1. |
The Arcades
02:40
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Looks like it's night again. Turn on a sitcom and try to forget the dead. Something on the tip of my tongue goes silent when I think of it. I dream anonymous. Found myself somewhere long ago. Iron work and atomic fission in the backdrop.
Young lovers die for one honest kiss. Rush the youth against the wall. They must be anarchists. Buildings fall and then rise again. Overnight commodity: the mounting ashes. Who can say when the story ends? It's just a new arrangement of the same events.
Kevin, get up, try again. God sees in you a star-spangled emporium. Found a bust of Madonna and kid, Polynesian-handcrafted. I couldn't help but fall for it. Who gets paid enough for this?
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2. |
A Painter of Modern Life
03:12
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As a painter of modern life, I don't see that much. The dead conversing with one another. The dead making obscene gestures. The dead stressing out their mothers. The dead laying face-up in the gutter. They don't call on you.
I don't expect a return on the dollar. The market is a little unpredictable. Perhaps I'll make some income as a scrivener.
As a painter of modern life, I'm a public man. In the red of the face of the stockbroker, the blue in the heart of the labourer, in contemplation of skyscrapers, or parasols of consumers...I don't look for truth.
I'm a walking advertisement for nothing. I might be that I'm lazy in the wrong way. But a poltergeist has taken my ambition away.
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3. |
Occasional Flâneur
03:16
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I was on my way downtown. I probably shouldn't be walking this late, but sometimes I can't calm down. You know how I can be.
Ran into a revolutionary on the sidewalk asking for change.
I handed him a five. He looked at his watch and said, "I'll be on my way." I walked a city block. When I turned around, he was already gone.
Found myself in an allegory ongoing since the arcades took the darkness away.
Newborn babe in swaddling clothes. Where is your station? No one knows. Born in a forest of unanswered questions, some of them recent and some of them ancient.
Break into the construction site as automatons all come to life.
Crossing the bridge, I grew tired and paused as an angel came to read my thoughts. "Button your coat, Kevin. It's getting cold, and your friends don't want you on this threshold."
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4. |
Matthew
02:21
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Matthew asked if I'd like something to drink. I said, "I'll take a coffee and maybe a cancer stick." Then I stared deeply into his kitchen sink. I leaned so hard, I thought I might fall into it.
Matthew asked, "What's bothering, you boy?" I said, "It's nothing, really, but thanks for letting me come by on a Monday. I guess I needed a drive."
"I don't know what's wrong with me," I told him. "These past few days, I can't eat and I can't sleep. I feels like buried problems finally resurfaced in me. Isolation does some funny things, as you see."
Matthew knows what to say and what not to say. "How's the work?," "How's the family?," and "Fuck the UCP." "How about the doorman we met in Sudbury?" He doesn't know he's an inside joke between you and me.
Matthew leans back and pulls a mint from his front pocket. I never tasted something so citric and tragic. Maybe a joke is the summit of the fate God gave us. I'm still inclined to believe that our friends will save us.
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5. |
I Used to Be Stronger
02:38
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Flâneurie is exhausting. Moving backwards through exotic markets. Oh, the arcades are never-ending. I stood guard like a discarded mannequin.
But I used to be stronger than I am.
Where are my friends when I need them? Without my monocle, I can't see them.
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6. |
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Your friendship made neoliberal platforms bearable. That's why I spent all night drifting in to your new monologue. Who cares if the words are legible, when the kitchen light is sun-like and dependable?
I can't help believing there are harder times ahead. A paladin wears chain mail, but he is not invincible. Lately hungry ghosts have operated in our stead. When I said "Love me," you said, "Don't talk, you fucking imbecile."
Your opponent is already wounded. Not to mention he's a fallen comrade. But I intend to fall on my own sword, not to be a stabbing victim.
All things born with two legs are destined to fall over. Then they get entangled one melancholic September. When you look in my eyes, man, you surely see an "other." They say the first enemies were brothers.
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7. |
Why Are You Laughing?
02:27
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8. |
Under the Sign of Saturn
03:42
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My mind changes day to day, night to night. Don't know why. Perhaps it's a vice I inherited.
Synaptic shock when I see them curl their locks. Don't know why. Perhaps it's a sign I'm defeated.
Am I an infidel? I don't call when I'm not feeling well. And I'm always not feeling well, cause I dabbled in a mystic spell in a den on la rue des enfants perdues.
The arcades, the casino, where I oft laid my head low, risking an awkward quick draw with the universe.
I was taught that the stars would catch me when I go. Well, I'm leaving, like the burnt-out streetlight on the boulevard.
Was that just a figure of speech? Was I just out of reach? Did I spend half my life letting the hands with the dice straggle me left-handed? I got a wife and a kid. Let me change the subject. Let it not come to this. May this letter find you better off than I did.
I'm taking my cash, and I'm burning it.
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9. |
Everything is Perfect
01:18
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Friends who cry when they're laughing by the churchyard's cascading fountain. Blocks of dependable patterns, and a lust for life as it happens. A flood of sunlight on the weekend. The spirit will visit the sick again...when everything is perfect.
The body will move like it's vapour, free to distribute its labour. Not tired nor annexed or half-baked. Not wanting of caloric intake. I'll find my new life in the coffee grounds. The heavenly bodies will come back down...when everything is perfect.
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Kevin Holowach Edmonton, Alberta
Detours and delays. There are no alternatives.
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