My most recent poem. See if you can figure out what its about.


Clearly, Constable, We know not!

Lately I’ve been reading the dictionary
(The Bible ain’t helping me much)
To help me serve criminals with poetic justice
But all I could come up with were weather metaphors
and the good old fashioned rainy arc-en-ciel cliches

So instead I went to bite the bullet
but all I got
was a mouth full of gun powder
and suddently the cause seemed too bitter to fight.

While the spawn of the 21st century diet cola
Aphrodites and they’re oh-so-lanky-oh-so-beautiful
picture framed corpses lie around like stones on a stairwell
I ask why torture pays better than anything else
and seemingly in larger numbers.

Oh buck up.

When those homophobic patriarchs
get their stories garbled
We’ll ask why these issues weren’t on their mind before
the sun set the seasons before it set the day.
Considering equality was supposedly first place 
the story was far more garish behind the scenes
so I let the scanty clad story be.

We should just sit
Put life on hiatus for awhile.
While the high-sounding praise of the 20th century radio man
reminds us that our forefathers fought for us.
He said:
Where they shot high and mighty
We bite the bullet and miss


I wish I could find the pictures, but I cant.

My heart belongs in South Porcupine, which is a small town just east of Timmins, ON.
This is the only picture I could find, which is of the water-airport (I have no idea what they’re really called). It isnt far from my uncles house, or my mothers old house (that her family had made way back in the late 50s/early 60s.)


I wish I could be there now. Theres still probably at least a good 3 feet of snow, but that wouldnt stop me. I remember making a snow man with a cousin way back in the day. It was falling over so we put a beer bottle in his hand.

I stop taking my life and family for granted when I’m up there. With a population of 200 and air sweeter than you could find anywhere, South Porcupine is my home, because it’s where my heart is.


April 4, 2008

I post enough of random other artists who I dont even know.
Here are two of mine. One of them is just a segment. I didnt like the whole thing. The second one I liked small so I decided not to go any further.
I can’t draw so I doodle. Yeah.

Number one:

Untitled5.jpg picture by sherpasayshellothere

Number two:

Untitled1.jpg picture by sherpasayshellothere


March 31, 2008

Chameleon_21.jpg guhhh picture by sherpasayshellothere

Sometimes you just need to blend into your surroundings.

My morning was spent at the local cafe, Timothy’s, where I ordered my usual green tea. I did decide to spice things up later with a bit of chai, but that’s besides the point. I spent three hours in this cafe, mostly doodling. At one point an old woman came and sat next to me in a brilliant fake fur coat (I’ve worked long enough at a coat check to be able to distinguish the difference between real and fake fur), a matching black cap and black skirt. She started to talk to me. I get the impression she prefered talking to younger people. The old people in this cafe only talk about the news, crosswords and how things used to be. She started to talk to me about breathing, which for some might sound awkward . “You know, sometimes I just like a bit of oxygen, I breathe it you know.” It was such an strange thing to say, but I couldn’t laugh. This oddball of a woman then continued to talk about the joy of walking and breathing. After, she decided to talk about how she sang when she was younger. When I told her I’d been studying piano for 10 years, she seemed impressed, but not as impressed as she was with herself. We talked about singing. I told her my voice was alright, but it wasn’t my forte, nor was I a particularly confident singer. Her opinion was you can’t be good at piano and vocals, it doesn’t work that way. (Fair enough.) I told her how the conservatory of music is getting snobbier then ever, and she wasn’t surprised. They were like that when she was growing up too. They even tore down the original Conservatory building to put up some monstrosity that looks like a cheap hotel. We both knew about the Lake House; probably the last remaining original conservatory building, in Mississauga.  It backs onto Lake Ontario, in an area where you’re not so worried about sewage and where the lake smells like sand and trees, not filth. I liked watching her take a second to imagine she was there, when she was young. It is the kind of place where you’d like to spend hours just standing and breathing, or, maybe in her case, singing. We talked about the people who run the Conservatory. How they’ll do anything to knock you down because they don’t want you to be in their league. “And we both know they won’t hire attractive people like you and me.” I laughed at this comment. She did look like she might have been very attractive when she was younger. Her natural hair colour looks like it would have been black and she had blue eyes. She carried herself better then most super models. She was a sight to see. I was kind of sad when she had to go. She told me she arranges flowers at the old folks home, and she’d better not be late. I thought this was kind of surprising, considering she’s probably old enough to be in one. She’s a regular at Timothy’s apparently. I’d like to visit her again soon.  

Piscean Dreams

March 26, 2008

*note*not my artwork*

Frog Eyes

March 24, 2008

My favorite band ever.

Best songs include:
1. Soldiers Crash Gathering In Sparrow Hills (The Golden River)
2. Silence, But For The Gentle Tinkling Of The Flowing Creek (The Bloody Hand)
3. “Stockades” (Tears of the Valedictorian)
4. The Fox Speaks To His Wife Who Is Not Quite Sure (The Bloody Hand)
5. The Oscillator’s Hum (The Folded Palm)
6. The Mayor Laments The Failures Of His Many Townsfolk (The Bloody Hand)
7. Ship Destroyer (The Folded Plam/Ego Scriptor)
8. Time Destroys Its Plan At The Reactionary Table (The Golden River)
9. Idle Songs (Tears of the Valedictorian)
10. Time Reveals Its Plan At Poisined Falls (The Golden River)
11. Masticated Outboard Motors (The Golden River/Ego Scriptor)
12. New Soft Motherhood Alliance (The Folded Palm)
13. Evil Energy, The Ill Twin Of… (Tears of the Valedictorian)
14. Reform Your Countryside (Tears of the Valedictorian)
15. Russian Berries But You’re Quiet Tonight (The Folded Palm)

 That was probably the hardest list I’ve ever had to make.
Go listen!


March 24, 2008

Poem I wrote in October. Yay or nay, there’s no such thing as great poetry. That’s just an opinion.

3_andy-warhol-skull1.jpg dandy andy warhol says SKULLS picture by sherpasayshellothere


Something I can not commit to memory
returns with the lummox who’s name I couldn’t remember.
Something sickly sweet
ornamented across broken Christmas trees
tells me that oranges aren’t it’s favorite fruit
However, this doesn’t stop me from pulling at the peel
Family affairs are getting longer and longer
And you don’t want to sit around with your baby cousin’s grandmother’s
step sister’s neice.
But you do it because Mama said so (but Mama says a lot of things!)
Maybe when my ebony and ivory bones play their last tune
I will finally commit to memory my own shrewd thoughts
of vegan butchers who’s narcotism tainted my dinner.
Until that day however
I’ll stick to my fruit

Good Evening all

March 24, 2008

Hmmm… So this is my blog, so I’ll write whatever pleases me.

And what pleases me most is music, art, writing, etc.
Expect LOTS of that. Maybe if something overly special happens, random personal news updates might come up every once and awhile too, but this is by no means a personal day-by-day journal. But I want to try and write something on at least a weekly basis.

 There’s a possibility I’m either going to have a lot more words then pictures, or more pictures then words.

oh yeah and this is me.

 IMG_35921.jpg picture by sherpasayshellothere