I’ve grown tired and silent amidst all this language of defining with, what a woman is and ciswoman and keeping up with the genders. Do we really have this much time on our hands? I am weary of bitcoin and investments making money while you sleep because of the luxury this creates, and in all this talk about money, I’ve grown silent… I hear rumors and rumors of war, and in the silence, I think, ah…

Kindness is like beauty in that they are both easy to disregard if you are willing to be cruel.

“Take your beauty and your generosity and fuck off!”

I’m just testing out my new repertoire.

Argh!

I’m just fucking with you!

I watched her rise and fall over our sleepy little town. That dead rock in the sky, that shines over us all… Who knows the secrets here? Where? Where everyone pretends that nothing happens.

The warm salt waters of the Gulf Stream flow north from Mexico, along the eastern continental shelf, passed Cape Breton and beyond. Cold arctic air sweeps down over frozen tundra and bristles raised hairs on hunched backs, along Labrador and into the Northumberland Strait. Where these 2 meet is a spit of land that rises out of the Atlantic, just north of New York City, and is formerly known as New Scotland. It’s because of this; the north winds and the south currents that the conversations here are usually always about the weather…

To an outsider, it would appear as if nothing else goes on here but the weather. However, appearances are deceiving. Nothing is as it seems…

Reminds me of the old joke… A man from the city asks a fisherman, “What do you do around here for excitement.”

The fisherman smiles, ” In the summertime we fish and we fuck. In the winter, we don’t fish. “

I see something sinking here. Drifting gone away. Sinking to that bottom where? No more light of day.

Lately, I’ve been drinking here. Had so much to say. Sinking to the bottom where? No more light of day.

It’s just that I’ve been dreaming. And what I’m thinking of. Oh, it’s not what it seems. See, I don’t believe in love.

Standing here at Skies Edge There. With nothing, just today. Walking there on that ledge here. And you look the other way.

Sometimes, I get it right. Hear the music that you play. Moves me where I can’t see clear and not look the other way.

Oh, I know it’s just a dream. These things that I think of. Oh it’s not what it seems; You see I don’t believe in love.

You move me…

Springtime broke at mid-day.

The air escaped to warm.

There were gasps of joy and weeping.

Shedding Parkas became the norm.

Started back complaining in the evening.

Something or other, it just wasn’t right.

Then we all were back to normal.

Just in time to say goodnight.

The savages we descended from; we pretend they weren’t us…

We think we are different.

This thing we call civility is questionable, at least.

Why are we so offended at our heritage?

Look how far we’ve grown.

“How tall we are, we’ve learned so much!”

Why the shame? Why pretend?

Given what they were dealing with, I can’t say that I’d have done anything better or different…

The Bad News came to Parkdale. From a plane boarding, Lyon France.

I listened like it was a warning . I don’t leave that much to chance.

The doors are double bolted. Peace of mind, came and went.

She is packing now and planning. Has the money all been spent?

The Madness can’t continue. Peace and love,so hard to find.

She’s not finished playing victim. So many horrors in that mind.

All is quiet, but no peace here. In this Sunday waking hour.

She’ll be leaving soon, with her rage and force. Mistaking both for power.

It’s Saturday. It’s raining.

Snows all broken down.

Melted in the sidewalks.

Like the past, just fade to drown.

I’m tired, and I’m healing.

From what I just can’t say.

I slept in passed my pill time.

I just took it anyway.

There is something in my memory.

I’ve been thinking, so hard to find.

I’ll just look a little longer.

To myself, I am that kind.

When I was a kid in the 1960s, the farmers could be heard lamenting about a changing world that they feared.

Beautiful stone cobbled streets of small towns were replaced with “The Shopping Mall Generation!” AND cities grew. “Who would grow the food?” The farmers asked.

But did anyone see this coming down the pike? A generation so smart that they make money while they sleep?

A generation who became so important that not having children became for them, the best option. Which is probably the best thing since we can no longer determine genders…

I am not afraid. I am not in control. I am embarrassed… or am I entertained?

I am being left behind…

I am a dying breed.

It’s ok.

The generation left behind by technology.

I like this modern thinking.

Stay single and make money while you sleep.

I pretend I don’t know why there is so much unhappiness and rage.

If you aren’t cultivating relationships and you don’t have to work and you are having your food and sex delivered… What exactly are you doing with your time? I would be writing, painting, and making films, but that’s me… I am being left behind.