The fat man inhales and slightly contracts his diaphragm. Air is welcome and cool on his double chin as he leans back to hack. He reminds himself to bear down on his anal sphincter as he coughs. It has been a while since he has noticed his hole dilating involuntarily with the effort of coughing. … Continue reading Afterbirthdaymath
I am sitting on the edge of the bank, above the shore. The tide has been in and might now be beginning to stretch its watery arm east, back across the Atlantic Ocean and all around the world. Crickets are buzzing in the rocks. Some engine somewhere moves somebody or somebodies toward me, away from … Continue reading I am thankful for sunsets
Off our back yard is a hayfield. Finn and the neighbourhood dogs sometimes go to poop there. Finn and I go for many walks through it and adjoining fields and in the winter we snowshoe through it. For the last few summers, we have noticed something truly wonderful and inspiring. It is not an exaggeration … Continue reading Celestial
I am the son of James Stanley Stewart, of Admiral, Saskatchewan. I am from Olalla, British Columbia. Olalla is a shithole. A beautiful shithole. I owe so much to being from Olalla. I owe craziness to it. Laughter to it. Eccentricity to it. Self-aggrandisement to it. A love of the mountains to … Continue reading Wiping
It is snowing this morning in Sackville, New Brunswick. It is the twenty - second day in April. Oddly, I had targeted yard work as something that I would engage in today. I often speculate that maintaining a yard is a form of insanity. A desire to remake nature. some sort of form of … Continue reading The grass is greener
I am thankful for disappointment, for it reminds me that I have expectations, standards, and aspirations. I am indeed thankful for each and every moment in this life. They are precious. They are are precious in a Gollum sort of way ( and in any other prrrreccciiiousssssss way) in that they should be lived … Continue reading It is mine….My own….My…..
The light is beautiful, yet I cannot see it. My brows are knit into a familiar pattern. How can the pendulum swing so far? Can it be trusted to swing back? What of this hope of trust - is it not anything more than a desire to feel some semblance of control in a sea … Continue reading Scabs – knitting and stitching.
WE SHOULD ALL BE PIGS AT THE TROUGH OF LIFE. GLUTTONOUS PIGS!
I should be A PIG AT THE TROUGH OF LIFE!
I know how to ignore passion. I know how to honour it. I do not know how to control it.