Oh Canada, I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know if I should start telling you how weird you are or if you are the nicest person I have ever met in the entire world. I am unsure even when I walk through your streets. I look at your people. I drink your coffee. I watch kids play hockey at one o’clock in the morning and they get along. They even have fun. That’s the kind of thing that America has a very hard time with I have noticed as of late. The final frontier where everyone says you will retire and finally say that you made it and it is the resting grounds of everything you ever wanted out of life but could never find until now but I am not sure I really believe in all this shit. I was thinking about all this as I was almost anally raped and finger fucked by the lovely border patrol while just crossing the border. It didn’t appear to be anything out of the ordinary for them. Just a friendly hello, from the cold lined roads of a new land and an old one right behind us, but that is also a whole other story between myself and I. We finally made it across and it was high time that we finally did something. These are our lives and even though it is completely frozen over like hell there was still some warmth to the place. It wasn’t exactly hell though, it might have been somewhat related, like hell's cousin or something of the sort, but those are just some of the details that I have to give you for you to understand just exactly where we were coming from and just what we were doing in the frozen tundra land.
I walk down your streets and I see so much beauty and decay. It leaves you wondering is this just another place I could be. I look out the window of the top of the northern world and I see a place I could live. I see an opportunity to seize the day but the question is; had it been there the whole time already? You look out the window and you see little French cafes, little pubs and people walking hand in hand who are in the most love you can see it in their hearts as they walk by and the way that they stare at you and let you know you could be a part of it all too, you just have to be open and ready for it. The shimmer and the glimmer are almost unbearable because over where I am from even the most beloved have their hands on kryptonite every day and how they handle it is beyond me. It's not anyone’s fault to come from the land of the decrepit but if you ever get a chance to see what’s beyond the trash heaps and the marketing junkies you may see what truly lies within the hearts of other people of the land. That’s why I am writing this letter to you oh Canada because I am unsure of what we have had and what we may be. Is this meant to be? Is this what we were supposed to be doing? I don’t really know, do you? I don’t know at all, but you know what that’s one thing I do know.
I know it took me a little while to gather my thoughts and figure out just what I really want to say to you while it is all fresh and in my head. Maybe I could just pause right here at this very moment and take some time to recollect. Maybe ascertain the meanings of these words and find the meaning in them. Always trying to find the meaning. Always coming up with answers but finding many, too many god damned options that I don’t even know which one to go with. That’s a good problem in life to have maybe the ability to be unsure of anything you whole entire life but to get a lot of stuff done. Still I don’t know the answer. Do you? Are they all the answers? You could combine all of them and still have not one fucking clue. We will know all the answers but sorry we will be dead. That’s the whole affliction between life and death. Seems like we will know everything right when we close the curtains and there will be nothing more to look at. I can’t supply you with all the answers of the world but I do know that I love you in such a weird way and everything that happened meant something.
Now I know I have said a lot and I hope you have been paying attention to the words because next week we will have a huge test on all of these subjects and I will be thoroughly disappointed if you do not pass. I hope you can handle it because I know that it’s a bit of a ballsy thing to do but this is very important to me that I know just where everything is. After that, we will move on from this then move onto the next step in life and that’s doing something. Even though we are doing something every day. We don’t have to rush the process of creativity because slow and steady can win the race. Look at the tortoise and the hare for instance. Dogs are Shepard’s too. It’s the kind of thing that is like a wine it gets better with age. I look at the people out the window and I see lights on and big yellow wallpaper. I don’t care for yellow that much but that’s because I don’t think that yellow will really care much about me. Enough with all this jargon and nonsense. You probably don’t understand anyway, or maybe you do. We should sit down and talk about this sometime soon and decide what we will do. Should I go or should I stay? If I stay I am sure we can work things out. If I go and never come back, I don’t know. I think I might actually miss you, a lot. I don’t know if that’s some sort of unhealthy attachment or if this is real.
Dear America, I know your sad and kind of down in the dumps. Things are going to get better, though. It's only a matter of time, you just have to give it a chance. If only you’d stop shitting where you are eating all the time and dumping all the world's problems on yourself. It’s never a good idea to do anything of the sort. You have to eat off the same plate and that’s pretty disgusting. I don’t know what we are going to do with you. You don’t really seem to know what you are doing. The people who are apart of your part of the four corners of the world just continue to trudge on without even looking up from the ground. I also thought that maybe you might have had a little self-control but it never seemed to really work out that way. It all was because you just fucked around too much. You fucked around with China, Russia, and Germany and then you went onto the French but they weren’t having any part of this orgy manifestation. This bizarre love triangle is a lot like that game twister where the people would get wrapped up in each other. That’s the kind of shit you should try and steer clear of. I am sure you know what I am talking about. I thought maybe you’d have a little more self-control. It only seemed logical, it was plain obvious because the answer was already right in front of your face. It was as plain as day and you didn’t even fucking see it. I guess no one's perfect you never really know and everything that has happened is also subject to personal interpretation. But, anyways I am getting a little off course to my original intentions. You just need a new leader to influence you to do the right things but that leader is inside you. Then one day you will see the headlines of god on the front page and sad, sad people that can't even fit into their own suits anymore. In closing, I guess basically, what I am trying to say are goodbye and good luck.
There were bright lights and lizard-like people with red faces and broken soles on their shoes. There were twisted cannons and distorted faces in the mirrors. Giant people with legs like oak trees and people so small that even I felt like a giant amongst them.
This was the kind of place where people looked like they were having a good time but always a sense of some kind of undercurrent that once this was over you would be pulled out to the sea. If sharks didn’t get you then there was always the atrophy of muscles and a realization that giving up was not an option but drowning was inevitable. There are still some human beings out there in the world who haven’t lost touch with everything just yet. I know this because I saw a young man pick up a very small sparrow looking bird and placed it in a tree away from all the lead feet trampling the sidewalks. These people who put divots in cement have certainly lost their way. The compasses are flying in circles and hindsight is only as good as a blind man in a shooting contest with no thumbs. Similar to bicycle races that go absolutely nowhere, except in circles.
Chester was his name and he smelled like the pit of hell if it has opened up and showed us everything that it really was rather than watered down confusions with people used as the subjects to reinterpret the confusion and make it, even more, confusing than it was to begin with. My grandfather was there amongst the dirty pigeons and legions of blinds leading the blinds to certain doom. My mother was caught in the middle of all this feticide adultery. The fucking Ferris wheel would not just go fast enough around.
The man at the wheel thought it would be funny not only to torture me with this weird man I would come to never know again but the fucking stench was the worst. Tarps filled with aborted livers and colostomy bags with a splash of vodka sauce and some ginger root. That was the only depiction I could give this foulness. Chester the child molester only this young boy would tear his eyes out had he even thought to touch my knee and then he did. Paralyzed by all the weirdoes my family had brought around from years ago. I let that one go. I let him have his free parking token but then next one would cost him his sight. I could only envision mountain lions attacking him and ripping both his legs from his torso or maybe even the bolts from the carriage of the Ferris wheel giving way and all the bright colors fading to a bright white.
My grandfather was like a wild boar that wore nothing but fake alligator shoes and a bathrobe or, at least, some outfit that wasn’t far from the mark. There were roughly thirty clocks on the wall ranging from cuckoo clocks, Lionel train clocks and other assorted gadgets that would ring, scream and chime. I have always thought that the birds wanted to jump off the diving board at twelve pm every day but that was just my imagination because every time they had the chance to do it they just stood frozen. Embarrassment? Cold feet? We will never know.
The inventor of more problems; if I had to coin a term of what to describe him as it would be just that. The things that made me think of this besides the endless porn collection and the mothball-filled closets would be the collection of used furniture that would be collected off the sidewalks in the neighborhood. We would visit him and he would insist on selling us a broken rocking chair for eighty dollars because it had so much value that ended up being some non-descript nonsense. He was convinced that junk would sell for more than the things of the same fashion that were brand new. The character was more of the selling point than the condition.
Retelling this story straight from the witness inside my head brings me back to some places I have actually yet travel since the days that these events happened. Have I created all these things to happen when god and I broke the contract? Was the fine print really too fine to read or was some used car salesman the one to blame for my lien owed to this life?
I walk across these fields of desperation with the coldest of cold January’s thrown on my back. The route I am taking leads to better ways of life. Ways that make knowledge and time well worth spent. It’s that kind of trade off where you lose big first and win in the end. You appreciate it because after the failure comes that final success. There’s the road behind me. A car travels towards us at outrageous speeds and I cannot tell if it is going down the road or up it. Inching its way to the future and possible final destination. That place where dreams are dreams within dreams and we control every movement.
It's in the bedroom where she is undressing. I know the situation all too well that I second think about what I am really doing. I second think my second thought and just take over the situation to get it over with. Should as be as fearful of this lady passing me by with cold stone eyes and familiar glance of some diluted version of sheer terror. This is my last thought as I drift off into a land of never using the word never. I awaken to a familiar room that is not mine and still some lady sleeps rests without a sound. I feel like a paper mache` figure being thrown into the river. I turn on my light and I am alone. It’s all just shadows on the wall. Oak branches outside my window and faint light from the moon. The sound of a mouse disrupts my thoughts. There may even be two of these fuckers running around and I can never find that little hole in the wall that they always hide away in, the one that leads to the other side of a fictional hell. I am going to eradicate all those little fuckers.
Polyphonic sounds of phones ringing from the bed table. Her majesty my mother is going deaf but could talk to you forever and anything past that. She is slowly losing to the grips of sharp nails and saliva running down cheeks. The fridge is filled with many serve yourself meals. No more maids. No more high-class slavery. These are the kind of surplus leftovers from when the Nazi’s abandoned their sacred Reich. They taste like wet cardboard left in an oily New York City puddle.
The ships are in the harbor and the frost sticks to my lips like metal-to-metal scraping. The job hunt continues on and on. Bicycle wheels and lost and found stares. These people take such a disinterested interest in my work but waste sixty minutes of my life. Flying at bricks walls as crash test dummies without vehicles. I feel like I am dying everywhere that is so familiar.
That place where air circulates in sewer grates and everything is lost in a gray haze.
Messages from god fly from the sky giving us lists of things to buy.