The Expectations were on fire.

Virtues had grown thin.

Love was hanging… worn wire.

Either side has needs to win.

The penalties were not known.

The lines drawn in the sand.

Emotions were hot and blown.

And nothing much seemed planned.

You took the gold and money.

I have this heart and soul.

I’m not laughing, but you are funny.

I have the kid: that’s how we roll.

I say, “I don’t care bout the little things.” But mostly, it’s what I do.

I try hard not to say too much. Because really, not much of it is true.

Damaged from pain, hard living.  So much is rotten to the core.

If I cared about the little things. Then you’d be knocking at my door.

There’s no hope, no silver linings. There’s no possibility for truths.

I was taught by all those scallywags. Changing costumes in phonebooths.

There are lessons in the darkness. There are rules no one adheres.

We don’t care about the little things. We smile brightly, don’t talk of fears.

Being alone

Is like nothing else

Incompatible…

You discover things there.

That you couldn’t possibly know in any other universe.

Posers lack that desire.

I thought I would make a difference.

Ah! The follies of youth and ideology.

Now I see my irrelevance.

Powerless perpetuity.

I don’t fight this urge to matter anymore.

I have a new urge.

To experience life with total awareness and zero need to influence anyone.

I will just watch and write.

It has come to this.

I fell out of love by mid-day.

The snow was white and fast.

There was crunching in the footsteps.

All the praise for cold had passed.

I was huddled with my cafe cream.

I was braced at distant storm.

Then I remembered that you weren’t here.

Once again, my heart did warm.

I left the road for; I don’t know…

I just can’t remember what.

There was something about a bungalow.

Where all doors were sealed shut.

Saw some things you can’t unsee.

Still, others’ beauty froze.

The businessmen were gripped by need.

Put the profits up their nose.

Down trodden are filled with sorrow.

Don’t know which wolf to feed.

To survive? Beg, steal, or borrow.

Some say love is all you need.

I was attracted by her beauty.

Even read the things she wrote.

In her diary of private thoughts.

She said I wouldn’t get her vote.

I feel no guilt or shaming.

Even if somehow I got caught.

Don’t care about your feelings.

Because I know you can be bought.

There’s a quiver in the ether.

A faint hint of rich fresh air.

I will use this little breather.

Just to plan and scheme and stare.

You said you wanted feelings.

With a longing for deep truth.

You said you wanted Superman.

He’s on a cellphone by the booth.

He said he doesn’t like you.

He’s not into girls no more.

We are living in a brand new world.

And I’m by the exit door.

I was broke at the beginning.

In the middle was just bent.

On the horizon is the ending.

And the kid was heaven sent.

All tallied, I owe nothing.

There are demons at the door.

And I sleep with peace descending.

No regrets or want for more.

Les McElroy told me just before hanging up the phone, “Mind your own business!”

This is the best advice I have ever been given.

Later, the addendum was, “And get to know what your business is…”

Your circle can get small when you mind your own business. You stop trying to save the world. You become smaller to right sized.

I watch these justice warriors today and wonder whether they will ever be told or how long their careers will be, and then I remember…

It’s none of my business.

They are all here…

In Parkdale, the melting pot.

Represent!

Music is everywhere. Especially in the cars. Jamaica Caribbean fills the air this weekend…

Egypt cuts my hair.

1997 runner up Miss Taiwan is drunk in the alley.

Chilean Russian Ivan is back from the cottage.

Phillipines sells me rice and pork and asks me if I’m Irish…

“Irish Scottish Canadian Celtic mix,” I say.

Tibet is everywhere here.

Vietnam shines, too.

My daughter is 1% native. I am not.

“You can’t say Indian Dad!”

I called the Dutchman for advice yesterday.