Category: Poetry

Since last I…

It has been a year and 23 days since I posted. The last post was about missing my Da. He has been dead for a year and about 50 days. I have written a lot about grief before, but never before have I spent so much time in grief, and not writing. It was unexpected but I lost my voice.

It is hard to return to this page, and this stage in my life. I do not know how to make my very disparate interests cohesive. I don’t spend much time looking for new graffiti these days. I don’t even take photos of all that I find. I love podcasts about Blockchain. I fall asleep listening to youtube clips about Sophia, Hanson Robotics AI pop star.

It aches to labour on my grief too long and so I instead I distract myself. I have discovered Juggling the Jenkins. I use Pinterest more and Facebook less.  I wonder if smart glass shares would be a profitable investment.  I have a wallet full of cryptocurrency but since I upgraded my iPhone, have lost access to it. My Google Authenticator needs to be authenticated.

So that is the nutshell and I am in it. Maybe my new brand is new things. Pop culture. Let’s see what I come up with. In the meantime, here are some photographs of stuff.

Think of You

I’m a Tanita Tikarim song

Her dulcet sadness 

Haunting me

And in my head I sing along

“I think of you”:

And as I breath – I think of you,

And if I walk – I think of you,

I’ll fake a smile – and think of you,

Or fall asleep – still dream of you. 

I know you were my biggest fan,

My friend and now and then

I’m calm enough again  

             – and think of you.

If I cry once it’s not enough,

If I try not to it’s too much,

And I’m not strong enough

To miss you yet,

 Can’t settled on it yet, 

And I can’t contemplate 

You gone and yet I do.

Men with beards and the women who love them

The menu read all smashed, all Super Salad with Acai.

The coffee was a sour roast, the type of inhouse shit I hate.

The men were bearded, staff and customers. 

They postured and peacocked against well placed mirrors – 

Those wall lengthers, adjacent to the stools with no footing. 

The stools people try for a moment while surveying the room for another option. 

The women looked, by old sexist descriptors, bookish. 

They read peer reviewed journals and ordered second coffees. 

While their bearded blokes practiced silence.

They were underwhelming in their ironically simple cardigans. 

I gazed over an undersized table at my devoted wife. 

She was sipping fresh juice through a waxed paper straw. 

I texted her the title of my next blog and she smiled knowingly: 

Men with beards and the women who love them. 

Post hipster uber hipsterism is the new next.