my mind is climbing up the roof
and sliding down the slant
stumbling on the shingles
trying to locate
my beating heart

and I have thoughts
pulling themselves up the drain pipes
reaching for the height
so I can get a good view
of what’s going on out there

and my soul has been playing
hide and seek for days
trying to ditch the spirits
fading into dust

maybe I need to be kissed
in that way that reminds me I’m alive
instead of wandering streets half dead
as I’ve been; with a lost curiosity
that’s all consuming
and too dark to see 

maybe I just need you to hold onto me
anchor me with your dead weight
and tell me in a whisper
everything’s going to be ok

keep me out of danger 
and I’ll try to stop getting lost 

(Source: klowee)

cluttered mind sorts through job postings
forwarded and found
and you ponder
pitter pattering little thoughts
of what would it be like to work there
and be that for a while
 
dazed; in sunglasses in a good friend’s backyard
while friends chatter around you under trees
the memory is made and the burgers are served
it’s a bbq in 2012 and you’re internal soundtrack spins
inside it’s 1974 and you’re stoned out of your mind 

trying to keep you in the here and now
a beat goes by and you missed the last story told
by the person on your right
because you did a rewind and nostalgia triumphed
as you recall this random wednesday night
last year this time when your mouth tasted different

something sweet expired some time ago
but you keep chewing a stale piece of thought
sometimes when you try
the flavour comes back

and once you’ve sampled something once
you know what it tastes like forever

forecast calls for overcast
but its been sunny anyway

sometimes i like it in the dark 

(Source: klowee)

I gravitate towards retro things
all with their plastic, colour and simplicity
they make me feel safe in a digital world
all modern in its way of making me feel
left behind

my vinyls and vhs tapes
all with their knobs and buttons
offer me a sense of control
with their manual demands
eliciting my automatic delight 

because while the record spins
my heart feels young again
and I forget I’m twenty-seven
in a world trying to age me
into someone I’m not quite ready
to become

my dusty heart is a garage sale find
and if you pick it up and shake it
you’ll see it works just the same
as it did when it was brand new
back in 85

but the wear and tear of that is irrelevant
this little piece of non sense
is about my little suitcase record player
and the way it plays songs
despite the scratches

:) 

(Source: klowee)

Who knew some of my bad poetry would provide inspiration? (Taken with instagram)

legs crossed, reclined, I think to write
then I think of what I’ve written
and it seems I have spent half my life
writing about what I wanted to happen
what I dreamed of; what might be
and it seems I have spent the other half
scribbling down what was
nostalgic for what has been
never taking the time to write enough
about right now
today, this time, this moment
with my core tight and clenched
while my beagle licks the bottom of my foot
as my toes curl and tap his muzzle; in reflex
from the tickles
and how gray the sky is or how kind the wind is
my hair long enough to braid again
and smiles that sneak up on my face
when I’m the recipient of SMS texts
from a beautiful girl who sees life through pictures
i should write that story
about how everything is ok and how i’m happy again
about how tears dry and smiles stay
because it might not be this way tomorrow
but it’s like this today
and that’s what i mean to write
i like life today 

written.

In between all the researching and the contact lists, I am enjoying the best kind of texty breaks.

I will be going to Tim’s sweet, sweet book launch on that fine Monday. I already have my date :)

timfalconer:

You’re invited.

Sometimes while I’m just doing “work stuff” online I come across projects I’ve worked on and pieces I’ve written that I’ve totally forgotten about.

Like, remember when I wrote that piece for GTA’s best employers for the Toronto Star? I covered travel providers.

Now I remember doing all those interviews! 

given the gift of memory
I can easily recall scenes from different periods
of life; going back to when I was quite small
I can remember songs and smells
dialogues, feelings and colours
people’s faces — the way they rise and fall
and temperatures of a day
like some kind of savant
(not even THC from excessive bong hits
has been able to stop this)
I was also blessed with a forgiving heart
incapable of holding onto a serious grudge
(but boy, you should see the way
my mother can hold one)

I can make peace with wrongs
and love despite the anger
I let go and forgive
but that gift of memory becomes a curse
because I never, ever forget 

Nothing is more satisfying for a writer than seeing your words published with your byline attached.  There’s a thrill in seeing your name before (or sometimes after) a body of words that are your own — out there, to feed the hungry reader.

But as a writer, I have a responsibility to report and scribble the most accurate version of the truth.  The thing about truth, especially when you get into opinions and personal interpretations of it, is that not everyone’s going to see it as you do.

I wrote a piece for the Ryerson Review of Journalism back in fourth year about the new liable defense. Back in 2008, Ontario created a new defense called “responsible journalism.” It was helpful to those in the media because they could write what they needed to relay to the reader, contrary to the dismay of a person or source, as long as they could prove a significant, responsible amount of research done to support their argument.

And the thing about publishing work is once it’s out there — it’s out there.  You can’t delete it — but when you find an error, you can send out a retraction.

This post is about wishing I could put out a retraction for a certain poem I had posted earlier this week — and the regret that has inevitably followed. I had not considered the consequences of posting some of my feelings and though I didn’t write it intentionally to affect anyone else, I must acknowledge that it has.  I am owning this piece.

Though social media platforms like Tumblr, Facebook or Instagram aren’t huge media outlets with a huge circulation of 100,000 — good journalism and ethics should be practiced just the same.

Yes, this is a personal blog — but it is public. It’s important to be aware of this fact.

I am sorry.