"It's about words, and words are all I have…"



There really is ecstasy   a.k.a. magic in this life

followed by heartache  followed by tedium  banality

irritation   Then occasionally bliss breaks in   Life

culminates in having lived    It’s that simple


I Was Here   written in pink chalk on buildings  benches  fences

Blackie Was Here   doggie odyssey   Unmarked grave   ravine

North Toronto 1970’s    As soon as we wake up into this puny-consciousness

we long for immortality  Do Not Extinguish Me!  (see: *Lascaux

*Michelangelo  *Godot   *Rosebud)


We all like to be near people who are living the life they want to

live   To touch a corner of their cloak   to take a selfie with them

to stalk them   to kill them?  (see: Mark David Chapman  or don’t)


At a workshop on PLAY THERAPY TECHNIQUES the sleek lady from

Arizona gave us: THE MAGIC BAG   Tell your clients they can put their

hands in and pull out ANYTHING: the missing mother    God    a puppy

then psycho-dramatically play with these    One client bitterly recounted

how her cat did not return to life when she used a bag at home


Perhaps this is more of an adult technique  for the suffering fantasists

reserved + melancholic   eaten up inside by ebbing passion   For the ones

who say: I have my pace + way of living   I’m not looking for something

Don’t bother me with MAGIC   If it happens it happens   Otherwise fuck you



Astride of a grave and a difficult birth   Down the hole   lingeringly   the grave digger

puts on forceps   At me too someone is looking  of me too someone is saying   He is

sleeping  he knows nothing  Let him sleep on  (Waiting For Godot   Samuel Beckett)


Adelia Prado begs to differ:

Nothing is ever dead  What seems to have died fertilizes

What seems motionless waits

(Lesson 1976)



Summer 2014

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