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Journal Archives

2004 Journal Entries

good, sweet lily

Saturday, December 11, 2004

not-yet-lover.
how you hang in perfection.

a knight
a white flower
an unlying lip
upon lip.

at an hour past grace
i am thinking on the plot
of our delicious fiction,
a future,
ridiculous...
our maybe,
divine.

you're a vessel i fill
greedily,
the wild tale i tell myself
before you are human.

be not yet human,
be my

almost-lover
so i may dare you to gather me,
to drink to the sadness
that begins
with desire,

to scream down the face of this
eyeless, nameless beginningless lover

the wolf at a carcass,
the lava descending
the lily heavy with heat



sweet readers. i am out of sorts. what is this thing called home we all die for? i feel it in me, like a freight train. it is time.
i'll miss you, out there, on the road. all you do is clap your hands and i've re-found my coordinates on Earth. but that has passed. i cling to the juice you gave my battery.

now i am in a movie... an entirely new world. paths and rooms i've never seen ....a different planet....my heart swells and teeters... i don't know where to throw it. everywhere? i beam it out to you, hard as i can. i turn a corner, any corner, and fall in love, every time.

so much to know....so much so much. can it be we are so lucky to feel such pain....or whatever this is. the days fall past and i try to remember to taste them before i fall down exhausted.

chin up lover.
we're the good guys.

ss

It is the glacier

Monday, November 22, 2004

It is the glacier
who redecorates like a wrecking ball,
but
over millions
and millions
of years.

slow
certain
annihilation
of the suffocating land underneath

It is the glacier
who performs the deepest coldest peel,
big enough to tear off a history
like the lid of a sardine can,
cruel enough to begin again at Nothing -
the only truth.

it is the glacier
who gives a fresh linen cloth
to a table stained with feasts,
who begets blankness across over-lived lands,
leaving a trail of afterbirth that can
press bone into rock
and freeze the dinosaur, mid-step

It is the glacier,
master of hygiene,
who will wipe up a drunken era's dripping mouth
and shave its beard with a heavy, sharp knife,
then melt
from immensity
to water
in the blink of an eon.
over wide miles of the once-heated-up
/dried-out
/ran-too-fast,
it is the glacier,
who wins with silence,
- zamboni perfection,
who utterly
and tenderly
destroys.



so you see. i am obsessed with beginning. i must constantly begin. must return to my ignorance to become more wise. return to my childhood to retrieve wonder. return to Nothingness to discover all. Music lives there. Pictures live there. Hope, Faith in Goodness, Freedom from Judgement and Pettiness, - they all have apartments in Nothingness....the place where you're new. a miracle, daily. i continue to read about the time before time and i fall down, enthralled....space that has been swallowed by incredibly dense matter....

a science magazine in an airport is a present from heaven.
good night my stars, soldier on...

xoxoxo
ss

feverhead.....

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

all i can think about is another book,
another record.

i can't think about my phone bill,
an apartment,
a comfortable bed,
the serious business of being alive.
nutrition is a nuisance,
it pours kerosene on the
brittle hypochondriac
whose body is a weather vane
and can only translate
a universe's suffering
(whereever it may be)

television is pure horror.
leisure is stained with sin.
clickety click...the industrious companies twitter
(who is a company?
they are named, they conjure images, but
you can't shake it's hand,
or ask it to hold you.)

all this clicking that the world now knows.

computer for president.
come back awe...let's light it on fire.

my bank account is a sieve.
my heart is a brothel
my arms are Mrs. Dempsters
they want to be saints,
but lie down with the devil
simply to exercise love,
see how far it will go.

how far. how deep can you love...
love the despicable?
love the open question that - like the mouth of a starving child -
will never
ever
close?
-s

hey glorious young. hope you've been busy making mad beauty. i'm counting on you.
nothing is litter, it's all gold. I love you,....

ss

my saviours, something for you....

Thursday, October 28, 2004

i've seen great fire
coming forth in towering waves

me and agony cowered under the bedsheets,
bled like a suicide,
ate down our nails in fear.

but nothing -
no weather yet
has taken us down.
this frame
and the unfortunate tenants of my mind
remain alive.

my own eyes chill in the hotel window.
who is she?
where is she going?
does someone love her? and why?

silence

then the reflection smiles
and i have my answer.



.....i'll be headlining across canada in march...hope to see you then, salute your bravery.....
xo
ss

returned.

Monday, October 18, 2004

she has.
my head is full of ringing blood.
sting. thump. a poem for you. to beg your forgiveness.

2 "The"s. 2 "How"s.
the clean cut skyline of old Stockholm.
the engaged man who took an ice cream scoop to my insides.
how much wine has passed through this liver?
how much art has entered these travelling eyes?
the lights of Harwich twinkle a goodbye
the sea churns grey underneath our Dutch ferry
how can i sleep on this rocking beast
how can i forget to hear her dreaming?
the deep wicked kiss
the lonely hands sinning.
how the time flies by, undetected, unrecorded.
how the meals come in, go out, and feel strange.
the song leaks out to the French and the Germans
the foreign hands clap and they cheer like lost cousins
how i love them, insanely
how i fall at their altars, homeless.
the shores are moaning-
the girl is made of glass.

my lovers. i bought fake pearls. and i had to find a winter coat..it's chilly in northern england. what to tell...there is too much...too much....

thank you for your letters....i feel redeemed. you blow winds for my weary kite, great strong winds. Your gusts made me paint when all i wanted to do was go numb.
those I'll show you when the second volume is complete. The first (Ravens) is ready and I'm taking it on tour...before it's available anywhere else....eventually the website will sell it.....oooo....a baby born....

Some are perplexed by "Day One"s sounds and attitude. I can only reply that I must "speak from my centre" to quote Mr. Cohen, and that is precisely what I did. Truth is my one interest. And last year, the truths I found almost destroyed me. We must be fierce in the struggle. Fierce and unrelenting...honest to the bloody bone...so bare it terrifies. Let the naysayers come. I'll go deeper.

xoxoxoxox
ss