Observations: mundanity, barbarism, quiet loving

scraps and notes from iphone

december 2025

Every year it gets colder

I wonder whether my body holds the ashes

of the greyed pavement on Emerson

Always two paces behind

catch up – delayed reaction

I am startled by the patterned flakes

that soak the cheap nylon puffer from the thrift

I sent emails apologizing for mistakes that were never mine to bare

2 months

No reply

The world has changed so much since the last time

What’s it like on the Lower East Side?

My phones shows me faces from your new life,

Yet I refuse to forget the sound of your drunken laugh;

demos recorded on the marketplace finds

Always with me in mind

Written like some sort of foreseen apology

Every year it gets colder – I struggle to remember your shape

But the weather always stays the same

(BITTER / COLD / UNFORGIVING)

To mourn someone who stopped mourning you

the moment the apartment keys were left on the counter for the landlord

---

st. james lanes, december 2025

The punks from Iowa played it fast and loose

blood pooling from her eyelid

diagnosed a crowd kill to the face;

possible broken nose and a story for the ages

– she managed to keep on her falsies

those young boys maneuvered faster than speeding bullets

the kids still do drugs like we used to; they just don’t dance like it

What do a venue and a home have in common? a lot more than we’re willing to admit.

The closest thing to death to her

yet heaven on earth the ways our bodies collide

in a cockeyed fashion:

home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition

I overheard the boys say: “Get the anarchist symbol tattooed on your arm next to the hammer and sickle”

– Winnipeg straight edge

I smoked my cigarette in bemusement;

the kids don’t dance like they used to –

they simply crowd kill instead

Blood was pooling from her eyelid

Is there a doctor on the aircraft? E always knows what to do:

exit the aircraft / women and children first / what’s short of misogyny in a room full of testosterone

butch baby bliss

Turn the house lights back down

we came here to build a house

C ended his set by asking whether we wanted “socialism or barbarism”

Taking his delivery as minced words; mistaken as passive rhetoric

and recklessly choosing the latter

---

i fucking hate my ex

you’ve texted me to sound you twice this week i hold no interest but if i get desperate enough i could be convinced the last time we fucked i was subjected to the sounds of your dog-like yelps that could’ve doubled as folly for Cujo when you finished you earnestly whispered “i’ve never fucked a Black girl before” which should’ve given me pause but i was oddly flattered and disgusted by my ability to allow myself to continue to be subjected to this bi-weekly humiliation ritual he wants what he wants

sometimes i hum the internationale when you go down on me for posterity’s sake considering i should be ‘grateful’ that you introduced me to “On Tyranny” which you believe is the “seminal text for socialism” in all your exterior facets of male chauvinism, you still confided in your desire to fuck ‘lady-boys’ like i was a keeper of your secrets. shame is not enough for you, it turns you on i think the lived experience of sticking a medal rod into a urethra should be considered as domestic labour

---

winter observations/confessions

• i contemplate texting you but remember you blocked me on substack

• coughed up blood one too many times — i convince myself of my mortality

• haven’t been fucked in so long

• toronto only feels like home when i’m not there

• continuous anxiety attacks at gallery openings; why do you continue to go

• ponyo keeps pissing on the bed; got her new litter after a $300 vet trip - she’s an asshole

• i want to be desired/fucked/devoted to

• winnipeg punk scene drama makes you roll your eyes but it’s the closest you’ve felt to community in years

• would like to quit being an artist to join the circus or make memes or anything other than this shit