like during a rainstorm, but certainly more than gentley. The sky is gray and dark, as the sun has run off for another day. I'm standing next to a window, which plays host to quite a view. An innocent rush of cool air runs up and down the length of my body, raising the hair on my neck. I can see the grass, bent over from the wind, and trying to win back it's upright position.

She's wearing a white blouse, and jeans that hug her waste. Her cloths cling to her like a second skin. Her feet are bare...I noticed while she lightly stepped her way toward a red-brick garden path. My face is pressed against the paine, the fog from my breath forms on the surface and blurs my vision. Ahead of her, a row of cedar hedges.

At this point, my mind cannot take it. Screaming at my body, it commands me to give in to chase. She is the target of my desire yet I cannot move. Conflicted, I stand there helpless and vulnerable. The sound of the rain drives past my ears harder with every minute. I want to give in, I must give in. With one last brust of meloncoly, I start for the door and grab the handle.

As I went for the door, she disappeared from slight...

Through the window...

Through the window, I saw her pain.
I put my ears to wind,
and listened to her whispers.
She cried to nobody, to anybody.
Her face had sunk below the glastly exterior she hid behind.

Silence wrapped around her like a blanket.
By the fire she sat staring into its flames.
She watched the pattern of shadows
cast on the wall behind the brillant flashes of yellow and orange.
She thought about each tear, as one by one,
they escaped from her eyes and ran down her face,
like children lost in a reckless abandon.

Pictures lined the mantle left to right, black and white.
She looked past the blank faces looking as though directly at her.
In her memory she heard the laughter,
in her memory she saw the smiles and felt the warmth.
Through the window she reached out her hand...

The men we'll be...

Great men are not born, they are created. They are molded from the world that surrounds them, taking shape as time progresses. They experience every experience, expose themselves to every exposure...Their heightened sense of awareness and belonging makes them in tune with the world spinning around them. They are critical of the masses, and know that they know not...these are great men, these are great women...

At first glance, the above may sound like the mother of all rhetorical flurishes and nothing more than pretenious words spoken to nobody. However, I urge that this is not the case. They are the by-product of a moving conversation between myself and a friend who is more like my brother.

What makes great men, or even simplier, successful people flurish while others are struggling to find their way? Some people have money, and all of the benefits that comes with having a network of friends in high places. They finish highschool with perfect marks, practically breeze through the university of their choice, and go on to fulfill dreams found only in make-believe, or Hollywood.

Some people blossum at different times, my friend says. They have a goal from early on, and stop at nothing until they have reached it... or they have help. Maybe their roads aren't lined with as many complications as some, they had love and support to back them. They had a place where, even in failure, they could come back to and hide.

Being one semester away from completing my degree, I have devoted much time and energy to, well to be frank, to being nervous about my future prospects. So much that once I wrote to Dr. Noam Chomsky in search of some inspiration to cure my discouragement. What he said was simple, but very effective. He told me that even the greatest men, himself included, had gone through times in their lives where they were scared or unsure about what their futures would bring them. Laughter or saidness, successes or failures, even those with the most meraculous of accomplishments had experienced them all, and managed to save face.

So it's not all tragedy and tears...which is good for me because being painfully average, I kid myself alot. Truthfully, it's too soon to tell, my grandpa would say I'm still wet behind the ears. When I write the next chapter of my life, I hope they are good pages, that take my to exciting places, taking from them something to charish and savour.

A champion on the field, when he wins, who always wants to stay trapped in the moment, hanging on to it like it's his last. For that moment his was great, and he will be remembered for it, even if his endevours never take him their again...

My best to Mr. Spencer

It started in 1999, but for some reason I didn't catch on until mid 2005 just how great the show was. I can only surmise that I wasn't very political during my middle years at highschool and therefore hated political shows. Makes perfect sense...but I was missing out on the drama, the sharp, whitty dialogue, and the memorable characters.

However, I was soon sent down the right path by my roommate, who had become engrossed in the show during the previous months leading up to the beginning of my own addiction. Once, upon finishing a cliff-hanger of a season finale, I actually witnessed him foaming at the month while frantically searching for a rental store that had Season two of the West Wing in stock, and that would be open at 1 am.

While his target remained out of reach that night, as dusk turned to early dawn, he eventually watched the series up to the point where it was airing on NBC. In May he went home to work, while I stayed here in Ottawa, with little to do after work during the week. So, one hot night, since I didn't feel like moving and the seasons were directly in front of me...I watched the first episode. That turned into watching the first disc, which then snowballed into watching the first season in two nights.

I didn't get much sleep, but I didn't care because I was living out those hours with smart, animated characters, albeit fictional, but nonetheless worth watching. And over the course of my nightly West Wing feasts, I began to look up to one character in particular. He always knew what to say, but didn't live in an ivory tower...

This person my friends, was Leo McGarry, the man behind the man. For those casual glancers, he was a meek old man in a suit, but for those who knew him and loved him, he was a brillant political mind with the heart of a lion. He scarificed his marriage for the job of Chief of Staff, and on most nights, many hours of sleep. On-lookers watched in awe as he helped mold the plot to assassinate Defense Minister Shariff of Qumar, and we winced when he suffered a heart attack that rendered him unable to continue as President Bartlett's COS.

He would not stay down however, the end of season six saw him rally to become the Democratic candidate for Vice-President, sharing the ticket with Congressman Matt Santos. Currently, the seventh season is heating up with new edge-of-your-seat, hightly political shows, as the plot jobs back and forth from the White House, to the campaigne trail. The highs, the lows, we have been taken on quite a ride thusfar.

I take this time to thank the man that gave Leo McGarry depth and illuminated him in ways no other actor could. On December 16, 2005, actor John Spencer was taken from the world by a heart attack.

His face will be missed. His skill will be admired. Whenever Leo McGarry's name is mentioned on the show until series' end, we will remember with heavy hearts, the name that gave him life.

My best to Mr. Spencer...