Between many performances and readings from Barrie and Mississauga to downtown Toronto, it’s been an exhausting year and a half.
My year-long-yet-brief stint as an organizer for the now-defunct “Streetsville Spoken Word Series” proved to be quite successful, until the owner of the local pub we were performing at failed to pay his rent and fled the country, leaving his bar behind in a wake of cocaine. I also worked on a painting for a whole year, from July 2010 to July 2011, and gave away the art piece as a gift.
Nowadays, I seldom write, read, or perform, since I completed the sequel to my poetic debut 49.
The project, officially titled “The 94 Negative – Sombre Songs for Sleep-Sick Sarah“, is still unpublished and has been finished for approximately 6 months. While I am still searching for a publisher, I have also been speaking to a composer and a few musicians into turning several pieces from the book into a full-length concept album.
I hope to release the album towards the end of 2012, provided the world does not come to an end before then. The poetic anthology would follow thereafter. Needless to say, there are a total of… holy shit. I’ve failed to actually keep count of how many poems were actually in the manuscript. There was supposed to be a total of ninety-four, but I don’t even remember if there are, in fact, that many. Well, when I figure out the final count, we’ll see.
In the meantime, I figured I’d leave whoever still reads this now-derelict blog with one of the poems from the book. If you happen to be impressed, don’t be. It’s probably the only good poem in there, and I’m only giving it to you to disappoint you so that you don’t buy the wretched trash if (and that’s a big if) it’s actually released.
Enjoy.
Absynthetic
Do not drink and dream:
Those painful moments return.
Inevitable.
So yes, this lame haiku is better than anything you’re going to read in the book. Okay fine, I’ll give you another, just in case you begin to believe all I write are lame haikus.
neoPhixxx.xx [Defeat | Defunct | Decay ]
A binge junkie in indulgence, self-repugnance
Once I’ve got my fill.
Consumed and overplayed to thrill,
How much are you paid to kill?
Yourself and all around defeat,
Defunct, decay to all who’re born to sway
You’re born this way to find a new way
To lose yourself, you lose, yourself
And everyone wins, because you’re
A binge junkie, you’re disgusting, hello your name is
This and you’re an addict you’re a fuck-up, help yourself.
Don’t come around these parts and look for more.
More for you to crash and burn and twist and turn and
Live and learn, let go, let God, keep coming back, someday
You’ll find your hole, until you fill it, thrill it, kill it,
And feed your fix, you’re nil, you’re nix,
Powerless in bliss so kiss your ass goodbye,
Your time to die is nigh,
You’re high.
