More Haiku, etc.

My stomach turns
Tepid greasy dishwater
left by men

Neat bic,
Beatnik.

Camp(y)

The battery in my walkman has died.
pulling the phones out of my ears
i raise my head
looking into the face
of unfathomable weight, power
rock god titan.
a mesozoic eye regards my size
the moutain has found me wanting.

Typical

Cruising down the road in a thirteen ton truck, with a dish of butter chicken, an unhinged frenchman at the wheel, "stuck in middle" on the radio and my honey waiting for me with shakesphere at home.
Alright I'm bragging, but I didn't want to give readers the impression I was emo.

Lapis Lazuli harmony

The heron's beak
is an arching spire
piercing the tinfoil-bitter-blue.

He provides the path
from the Thunder God's fury
through the crown of my skull
through my vertebrae
My feet rooted.
My ears are open.

Fill me with dirt,
I have cleaned my plate.

Carpet Dentum Appointment

Carried in my mouth
I held angry-metal
in my teeth, dagger-sharp

Late night Titus

My mouth is full of teeth
and veins filled with tiny stars
edged bits of sand
as the waves heave
over and again rolling
across the lace of my spine

I, Titus,
a sorrow dispersed
into the blackness
the stars lay witness

Socket Wrench

There was a socket danging down from the sky. It was white and simple; a place to put a bulb. I stood, agog, in the middle of the road. I walked to it, touched it; there was no switch, but a long cord, all the way up, until I lost it in the sky, swingin with my touches with a great weight. I plugged my head in, screwed it up in, messing my hair; my face blushed, my cheeks flushed. How odd.

Life's Haiku

bitter verdant spade
solemn in spring's ecstasy sends
new roots of desire

Lunar Orb

There is a moon in my sky tonight:
large yellow fat hanging hovering
like the eye of some Godzilla
waiting with baited tongue
teeth covered in fly bits
turning towards
flicking lightning
gulp

Ironic apocalypse soap

In my purse I have a small bar of soap. I keep it there in case anything bad ever happend, because few things make me feel better and more capable than being clean. But then I thought, "What could ever happen that would be so bad I wouldn't have access to soap?" Naturally, the apocalypse. But then I realized, if the apocalypse happens, noone will care what I smell like. Thus it is ironic apocalypse soap. The soap is ironic, not the apocalypse.

(P.s. Roots: I intended to post a comment replying to your last comment, but after 7 tries, couldn't get it, I decided to wait until I had access to a computor. I'm not sure how long that will be...)

Bill 44

Oh for heaven's sake.
The newest hot button issue being debated around tables of the socially- conscious is Bill 44, a bill to include into Alberta's human rights law the right to exempt their children from classes teaching concpets the parents disagree with (for example evolution, religon, sex and it's orientations). Many liberals are declaring this would "[strike] another blow against critical thinking in schools and extend one of the bleaker elements of its history".
I do not have children. I'm not sure I will ever have children. But I know, between my parents and the revolving door of "grab-bag" teachers (some of whom were excellent, others...less so) who I would trust with my upbringing. I may not believe in what you say, but i will defend, to the death, your right to teach it to your children. This is being touted as a way to eliminate discrimination that many parent pass on to their offspring, but this is not the vehicle to do it in. To do so, we need to eliminate discrimination in the adults, not estrange children from their parents. Society today has enough things ripping the family apart, we do not need another one causing children to question the first authority they will ever know.
Furthermore, teachers are not all the overarching bearers of unbiased information that we would love them to be. Some have feelings. Some are politically motivated. What can be done to combat the uncomfortable suggestion that a teacher may have access to hundreds of fresh minds? At least parents only have access to their own child. A bigoted parent will do less damage than a bigoted teacher.
The common objection, here, is that knowledge is better than ignorance and that children should be aloowed access to all schools of thought to encourage tolerance. This is true, and I agree, but this is not the place to do it. If a tree is rotten on the inside, do we cut off the leaves, grafting them onto an already burdened tree? The proper step would be to nourish the base of the tree and watch the branches heal. Children are in difficult enough situations. Lets not make them worse.

Pink rainstorm

I remember
my mother
she made me
strawberry spinich salad
she made me
finish my homework
she made me
proud of myself
she made me
remember other's feelings
she made me
tall and attractive
she made me
dance to piano music
I remember
my mother
she made me

High Figs (a.k.a. update)

I wish I had something more exciting to post, but this will have to do. We passed the "fifteen day" mark within which to post our statement of defence (Saturday. I had a small party to observe the occasion. By party, I mean booze), but my lawyer assures me it's not necessary yet. Currently it's just talking; Not even official negotiating. However my friend, the driver of our errant vehicle, has not been served yet because the army has whisked him away. Not far away, just away. Teehee. I'm not worried though, I'm taking a criminology course! Wait'll the chief justices get a load of me! Carries a pistol and can say "Mens rea" without snorting! Able to leap medium sized sandcastles in a single bound with a running start and good tail wind! Now, where's my lasso?

In honor of my daddy, the mayor

There once was a man from High Level,
said "This weather can go to the devil."
He set out to be mayor;
His first edict declar'd?
"One summer shall now become Sev'ral."

Steep night misgivings

Ever since I was little, I've had nights where I got scared. At my youngest, I'd flee to mommy and daddy's room. After we moved, my sister and I shared a room, and things were easy for me.But when my sister was older she began to take showers in the morning. I used to follow when she went for her shower, make a bed out of towels on the bathroom floor and sleep for a little while longer.
We aged further and were given our own rooms, but still, a few times a year, I would wake up so scared that I would take my blankets to her room and sleep on her floor. Sometimes, though, I would be too scared to move, and would lie in bed in mute, catatonic horror.
She graduated and I tried to make due for a year. When she was home for christmas I crashed on her floor again.
I graduated, and was sure that such childish concerns were far behind me; yet my first night found me curled in a ball on my new bed, in a new city, crying my eyes out, desperatly trying to phone my sister to come home and save me from a faceless horror I didn't comprehend.
Eventually I cut horror movies and books out of my life, but the problem persisted. They did not produce the feeling, they just gave a vision to focus my terror.
I took on a night shift, to attack the dark, own it, and for a while it worked. I was a warrior hidden, using the shadows.
When that job ended, I took a more aggressive one. Now I was a creature to be feared; my mind to protect me from the non-factual horrors, my gun to protect me from the realistic ones. Striving to become an officer so I could control the night, I felt arrogant in my efficacy. Fear was a toy, meant for children and lesser beings. I would use my strength to protect others.
Until I find myself, curled again, on my bed, a grown woman, terrified.
There is no happy ending to this post.

Punchline

A guy walks into a police station and says,
"I'm looking for Michelle Ernst?"
and I say,
"Yes? "
and he says,
"You're being sued. Here's your paperwork. Have a nice day."


Okay so it's a lowsy joke but it makes me giggle.
I spoke with a lawyer (half an hour free consult) and they say to turn it over to my insurance company; they'll deal with it, but I do have a right to know what is happening, including how much is finally settled on. So I plan to document as much as I legally can here.
Enjoy!

Canadian Oasis

We are a land, improbably vast, almost sprawling (defying today's culture of restraint, frugailty, recession) populated by people too polite to take the middle armrest on a plane ("No, I really couldn't. I'm happier as a canape.")
Secretly we see ourselves more mature, more refined than our lower neighbors. Holding up our monarchy, hiding behind the Queen's skirts like a shy child, as proof of our regal nature. Their cowboys hats, massive towers, erected to their own grandeur. Down the street of life they are the rowdy college boys, laughing like boozey bubbles; we trail behind, our polished shoes tapping on stone, hugo boss parfum lingering over the smell of cheap whiskey. Our nostrils twisted in derision until you observe the building we pass.
Is that really just an old school?
It's alright; just don't think about it.

An open letter to my cat

My darling cat.
Although you are daring and adventurous, letme assure you there is no need to bolt, as from the depths of hell, out the apartment door everyday when I open it to arrive from work. There is the same twenty feet of smelley carpet that was there yesterday.
Also, I realize staying quiet while I sleep is impossible, but can we eliminate the glass- shattering noises?
My head is not a boost, stepping stool, landing pad, or launch dome. I am firm on this.
Finally, I know you appreciate when I fill your box with fresh sand, but a poop filled taj mahal is not necessary to show your love.
Thank You

Canadian pride, eh?

We Canadians don't have much identity. It is a scavenger hunt for pieces right now. Like a teenager growing painfully amongst hundreds of full grown adults.
There is a joke we tell; we believe we are better than Americans.
They have, through truth or artifice, a black president.
When will we have a native prime minister?

What I learned in the sink

Salt
on my face
crusted flaking
previous form of payment
the worth now infinitely diminished
the hourglass demands the rain sea ocean
leaking away with cool silk texture
reborn a mighty Venus
cleansed rippling
off my face
water

Going gentle into a good night

Come, fair sleep, and triumph o'r the fake night.
Plauged and rolling, no rest for my weary.
As though the God of sleep plays tricks on me,
and has wrapped the day in a dark shawl.
Come, fair sleep, else the new day dawn without a new morning for me.

Weather the weather

Drowning in fog, thick and heavy as sin, a precarious bubble are we; rushing, praying, pressing forward ever so forward so gingerly hoping, at any moment the tiny firefly through the muggy cotton, the little lamps of a big huge bug, bearing, threatening to squash us, doomed because we were not five feet up, to see, or five feet over, to miss, and so now five feet under, to lay blame in sterile paperwork, unable to capture the messy heart it describes.

Enough is enough!

Alright. I can stay silent no longer about this blatent disregard for human wellbeing! We must resist and overcome!
Tim Hortens. Why are so too cheap to provide paper towel in your bathrooms?? Those stupid air-dryers are worse than having someone lick my hands dry!! Are you grinding the towels up to make your coffee? Are you trying to be environmentally consciencious? Because you are FAILING; I get so annoyed I go outside and kick the poop out of any bit of nature unfortunate to get in my way!
From now on I shall be boycotting Tim Hortens! They can't treat us like this! In fact, I shall be picketting outside the nearest Timmy's! All I need is signs, a garbage can fire and some coff... oh. Oh they're good.

Name Game!

1. YOUR SPY NAME (middle name and current street name):
Marie 105

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME (grandfather/mother on your dad's side and your favourite candy):
Sheila Chews

3. YOUR RAP NAME (first initial of first name and first three or four letters of your last name):
M-Ern

4. YOUR GAMER TAG (a favourite colour, a favourite animal)
Green Lemur

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, and city you were born in)
Marie High Level

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (first three letters of your last name, last three letters of mother's maiden name, first three letters of your pet's name)
Ern Hutxia

7. JEDI NAME (middle name spelled backwards, your mom's maiden name spelled backwards):
Eiram Tuhcalb

8. PORN STAR NAME (first pet's name, the street you grew up on)
Einstein Chinchaga

9. SUPERHERO NAME: ("The", your favourite colour and the automobile your dad drives)
The Green Jetta

10. YOUR ACTION HERO NAME (first name of the main character in the last film you watched, last food you ate)
Shu Soup

Work Circus

We are high-wire trapeze artists; skill, nerve, and luck weave together to make this tentative balance high above the crowd. I can feel people hold their collective breath as we move past and through each other. Trusting in our hands, clasping wrists. Should we falter, fingers fumbling, heart skipping, grotesque moments lengthend unnaturally, distended, waiting to divulge their private horror, like a rancid flower blooming. The floor miles below, sucking me down, arms waving comically, legs kicking, hair blowing in eyes clenched, spine curving against nothing, wind whistling past my ribcage. My head so heavy it tips me skull first down. Mechanisms in place, gears slowly, inching, like a train starting, the grate of continents, pinions falling, doors sliding, ropes pulling, making a net, like the arms of an angel, my savior, salvation. "There are systems in place."

Please sir, may I have some more?

I think I've lost the ability to relate to people. I left the party somehow and when I came back, everyone was speaking a different language. It is extrodinarily lonely to be surrounded by everyone and yet noone at the same time.
How does one come back from this? Where is my map, my sextant? This is unfair; being so acutely aware of Sartre's anguish. Where is my blanket? For protection and forts that hold secrets like a balloon. It has been used too long for sleeping while the other children played. It has forgotten it's purpose: and in it's forgetting so have I. My knees are brittle with effort.

Go watch Mad Money

It is nothing near what it is like to work with huge wads of cash but watching Diane "Martha Stewart" Keaton freak out makes me happier than a bag of crack. Which is, incidentally, what Queen Latifah offers to pay her sons' tuition in.

Correction: Watching Diane menace some giant bewildered black man standing at the urinal was way better.