We had wanted to leave our homes before six in the morning
but left late and lazy at ten or ten-thirty with hurried smirks
and heads turned to the road, West
driving out against the noonward horizon
and visions before us of the great up-and-over

and tired we were already of stiff-armed driving neurotics in Montreal
and monstrous foreheaded yellow bus drivers
ugly children with long middle fingers
and tired we were of breaking and being yelled at by beardless bums
but thought about the beards at home we loved
and gave a smile and a wave nonetheless

Who were sick and tired of driving by nine
but then had four more hours still
with half a tank
then a third of a tank
then a quarter of a tank
then no tank at all
except for the great artillery halt and discovery
of our tyre having only three quarters of its bolts

Saved by the local sobriety
and the mystic conscious kindness of the wise and the elderly
and the strangers: Autoshop Gale with her discount familiar kindness;
Hilda making ready supper and Ray like I’ve known you for years
that offered me tools whose functions I’ve never known
and a handshake goodbye

     and "yes we will say hello to your son in Alberta"
     and "yes we will continue safely"
     and "no you won’t see us in tomorrow’s paper"
     and tired I was of hearing about us in tomorrow’s paper

Who ended up on a road laughing deliverance
in Ralphton, a small town hunting lodge
full of flapjacks and a choir of chainsaws
with cheap tomato juice and eggs
but the four of us ended up paying for eight anyway

and these wooden alley cats were nothing but hounds
and the backwoods is where you’d find a cheap child's banjo
and cheap leather shoes and bear traps and rat traps
and the kinds of things you’d fall into face first

Who sauntered into a cafe in Massey
that just opened up two weeks previous
where the food was warm and made from home
and the owner who swore to high heaven
and piled her Sci-Fi collection to the ceiling
in forms of books and VHS

but Massey herself was drowned in a small town
where there was little history and heavy mist
and the museum was closed for renovations
and the stores were run by diplomats
or sleezebag no-cats
and there was one man who wouldn’t show us a room
because his baby sitter hadn’t come yet
but the babysitter showed up through the backdoor within seconds
though I hadn't seen another face

        and the room was a landfill
        and smelled of stale cat **** anyhow
        and the lobby stacked to the ceiling with empty beer box cans bottles
        and the taps ran cold yellow and hot black through spigots

but we would be staying down the street
at the inn of an East-Indian couple

who’s eyes were not dilated 
and the room smelled
lemon-scented

and kept on driving lovingly without a care in the world
but only one of us had his arms around a girl
and how lonely I felt driving with Jacob
in the fog of the Agawa pass;

following twin red eyes down a steep void mass
where the birch trees have no heads
and the marshes pool under the jagged foothills
that climb from the water above their necks

that form great behemoths
with great voices bellowing and faces chiselled hard looking down
and my own face turned upward toward the rain

Wheels turning on a black asphalt river running uphill around great Superior
that is the ocean that isn’t the ocean but is as big as the sea
and the cloud banks dig deep and terrible walls

and the sky ends five times before night truly falls
and the sun sets slower here than anywhere
but the sky was only two miles high and ten long anyway

The empty train tracks that seldom run
and some rails have been lifted out
with a handful of spikes that now lay dormant

and the hill sides start to resemble *******
or faces or the slow curving back of some great whale

-and those, who were finally stranded at four pumps
with none but the professional Jacob reading great biblical instructions at the nozzle
nowhere at midnight in a town surrounded

by moose roads
                             moose lanes
                                                     moose rivers
and everything mooses

ending up sleeping in the maw of a great white wolf inn
run by Julf or Wolf or John but was German nonetheless

and woke up with radios armed
and arms full
and coffee up to the teeth
with teeth chattering
and I swear to God I saw snowy peaks
but those came to me in waking dream:

"Mountains dressed in white canvas
gowns and me who placed
my hands upon their *******
that filled the sky"

Passing through a buffet of inns and motels
and spending our time unpacking and repacking
and talking about drinking and cheap sandwiches
but me not having a drink in eight days

and in one professional inn we received a professional scamming
and no we would not be staying here again
and what would a trip across the country be like
if there wasn’t one final royal scamming to be had

and dreams start to return to me from years of dreamless sleep:

and I dream of hers back home
and ribbons in a raven black lattice of hair
and Cassadaic exploits with soft but honest words

and being on time with the trains across the plains  
and the moon with a shower of prairie blonde
and one of my father with kind words
and my mother on a bicycle reassuring my every decision

Passing eventually through great plains of vast nothingness
but was disappointed in seeing that I could see
and that the rumours were false
and that nothingness really had a population
and that the great flat land has bumps and curves and etchings and textures too

beautiful bright golden yellow like sprawling fingers
white knuckled ablaze reaching up toward the sun
that in this world had only one sky that lasted a thousand years

and prairie driving lasts no more than a mountain peak
and points of ember that softly sigh with the one breath
of our cars windows that rushes by with gratitude for your smile

And who was caught up with the madness in the air
with big foaming cigarettes in mouths
who dragged and stuffed down those rolling fumes endlessly
while St. Jacob sang at the way stations and billboards and the radio
which was turned off

and me myself and I running our mouth like the coughing engine
chasing a highway babe known as the Lady Valkyrie out from Winnipeg
all the way to Saskatoon driving all day without ever slowing down
and eating up all our gas like pez and finally catching her;

      Valkyrie who taught me to drive fast
      and hovering 175 in slipstreams
      and flowing behind her like a great ghost Cassady ******* in dreamland Nebraska
      only 10 highway crossings counted from home.

Lady Valkyrie who took me West.
Lady Valkyrie who burst my wings into flame as I drew a close with the sun.
Lady Valkyrie who had me howl at slender moon;

     who formed as a snowflake
     in the light on the street
     and was gone by morning
     before I asked her name

and how are we?
and how many?

Even with old Tom devil singing stereo
and riding shotgun the entire trip from day one
singing about his pony, and his own personal flophouse circus,
and what was he building in there?

There is a fair amount of us here in these cars.
Finally at light’s end finding acquiescence in all things
and meeting with her eye one last time; flashed her a wink and there I was, gone.
Down the final highway crossing blowing wind and fancy and mouth puttering off
roaring laughter into the distance like some tremendous Phoenix.

Goodnight Lady Valkyrie.

The evening descends and turns into a sandwich hysteria
as we find ourselves riding between cities of transports
and that one mad man that passed us speeding crazy
and almost hit head-on with Him flowing East

and passed more and more until he was head of the line
but me driving mad lunacy followed his tail to the bumper
passing fifteen trucks total to find our other car
and felt the great turbine pull of acceleration that was not mine

mad-stacked behind two great beasts
and everyone thought us moon-crazy; Biblical Jake
and Mad Hair Me driving a thousand
eschewing great gusts of wind speed flying

Smashing into the great ephedrine sunset haze of Saskatoon
and hungry for food stuffed with the thoughts of bedsheets
off the highway immediately into the rotting liver of dark downtown
but was greeted by an open Hertz garage
with a five-piece fanfare brass barrage
William Tell and a Debussy Reverie
and found our way to bedsheets most comfortably

Driving out of Saskatoon feeling distance behind me.
Finding nothing but the dead and hollow corpses of roadside ventures;

more carcasses than cars
and one as big as a moose
and one as big as a bear
and no hairier

and driving out of sunshine plain reading comic book strip billboards
and trees start to build up momentum
and remembering our secret fungi in the glove compartment
that we drove three thousand kilometres without remembering

and we had a "Jesus Jacob, put it away brother"
and went screaming blinded by smoke and paranoia
and three swerves got us right
and we hugged the holy white line until twilight

And driving until the night again takes me foremast
and knows my secret fear in her *****
as the road turns into a lucid *** black and makes me dizzy
and every shadow is a moose and a wildcat and a billy goat
and some other car

and I find myself driving faster up this great slanderous waterfall until I meet eye
with another at a thousand feet horizontal

then two eyes

then a thousand wide-eyed peaks stretching faces upturned to the celestial black
with clouds laid flat as if some angel were sleeping ******* on a smokestack
and the mountains make themselves clear to me after waiting a lifetime for a glimpse
then they shy away behind some old lamppost and I don’t see them until tomorrow

and even tomorrow brings a greater distance with the sunlight dividing stone like 'The Ancient of Days'
and moving forward puts all into perspective

while false cabins give way
and the gas stations give way
and the last lamppost gives way
and its only distance now that will make you true
and make your peaks come alive

Like a bullrush, great grey slopes leap forth as if branded by fire
then the first peaks take me by surprise
and I’m told that these are nothing but children to their parents
and the roads curve into a gentle valley
and we’re in the feeding zone

behind the gates of some great geological zoo
watching these lumbering beasts
finishing up some great tribal *******
because tomorrow they will be shrunk
and tomorrow ever-after smaller

Nonetheless, breathless in turn I became
it began snowing and the pines took on a different shape
and the mountains became covered white
and great glaciers could be seen creeping
and tourists seen gawking at waterfalls and waterfowls
and fowl play between two stones a thousand miles high

climbing these Jasper slopes flying against wind and stone
and every creak lets out its gentle tone and soft moans
as these tyres rub flat against your back
your ancient skin your rock-hard bones

and this peak is that peak and it’s this one too
and that’s Temple, and that’s Whistler
and that’s Glasgow and that’s Whistler again
and those are the Three Sisters with ******* ablaze

and soft glowing haze your sun sets again among your peaks
and we wonder how all these caves formed
and marvelled at what the flood brought to your feet
as roads lay wasted by the roadside

in the epiphany of 3:00am realizing
that great Alta's straights and highway crossings
are formed in torturous mess from mines of 'Mt. Bleed'
and broken ribs and liver of crushed mountain passes
and the grey stones taxidermied and peeled off
and laid flat painted black and yellow;
the highways built from the insides
of the mountain shells

Who gave a “What now. New-Brunswick?”

and a “What now, Quebec, and Ontario, and Manitoba, and Saskatchewan";
**** fools clumsily dancing in the valleys; then the rolling hills; then the sea that was a lake
then the prairies and not yet the mountains;

running naked in formation with me at the lead
and running naked giving the finger to the moon
and the contrails, and every passing blur on the highway
dodging rocks, and sandbars
and the watchful eye of Mr. and Mrs. Law
and holes dug-up by prairie dogs
and watching with no music
as the family caravans drove on by

but drove off laughing every time until two got anxious for bed and slowed behind
while the rambling Jacob and I had to wait in the half-moon spectacle
of a black-tongue asphalt side-road hacking darts and watching for grizzlies
for the other two to finish up with their birthday *** exploits
though it was nobodies birthday

and then a timezone was between us
 and they were in the distant future
and nobodies birthday was in an hour from now

then everything was good
and everyone was satiated
then everything was a different time again
and I was running on no sleep or a lot of it
leaping backward in time every so often
like gaining a new day but losing space on the surface of your eye

but I stared up through curtains of starlight to mother moon
and wondered if you also stared
and was dumbfounded by the majesty of it all

and only one Caribou was seen the entire trip
and only one live animal, and some forsaken deer
and only a snake or a lonesome caterpillar could be seen crossing such highway straights
but the water more refreshing and brighter than steel
and glittered as if it were hiding some celestial gem
and great ravines and valleys flowed between everything
and I saw in my own eye prehistoric beasts roaming catastrophe upon these plains
but the peaks grew ever higher and I left the ground behind

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"Go and talk to your son!". It seemed lately that every arrival at home, in the old section of Glasgow, began with "Go and talk to your son!". "Why?...what has he done this time"...answered Angus' dad. "What trouble did he get into now?". "None...so far as I can figure" answered Mary, mother of the aforementioned Angus.

"Then why am I going to talk to him?". " He's not selling autographs again is he".
"No dear, he's not...you should just go and have a wee chat with him...that's all."

"Alright, I will"...."will I need some hobnobs as ammunition, or should I be okay on me own?".
"You should be okay without them, but, then again, a wee plate of hobnobs never hurt anyone...least of all our Angus"

Dad, poured two glasses of cold milk, set six hobnobs on a plate and ventured up to himself's room. He knocked twice, just above the "No gurls alowd" sign that Angus had put up after last nights arguement with his Mum, over carrots. Angus refused to accept the arguement that carrots gave you better eyesight...while his Mum said they did. A snicker from Dad at Angus' response almost got him banished to the sofa for the night himself, with his own "No gurls alowd" sign going up in the living room. He remembered Angus standing up from his chair, and stating "If carrots give ye such good eyesight, how come so many rabbits get hit by cars at night?". Then he stormed off.

He knocked again, and Angus opened up the door. Angus was still in his blue school shirt and grey pants. "Can I come in?" asked his father. "I've brought milk...and hobnobs".
Angus stepped back and let his father enter the room. The walls were covered with posters, of cars, footballers, horses, bikes, cartoon characters....so much so, there was barely any space left for anything else.

"Yer mum said I should talk to you...son...do you know why?" "Nope"...said Angus..."do you?" "That's why I'm asking you lad....she told me to come see you...do you know why I'm here?"
Angus tilted his head and answered "because Mum told you too?".
It was clear they weren't getting anywhere with this, so Dad asked "How was school today?"

Angus was now in full time kindergarten at St. Martin's in The Fields Primary School in Glasgow. The school was old, dank, smelled of age and was one of the finest in all of Glasgow...for it's age. It was famous for having had two members of The Bay City Rollers as students, one for about three months and the other a little less. They never graduated from St. Martin's, but, it was something to hang their hat on.

"I got all my Christmas Cards taken away today Da." said Angus. "I was giving them out to everyone, and the teacher, Mr. McDonall came and took them away.".
"Why would he do that boy?"...."Where were you doing it?'
"I was outside before school started giving them out...." , Angus sniffed, "and he came over and grabbed them from me".
Dad, remembered Angus working away for the past two nights, printing everyone's name on the cards, as perfect as he could. It only took 43 cards to get the necessary 21 Angus needed for all of his young classmates.
"Why would he do that?"..."did he tell you why?". "No Dad" said Angus through the rapidly increasing flow of sniffles and snot that normally accompany a crying child.

"I didn't find out until I went to the office to see the Principal afterwards".
"You went to the office for handing out Christmas Cards?" . "That doesn't make any sense son, are you sure you weren't doing anything else?"
"I was just handing out cards Da, that's all", said Angus as he grabbed another hobnob, which he quickly stuffed under his pillow for later. He would get in trouble for that one, but, it would be worth it.

"The Principal said something about Christmas Cards that say Christmas on them, can't be given out at school anymore. They can only say Happy Holidays. If it doesn't say Christmas on it, how can it be a Christmas Card Dad?".

"I don't know boy"...."but I am **** sure gonna find out"....and "you'd better eat that hobnob under your pillow before Mum sees it"...smiled Dad.

The pair ventured downstairs for dinner, neither discussing what went on in the room where "No gurls were allowed". Dinner passed in silence, with Mum looking from one to the other to get some sort of reaction. Once, Angus started to talk, but it had nothing to do with what went on between Father and Son, so she continued eating. She would find out later after Angus went to bed.

After dinner, Angus went to the park with his friends for an hour to play football, and tag, and swing on the swings for a while. Mum, took this chance to corner Dad...and corner him she did...."What went on up there? What did you two talk about?" "He won't say anything to me...what did he do?"
"Nothing....he did nothing wrong at all, so as I see it....Angus didn't do anything wrong".
He kind of smiled at that, because normally after being told "Go talk to your son...", Angus had always done something wrong...this time...it was The Principal.

"Tomorrow, I'm staying home in the morning and taking himself to school....I'm going to see The Principal". "What for?...if he didn't do anything wrong, why are you going to see the Principal?".
"Well, what time of the year is it?".....asked Dad. "It's Christmas silly, you know that...why?"
"Well, apparently it isn't Christmas at St. Martin's in The Fields...at least not as far as himself's teacher and new Principal are concerned. It's now Holiday time....not Christmas Time, Holiday Time. Our wee Angus got in trouble for handing out Christmas cards at Christmas. Does that make any sense?"...said Dad.

The next morning at breakfast, Angus looked up and asked "Dad, shouldn't you be going to work? you'll miss your train.". "I'm taking you to school and going to see your Principal, son". "Why?" asked Angus. "Let's just say I'm going to give him a Christmas Card....have you seen my bible?".
"It's on the sideboard...but, why do you need that Da?"...asked the boy.
"Let's just say...to make a point.".

Mum smiled as the two men, both wee and tall, walked together hand in hand down the drive towards the school. Upon arrival, Angus went off with his friends, while Dad, went into the old, intimidating looking institution. He could smell the old wood soap and mustiness as he waled down the hall, past the class pictures and the old trophies that get hauled out and cleaned every year for games day, only to be put back again after the awards presentations.

Upon arriving at the office, he announced "I'm here to see The Principal.....where is he?".
A pair of beady, spectacled eyes looked up from behind the front desk...and in a thin, reedy, voice asked..."And who might you be, sir...to come in without an appointment?".
"Ah'm flippin' Father Christmas, that's who I am....I am Angus' Mc Dougalls dad, and I am here to see the ****** Principal. Now where is he?"
"Without and appointment.." she started, quickly stopping when Dad, walked past the desk to the door marked M. Dingwall, Principal on it.

"You can't go in there"...screeched the reedy voice..."not without an.." "I know..." said Dad..."not without an appointment.....well, I've got mine right here, and right now..." he said, waving his bible in needle noses face. He continued in to M. Dingwall, Principal's office....and sat down.

M. Dingwall, Principal...looked up from the papers on his desk, which incidentally had 5, yes...5 Christmas Cards on it, and asked Dad..."and who are you to come into my office..."...."without and appointment"...finished Dad. " As I told your chihuahua out front, all bark and no bite by the way, I am frigging Father Christmas, who I see on 3 of the 5 cards you have on your desk. That's who I am, Father Christmas !!!"

"Well, Mr. Christmas, what can we do for you? " asked a clearly shaken M. Dingwall, Principal. "I'll tell you what you can do for me....you can apologize to my son, for a start. My wee lad Angus, came here yesterday morning and was sent to see you for handing out Christmas Cards, at Christmas. What am I missing here?".

"I remember that....yes, he was disciplined and told no more Christmas Cards, it's against the policy of the school board...it's a religious holiday, and we are not allowed, with all of the various religious groups represented within our walls to favour one over another. So, no more Christmas Cards in this school. That is the policy.", said M. Dingwall, Principal.

"That's nice...then what are those 5 cards on your desk....the ones that happen to have Christmas on them and Father Christmas and a nativity scene, which if I know the book I am holding here, is a religious representation, and the reason we have Christmas in the first place. "...asked Dad.

"Those are private, they were given to me by staff" said M. Dingwall, Principal. "I don't care if they came from Jesus Christ himself " yelled Dad, crossing himself in the process, "They don't fit in with the policy you gave my son a reprimand for yesterday."  He looked about the office, and saw a small, four foot tall tree in the corner as well. "Is that a Christmas tree or a holiday tree sir?, which is it?"

M. Dingwall looked up and said, "It's a Christmas Tree, of course, haven't you ever seen a..." and he stopped. He looked at the tree, and the cards, The eyeglasses out front went back to whatever it was she was doing before Father Christmas arrived. "I see....". "You see what sir,?" asked Angus' dad, looking at the tree, and the cards and ignoring the eyeglasses with the reedy voice out front.

"I see your point....It's Christmas, not holdaymas, or xmas....it's Christmas, and I followed policy that I myself am not following myself. I will change that right now....imagine, it took a visit from Father Christmas to get me to see the light..." laughed M. Dingwall, Principal.

"My boy Angus, will be in class, expecting to be told that he can give out his cards to the rest of his friends as he was yesterday...am I understood M. Dingwall, Princinpal?" asked Dad.

"Yes sir, the mark will be stricken from the record and his cards will be returned....I appreciate you coming in to clear up this little misunderstanding...even if you didn't ..." "I know...have an appointment.". M Dingwall stood to shake Dad's hand as he left, and as Dad reached the door, he said "Merry Christmas". Dad thought a bit, smiled at what he had just accomplished and said to M. Dingwall, Principal...."and yes...It is A MERRY CHRISTMAS".

Glasgow
The music stopped abruptly dancers left the floor
became paintings on the wall in the closed down dance-hall
in Glasgow's Sauciehal street the old entertainment centre.
We drank plenty of beer before going there, and we were frisked
to see if we had not brought any alcohol into the premises.
To ask a young woman up to dance was painful
The answer was often no, to be refused hurt one’s self- esteem
but luckily there was only one or two who said yes,
the ugly ones were the best to ask they were not so critical.
Later in the evening a few open chip shops and hopefully with
a new girl -friend one then followed to the last bus a kiss and
a cuddle a few promise murmured it was all too boring for word.
Glasgow had many splendid pubs I liked to sit drink and smoke
in one of them, the one nearest the docks.  I remember at these
pubs some elderly women drank gin & lime they were called
donkey women and I never knew why.
The old dance halls have got a patina of romance where
Friendly ghosts soberly dance to the tune of a bygone time.

I
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,

Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.

Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.

Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,

Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.

Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.

In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.

II
Dawn freshens, Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends,
Towards the steam tugs yelping down a glade of cranes
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In dark glens, beside pale-green lochs
Men long for news.

III
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.

IV
Thousands are still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying monsters
Or of friendly tea beside the band in Cranston's or Crawford's:

Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

-The wasp cared for the stranger

And the stranger for the ‘bee’

The stranger brought her marigolds

And the wasp brings her honey

The stranger sought for another life

But the wasp she could never keep

Never did they realize

The wasp was not a bee-



Three Dimensions of an Unwanted Soul

     Three Stages of Existential Dread



Perpetual-Purgatory Dread

Omnipresent-Inferno Dread

Transient-Paradiso Dread



Purgatory:



The Glasgow Subway of The Five-Dimensional Man



The Perpetual Existential Dread:



When you are lost in love
Your soul ages quicker than you grow old
Don't you see those living bodies with
Dead Souls
Trying to reap what was never sown



For the five dimensional man
Time is like the Glasgow Subway
He'll be aging forwards and backwards
To get to Hillhead you can't skip Buchanan Street
To get to the good times you can't skip the sad ones
And there's always going to be more bitter than sweet
But there's no end for the five dimensional man
There's no end to the Glasgow subway


He bought a typewriter down Byres Road
Learned to write South of Houston, Prince Street

The love was foreshadowed in Pandrossou Market
And he bargained and lost it on Main Street


The traveler travels through all of time and space
When you live infinitely, you'll remember every name
But when between dreaming and losing is your place
Even the immortal would lose his faith
He would give up the universe for one true love's grace
But perhaps it's easier to fall into the six dimensional ways
If infinite number of him existed in an instant with every trace
No happiness, no sorrow, no loss, no heart breaks
He'll gladly welcome the end of his days


There is a space time gateway 3000 light years away
For the end of solitude he'll endure this 30 lifetime race
He just wants to feel the comfort of a senseless place
And to fill his aching heart with empty loveless space
When nothing's ever gone, despair will vanish without a trace
Could this be the fate of the hapless five dimensional fool
Eternally without love, and another soul to his name





Inferno:



The Glass Elevator of The Six-Dimensional World



The Omnipresent Existential Dread:



They exist endlessly, they exist infinitely

I can see every trace of love

Wherever I want to be

Yet

This must be the undiscovered country

Where all travelers will return

The wasp found the stranger

Though neither of them ever left

This is the place of everything

Except, longing, heartbreak and dread



The Five-Dimensional Man has arrived

And in the happiest moments he’ll land

Here is the universe where nothing will ever end

Nothing ever passes

Nothing ever comes

All of existence in a single jump of the second hand



He looked through the looking glass

And shattered into a million six dimensional man

Each consciousness in one perpetual moment

Where he'll never experience anything else

Happiness or otherwise except

The Omnipresent existential dread of the

Six Dimensional Land




At the Gate of Paradise/Paradiso



The Walk of Life of A Fourth Dimensional Man



The Momentary/Fleeting Dread:



A piece of the trillion trillion six dimensional man

Floated near the wormhole from whence he came

When he crossed from the Five Dimensional Land

Though the new place in which he arrived had a beginning and an end



Since he is only a fragment, he fits in well with the rest of the men

Here, it is our own familiar landscape

My fourth dimensional friends

Where our protagonist finally found paradise

Or the nearest world before the sweet hereafter fence

He was born, he loved and lost, dreamt with regret

And finally passed on through the light

Leaving behind only ashes, dust and sand

Who knew all he craved was never infinite eternity on his Earth

But merely the end

Of his endless dread under the stars

Ever before the Promised Land

And my dad wanted us to hurry.
He worked the night shift.
Sweat on his forehead evidenced his
displeasure with rising sun.
35 mm in his hands. Steel-toed boots on pavers.
My mother stuffed another box of Kleenex in my
backpack. Gritted the metal teeth. Ready?

Ready. Her hands on my shoulders.

Take another one. Josh wasn't smiling.
Dad winded the film.

I don't want to smile.

My mother stuck her fingers into my mouth
pulling opposite and up.
And her fingers tasted like
the musty pages in the books without pictures.

I caught the sleeper from Euston to Glasgow
sped north at 12 midnight

a strange looking woman entered my carriage
and demanded I sing one of my love songs

I cannot sing, I said, for my heart was broken
and all my love songs fled

fall in love with a stranger she smiled
and sat down next to me all the way to Glasgow.

time; can you hold slowly for me,
i find that i can't unravel myself
these days.


all i can think of is my old home by the river,
on the stone-lined hill
by the church


(i've spent three years here with you,
from that first breath and then dive right in to you.
but i was not ready, and it never felt the same)

and i only crave a time when i savoured everything.
a slow time
alone
in my old apartment.
with her wood floors
and high ceilings
and a window that opened like a guillotine
onto the balcony
with my white cast iron furniture
where the rain would collect
and the sun would hit me in the morning,
and i'd wake to it.
and september would be my favourite month,
because of the leaves, not because of your birthday.
and coffee would be my ritual
and i didn't have tv
and i had my records
and places for things
and my plants would sit by my window
and i'd draw there
and sing
and cook
i wouldn't order food, i'd walk to the grocers
i'd work out in my living room
watch movies on my terribly old tv, on a dvd player
i'd watch tv shows on repeat
and i loved it


and i was alone.
and i loved it.

On this side of the bridge,
Between time and eternity,
A foothill to the Necropolis,
Rises the cathedral.
The remains of St. Kentigern
Maintain it, the founding Father.
The spire tops the cruciform
Pointing the way to Glorify.
Within, walls are embedded
With plagues, standards and swords,
Praising foreign campaigns
And distant expeditions
Of long lost brave hearts.
Pilgrims stand silently;
Tourists nod quietly,
Pointing at remarkable achievements
Of Empire, and the young,
Beatified on distant lands.
The fading banners protest:
For this I gave my all, my best.
The stones are cold,
The windows stained:
In the crypt, St. Mungo lies,
The foundation of all
That died.

WHEN Grace Gray uncovered her wedding dress from the back of the wardrobe, she knew exactly what to do with her something old – turn it into something new.

The doting gran gifted her much-loved satin gown to her daughter Michelle, so she could have it made into a christening robe for her baby Pippa.

And the beautiful wee girl was all smiles on her special day in her hand-me-down, upcycled gown.

Michelle, 32, said: “I always loved my mum’s wedding dress and never imagined it would become my daughter’s christening dress, but I’m so glad it did.

“For Pippa to be christened in such a special family dress made the day all the more amazing.”

Grace, 54, wore the pearl-encrusted ivory dress when she married husband William, 73, in Clydebank 18 years ago.

Michelle helped her mum to pick the dress and was a bridesmaid at the wedding.

She said: “I was quite young when my mum married my stepdad and I remember going shopping with her when she picked the dress.

“It had lots of pearls and diamantes and I just loved all the sparkle. She looked so beautiful.”

After her wedding, Grace packed away her dress in a box and kept it at the back of her wardrobe.

Michelle, who is looking forward to her own wedding to partner Frazer Ward, 29, next year, said: “It has been there ever since but she came across it when she was clearing out.

“It was her idea to have it turned into a christening dress for Pippa.”

The family took the dress to Fabricated Bridal Alterations in Glasgow, where the seamstresses made not only the christening dress but a head band for Pippa and a matching hair clip for her sister Tilly, four.

Michelle, who also lives in Clydebank, added: “I did feel a little bit anxious at the thought of mum’s

dress being cut up but the end result was so beautiful.

“Mum had a tear in her eye when she saw it.”

Grace said: “I can’t think of any better use of my wedding dress than seeing it given to my

granddaughter for her christening.

“I felt really honoured to share in her big day in such a special way. I was overwhelmed by how beautiful she looked.”

Andrina Greig, of Fabricated Bridal Alterations, said there was a rising trend for women to put their wedding dresses to good use.

She added: “We’ve had more and more women getting their wedding dresses made into a christening gown for their children – but this is the first time we have had a grandmother’s dress brought in to be made into a christening gown.

“Michelle’s mum’s dress was perfect for the transformation.

“It was in great condition and the beading, bow and button details were ideal for scaling down and keeping as a feature on the christening dress. We were thrilled with how beautiful Pippa’s gown looked.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

~
Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence.

Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin.

While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see?

In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas.

So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.
~

I am a -9 Glasgow Scale,
even in life,
I should be intubated,
someone should breathe for me
....
Someone should
live for me
...
This life is not mine
anymore
...
It is just breathing
and waking up
and breathing
and waking up
... and breathing
... and waking up

One
      T w o
               T H r e e
                           F O U r
                                  F I V E
times in one day
...
Let someone else live this life!
Let someone else die this daily death!
...
I cannot do this anymore
I need other means to breathe

Without
your smiling face my love
So rare now to find in this place
Without
your Glasgow banter
What remains is left speechless and misplaced;
I am a ship adrift without its anchor

Within
deep blue ocean eyes
that look straight into me
In ways and wonders and for why
Without
I can not take back what was said
nor’ parting waves and late goodbyes
now lost to the turbulence
of new experience under foreign skies

Within
I almost hear your warm whispers still
Without
it creeps in my ears to replace wax with made-up doubts
Play round-a-bouts upon my brain
But listen intently anyway:
In case she might whisper it again

Within
a tender touch that knows my gentle being
The passions unwrapped as such
By fingertips
And a stolen kiss upon my lips
And all that I remember seeing

Without
I am the frosted breath of a Scottish chill
With
a voiceless shout
No exit out

I await
that which is meant for me
Within
Without
or cast
adrift at sea

For Katharine R. Cole

If gormless is as gormless does unite
That past of him and present me, I’ll turn
His other cheek against his waning sight;
I’ll **** his Hamlet soul to cringe and burn.

But dripping cannot thick or think in depth.
Blobs like blackened bulbous beads of eyes
Persist on shrinking into transits swept,
And down through dullard pools of choking fire.
Yet treacle binds my bole wood vocal chords
In rapture from such silence to withdraw
From sand that quickens, thickens, and distorts.
Can earth and water’s union mask my flaws?
The answer dares to dream but I refrain.
My name is Mud. Dear God, that is my name.

The foot: an endlessly dull point
Breathing technique, perfected by Roman Bill,
And a tall, sinewy, fine china ***** heel,
Cheap to most and worthless when submerged, submerges.
The tough Elephant hide surface
Of a swamp-like state and state.

Q. How does one become embroiled in such a located province of mind?
A. Alcohol’s venomous beauty and cheap living costs.
     The South.
    
An Elephant on a scooter stares blindly
At its own reflection circling the limb,
Shrugging dew drop eyes at what man had forgotten.
Not once, but twice.
    
The foot becomes a divulging calf of information
Sputtering in this bubbling torment of beige,
And pulsating around like an African tunnel
Waiting to be filled – fulfilled – ******.

    
The knee complies,
                      Sinking,
                                 Slowly,
                                          Not painlessly,
                                                             Not quick.

     The mercy of a lethal injection’s lie becomes
Absurd when one’s limb is the needle;
One’s brain the plunger of acceptance.
His gasp, a roar of silent fruit ripening in a
Mode too fast, cutting life and laundering
Expectancy whilst hanged from a
Whined whimper of Penance.
Purgatory’s whistle blows for time.  

II

A small red car clenched tightly
In the hands of a tightly tiny black boy,
His eyes huge and deep, but white; untouched by
Time’s clock or the weight of granite black that
He leans upon. Plastic tires screech horizontally along the
Structure of a Library’s historic insight.
Below, the ground is dry.
Beneath him, the ground is solid.
    
        Meanwhile, molten muck pulsates around
Our swirling antipathy of soul crushing
Nullness, with a lack of guilt unimaginable.
It bubbles, it bubbles: it toils in boiling rubbles
Of the past’s present and All I Could Have Been.
And I have never, could never
Sink lower in reality;
Blow harder against punishment’s wind;
Cry for this other as a **** filled wound weeps down her face.
    
The swirl of liquefied dirt and sand bags me,
Drags me, as if some *** lover of Hades is not done
With what is left of me. Disease to spread: just a little, just
A little more, like the detrimental bottle that
Knew me.
    

      As the hip is engulfed, an angle of almost perfect
Ninety creates  itself against the horizontal extremity
And puny ballsacksquash entails. Useless yet overused;
Timeless yet impressionable, pensionable. Gone.
Nothing knows me but this thickness’ quickness.
          That wants too much
From nothing               but existence
And the scab that fastens with time.

III

Turn the bottle back and find strength to
Outpour the clock and grant eternity.
Non compliant strength paid a fiver
For a soul worth two at the most.
A penny for the worthless: For the sickened lame.
Empty time feeds rays of golden from the sun fuelled
Encrusted *******, mudfast on heat.
This somehow seems like action.
Firm firmness but cracked with ease and
Non-returnable once inflated;
Non-negotiable on the bloodorgans of salt.
Weakness and powerlessness: *****.
*** for tat, for ***, ***, ***. For tat.
    
     The Elephant rises.
You brought this upon yourself, this rain of mud;
This treacle that will dry when you are dirt.
You would not let it ******* lie.
All of your ******* life: this strife, that wife.
     Your second leg (the grasper) tries,
     At length, to shield your heart:
     The only thing that cries.
     That does not want to die.
     Cartoonish bubbles of brown pop to the tune
     Of Loonies; of your shoebox brain that screams in vain.
What is your name? What is your want?
There is no blame you ******* maniac.
Everyone knows. Sink awake. Sink.
     Rest: do not sleep. Freezetimeframe.
     There is one more timeless point to make.


The sun and moon meet brief: the seconds count,
But die shy of one minute. Clear the road.
‘Tis dusk, I fear they named it. Raise the mount
And sacrifice another drowned sot load.
The moment thence: Anonymous descent.
The digger meets the dead in buried time.
The wish is washed in mud, the liver spent.
The blood-stained hands of Glasgow dodge the crime.
Make speed my sick sad Miller, grind the grain
Of Galloway, Gibb, Neave, Dunlop and Cole.
Your ghost will haunt your tag if not your brain.
Your heart should part this city river’s soul.
The sunjoke frozen, captured, stumped, and framed.
My name is Mud. Dear God, that is my name.

1:   Ah’m the Boss Man.  Me.

2:   Dinna ****** swear.

3:   Go tae Church.  OR ELSE.

4:   Mind yer lip wi the Auld Dear.

5:   Nae ******!

6:   Keep yer hauns tae yersel.

7:   Whit isna yairs, isna yairs. Dinna forget.

8:   Dinna fit nae ****** up fir whit they didna dae.

9:   Keep yir ehs aff her nixt door…

10:   …an yir ehs aff thir gear, as well.



Mind now!

New York, Tel Aviv, Moscow, London, Netanya,
Bali, Istanbul, Riyadh, Beslan, Nisanit, Dublin
Londonderry, Glasgow, Manchester,
Spin Boldak (district), Kuta
Kano, Baghdad, Kandahar
Mumbai, Karballa, Boston

All for God, the almighty
God, the inhumanity in his name
God, the creator

I am weeping for the latest terror victims
141 injured in Boston
3 dead in Boston

Jesus Saves...tell that to the dead

When will it end?

I have nothing....just tears, and an emptiness
Confusion

I leave you all with your prayers, for all of those lost
Over time, to terrorist attacks listed and not listed
I pray for the lost, the living and the future

I remain confident in mankind....

Pianificare un matrimonio Texas tutto il tragitto dall'Inghilterra non è esattamente quello che chiamerei un compito facile .ma per questa splendida sposa e lo sposo è stato uno che è venuto insieme senza soluzione di continuità .Sto parlando di una squadra impressionante di fornitori .amici favolosi + parenti e romantico giorno di tempo piovoso tutti insieme per creare una relazione seria sognante .Vedi tutto catturato da Geoff Duncan proprio qui .

ColorsSeasonsFallSettingsInnOutdoorStylesCasual Elegance

Da Sposa.Dopo Jon ed io siamo fidanzati nel gennaio 2013 .ci fu inizialmente un sacco di avanti e indietro sopra dove il matrimonio reale avrebbe avuto luogo .Jon è vestiti da sposa dalla costa meridionale dell'Inghilterra .e miè èdal Texas .e anche se la gente continuava a dirci che era il nostro matrimonio.quindi dovremmo avere nel posto che ci rende felici .ci stavaè èvuole che sia davverodifficile per tutti della nostra famiglia e gli amici per farlo .Alla fine abbiamo deciso che aveva più senso avere in Texas.come ** TALE una grande famigliaèe al momento abbiamo pensato che sarebbe sicuramente ottenere un tempo migliore ( sì proprio! ) Ed essere in grado di avere il matrimonio all'aperto.Inoltre .un paio di Jon ' amici inglesi ci ha detto cheñ è èEtter nonèce l'ha nel Regno Unitoè èvolevanoè eo da qualche parte esotica .come il Texas !è è/ em >

Jon e io sapevamo che didnè èvogliono avere il matrimonio in una grande cittàècosì Dallas .dove hoè èoriginario .è stato escluso abbastanza rapidamente .La nostra posizione di nozze e il tema di ispirazione in realtà provenivano da uno dei matrimoni Jon ' groomsmen "che abbiamo partecipato insieme il primo fine settimana mi sono trasferito nel Regno Unito all'inizio del 2011 . Loro matrimonio era nelle Highlands scozzesièpiù disabitata .selvaggia .zona remota voipoteva immaginare .Abbiamo volato da Glasgow .affittato una macchina e guidato altre 3 ore a nord nel bel mezzo del nulla .La maggior parte delle persone che frequentano il matrimonio alloggiavano nello stesso albergo ( o nelle vicinanze ).per tutto il weekend ed è stato questo ( probabilmente centinaia di anni) edificio in pietra si affaccia su un bellissimo lago .La vecchia chiesa caratteristico era solo la strada - e stranamenteèversò prima.durante e dopo tutta la loro cerimoniaèsuona familiare .E 'stato davvero romantico anche se durante la cerimonia .perché eravamo tutti rannicchiati in questa calda chiesetta con il vento e la pioggia che urla fuori .Abbiamo apprezzato molto l'idea di fare una cosa simile dove tutti alloggiava nella stessa zona ed era in campagna - e tutti abbiamo potuto trascorrere il weekend insieme .Abbiamo pensato cheè ñal sicuro dalla pioggia in Texas estate.anche seèci stavaè èaspettano Scozia meteo !

organizzare il matrimonio in Texas da Londra non ha dimostrato di essere un compito facile .In un primo momento ** pensato che ero in cima delle coseènon eroè èlavoro e sono stato in grado di ottenere la maggior parte dei miei grandi fornitori prenotati.Ma poi ** trovato un nuovo lavoro nel mese di luglio e che ' quando le cose sono diventate davvero difficile .** sottovalutato quanti piccoli dettagli ci sarebbeèma fortunatamente per meèmia mamma e papà davvero tirato insieme e aiutatoèmolto .** trovato un sacco di mie idee per i più piccoli dettagli su Pinterest ( come si fa ) e ** trovato il materiale che avevo bisogno di fare loro su Etsy .Vorrei ordinare tutto il necessario per una delle mie idee e quindi provare a lavorare con mia mamma per vedere come si potrebbe ottenere fatto .I vasi di muratore sono un esempioèho ordinato 100 vasi di muratore .etichette.cannucce .ecc e li aveva spediti alla mamma .Poi ** avuto la vestiti da sposa mamma di passare le etichette per invitare la mia ragazza (che è INCREDIBILE tra l'altro) e aveva tutti i nomi stampati sulle etichette e ha dato di nuovo a mamma che li bloccato sui vasi .E così la maggior parte dei piccoli dettagli sono stati fatti in questo modo!I donè èche avrei potuto fare tutto senza tutto l'aiuto straordinario che avevoèmamma.papà .il abiti da sposa on line mio coordinatore e altri fornitori sorprendenti.

Jon e ** volato in Dallas la settimana prima del matrimonio per aiutare a finire alcune cose prima del giorno e per abituarsi al cambiamento di tempo orribile.Il weekend di matrimonio iniziato nel Austin sul ​​Giovedi prima perché il Inn Above Onion Creek richiesto l' intero hotel è stato affittato per tutti e tre notti .È finito per lavorare fuori fantastico e mi ha dato una notte in più da trascorrere con tutta la mia famiglia e gli amici Jon ' in un unico luogo .L'intero weekend è stato davvero speciale (ovviamente la notte del matrimonio reale era il migliore !) .Ma è stato incredibile .non solo avendo tutti i nostri cari in un posto.ma guardando quanto bene tutti andavano d'accordo e quanto divertimento tutti sembravano essereavere .

Tutta la settimana che porta al matrimonio .Jon e mi era stato nervosamente controllo le previsioni ogni cinque minuti .Purtroppo .una previsione di pioggia sarebbe semplicemente non andare via per il giorno del matrimonio reale .ma è tenuto saltando dal 20 % al 50 % e di nuovo al 20 % - la tortura totale.TUTTI continuava a direè ñhhh donè èpreoccuparti !Non ' sicuramente pioverà .Essa non fa maièprobabilmente sarà cielo sereno !èquindi non era davvero stressante a tutti quando tre ore prima della cerimonia .la pioggia peggiore cheè èe visto in anni laminati in ( ben che potrebbe in parte essere perché drizzles solo a Londra).ma letteralmente il cielo stava cadendo .Probabilmente ero un piacere essere intorno in quel periodo .Per fortuna



.come ** detto primaèavevo fornitori incredibili che erano in grado di tenere tutto insieme ( mentre io ero un disastro ) e tutto si è rivelato splendidamente .La pioggia cessò per la cerimonia (per fortuna ).e il cielo si schiarì che ha fornito anche un bellissimo sfondo per tutte le foto di gruppo .Tutto sembrava essere scorre senza intoppi e ci siamo divertiti così tanto a parlare con tutti e ballare verso la fine della notte .
couldnè èpotuto essere più felice di come è andato tuttoèera letteralmente tutto ciò che avremmo potuto sperare.Ci siamo sentiti solo come se fosse volato da troppo veloce!Fotografia

: Geoff Duncan | Cinematografia : Jerry Malcolm 2nd Generation Films | Cake: The Cupcake Bar | Cancelleria : Love And Wit Paper Co. | Hair \u0026 Makeup : Erica Gray | DJ : DJ Floyd Banche | Ufficiante : Sarah Reed | Alcol: Specifiche | Cerimonia \u0026 Reception Venue : Inn Above Onion Creek | Coordinamento : stile e la grazia Eventi | barman : Bar Divas | Rehearsal Dinner Luogo : Iron Cactus 6th Street | vacanze : Illusions AffittiThe Cupcake Bar è un membro del nostro Little Black Book .Scopri come i membri sono scelti visitando la nostra pagina delle FAQ .The Cupcake Bar VIEW
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A thousand angry fingers are fighting.
"I’m right! Im right! There’s wrong in your writing.”
There’s a war of opinion, it's a slaughter of facts,  
as fearful dominions blame who they can for the acts
of hate that they scrape across our tired eyes;
and as we try and decipher truth from the lies.
So soon people point, push, drag and despise
anyone they believe to be the devil in disguise.  
“ Hang them, hit them, beat them down.
Don’t let another one of ‘those' in my good town”.  

I tried to tie my own tongue and keep quiet.
But my fingers felt need to fight in this riot.
Though I am not seeking a thumb from anyone,
I was beginning to fear I was a disloyal son;
for our mother is weeping for every child.
Whether radical, righteous, anxious or mild.  
She’s worried this war, like a fire in the wild,
won’t stop until all is consumed but the ash that is piled.
“ Stop this! Stop this! My dear children!
  Life is so much more than the motives of men"

And I watch this war from a cafe in Glasgow;
outside enjoying coffee, crisps and tobacco.
The smoke swirls my head into a strange sense of comfort,
as before my eyes I watch my own world distort.  
Where political posts attempt to equal social justice.
Where blood, bodies and bombings add to our numbness.
Where others opinions slowly shape and become us.
Where poets lack rhyme, guidance or substance.
Where In friends we see foes, and in fellow citizens: dangers.
Where we speak with our fingers, and to ourselves become strangers.

Can artist's be beautiful, Frida Kahlo?
Can we be glorified not for our duty
as angelos, but for our
physicality?
Our fierce thighs
and not our mood swings, Lou Reed?
Painted canvas', strumming guitar strings
Prettified under the neon fixtures
We are more like the trench-coat souls
slipping away with tobacco pipes into
the night,
not golden, but starry-eyed off of laudanum potions
Is that simplistic Jack Kerouac?
To be dignified in wine stained ramblings
too large for one to comprehend alone
In snapshots or albums of Led Zeppelin

Did we curse the false idols while lacking sincerity?

Because we are only human beings and can't reach that state
No Buddha's have I gazed the face of in
hostels or busy streets,
neither in dens or marble coves
Saturated in meaning but an image
that dies in the dark
Is it ugly to find the fountain of immortality?
To have lived as a martyr
No one celebrated Van Gogh or
understood mania
It's in our nature to breathe meaning
into something spectral
some nothing you cant kiss on the mouth

Jim McDonnagh pulled his 2011 Ford Escape into his driveway, glancing over at his six year old son, who was sitting at the end of the drive. Angus McDonnagh, all of six years old, and ginger haired was waving at his dad, from a kitchen chair, set behind a card table. On the table was a sign and a box. Of course, from the angle Jim was at in the car, he couldn't see what was on the white board hanging in front of the table. Angus waved again, and turned back to the road.

Jim, entered the large four bedroom bungalow from the side door, looking back at Angus one more time. Angus, was sitting, watching the cars drift by on the road in front. Carol McDonnagh, Jim's wife of nine years was at the front window watching out over Angus and his table. Jim came up behind her, and asked "What's himself doing out there at the table then?"

"I think you'd best go ask him yourself" said Carol. She had a slight smile on her face.
"No, what's up with him then....why the lemonade stand at the end of the driveway?".
"It's not a lemonade stand...did you see any lemonade out there?"
"Come to think of it, no I didn't...just wee Angus, and a box"..."What's in the box?"
"Go and talk to your son"..."He'll let you know...and oh, we've a long distance call to Belgium going to be on the next bill".
"OK....I'll....who do we know in Belgium?"
"Questions, questions...go and talk to your son"

Jim, went out the front door of the house, past Angus's bike in the walkway, where he always left it, and where Jim always told him not to leave it. Angus turned to see who was coming and then turned back to the road.

"Hey son, what's up?" said Jim. "Your mum said I should ask you what you're doing out here".
"Nothing Dad, just practicing...that's all", and he turned back to the road.
"Just practicing..cool, ok I asked"....and Jim started away, turned on his heel and asked "Do you mind if I ask ...for what are ye practicing my lad?.
"To be famous Dad, to be famous" said the ginger headed mite.
"Oh, ok then....hold it....To be famous?"..."By sitting at the end of our driveway in the middle of Glasgow, you're going to be famous?".
"Not now Dad, I'm practicing....but one day".
"Oh alright, dinner's in half hour, see you then"...."Hold it....how is sitting at the end of our driveway, at a card table with a box....practicing to be famous?".
"Easy Da...I'm selling autographs".
"Autographs?" asked Jim.
"Yep" said Angus.
"And whose fine autographs are you selling my son, my son....you can't write your name yet....you can barely scrape by on the printing side of things too".
"Their mine Da...mum did them on some kitchen cards for me. Their only one pound each. All famous people have autographs". Jim walked around to the front of the table, and looked at the box and the sign. Sure enough, one box full of about twenty white three by five recipe cards with Angus McDonnagh written on them, nice and sweet as could be. On the sign, "OTTO GRAFS" ONE QUID EECH!!!!

Jim pondered his son's new and sudden career choice and asked "Angus...why do ye want to be famous?".
"Because it's cool Dad. Everyone likes famous people". "I see..." said Jim. "Just a thought though son, don't you have to do something to become famous, to have people like you?".
"That's why this is just practice" said Angus.
Now, how do you argue with that logic?

Up at the house Carol was looking out at her two men, one ready to be famous and the other confused as to why.

"Dad, you like them footballers on telly, right?". "Yes son, I do....they're good at what they do".
"And when you see them girls in the paper, without their shirts.....Cor' I'll have a bit of that...isn't that good. That means you like them too, right?".
"Yes son, but...that's a different sort of thing".
"How?...they're famous and people know them...are they good at what they do?" asked Angus.

Flustered, Jim answered "yes they are son, yes they are". "What exactly do they do Dad?".
"I'll tell you when you're ten son...wait until you're ten".
"I'm gonna be famous like that footballer who's always in the news dad"....
Jim thought about it...not sure who his wee boy was talking about.....and then it hit him.
"You know dad, the one they always show on the news and the sports with that lady".
"Son, that's John Terry, Englands Captain", said Jim.
"He's the one, played for Chelsea too".
"That's not what he's on telly for lately son, that's not the type of famous you want". "Why not?"
"He's famous for doing something bad, that's not what you want...is it?".
"So, I don't want to be like him, and I'm not ready to know about taking my shirt off...what can I be famous for Dad....I'm ready..I've got autographs done in the box".
"I know son, you'll find out"....and hopefully soon thought Jim.
"You can be like that Justin Barber lad from Canada....go on the internet and do stuff there, you can get famous from that son".
"It's Bieber and nope, nope and nope" said Angus.
"He has tattoos, likes girls and worst of all...he looks geeky".
Jim laughed at the last bit. "But, he's famous...isn't that what you want?"

"Supper!!!" Yelled Carol from the window.

"It is, but not if I have to do that...I never thought being famous would be so tough".
Jim thought, exactly why I avoided it son. He grabbed the box, and folded up the table, Angus was dragging the chair behind him...he dropped it by the bike and went in.
Jim looked at it, dropped the table...took out a pound coin, dropped it in the box and went in for dinner.

"Maybe I'll be a fireman instead " said Angus as they went inside. "People like them too...and it doesn't seem as hard as being famous"...."Yep, a fireman".

Jim smiled, tousled his son's raggedy head and went to the table.

"Now would someone tell me about this phone call to Belgium?....

she said
"when you talk, none of it registers"
then, anemone and vetiver
the scent as my center stirred

so, my head spins while she sleeps
and my mouth moves, but it's not me
the last time I'd tried to leave –

all the fear I'd felt
the hand that I'd been dealt

when next summer sheds the coming snow
will I then shed mine alone?

is it too much to ask
to know how much to ask for?
sewn into red string and corkboard

I only speak what I've heard before

existence seems dissonant
simple cause and effect
what else does heart implement
than its own discontent?
only wavers at others diffidence

some small part is legitimate
separate, insignificant

lends no ear to listen

sour milk
I spill and swim in
summer aestus
as kind as they've been
smiles, sharp
glasgow
sin

don't touch me

I am terrified I am different

From the East Coast of Ireland to the Lowlands of Scotland,
a well-trodden path,
Grandma going to Whiteinch Baths,
to do the family laundry,
And to take my Auntie for a swim,
the black and white photos look a bit grim.

She mispronounces certain words.
When you put your dinner in between some bread,
she'd look at you, dead, and say,
"If yis waanted sangwhiches, I'd have made yis sangwhiches!"

And, "you're very pass-remarkable,"
I think it means you're quick to comment on others,
my Mother's also from Glasgow,
and doesn't know why Grandma speaks like that,
so this isn't just me being a Sassenach,
or a daft English ****.

25th of January is Burns Night,
serve the neeps, tatties, a glass of fizz,
and of course, some Haggis.
Some say offal's awful,
but I just can't get enough of the stuff.

A firm favourite of our clan is a creamy dessert named Cranachan.
Topped with berries and a splash of whiskey,
you can guarantee a thumbs up from me.

The ancient family tartan is red and blue,
then there's the family crest too,
a knight with a shield under a tree,
I think it represents gallantry.

I sometimes wish I had a proper Scottish name,
like Hamilton, Douglas, or McCain,
don't suppose it matters,
at least I can understand the patter,
(that means joke or language.)

A saying about saving your coins,
"Mony a mickle macks a muckle,"
always makes me chuckle.

"Does it, aye?"
is a very dry reply,
used to take the **** and can be easy to miss.

When my Mum was younger, the family liked to roam,
but when she visits Glasgow,
she says it feels like home,
her voice even changes when she's on the phone.

Sounds English most of the day,
then my Auntie calls, and she's on her way,
"Haud ye weesht!" when she picks up the phone,
that means be quiet,
but you wouldn't have known,
that isn't her normal speaking tone.

Scottish family,
some are distant to me,
but through my parentage,
it's nice to have the heritage.

A Scots fashion student has been snapped up by design house Calvin Klein after impressing them with his stylish menswear collection.

The Glasgow School of Art already counts leading fashion designers Louise Gray, Pam Hogg and Jonathan Saunders amongst its celebrated former-students.

Now final year fashion design student Jonathan Douglas, 24, from Ballater, has been added to this illustrious list after being plucked by the US clothing company following an interview with them in January.

Jonathan who showcased his designs alongside ten other students from his course said: “I was told by email that after I graduate I will relocate to Amsterdam to work for Tommy Hilfiger Calvin Klein as part of their first ever European graduate creative programme. I was really excited but I’ve just tried to remain calm and continue to work on things for the show today.”

Jonathan can’t wait to live in Amsterdam to spend ten months with each label, then look at the business side of things.

He said: “My aim was to work for a global brand that had a truly global reach because as a designer it will push me to learn about fashion as a global industry. Tommy Hilfiger and Calvin Klein have always been labels with a true heritage that I’ve admired and they always try to innovate as well.”

He added: “The beauty about fashion is that you can travel, there are no boundaries and there are different people with different cultures - and fashion translates across that.”

Jonathan, who has a business degree, and has interned for Victoria Beckham, Carolina Herrera and Lacoste, was also awarded a schools and colleges British Fashion Council and Top Man award earlier this year.

He said of his fashion: “It’s quite creative but still staying within menswear silhouettes.

“It’s a contemporary menswear collection, forward thinking with clean line silhouettes contrasting with crazy textures. I’ve used foiling, hand painting with silicon paint and collaborated with print design too. It’s quite monochromatic. I think we are encouraged here to push the boundaries of our designs and think outside the box a bit because we don’t want to create something that has been produced before.”

Amongst his more adventurous pieces, Jonathan has designed a see through lightweight top with silicon painted shorts.

But despite his new job with a major label Jonathan isn’t planning to get his designs places on the latest celebrities.

He explained: “I’m not a big celeb fan. It’s a great way to promote fashion but it’s not my main focus.”Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/red-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses