Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in greenishglass' LiveJournal:

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Tuesday, April 18th, 2006
1:19 am	Stephen Morden was somewhere between His home town back East and a brand new thing. He sent a wire West to announce his arrival, Brought an ancient old blade to ensure his survival. He left his old lady asleep in the sack And set out in his son's brand new Ford Pontiac. After hundreds of miles and an 11 day ride The tires blew out and the battery died. Steve was a thinker and quick on his feet, He had an old mars bar he'd saved for a treat, In a couple of minutes he'd constructed a plane (The old Stephen Morden would have called it insane) A smooth landing brought him down in Katmandhu, They welcomed him there as they would welcome you, And now he is mayor of a small mountain town Where they're very grateful to have Stephen around Haven't posted in a long time - Got the urge to ryhme. It's a beautiful brisk night, happy birthday KATHY and happy birthday JALEES in 24 hours. (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, April 3rd, 2006
2:34 pm	Woke up panicking about the April 12th show after having dreams about a serial killer. Noone could be trusted, we were all in a hotel, and it was very violent. so here is another post for APRIL 12TH AT CLINTONS (Bloor and Clinton, one block east of Christie station) 8:30 pm - a night of comedy and fucking sick ass music. Featuring: Me Carmen Elle Cory Martin The Lil' Blue Devils Sabrina Jalees Just wait. You'll fucking cream your pants. It's ten dollars and is a fundraiser for a trip to Vancouver to do a show. Cheap drinks. JUST COME OKAY? (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, March 31st, 2006
4:14 pm	An elaboration: Like a brittle artery clogged with plaque, So froze my Friday. From deep in the slimy sea-weed depths of my coma I heard the captain of my sea-ship calling From far below where the light permeates I felt my consciousness pushing up like an ingrown hair. From dreams of hedge hallways and haunted hotels, Where I'm under attack, the undead at my back, But I can't lock my door and the windows are cracked, Howling winds - Howling wolves - It's a struggle to wake and once woken, It's all I can do just to lift my head I need rest. I need a small space and a familiar- (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 29th, 2006
7:28 pm	In a place of learning The cops come down on us like hornets, clucking condescendingly, their hands fidgeting over their guns. "Smells like good dope, looks like trafficking" They puff out their chests and sniff out our weaknesses quickly. They run our names in the system. Ask if we smoke crack. If we shoot people. Laughing, they search every cranny. They're an inch from our faces. They breathe in our nervousness and the sunny morning seems colder. They are like sneering, menacing robots. Eventually I tell them a joke and they stop pretending they're going to beat or arrest us. We traipse off, shoulders hunched, "Thank you, Officers". Now can you go and fight some real crime, sirs? Stop sand-papering my glass. Fucking pylons. Tomorrow I'm going to search out some water. Put my feet in it. Get some work done with my feet in the water. Like some kind of brittle plaque filled capillary, so froze my Tuesday. You wouldn't believe the lengths I've gone to just to avoid the crunch, the grind. I've sweated, shaken, ran and ran, I've burned and toiled and fucked the man. He came to soon - no buck no bang. One day: all of my jibberish and all of the shouted and whispered and mumbled phrases which rocket around in the olive groves will be sucked into each others orbits and begin to rotate in unison, they will find their grooves like needles on a vinyl record, and will take shape into a brilliantly blinding and ironic piece of art. I promise, guys. I just need time. There are too many things sand-papering my glass. And I've got to separate my day to day me from the me that stars in this piece of art, the one in the dark red theatre lights who keeps perfecting the character arc. "My nights, my days, you have borne so much! All your branches have retained the gesture of that long labor you are rising from: my days, my nights. Oh my rustic friends!" - Rainer Maria Rilke Not having reaped you, oh my days, have I let the slow flames of your produce fall to ashes? Oh my days, have I let you fall to ashes? Oh my days! (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, March 25th, 2006
3:40 pm	Note to the Stone People: When you're dead you will exist only in the memories of friends so treat them right. It's pleasantly unpleasant outside today... smells distinctly Torontonian - wet grass, mowed lawns, mud, fresh coffee and dogs and, depending on how close to the lake you are, Detroit. Super feelings coming over me. Brief escape from dreaded nostalgia I need poon (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, March 19th, 2006
3:34 pm	BROKEN CAR Gone A-Wall, haywire! Nobody brought a spare tire. Clouds blew in, in single file, Night cools tempers So we settle. Sit in the dust Legs crossed, Watch the road (which is still) despite its endless flowing Westward motion. By the shell of that car We stay where we are Heating up like fried eggs On sweating tarmac There is no traffic ROAR It is far below where waves supress it We sit like pylons In the lack of wind. SPRING In what should be spring A gust of wind is on its way To what should be May A drop of rain is underneath Taking refuge by a frosty leaf, Waiting for its friends to arrive. A bird swallows its own head In strong shoulders In a grey shadow My scarf complains Lovers wait for summer To resolve arguments or else To defrost pale faces long enough to kiss eachother In what should be spring MAN OF GOD A friendly man of God Kindly tells me I will be judged Some day in the future I say "I'll see you there" He says he's got plans that day MY MEMORIES My memories A multifoliate rose Which holds my personality In its withered folds Each petal an image Conversations make up the stem Each day it retracts, germinating Each night I swerve (Comment on this)
3:16 pm	PEOPLE I KNOW It's the same dreamy feeling Like when they throw confetti The sensation you're stealing Warm fuzzy forgetting I walk in A look of loss about me trying to look muscular, Guarding my neck. People I know Are sitting in thrones I sit on the floor in coils and I sweat compartmentalize In case I forget THE OLD WORLD I look for traces of the old world In between cracks in linoleum It is not there I look in the underground Where it should be buried, deep, But the urban howl chases me Down subway tunnels Neon light erases me Panic doubles. Further and then A distant thundering white noise Comes forward pushing me into A nearby funeral home. Finally! I see it! In a sadness passed through generations, In the wail of a widow The Old World. (Comment on this)
Friday, March 10th, 2006
3:54 pm	hot dog (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, March 9th, 2006
1:12 pm	sinew Beside every bed sits a vaporous form, ready to come alive at night, laying dormant in the day. Who wants to hang out with a bunch of dead authors? Lets go out together and make love to the daughters Of all the policemen who stare us down The far-sighted preachers who ignore the now. Twice I saw morning within 24 hours Three times I met Lazarus, whom the evening devours. There are no units to count by (except those I invent) And the kind used by my landlord to calculate rent, So don't stand by a sign don't sit in a ditch Don't crawl in a line You're not going to be rich This is some time like one in the past You can give it a try but you'll never outlast Well barnacled sea ship and sailor at mass And new fangled kinship at which I'll make a pass And words in seconds and moments in years And cigarettes and sleep and a couple of beers And leaves nothing more than a stain on a rug Some sediment and backwash in the bottom of a jug Feet leaving marks on dashboards of cars Put me on the Moon, leave me in the Stars. Dude, I love to ryhme. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 28th, 2006
7:25 pm	Another step in some direction heading somewhere. Giant feelings of some sort. I hope I don't look back on my adolescence and regret spending so much time gazing into the depths from which my life takes rise. I think I have enough visceral experience to back it up, enough recklessness to merit some excessive introspection. I go in cycles. It's a lemon or lime, but... (Comment on this)
Saturday, February 18th, 2006
2:21 pm	The cosmological argument in favour of God is that "nothing could have gotten started in the first place or be ultimately explained if there were not at least one self - existent, necessary being who owes its existence to no other reality. But this argument confuses an infinite series with a finite series. There are no grounds for believing that there are, let alone that there must be, such ultimate explanations. The argument from DESIGN: that the universe shows an orderliness and design that can be adequately accounted for only by an infinite and perfect designer of the universe. But really if it bears the mark of a designer at all it is an apprenticed designer whose powers and insight are failing. We cannot possibly claim to see perfect order in the universe. Maybe at times in our immediate surroundings, but our understanding of the universe is not great enough to make such a general observation about the "universe". Another argument in favour of the existence of God is that of "direct religious experience". Kierkegaard says "if God is beyond Space and Time, he cannot be observed like a great green parrot" Even if there is no purpose OF life or TO life, there can still be purpose IN life (to acheive social justice, love, happiness, balance...) these are the purposes we humans can have, and they remain intact in a Godless world. We should clearly recognize the ideological function of such age old religious apologetics. It was a brilliant inspiration, for it both leaves scope for utopian hopes and effectively pacifies the masses, deflecting them from the struggle to acheive their actual liberation. to be continued.. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 14th, 2006
12:48 pm	Happy valentines day friends. Boycott it. APRIL 12TH is going to be the most rocking day of 2006. Clinton's Tavern (bloor and Christie) The Bouncing Ball featuring me and all your pals Carmen, MODEL, Sabrina Jalees, Blues collective, the Yung Killas and more. I ate beets today. My liver hurts from it. Does anyone know of any money making schemes? I'm talking selling blood, selling anything (except sex to strangers but that is really the only limitation). Times are rough as usual. There's a really important thing that I need everyone to keep in mind today: A SNAIL CAN SLEEP FOR UP TO THREE YEARS wowee. (8 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, February 9th, 2006
10:13 am	Interperet this how you will. It was written by Palinurus in his tome, "the Unquiet Grave" The Ten Year Torture of Two Faces "The tyranny of the human face". When we see a friend in the depth of despair because he has been left by someone whom we know to be insignificant, we must remember that there is a way of leaving and yet of not leaving; of hinting that one loves and is willing to return, yet never coming back, and so preserving a relationship in a lingering decay, and this is a technique that can be learned like a hold in Jiu Jitsu. The person who has been left is always psychologically groggy; the ego is wounded in its most tender part and is forced back on separation and rejection phobias of infancy. As we grow older we discover that what at the time seemed to us the absorbing preoccupations and interests which we had taken up and thrown over, were in reality appetites or passions that had swept over us and passed on, until at last we come to see that our life has no more continuity than a pool in the rocks which the tide fills with foam and flotsam and then empties. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Beeeeeyond that there's noooooothing. Yo Carmen, I want to record with you and have a favour to ask you (don't worry it doesn't involve money) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, February 7th, 2006
1:25 pm	What a crisp, sunny, cold day. Burned my retinas in a good way. (Comment on this)
Friday, February 3rd, 2006
5:46 pm	shitting rain. Chickpea sized slush balls! (Comment on this)
Thursday, February 2nd, 2006
12:36 pm	These boys breaking their fists on the bones of a face they can't walk away that would be a waste there are burns on their hands and burns on their wrists on the bones of a face they're breaking their fists there's trouble on the corner and trouble at home somebody warn her her sons are alone like punching a wall, like solid concrete like drinking water when you want to eat They can't even imagine somebody more kind a little compassion to help them unwind there are burns on their hands and scars on their wrists on the bones of a face they're breaking their fists. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, January 30th, 2006
10:58 am	I don't want to work on Maggies Farm no more! Passed a relaxing weekend with good friends. Has anyone heard of this small movie about a ship that sinks in the Atlantic... I think it's called "Titanic"? Must have flown under the radar... The theatre of indifference (in which we all inevitably perform because of the anonymity of city life) is built on the ruins of the forum. It is based on the failure of democracy and exists as the divergence between personal fantasies and social/economic status... It's these feelings of inadequacy, we need to live by OUR standards. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 24th, 2006
12:35 pm	Did anybody pick up on the psychic currents I was sending out last night? This is an anonymous and indifferent city. Stacked on top of eachother. I don't know my neighbours names. There's no ocean. Just streets muttering with "insidious intent" Lets start a book club. (Comment on this)
Saturday, January 21st, 2006
1:00 pm	left me a little behind. Ascend the mountain in the waning moon. Watch out for stomach worms. Stomach worms freak me out - parasites freak me out - What informs your actions? Why is it so warm? I like it. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, January 13th, 2006
9:37 am	uh oh Holy shit. Friday 13th and a full moon. I should get stuff done. If anyone wants to celebrate call me. I've been working on my scent sending it up through the vents saving sandwich for rent re-found the arc of the covenant I'm a man on a mission I'll give you permission Bring these plans to fruition She's got a teacher He couldn't reach her He's just a new agey preacher But he's going to be rich man Fucking some bitch man ripping and stitched man. He's on sale, goes out walking in gales Just chasing tail While the wind punctuates his thoughts And he hopes he doesn't get caught. woooot I like the rhymes (1 Comment |Comment on this)