narcissus and echo approached the stage

a fiddle at half mass supporting their majestic curtain

and at this time of prayer, i pray down there

once again they approach their stage, fiddle hosted high

draining the light from every pore they feel among the yard

and all those brave gents, in their red stained uniforms

they approach their last days on this stage

the time to say hello is now

so please love, say goodbye

bye for the now

because hello is withering away

echoing in this silent room of controversy

and mr.echo returns the call

while narcissus prays to a tree with no leaves

waiting to be restored

because my dear son has been hurt, hasn’t he

jh, oh you're good to me

hello pretty mask

you caught me in the early hour

the time of power is now

so where do you walk when dogs mind the side walk

or the beast within draws from your spine

do you tip toe

or crawl like a lion


dream your intentions and i’ll watch the play

my questions mean nothing

or scream your thoughts

my insecurities plug my ears


and how do you feel when i feel

do the inner churns develop as the lion crawls

the king of the jungle falls asleep

and all is calm once again


and where do you want to be, with me

on the top of a dandelion hill

you’ll push and tug              till i fall

caught by our magic carpet



part two begins and you tuck me into bed

when they glisten in the youthful evening

the pretty mask

in the early hour


but who do you aspire to be, if it’s not me

the cuddly creature

that you must pet correctly

or all will become prickly


and the lion awakes

from it’s pit of despair

and he approaches, showing his sharp teeth

with the tears flowing down my cheek


he paws and plays and licks that teary cheek

and all is calm once again


so tell me why you speak with such style

if it were only true to you

upon your personal satisfaction

together from the window we spy

and i see a resemblance love, of you and her

a prickly flower


and once a mistake was made

by god, once a mistake was made

it had happened .



i never wanted to be the tragic all.

my father and hamlet played with me.i was their toy

the weakened soul rises above the natural soil.

but him. that wretched soul.

everyone wants the dress and the stallion galloping in.

but not some fool. acting out of sheer craziness.

who pushes me deeper under the the watery mud.

and once i get there, the mud is gone. 

the darkness leaves. and again i’m alone.

with eyes the willow sways.

where my mind tells me to follow, to the white light

a big swan dive. the end.

but not for the rest of the tale.

for things will get wreck less.           

death will boil and brew over all of denmark

i’m leaving before things get ugly.before i get blamed.

a lady has no place in such violence.


Stop. Allow the obvious connection. It doesn’t mean to simply give in. It means that all sounds are clearly audible; but no speech is present. The control is inevitable and needs to be accomplished. But who decides such boundaries? It’s all one mans perception. Marriage. Right and wrong. Left and right. Black and white. These ideas are tattooed in our brains. No wiggle room. No room for failure. Why should ones mind be shielded from the possibilities that life entails? Experimentation. Aroused.  Be something. Do something.  It just so happens that there is a god and he deserves your respect. So give it to him! Give it raw and give it mean. 

the most dangerous sport

Subtle anger covers such an illusion

No English language can describe the tendencies of light.

Where it shines or seemingly glows.

The color of Christmas. With a dribble of snow.

673 BDE.

I’m at the wheel.

In control. Screeeccchhhh! Boom. Bang.


The man clinged to me. Held on like a homeless man seeking some sort of charity.  I looked down. His hands, veiny and tense, were clawing at my leg. I wanted to kick away but I couldn’t. His digits were aware of their surroundings and in order for me to understand his struggle I had to connect with his hook. I thought of the four jointed body part and all the marvels that came with it. A ring to represent marriage. A hand to experience touch. Fingers to grip objects. And nails to be bitten nervously.  My eyes panned away from the man and I had a vision.

Paralyzed. No feeling. The image brought pins and needles and wouldn’t withdraw from my head. The thought of being able to see the wonders of the world and have no idea what they felt like was overpowering. I imagined the injury. Clinging to the rock just like the man with no fixed address. A snap and the lights went out.

I wake up with the image of a bunch of squiggly lines and realize they are all intravenous tubes. Fuck. I would rather just die in peace. Nevertheless, they fight for a life that they are completely oblivious to. I see all this movement and try to lift my arm. Nothing. How about my legs? Absolutely numb. I scream, but my emotional state remains the same.

Back to reality. I lift the drifter to the blue man collars level. “Hands are so important that we even wear gloves to cover them”, he says. I laugh. The statement seems so blatantly obvious and redundant. Nevertheless, truth. I thought of the importance and significance of ones touch.  The affects that climate has on our emotional state. Reliance on such a phenomenon.

I bought the man lunch and he purchased the small talk. And then we said our farewells. I knew he would go back to pan handling and I’d return to my steady day job. Empathy. The wish for a better tomorrow. For the both of us. We are on a good path. Our hands still have feeling. 

the interview

Isaac: May I take a photo of you?

Homeless Man: Well sure. What else do you want? To know my whole life story?

Isaac: Ha, well if you wouldn’t mind.

Homeless Man:  I hope you have some time. At the age of three both my parents had committed suicide. I thought. No I didn’t because I had no idea what was happening. After my parents decide to call it quits, I went through all the intricacies. Who gets the money? Who was to take care of me? Who owned what? I was confused and to make matters seemingly worse everyone was asking ME questions. Yes, the three year old with a brain the size of a peanut. They didn’t take any of my emotions into consideration. It was a complete interrogation. With a dead brother in my mother’s womb, I had no one. My grandparents were dead and both my parents were single children. I was a “rare case” as the judge said.

                  Decisions were made and at the age of eight I was lodging in a catholic orphanage. The first day really foreshadow the rest of time at this institution.

Principal:“ Father will take you to your room and Mother Superior will be waiting there for you”

Me:“I don’t think you understand, my parents committed suicide five year ago. Unless, you have a way to bring them back.

Principal: “ Enough, Mr. Baker. Trauma, yes, but do not be cheeky.

The years to come were filled with confusion. “Why won’t god show his face? If Adam and Eve were always naked, did they have sex a lot? If god created humans shouldn’t nuns be having sex non-stop to keep gods children going? What happened if America went to war with the Vatican, would we still like the pope?” They were some of the questions that were asked at the beginning of my stay. At the age of sixteen I received the nickname Gigolo.  I had no idea what this nickname was about, but my girlfriends ex had given it to me. That night I asked one of my many Fathers what a Gigolo does. With a slap, I was proud of myself. I still had no idea what it was but, it was bad and I wanted to be something naughty without trying. I ran away and decided it was my destiny to become a Gigolo.

Isaac: A gigolo, really? You had no idea what that was?

Homeless Man: Well I was only educated about religion, nothing about sex. Carrying on, the first year was easy and much the same as the orphanage but with less rules. Instead of learning religion I learned how to do a line of coc. Instead of learning math I learned how to reload a gun or break into a car. I had a parental figure, whom everyone called “ a pimp”. I didn’t like that term so I called him dad. He was protective but would let me do as I please.

For four years, I had sex. Lots of it. Nevertheless I was content and loved every minute of it. If my client laid a hand on me, dad would pull a gun on them. I was never scared but I became tired and decided I wanted to call it quits and run away, for the second time.

Isaac: This story is intriguing, what happened next?

Homeless Man: At the age of twenty-two with $200,000 and a handful of experiences in my pocket I was ready for the real world. Lonely nights in the local motel, led to thought and frustration. I thought of the one thing I was good at, sex. But also acting. All the orgasms I had and developed that were fake. I decided I wanted to be an actor.

My first agent in the “biz” as they called it, wanted to make me a porn star. I explained that I was tired of having sex and wanted to act in films. He ditched me and I was again alone in the local motel. Day in and day out I wished for a miracle.

Isaac: Did you get one?

Homeless Man: Well, one evening I was watching a film and a man knocked on my door. He came to tell me the film was too loud. I muted the Paramount feature and offered the man a brew. We talked and soon enough he asked, “What movie were you watching?” “My favorite, Dogma”, I said. The man jumped for joy and replied “ I directed that film”. One thing led to the next and I had a job with Paramount.

Paramount treated me well and I had the life of a true movie star. Until one day when all went to shits.

It was evening and I was sitting with my wife in the living room, where we both did a line. I was feeling strong and in power and understood that Spring Break was coming up for all the kiddies. I decided to invest all my money into Intrawest. All of it. The next day Intrawest went under and all my money was gone. My wife kicked me out of the house and all what she left me with was this flute that I to this day play.

Isaac: I hope you understand I’m writing all this down.

Homeless Man: Give me $10 and piss off, I’ve got music to play.


We are humans, not fish. Fish swim in schools. their neighbors, present, influence their path. Their thoughts are guided. independent thought should arouse one rather then pacify. No guided meditation is needed.

 We are alone, to ponder such a life. 


a warm beer in england. a batch of pasta in italy. tacos in mexico.

the. field.      of.  multiculturalism.

a tide comes with a fleet of two thousand immigrants. complaints.

the secret declared from the top of the white stairs

”open door policy”

push the one you hate back into.   the.     sea.

where a man will lie               wondering.

and he’ll nod at his wife. with salt stinging his eyes

a sea full of tears.          illicit tears

but all is silent.             calm and peaceful

for the fish will swim by.   with birds in the sky 


I'm the controlled one. You, gone. Out to lunch. But shh.. baby! Don't Laugh. Tis' not funny. The vibrant fall of emotional state. I'm spiralling. When you speak my name. That tone. But shh.. baby! Don't Laugh. It's my birthday. Smile. Death. I'm about to throw up. Grr.. Loitering love and all the rest. Be the death of me. Breath and sunshine my sweets. It;s cold out tonight, but I want to be outside. It's freezing out tonight. Come warm me up.


You don’t always have to win.

Sometimes it’s better to sit and observe the other.

Watch as they struggle.

All what truly awaits is a deceiving future.

december 21 2012

The Death. No, not quite. A new beginning for those who believe in that destiny in full. As prophesied by the civil, in modern day Naples, the world is supposed to, in reason, start over on December 21 2012. The Mayan calendar, that prophesized hurricane Catrina, the tsunami, Hitlers Rule, the birth of Jesus and Lunar eclipses thousands of years before they happened, stops on this particular day.  We seem to be going through apolitical process. This is not the end in any way, shape or form, but the end of a cycle, to repeat itself. Scientifically, the Earth, Moon and Sun on December 21 2012 will all align in a section of the Milky Way, know  as the black whole. For those that believe in such destiny as reincarnation, the question, what happens to the human race, is controversial to say the least. As this black whole forms and the human race is sucked through the atmosphere out of this planet, a remorphing will occur. We will not simply evaporate but reincarnate into a species that can survive living on the moon or wherever the post- earth life takes us. Whether we become aliens, or have different lungs to breathe at such an altitude, is far from my knowledge. As we adapt to our new living arrangements, we will watch the earth, evolve and start itself over. The world will not blow up, there will be no big boom. Nevertheless a colony will form and who knows if they will treat the Earth better then we did. I would hope so.  No, 2012 is not the end; it’s a new beginning. Fore we truly did fuck over this beauteous planet. The fatigue is in truth why the rebirth is needed. At a certain point, one’s body requires a rebirth, with one’s soule to follow. This process in no means negative, which puts forth the idea that the world ending in 2012 is not pessimistic. But futuristic. The wandering mind to see a brighter day. In the words of a good friend, Jenny Rea, “ embrace it”.

the common

There is nothing typical in this world. Everyone enjoys different things. The activities and life persuits that are popular are only popular because people change. Often people change for other people and strive to be like someone else. It’s a mentor, something that is asked amongst inerviews and even within ourselves. Think about any activity that you partook in. Did you just randomly get involved? Or did your parents and friends draft you like you were off to the military? Besides friends and family, the media is used as another outside source. Popular music is only popular because it gets broadcasted more then alternative, underground noise.


This can lead into the idea of the average human. There is no such thing as average, for all humans are irregular. The “average” human is just the person who is too scared to show that they are a freak. We were made to have eccentric desires and needs, and to hide these is illicit. One must dare to be different, or in other words dare to be them self. The social fear is both omnipresent and overruling and thus people endeavor to be the regular, to sleep within mediocrity, because it’s an easier path. 


Part 1

The old man walks the dog. Or the dog pulls the old man. The audiences own interpretation. A war breaks out between oxymoronically ideas. A fiend for energy and power.  Front row at an Imax. And spring will come, in cold Antarctica. A pink cherry blossom, falling in front of my eyes. Instigates change. A progression, perhaps! David will pass by. A ghost in the water. “Hi Fishy!” And I’ll hold back tears, kid. I’ll close my eyes. Don’t listen. Too old for such a society. Parents dead. The ultimate suicide. The kid that just wanted to be normal. Conform. And things will get better in cold Antarctica. But wait, the game isn’t over. Let’s go through the who, what, where, when, why and how’s? David. Suicide. Aunts home. March 20, 2009. At the peak of his life. Hanging. All seems so simple. But why this cold feeling in my stomach? Self pity and fear. 

Part 2

I’m the one you hate, the cold breeze. With David gone, life seems so fragile. So easy to screw up, so easy to call it quits. With Adrienne’s voices, I’m nothing. The mirror present. And what does she intend for me to see? A monster, inside and out. I’m not the pretty one. The one who’s siblings come and go like a bed and breakfast. Alone. An artist? Me, no. Nothing is permanent. And every morning, I go off to a prison. Would you help the blind man find the sidewalk? Or push him deeper into the middle of the city? My intentions were to never hurt you. But I did and the center of the universe unfolds. And in your darkest moments, I wait.  But all becomes silent. I end up thinking and talking to myself about my issues. The biased approach comes about, with my insecurities and anxiety pushing to one side. The high tide is needed, to wash away the embedded sand.


keys dancing, to keep up with the shutter

falling. similarly the puke from the wretch above

i wanna be the evening

sky falling

destruction.                  duck hut on.

take your time sweet darling

when the sky overheard.  the evening times.

wants peace, ambush and words of wisdoms

not there.           or nothing negative.



















Isaac, would you come into the living room please? We have something to say that you might want to hear”, barks my father. Full of warmth and joy, because of exams being over, I strut into the living room. “It is your mother’s and my decision that you won’t be skiing this upcoming year with the BC Team; not at all in fact”, he says. I’m struck dumb. What did I do? Study for my exams, contact my teachers for extra help and all I get is a punishment. “Pack your bag he says, we’re leaving for Australia in six hours”. While packing, I’m torn, thinking about my next year. Though I am furious with my father, we fly to Australia together. My trip to Australia was necessary, but sad. Seeing my grandmother with dementia and visiting an aunt with pancreatic cancer, maybe for the last time, were by no means highlights of the trip. The voyage was over before I knew it and I came home to a pair of rock climbing shoes and an acceptance letter from NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School) Rock Climbing course in Wyoming. I had never been rock climbing but sensed that my parents wanted my mind to be taken off ski racing.  I scurried around to get the rest of my gear for the course and flew to Lander, Wyoming, alone, to meet my new family for the next three weeks.


 “GOT ME!” I scream, seven hundred feet above the ground. My guide, Josef, replies, “Just breathe; you can climb this”. It requires a lot of trust and confidence to be comfortable on a rope attached to a sheer face of rock by a tiny piece of metal, which someone else has set up for you. Finally, I reache the top of the fifth leg of my multiple pitch climb and am tensely resting up against the rock, looking down eight hundred feet. Before I can catch my breath, I’m climbing up the 5.10a crack. “Foot work, “ I repeatedly tell myself under my breath. “Foot work”. I test a rock. It seems solid to me, so I go for it. Loose. No time to be scared. Just words. “OHHHH SSHHIIITT!” I yell. I’m now dangling at nine hundred feet; my mind buzzing and my heart racing.

At this moment, I stop. Smell, the crisp mountain air; feel the sharp crack in the rock; see the whole Rocky Mountain Range; taste chapped lips and left over oatmeal; hear Josef saying “ Are you going to sit there all day?” I reflect on my emotions as the rock broke away from me. Would I be happy with dying now? Or would I be embarrassed to not have done more with myself? Those emotions stew and finally I climb again. Smearing my feet as holds, I slowly creep up the jagged crack. Determination. Vision of the top.

Relieved, I complete my ascent and my guide gives me a pat on the back. “Sawa Sawa”, he says which means well done in Finnish. That night, I write in my diary. I write about my learning experience, the trust I built and the senses that were so highly affected by my fall. Not only did I conquer my fear of heights, but learnt how to rely on my own resources. I learnt the power within me. In early June, I was dreading the summer that approached me, with so many confrontations and issues. My grandmother and aunt, so close to death and I too looked at it straight in it’s eyes. I overcame an obstacle that I have confidence both my aunt and grandmother will overcome. For they too will find the power within.  "When the slab cut loose, my mind calculated trajectories, analyzed terrain, and fed me its conclusions: no way out, you are going to die. This conclusion seemed to free me to experience the fall. Tumbling, catching air, then the loudest sound I've ever heard”, said by famous climber, Carl Tobin.


at rush hour.                                                awake.

            in my pocket watch. i hide

for their thoughts and mine collide.

i burrow and migrate to the poles

where the polars play, in the pitiful precipitation 

when winter meets summer

where a cold can fold into a fever


washy whirlwinds in my mind

a spicy tingling down.                rigidly

and personally

to fight me would be your wish.

besides the tuna.

                 on a roundhouse dish.

green emotions

The wind picks up. Papers, Green Party signs, rubbish everywhere. The rally was yesterday, but the intensity and spirit, that was so powerful, still lingers. Still here, alive like the sun burning, as it rises in the morning sky.

Scattered papers. “VOTE GREEN!” Covers the pavement like paper mache. Birds eye view. White on grey asphalt. Green signs that lie silently, no hands to hoist high, no mouths to voice behind, just a memory. Irony. Litter dispersed carelessly throughout the street. Styrofoam. The stage, standing alone is still erect, but slightly dismantled. Soon enough, it too will be taken down for another event, loitering.

Just like the stale city smog that enfolds the election stage. The scent of stagnant marijuana still carried from the BCMP vapor lounge. Fragrant smells of flora flourish the embedded pavement. A foil of the potent dope scent. The stench of automobile gas and construction dust, highlights struggle for the campaign.

There is no immediate sound. Listen more closely. Accept the echoes of the debates that took place the day before. All the strong ideas, presented, that were so easily forgotten. Like bombs, words were feared. Words suggesting change, for the better. Busing, biking or carpooling. All these thoughts were exposed and voiced yesterday, but today are sadly overlooked. Towards the future, there will be no such thing as vegetation, trees will be fake and gardens will be destroyed. The cycle will repeat itself to the next election.

Election time. The temperature is moderate. Slight wind. The ambience is not affected by the weather, but the energy. Hope, anticipation, excitement for a better tomorrow. Energy that cannot be obtained from sugar, but from hard intellectual work.  Tis’ vibrant. Some say, one can feel emotions in special places, such as synagogues or other holy spaces. Places of historical relevance. Emotions that loiter in the air.

Four years. Waiting. Suffering. Wanting something more then economic boosts. Stop. Look. Smell. Listen. Feel.  Come to terms with these senses and reflect. This is your country. It’s going down a deep, dark path.