UWAGA!

For some reason this is my new favourite Polish word...
it means attention, ATTENTION en francais, I think it might also mean
"look-out", beware, or take notice --- but that's just my guesses.

If, (when), I start my own little publishing thing, it will be called
UWAGA Press, and it will go hand in shovel with my other as-yet
begun operation ------ GuiltyAsThin Productions.
This replaces my former favourite Polish word --- Przsyprazsam (sp)
and of course the belaboured Prszypraszam Press, which along with
meaning "Excuse Me!" has yet to find its beautifully translateble
self.


Okay, so how about I write a poem now, perhaps I'll call it...

Change Due

Belly Dancers wriggle into the background,
a man whom I know, or more correctly,
who is from my town - lets twenty dollars
drop from his lap, his fingers are stretched
and uneven.

Somewhere -- in a corner vestibule
there is only the cold silence of a newspaper...
there is waiting,

`~`

april is a cruller month

if, one goes by the institution of advertising, one might believe that Maple Crullers
will soon be available at our most infamous Canadian institution. perhaps, not
disproportionatley so, the bark that carries the thirst that is gradual and addictive,
has never been greater.


me --- you would think after a month of blog (Quebecois?) abstinence, I would
have something less innocuous to put here. Maybe tomorrow.

not working hard enough

~~

I guess it is sometimes difficult to asses what is meant by "hard enough"
and of course, one needs to know what one is referring to... in this case
it's all about The Novel, that which is titled --- The Line of Control.

Seems like I need an extra few hours a day in order to get anything done,
perhaps a bit more energy too --- since all of the training and extra time
at the office are making me prose-lazy. That being said I have finished the
poem below, here is the latest version:


Descent and Extinction


Sagacity, when aloft, exchanges oxygen for fate. Heat.
The wheels of a jumpy airplane, lowering. At some point
everyone wonders, what will happen when we land?

Perhaps it is these clouds that are colder than the stillness
of snow-lined fields (in suburbia) — colder than war
for the sake of war, without marked runways or rhetoric.

Sometimes, as a distinct entity, or even as a whole,
we are caught within the white and black of our own ammunition
and we wander from moment to opaque moment…

Up here, without the natural selection of wounds or respiration,
reason seems like the hostage of a latched door,
an aisle, a rounded plastic window — partially fogged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Welcome to March mes amis. It's warm and grey here
yet I managed to bike outside on the weekend (in February,
in Canada -- wow who'd have thought).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Cheers, MIKA!

confused? or inebriatedly fogged?

--

pourquoi,

home? for an ex-change...

............................................................................

altitude and extinction

Sagacity, though soft, exchanges oxygen for fate, sweat.
The jumpy wheels of an airplane, lowering. At some point,

everyone wonders --- what will happen when we land?
Perhaps Jupiters' clouds are colder than we could ever imagine,

like the stillness of copper green domes (in February),
like war for the sake of war, without marked runways or rhetoric.

Sometimes, as a distinct entity or a whole, we are caught
within the black and white of our own ammunition,

and we wander from each moment to another moment - without sight
or natural selection. Up here, solitude seems like a codicil of thought

and waste, like the envied hostage of a latched door,
an aisle, a rounded plastic window ---- partially fogged.


*****Okay, so it is not the most uplifting shit to begin the week.
Sunday evening. Evening out the time between hope and happiness.
I have returned to that so-called reality, to TO. Soon I suspect,
I will be on the road again, Spain, vacation, property, properly....

Madrid, part two!

Things are fine here. The siestas are welcome, though I'd rather exercise.
I've re-written the poem for X that was included before. Remarkable timing I must say...
I hope, mon ami, you understand Y, you say you remember but I have my doubts.


Past the Church, a Bridge

for no-one in particular — anymore…


The perception of steps beneath a steeple, us,
a rainy morning in August
and the doors are black and wet, closed.
God's will, you say, believing that everything happens,
(must happen), for a reason…

Yet the traffic beside us on Bloor Street
is another truth we cannot discuss,
is just cars passing exhaust
and silent directions. Right, right, then left,
then a yellow light and a chance for collision.

Everything here is defined by wide lanes,
by the yielding of stems and branches to the viaduct,
where, in the wind, we walk, pause,
with the jitters of subway trains going east and west,
with a way that reason cannot avoid.

...Madrid!

working at last, researching, after a few days of not knowing the reason I was here. It is hard to enjoy such a beautiful city when one is a little jet-lagged (four hours in London will do that) and hasn't heard from Ms. Whyte as to the planned order of business.

alas, I did settle down in the hotel / apartment room (?) where they've put me. Luckily I'm not that close to any of the museums and I could waste a few hours travelling there and back. Will write more once I believe I've found what I'm looking for, or when something interesting happens and I get my Spanish legs. I did go for a little run today but the traffic was a little hectic until I reached the park.

I didn't get lost either! Cheers, MIKA.

one of many corrections for X

X
X to the power of
X minus y
X squared

'deel' is spelled DEAL!!

I thought you had a better understanding of mathematics, derivatives, hope?

In light of understanding, or lack thereof, and in the presence of an equation that no longer makes sense... here, coincidentally, is a poem I wrote on the day of your... rescinding. X-it, if you must.



Below the Bridge Someone Holds a Sword

for no-one in particular — anymore…


The perception of a step beneath a steeple, us,
a rainy morning in August
and the door is black and wet, closed.
God's will, you say, believing that everything happens,
(must happen), for a reason…

But the traffic on Bloor Street is another truth we cannot discuss,
is just cars passing exhaust, and silent directions.
Right, right, then left,
then a yellow light and a chance for collision.
Everything here is defined by wide lanes,
by the yielding of grass and trees to the viaduct,
where I walk, pause, in the wind,
in the jitters of subway trains going east and west,
in a way that reason cannot avoid.

hooray for the USA?!

Well at last, Dubya MD, has requested an inquiry into the case of the missing WMD.

But that's not the reason for this title. Would you believe an American Journal (academic) has accepted some of my work... c'est vrai!!!! Au revoir.

MIKA

remaining grounded...

No shadows here, 718 am, another grey dawn accumulating in the western hue of the city. between the dusty blinds of this unofficial perch, 8th floor cublicle, blay and boored, or is it dazed and bored... the distance from here to that smokestack on Mimico Bay seems a little trite this morning, a little farther away than it ought to be. what would we all give for the exhaust of '...six weeks from now?' Warmth, sun, a break in spring, god willing the noise of melting will ascend from the pavement and the grasses, the trails that gather runners and dogs, a flight, an imagining of asymptotic mammals. The weekend that was has passed too quickly, too dimly, perhaps another moment of sun was needed, another hour, why is there always a limit to daylight...

On Saturday one of my many good friends from the Group, errr... Gang of Eight (in the no-longer-so-small Town) got married... a January wedding you say? How antidotical? antipodean? But yeah, with the recent plummetting of snow and temperature it was definitely crisp and white, and a wonderfully rambling event and amusing time. Details? Type-o's?

To begin, I'll avoid any mention of the 2hr 45 minute drive on friday night, snow, wind, slush, traffic! Horrendous conditions, they said, every ten minutes on the ones. I won't disclose my purple hair either (Thanks Jen!) or the person who called in sick, one and the same, he scoffed. For the second part, mon ami, you are absolved, short notice and all, it must have been (was) my fault. Reticence is terminal, so I won't mention anything sentimental or sappy either, love you!. I will tell you I picked up my new black suit the thursday before, looks good, looks well, looks "slimming", ha ha, nice tie too, one too many fashion shows or what? Go away. Not to worry, not to wear.

Love U!

Mrs. H telephoned (rang, I suppose), requesting a lift to the church, seems she was bumped in the rear by an officer of the local constabulary, slick roads, slight grade, slow cornering... a Minardi perhaps. I obliged of course, not waving good (du) bye at the bottom of the crescent, is this a new green car do-you-buy, you might say? I mean do-buy, doo-bee, you ask? Rolling on. Parked nicely, sidewalk view, a neighbour to the big dark ice-snow dump from the front tire of a F150 monster, blue, black, shadowy. Small steps. Now we're inside, much jocularity and hanging of coats, now we're seated, now we're not... must be going to the front row, alas I remember that my phone might ring again, perhaps in the middle of the cermeony of crowns... the vows, perhaps with the toddled march of the ring bearers (or as they call them in the city to the south of us --- BARRIERS!) Oh yeah, the phone is ringing... is that you my dear Jen? What? It's okay.... really... you can't make it, not feeling well... I understand, I'm sure the guys will go lightly, no razzing necessary. Empty palace, empty place... LOVE you, STILL!!!!

Alas I am putting the cart before the bride (just kidding Kel, you're a beauty, and always will be!), returned to my seat, escorted, cajoled, meekly sitting, at peace, Grrrrrr.... moments later nothing has happened, a few more moments later annnnnnddddddddddd nothing happens... waiting for the sky to clear, waiting, alors I think a ghost has appeared. Nope it's only the groom, paler than a white russian on Christmas Eve. There were grander entrances to follow...

finer en-chantments. No the priest is not singing entirely in Greek, servant Archie... servant Kelly... one, two, three, and plenty more children... or something like that. The ceremony was actually very nice - a few kids were a bit unruly, a few chuckles from the groomsmen but all and all very painless and very few tears since most people weren't sure what was happening. Besides it was all over in a matter of an hour, Not Bad at all.

If I have time I will bring you to the reception, (not a bad unintended pun, I must say).

needing a break? new black suit?

I believe you. I believe the word doldrums was created perfectly...

condensed, but uninterrupted.

Save the thinly-veiled domes at the end of grand European Avenues --- there are no machinations of beauty or despair which are hemmed or lengthened depending on the architect's eye, the rule - as it were, laying flat and level, is to construct the candidature of sight and function. A line here, rising, or perhaps a suspended jaunt, where does it go? where does it end?
Magic and majesty aren't always apropos!

up to.........coupon........................... date!

today, a veritable January ruse. minus 30, minus the wind. minus a blanket of fresh unfluctuating snow and of course that genuine smokestack steam floating south-west across the building-tops. as insoluable as fear or rest, and contrary to the consolation of last nights' workout, regime, and to a lesser degree (ha ha) the revelations from golden publishers.

If they ask, how curious these cold myths? this blatant information, chilled apostrophes' --- akin to the heat of instant implication... (Bracketed Aside: I have perused the wealth of facts and the wealth of figures, the bon mots, perked ears, and I've coerced the cristalized crossing of these macro-economized vacillations, and the issue of 4th quarter earnings, up $5, an analyst might say, their disclosure not premeditated. But no, not yet, I can't reveal all that I'm worth [I'm thinking of the bigger picture], the larger ebb and the higher flood...), I must retort to them, is 8 percent really enough? Indoors. I go...

Gladly, my achillees is improving. Yesterday a 4K warm-up.
2x1K, 2x800, and 4x600 (not too hard I thought, but according to Rachel's 'spinner timing' I was moving pretty good). 2K warm-down, stretching, weights and core strength exercises. Happiness. Relief. Until the next laps -- MIKA out.

scuba DUDE, too!

Returning to TO was a bit of a letdown as the tropical wisdom that sluiced within me seemed to postpone a lot of my Christmas spirit (even if I was humming Feliz Navidad, Caribbean-style), not only that but we had to say goodbye to Eveline of AT, a Chilean marvel, and to endure 4 hours of waiting at the airport in St. Martin ---- everything hot and closed since it was late in the evening and there were no breezes, clean empty benches, or beers to be found (unless you were seated near TC, that traveller of Wobbly Legs and Stuffed Carry-On Baggage fame). Air Transat, invariably late, invariably incommunicative, actually provided a nice plane, something a a lot newer and roomier than what we flew down on, although they did try to detain Herr Ziggy a few times on the way through the ticket line, boarding pass check, blah blah blah, how many times do you wish to see my identification? It's here somewhere... Now I know he is quite the ringer for a terrorist and I KNOW security is of vital importance to us all but anyone wary of the anti-cyclonic "Pops' probably needs a different modus operandi. Greetings Gustav of Gestapo --- red alert red ALERT!! Your papers. Code Orange! ummmm... excuse me Sir but you won't be allowed on this plane even though you've shown us your passport three times already and boarding pass twice! Bewildered Tiger, Uncomfortable Tiger? Draggin On... Pause. Pause. But Miss I'm with him, he says. And yes, that's been said many times, fingers pointing, eyes belaboured -- upon me, innocent me, nodding, and certainly it's almost always true --- they are with me, and I am innocent, but alors - perhaps this kerfuffle only added to the levity of such an exhausting farcical ad-venture (return?)... here we were already more than an hour late and now they were implicating "US" (Pops and me) in any further delay. [Note: we found the troublesome boarding pass moments after take-off, but by then they didn't care about it, want it, acknowledge it.]

Alas, the flight / ride home was decent despite the pluggedness developing within my ear. The roast beef hockey puck sandwich wasn't as bad as first feared, the cranberry juice was good. I slept for a bit and managed to awaken on descent - my inner ears a little turbulent, and painful, considering I couldn't equalize! Celine I'm trying my best, really. Please don't make that quizzically disappointed face.

Early morning (it was after 230 when we gated) was spent waiting for 'the luggage', carousel 8, then 7, do I hear 6? There's a problem with the... loudspeaker? But then, soon enough, we're driving to Midland in a fashionable late-night snowstorm, as tired as I have ever been. And the only time I've ever actually felt I might fall asleep at the wheel. Did I mention I had been out partying the night before with the cousin of my friend (the above mentioned TC) until about 3 in the morning and then had woken up at 630 and decided to go for a run in an attempt to cure my hangover. No nap the rest of the day either, although I did get to relaxing at the beach in the afternoon, horizontal, with The Girls. On the highway I managed okay, weaved a little, here, there, but didn't crash, and so we arrived "home" to white-glazed fanfare around 540 am. Sleep! Sleep!

That night we celebrated Our Girl's 13th birthday (nice gifts) and then it was back to work for a few fresh unpleasantries, neffing job. Inbetween I smiled of course, sanguine and toothily, and did enough shopping to pass through the festive occasions, and to make the receivers of said shopping a lot happier than they might have expected to be; apres ca it was 10 more days away, north again, to celebrate something, everything, the ear-thing, babysitting?... oh my doesn't it seem like eons ago that my vacation was born... Where's that confounding beach? Those mystifying girls? The sun, the breeze, gravity, Lauren --- Inspiration!

Au plaisir mes amis ------------------ MIKA*

a real SCUBA dude -------------- now!

Ahem! One of my few faithful readers (DawGmanStaR?) has politely questioned my whereabouts, so without being unseasonably affected (afflicted?) I reply with an update into my intriguing blissful observant life. Firstly, happily, I have been on holidays... away from the terminally unwell people at the coff-ice!

And so it goes - a week in the Caribbean with sunshine, sand, 3 lovely sisters from Scarboro, Murray, Martha and family, and an inventively scorching fellow nick-named Ziggy (aka POPS!). There was also a gaggle of older party-ers, one of whom, shockingly, was / is the cousin of a good friend from Midland. But now, not to be dismissive of all the above character, I must confess that the most shining moments of this trip belonged underwater with my French SCUBA instructor Celine, tres belle, red bikini, et tres patient... it being my first time made it all the more entertaining, pellucid, salient! SO what did I sea (ha ha ha) at the bottom of the reef? Well there was a shipwreck, rusty cannons and all, there were lots of little fishies, well-schooled and stripey, a funky spiky sponge that Celine stuck to my palm, and even an octopus crouching within a small crevasse. I tried to take a picture of said mollusk however I only caught a glimpse of Celine's arm, ummm, lovely instructor, isn't that a rip in your wetsuit? ----- well done. All in all, I suspect, I did pretty darn good down in the stuff of the deep, in the weightless foreverland... okay so it was only 40 feet and it wasn't that high-pressured, but I did receive a fancy certificate and a nasty ear-infection for my effort, which was probably my own fault since I knew I had a little sinus issue when I went. Live and learn I suppose, but still I recommend taking to the sea for anyone who has never done so (and is not afraid of open water).

Another exhilirating happening was a day cruising the island of SABA, the Unspoiled Queen of the Caribbean, although I suspect there may be private islands (like Richard Branson's of Virgin fame) where things are even less blemished. Returning to SABA ---- which is located just west of St. Eustasius and Nevis, and is home to about 1500 people -- it has one viable port, under re-construction, from which there is one main road and a seemingly endless narrow climb, the vehicle coming up has the right of way, they say, and once beyond that first hill there, still, isn't a flat spot in sight. And though a section of The road that couldn't be built, as they call it, is relatively smooth, the only true level area is at the oh so precipitous airport, where cliffs welcome both ends of the runway. Naturally this place is called Flat Point!

The tour of the island was quaint, elaborate, and somewhat meandering --- Vince was a decent friendly fellow, taxi driver / guide, a Saban (or is it a Saber?) all his life, seemed to enjoy talking about plants, this is breadfruit, and this a ***** tree, He also enojoyed picking up his wife, then dropping her, and the groceries, at home. It's too bad we never took a picture of him or Paula from Detroit (our touring companion), or that I didn't even think about it. Too bad we never got a picture of the Medical School either, or the Glassblower where certain splendid presents were bought. Now all that is either charming or cute but I'd have to say the best part of the whole day was hiking to the top of Scenic Mountain, approximately 890 m (over 3500 feet) and the highest point in the Kingdom of the Netherlands... they say there are only 10-15 days a year when the mountaintop is in clear view, but this day couldn't have been better. From the top I could easily see all the islands nearby, even St. Martin! Absolutely brilliant!!! It was supposed to take about 50 minutes from where I started to get to the peak, however I used it as a chance for a workout, it was humid and sunny and the rainforest became harsher the higher up I went but still I managed to run, dash, jump, to the peak in less than half an hour. Well Done SCUBA Dude!! On the way I passed a few people going up who had started the climb a little earlier, a couple from Germany (how much farther?), a pleasant steady climber from Ohio (Michelle, I think her name was), an even-keeled older fellow who wasn't sure how far up he should go? I said, it's probably only going to get harder...

Then again, I'd have to say coming down was the hardest part. Always is, allons-y. The taxi's leaving at 1330, and I wouldn't want to miss lunch. Win, win, wind, warm breeze, I remember.

just a quick notation

to let everyone know I am still busy and alive.
Planning many exciting new things, executing present agendas,
but never re-living my past denouements.

Let's go!!!! Mika

alternative value, meteoric theft...

what's that you say? four inconspicuous words now conjoined in a blithely unplanned title. In some way that is correct, I use this method as an exercise in writing, some would say it is an exercise in relieving writer's block (but since I don't believe in the ill-fated WB then I can't / won't admit that). The above title was attained by randomly picking four words from the MSN Canada home page and then putting them together into a somewhat cohesive idea (ideal?) ---- but now the trick is to make a real poem or story from this idea:

*************************************************************************************

As you can see the results are a bit blank now... but there is no need to panic, at some point I will edit this again and you'll see what happens to this row of bon mots.

seriously inured...

On a monday morning, procuring fate, I pledge not to peel your hopeful succulent Valencia orange with such sterness or solemn quailing (is that a word? or perhaps, just a bird?). Yet another revelation came to me on a deep grey Sunday afternoon, I said, smiling, (not a smirk either, but a real smile), and it was then that I realized that perhaps I've had the wrong attitude when it comes to my pursuit of writing and / or my quest of athletic achievement. And I think it is best summed up by a chortle and a giddy wink of these bottomless blue eyes, and it is here that I say, "don't be so damned hardened or severe."

There should be no disillusion in the efforts.

Yesterday the narcissistic yet lovable Julia paraded her cheerless confident "cold" into the cafe where we drank herbal tea and perused the latest edition of The Fiddlehead (a literary magazine from those wily valleys of New Brunswick, especially wily this issue - see page 77, wink!). Her illness, a minor detraction from her usual poised personality, she said, would not deter her from a long day at the library and even a mountain bike in the brisk late-autumn late-afternoon. She's a soft-tail you know, not a roadie or a tri-gal, so she doesn't always appreciate the quibbles of the pavement. Yet she passes above it all with the glazed spinning of a sanguine championness, and I, awe-filled, slack-jawed, straight lipped, rough and raw renegade???? had an instant of epiphanic manifestation; And so I now vow, in all consequences of living, to beam instead of frown.

Do you think perhaps it will make an optimistic difference?

the blue arrow

Is this the sign? Is this the shape and the colour that I remember? Is it you, the one that arches across this glazed screen like an unforeseen cloud enveloping a pre-winter escape?

Once, when we were acquiescent and still, we huddled in an embrace that only a divinity could inspire... and you said you could hear a voice, and what you heard you thought was the residue of the darkness that had separated us, and you thought this blindness might return, that the light and all of its colours weren't real, that the messages you felt like hearing would be taken away, obliterated like a mud-hutted city beneath a flood of poignant, carpeted bombs. Yet you dreamed... and I swore to you within that dream that I wouldn't let you be fooled, and I told you how inevitable it was that we would find each other again, and you said you knew it was only a dream, and that what I said was just wistful and sentimental, and you wanted to clutch something more real, and you wanted to grab hold of that which passed above you: an arrow so blue it couldn't have come from either of our skies...

what is that, a yellowish-gold and radiant circle?

I believe I actually saw the sun this morning... there it was, alone, and rising abashedly above the indurate buildings on Bloor Street. And there I was shivering in the first real signs of wind chill, that which crawl beneath one's neck. Oh to be somewhere warm, shirtless, somewhere in the midst of ordinary sweat, somewhere along the coast...