The NHL stands, The NFL kneels

There are only 15 black American players in the NHL, and one can assume that they grew up in suburbs rather then ghettos due to the fact they could afford the equipment and training to become NHL caliber hockey players. While the NFL has players who have grown up in the thick of police brutality and discrimination, and may feel they owe it to their communities to use the platform of their involvement in proffesional sports entertainment to stand (or kneel) united, I would assume the predominantly white NHL would not partake. As a soldier sees an injustice in the world and fights against it. I would rather the enraged communities being targeted and unlawfully murdered at the hands of police take a non violent approach to protest the injustices they see in their country and their communities. We're it better to stand silent as your brothers fall or to kneel in protest against their felling? Race is a very complicated problem in America, and not to kid ourselves, in Canada too. When we allow ourselves to dehumanize people because they don't look or believe like us, they become numbers and statistics rather then sons and fathers, brothers and friends. Everyone of us has a beating heart and goals and dreams, some yet to be discovered and some forever lost in the blaze of a gun muzzle as the blood of another kind of creature pools underneath where a life had been. You can deride the NFL players silent protest, against a society that's set up to imprison blacks for minor infractions, that sees traffic stops turn to fatalities, that sees banks prey on undereducated dreamers, keeping them in a cycle of debt and poverty, as a whiny pussy move. But to do nothing is to be part of the problem, not the solution. And to propagate the idea that what the NFLers is doing is anything less then a cry for help for the broken families left in the wake of racial violence and discrimination, is to undermine what freedom to think, feel and live free from the fear of your own judicial system, cops, courts, prison and death. Can you truly blame them for not standing united?

Vegas

The true nature of the affair

Nurturing egos 

Making excuses

Abusing trust

Cleaning out the rust

Slip tetanus cut infection

Poison till locked jaws

Poison the pristine pool of your eyes

A murky disposition

Of the disposed,

Apropos proposal

A thrill in desperation

Weak alibis

Lies wrapped in lies

Wrapped in warm arms 

Ego boost 

Cock roosted in another hen house

Avian flu 

Out of the nest

Exposing oneself to detestable chances

A taste of strange

To a deranged prison of walls

That shift as light through a prism

Passion begets passion for

Worse or better,

Not all passion is love,

Shallow affairs swallowing marriages. 

The mirage of paradise returns to cacti,

The barbs you walked us into

To think i held your hand

Thought i was impenatrable 

The vultures circle

My bloody corpse

And it all becomes to clear, 

Vegas is not for lovers.

The rat

Hello again

My old unfriendly friend

I feel you rage

Boiling up again

Inside my skin.

Is it the self abuse

That's triggered you,

Or merely a boredom

Hungering for drama

You wouldn't want to deal with.

As the plans slip, flip, 

As the peril

Rushes up 

Bile heart burn throat crushing lungs tightened red eyed frightened swelling vomit cascades

The train derails as I fail to remain competent, a cog cracked in the machine careening in a sterile peril of a caged rage crushing against my spleen

Everything is perfect and there is nothing wrong with me, and yet my seams seem pushed to the limit and my fist clench irrationally as if trying to grasp at a figmentive reality that sees all plans run smoothly, a summer of falling apart as one hand finally makes a start while the other takes a rest, blessed and cursed to be last and first and lost and lost and accosting myself. 

Why the worry, why stress, why keep this mess up in the cranium, sweltering swollen beating on my temples.

Lives matter

White people generally speaking are not shot for traffic violations. The problem of American racism and profiling is it is easier to kill something you have dehumanized. By devaluing one person compared to another, not realizing they have parents, children, siblings, hopes and dreams, but treating them as an animal, you open a door to abuses to justice and fairness, which generally are not suffered by the middle class white population. BLM is not debating whether one life matters more then another, only fighting to find justice for the inordinate amount of dehumanization by police and society. Every movement has its zealots that lose focus on the original message once it gains traction, but put yourself in the shoes of those being persecuted, even murdered, and you'll understand that it's not about you. Rather then support the mildly racist sentiment of 'all lives matter' spouted by the white right, consider why and where these people are coming from, the terror of knowing that simply being a different colour can make you a target. If gingers were being murdered by police for infractions that would generally get a fine, and getting away with it, you may wish to remind the world that your life matters as well. It's not playing a childish race card, it's a fight for a peaceful survival.

Book

 the bible is a book, written by man, translated by man, even if guided by the good intentions of an omnipotent God, it is also read and misinterpreted by man daily, words twisted to serve purposes not even proposed outside Leviticus. The flaw in man is always our arrogance in our beliefs, and our belief that that arrogance is well founded bound to our own spirituality. We creatures against pride and lust, gluttony and wrath, throwing each other under buses on the war path to a glorious after life, never seeing the strain and strife our book wielding hands lay upon our fellow man trying to make it through life in this tattering land. Afraid the frayed ends cannot be tied, it's not so clear and clever as the print in pages pretend, not so cut and dried papyrus stained that you must find the truth ingrained because the fact is it can't be explained, just energy filled cells bound together, tethered to a rock that will exist long after the transcripts upon which you rely. But this is just my honest opinion and I am just one guy. Love. 

Sub six

Back on track

Be en awhile

Sinc I he trapped inside

Going for a ride

Face down 

 Silent ride

In the city 

Spring facade on a winter day

A taste of

Glimpse

A world away, 

Feet tread out at another stop

Realized a better life

Miles away.

All the sufferable pains of convenience 

Missing the chauffeured life

Mass transit 

Remembering names of stations, tied to memories that

Pass

With the closing doors

Stations that pass and I remain seated, awaiting a destination.

Stations that crumble a little more with every passing, more fragmented, yet strangely visceral dreams of skipping madly down underground corridors. 

 

.

The Granted

I make no allusion to your struggles, I merely stated you had opportunity's that can't be worked for, you're a Canadian white boy with a loving family who has never faced the ravages of war, never known the devastation of poverty, never lived with confusions of sexuality (presumably). I'm in the same boat, yes, we've had to work hard to carve a niche in society, to become the men we are today, but we haven't carried the weight of a turban on our head or seen our family demolished by war, never had to fear the catcalls or the footfall of police or had the government break down our doors. All this bs about the teachings of one prophet or another, have been used, misconstrued and demonstrably exercised as truths to excise as excuses for uses of violence against a fellow man. Implying and stating may stand in a trial, or on a stage, but on a page, the written word is scribed to imbibe imagery, don't think that the difference between what you said and I read is imaginary. When any person wakes up in the morning, they are expected to behave, why enslave the ideal of western or eastern culture to be superior. I can look at the attacks, but you have to look at the facts that that is a small percent of the population, that seems to grow generation to generation as the warm machine churns out disenfranchised orphans who will buy into credos of hate because it's the only way they feel they can relate to the madness around them. To love is to know God, whether he exists or not.

dreamscape 1

Four of us go in, but only two of us make it out.
But before we were spared, we had to give him back the two relics he had stole. One offer offered sight, and the other protection. A box, hundreds of years old with a cross engraved with the touch of worn lead paint.
Why he let us go?
I don't know, but it was as if he was watching us.
Maybe the first sought treasure had drove him mad.
As we were carefully making our way out, his legion of men slowly encircled us.
With one command, his men had drawn out knives of all sorts. Pointing deep into our souls.
Closer and closer.
We make a break for the door.
With the sound of the manic mob behind us. Those bloody hounds of hell. Barking, raving mad.
We take flight.

everything bleeds

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5hzgDLXfUE5MnFWUG94M2FjcFU/view?usp=sharing

To my Wife

The loneliness of solitude

Is no one here to share

My food with.

Every night.

Getting up alone

Only to fall asleep alone

Every pillow 

Stacked beside me in a row.

Biding the time till

You come home.

Singing to myself

Only for the echo.

Starting to feel what

Lonely hearts know

Over the course of time

Will my discourse grow.

Living a shade of former glory

You will return eventually.