Post It Notes and Trash Bins

I used to be able to look a woman in the eyes,

Listen and hear,

Download facts so that...

Come Valentine's Day,

I could buy her that rare album of

- B Sides and Rarities

So that she'd wrap her arms around me..

And ask me how I remembered.

Only, I never had the heart to tell her

I never actually remember anything.

I Just Wrote Things Down

on a

Notepad

in my Head.

I gave my most prized possession to a young girl named Grace.

My connection became her connection if only for a short time

So that, if she feels lost she can find us.

So that, if she thinks too much she can ease her mind.

I can't remember her favourite colour,

Her first concert, most-loved food or movies in her collection.

(Though I'm sure I could remember if I dug deep.)

I can remember her smile and laugh,

Her eyes and hair. The way she danced free of fear.

So something has changed.

A profound interest.

Gil, Just Wait and See.

Gil.

You're a King.

You just don't know it yet.

Fifth Floor Jesus Freak - Hotel Dieu

He was maudlin,

mindless fiction.

Bookends to the Bible

on his grandmother's shelf.

Matty's Back

Thirty-three years ago today I was probably trembling and I imagine the nurses on the maternity ward were hovering over me wondering what was wrong with this so new to the world, wrinkled baby boy. Little did they know that it wasn't some post-birth condition they'd never seen or heard of...it was fear. I know this as fact because when your very first memories are fear and anxiety it all had to have a starting point.

It took thirty-two years for me to understand that fear. Thirty-two years and five months to conquer it. I am 33 today. I am fearless and pain free for the first September 6th in my life. I have Someone else handling the fear. I gave the pain to an old man named Jack and he told me not to go looking in dumpsters for that garbage...it was gone and it was time to let it be.

I had always thought that I'd be a married man by now. But that can't happen when you're wandering through life like it's a parking lot always on the lookout for a better spot.

I thought I would be the father of two. But that can't happen when you're too selfish to share your life with the ones you love and too self-centred and irresponsible to worry about other people. After all, Jack says FIX YOU. Then you can think about love and life.

In my dreams we are on vacation at a cottage. My youngest is sitting on my knee sipping lemonade and watching a hummingbird zip by fast and furious while my oldest is down by the lake with his adoring and beautiful mother. She's still carrying some of the weight she put on during our last pregnancy but that's okay...I love her more than life itself and I've loved her since the moment I saw her. My father and I talk about anything but business and I always remind him that I love him before we pack the kids in the car and head back to the city. People need to know they are loved (especially the ones who don't want to be.)

These things will come true. I have faith in that.

I had plans. A dead man named Matthew got in the way. I am 33 today. And I can't wait to see the story at 34.

Do You Have the Time?

It was a matter of timing,

Or so she said.

I think timing is a matter better left to the Swiss.

Checkout

The Plainview Drug and Rehabilitation Center was built in the 1920's on a tract of land outside Thamesville, Ontario as a home for the mentally insane. It was funded by church bingos, bake sales, flea markets and an annual fishing derby with most of the money coming from the church itself. I'm almost sure that, in some dingy basement where men smoked pipes, they actually believed that all of their efforts were for the greater good of the community. The truth was they were funding a place to hide their shame; a place where a drooling, blabbering basketcase could be hidden and contained.

I used to wander the halls at night. I never slept. I'd hear crying and screaming and it was never clear if it was one or the other. Guests would wander the halls with me. Sometimes we made eye contact. Most times we didn't acknowledge each other at all because at night the pain became most acute. I'd be alone because Jack had gone home for the night. And I'd remember.

There was the girl who said she loved me and I believe she did. But I knew when she unzipped me she's find nothing but fear so I left her in a kitchen and I don't even know if she was crying because I really didn't care. There was the family reunion where I was unwelcome and unwanted. There were lies, shame, guilt, secrecy, anger, remorse, pleas, tears and a moment of clarity that saved my life.

Jack, where do you go at night?

I go home Matt. I don't live here. You do. I have a wife that makes me supper. We talk about the day and we talk about you. Angie loves you too by the way. After dinner we watch Jeopardy and some sitcoms. We always talk Matt. Always. In the summer we'll stroll down by the Thames and pretend we're in England. Did I tell you Angie and I met in England?

I didn't even know Angie existed until about ten seconds ago, Jack. I just sort of assumed they had some sort of place on the grounds where you went every night.

What do you want when you get out of here Matt?

I want to go home. I want to be happy. I never want to drink again. Ever. I want to face my fear. I want to tell the truth. I want to laugh, love and live.

Well you can do that. Just follow the principles I've given you. Follow them to the letter. You might not get what you want. You'll get what you need. Just be patient and believe. But if you stray from what you've learned you will die. You're not normal Matt. This can kill you...whether you drink or not.

My sister was wating outside the gate. She who had brought me here was going to take me out of here. I came in with the clothes on my back, the money in my pocket and nothing else. I was leaving richer than I'd been in my entire life and all I had was the clothes on my back and the money in my pocket.

It was beginning....

Gratitude

Jack:

When everyone else was walking out,

You walked in.

Thank You.

The Laws of Magnetism.

If you want to learn as much as possible about someone in a short amount of time never ask them anything. People are inherently deceptive about personal matters. Family, finances...lingering disease.

Instead stand directly in front of their fridge. Not only will this give you some sort of idea about the type of person you're dealing with, you can alway pull on the handle, examine their dietary habits and decide whether or not you want to stay for dinner.

If they have nothing on their fridge. Leave in silence.

The Monster Drank the Water

Guests at the Plainview Hotel are limited to two options when they begin their day. The first? Stay in bed, read pages 62-78 of the Book and think about who you are, what you've done. Where you're going and how the hell you're going to get there comes later.

I hate the Book. I don't know who I am, I can't remember what I've done, I don't know where I'm going and how to get there is a mystery to me.

The other option is to get up and eat breakfast - usually some fruit, cereal, OJ, coffee and two little blue pills that are beginning to have less and less effect on me. I can enjoy a morning walk, chat with other guests and decide which woman I'll sleep with when she finally realizes I'm not sick and I'm here by mistake.

It's the walks I like the most. Sometimes Jack joins me. Sometimes we walk in silence. Listening to nothing but nothingness. Mostly though, we talk.

Matt... you're the most self-centred, egotistitcal, sick man I've ever met. I've seen thousands like you. Thousands! You are the sickest I've ever seen. If I were a wolf I could smell the fear seeping from your pores. Just like I could smell the booze on your skin the day you walked in here. You're lucky to be alive, Matt. Lucky. How do you think you got here?

What do you mean how did I get here?! My sister piled me into a car, drove me here and dropped me off.

You arrogant SOB! You drove your car three hours up the highway in a blackout! Who do you think was driving that night? You?! You need to start believing Matt. Otherwise, you're going to leave here in 22 days and walk right into a bar. You're going to drink. You're going to use. You're going to die. I told you the day we met that I loved you. That I would be your guide. I meant every word of it. Who do you think creates that kind of love? Mankind? No! We hate and kill and maim. That's what we do! And we smile when we do it.

What are you saying Jack? That I should believe in God? Who says I don't believe in God? I never once said that! Not once! I just can't believe He cares about any of this! Like His little experiment went awry and he's just seeing how it plays out. War, diseases, famine, drought, children being raped by the very people they should trust! I could go on and on! What's it all about! I believe in God. You bet I do! Just not the loving, benevolent God I was taught about.

You see Jack? I figured this shit out a long time ago! I know God! I see Him everyday. Do you know what I think Jack?

No, Matt. Enlighten me. Why don't you, in all your infinite wisdom and 31 years of deep experience, tell me what you think.

God is a Monster, Jack. A fucking monster.

Well at least you believe in something, Matt. It's a beginning. I want to ask you a favour though. Just for today look at the beauty. We'll talk in the morning.

A Cautionary Epiphany

Life,

Wihout passion,

Is effortless.

The Narrative is Out of Control.

There's something inherently wrong with leaving a theatre a half hour into the feature. I feel like I'm sneaking out rather than simply walking out.

Sneaking attracts suspicion and the theatre manager sees me.

Sir. Is there a problem?

Well I'm not so sure I got what I paid for. I was expecting a comedy. I got a drama. I'm not a big fan of abrupt plot twists...especially in a biography. They make me uneasy, queasy and anxious.

Well sir, every story has its ups and downs. A beginning, middle and end. Three acts somtimes...I actually saw a one act play recently. It was short, but it was very, very good.

Well, I'm really not in the mood. Why don't you tell me how the story unfolds...the middle and the end. Then I can decide whether I'm going back in.

What would be the point of that sir? It's your ticket. You paid for it. It's your story. You started writing it. May I make a suggestion though?

I'm open to suggestions I guess. Shit, I'm open to blunt direction at this point.

Blunt direction? I'm just the theatre manager...I make $11.50 and hour and, if I'm lucky, a little commission on concession sales. The only blunt direction I give is Theatre One, Two, Three or Four. But I suggest you go back in and see what unfolds.

Why?

You have to see how it ends.

It Makes Total Sense. (That's What Scares Me.)

Mary: So, do you smoke a lot?
Me: I smoke way too much.

Mary: Do you smoke when you're driving?
Me: I have to smoke when I'm driving. It gives me something to do.

Mary: You are doing something! You're driving!

I'm Giving My Memories Names and Faces.

Hamburger Hal is a seventy-four year old transient transexual. His biggest claim to fame is having shared a fifth with Jack Kerouac in the early 1980's. I know this is complete bullshit because Jack died long before that and even if he had lived until the 80's he wouldn't have shared air, let along wine, with a transient transexual. I believe this despite the homerotic undertones on every page of On the Road.

Marie is a giant of a women - 5'10" if she was a foot. She sits alone in the corner during meals absently twirling her greasy brown hair with one porky finger, coughing and humming the theme to the Brady Bunch as if, somehow, the entire fucked up family will show up at the front doors some sunny Sunday and ask her to join the bunch on a special episode. I figure they'll call it: A Very Brady Bipolar Christmas or something like that.

To be continued....

Sorry Mark. Your Time is Up

Jim: If I could kill one celebrity it would be that girl from Evanescence. What about you? If you could just kill one celebrity who would it be?

Me: Mark Harmon. Definitely Mark Harmon.

Second Fiddle

Me: So, are you seeing anyone?

Carly: I don't know it's sort of it's hard to explain it's really just a long breakup...

Me: That's cool. (It wasn't.) What does he do?

Carly: He's a fiddle player.

It wasn't until later, when I'd had time to think about the unexpected and amazing events of that day, that I realized that if this goes anywhere (it may, it may not, it's not my call) I may end up playing second fiddle to an actual real life fiddle player.

Are You Hungry?

Me: Are you hungry? They're coming down the aisle with food and drinks.

Annie: Yah, but the food on here isn't that good. I don't like to waste my hunger on food that isn't good.

So You Like to Read...

"What are you reading?"

It was something by Leonard Cohen that I had never heard of. Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America rested and waited not far away.

"What are you reading?"

"How To Build a Backyard Horseshoe Pit." (Not that I have any intention of ever building a backyard horseshoe pit, but I like to know I know how should a friend ever ask me to help him build his own backyard horseshoe pit.)

"So what was the last book you read?"

I want to lie and say something deep like Tolkien (who, incidentally, I can't stand) or Dostoyevsky or Proust or Hemingway...even Stephen King is more impressive than the truth.

But she's beautiful and when I look at her I say the scariest words most women would ever want to hear:

"Rise of Lord Vader. It's a Star Wars novel."

My secret shame is on the table. I am a Star Wars Geek.

But she's not like most women and she asks me what it's about.

As We Pull In...

Me:I feel like something is either coming to an end or just beginning. So, are the credits rolling or should I call you?

Carly: Call me.

We Admit Our Fate - A Quote from a Cow

I will give my milk ungrudgingly,

To a man with calloused hands,

Who will murder and eat my brother

- Inspired by Amy

A Meeting With God on Spadina

Man: Excuse me sir! I hate to bother you, but I just lost my job, I have nowhere to live and all the money I have in the world is a quarter. Can you spare some change to help a guy out?

Me: I tell you what! I'll help you out if you help me out. Do you know where the Hockey Hall of Fame is? I have some time to kill before I catch a train out of this rainy, humid and speeding shithole.

Man: I do know where that is! Just head down this street, hang a left on Front and walk about 20 minutes. You can't miss it. It's just past the train station.

(A toonie in the hand. A meal on the horizon. Or a bottle, but I really don't give a shit. If he needs medication he needs medication. That's what sustains all of us until we find the Answer. I say a prayer that it doesn't kill him though and call him my friend.)

Me: So, have you ever been to the Hockey Hall of Fame?

Man: Dude, I''m fuckin' homeless. I've got no place in the Hall of Fame.

Me: Neither do I, my friend. Neither do I.

Apparently, it's not the men I aspire to be but the men that are just like me that help me most. And that's exactly what I needed because in less than two hours I was going to face my biggest fear.

Welcome to the Plainview Hotel.

Orange juice. Instant oatmeal. A faint ringing in my ears. So this is how it all begins?

Outside, it's sunny but I'm pretty sure it's going to rain because the hand I broke is throbbing. They took the cast off two years ago. Apparently, what I forget my bones remember.

Locks unlock. A door opens. A door closes. Locks lock.

-How you feeling, Matt?

I want to tell Jack that I feel like running. I don't want to be here and I'm really not happy with the people who brought me here. I'm a coward though, so I make a mental note to air my grievances with my family as soon as possible. I'm shaking, cold and full of fear so I hold up my orange juice and say:

-Is this freshly squeezed?

- Nothing but the best for the degenerate guests at this hotel! We've got an Olympic size pool on the first floor, a theatre, an atrium... take these and get dressed. You have a class at 9, another at 10, lunch, recreation time, more class, tests, you'll see the doctor and then you'll eat dinner.

Two blue pills. A sip of Florida's own.

Locks unlock. A door opens. A door closes. Locks lock.

I am alone again. I can hear other guests milling about the halls. Laughing. Planning. I assume some are going to breakfast. Some are going to swim. Some are going into town. I do not know that all of them are fighting for their lives. I know I miss Jack. That he's keeping me locked in here to keep me from killing myself out there.

I'm 31 years old. I have a University Degree. I'm an accomplished writer with the awards to prove it. And I'm the dumbest person I've ever known.

Later I would come to learn that this was the precise moment it all began.

Top of the 12th at Kingdome Field

Baseball players are superstitious. I don't know this from hanging out with many - in fact I haven't hung out with any.

Nomar swings his bat five times, tighten his gloves and taps his shoes. Papi spits in his hands (although whether this is superstition or poor hygiene is still up in the air.) Trot never washes his helmet so that, by September, the iconic "B" (sadly a drab "C" now) is hidden behing 300 at bats worth of tar, grease, spit and leather.

It's the rare achievements, though, that come with the most superstitions and paranoia. In baseball it's the perfect game. When there's a sense in the yard that magic is happening no one, not even the fans, utters the words perfect game. It's a jinx, a hex...hell you can say fuck, shit, bitch and asshole to the four year old sitting next to you if you want. Just don't say perfect game.

So if you see me on the street don't congratulate me. I haven't done anything I wasn't supposed to be doing all along. Don't wish me luck. Luck has nothing to do with this. And for God's sake, no matter what you do, don't say perfect game.

Instead say fuck, shit, bitch and asshole. I've become accustomed to hearing those words directed at me. But whisper, please, if you could. It's the Top of the 12th and I'm coming out to the mound.

The Proctor

Sometimes,

Everything lost in a nightmare

Outweighs everything

Discovered in a dream

And I wish my story,

Was written with a Nunber 2 pencil.

So I could start manically erasing,

And modifying the moments.

But I can't because I'm awake.

So I daydream.

It's The Mornings After I Love The Most.

7:11 A.M.

That's my new wake-up time. I used to have no control over that. Today I do. That means hitting snooze three times. So really, my official time of arrival is 7:40 A.M.

I guess a twenty-nine minute landing approach isn't so bad. It's better than a holding pattern because when you're going around in circles --banking left banking right -- you never land and you sure as shit never get anywhere.

I like toast now. Whole wheat with "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" and strawberry jam. I have the utmost faith that what I am eating is strawberry jam. But it would take a legion of Amish women to convince me that what I'm eating is really butter. I wrote a letter to the company:

Dear So and So:

I can believe it's not butter. I have enclosed a receipt. May I please have a refund?

With grace,

Matthew Daley

P.S. No one I know believes it either. Pretty soon the only thing spreading will be the word.

I shower. I shave. I don't throw up. I pray. I brush my teeth. I get dressed. I have no regrets. No remorse. No confusion. No wonder.

Life is different now. I feel it most in the morning when everything is new again. I am clean.

Paper on the Move. Baby in the Cupboard.

I saw a woman this morning pushing a baby stroller
full of 81/2" X 11" copy paper.

My first thoughts were: "Did that hurt and did you get paper cuts?"

When I got back to my office I couldn't help but wonder:

"Is there a hungry little baby in a supply closet somewhere? If so, am I obligated to find and save it?"

My second thought is always more altruistic.

Swim at Your Own Risk ( The Lifeguard is Off Duty.)

I was in love with a lifeguard when I was twenty.

She was tanned, beautiful and full of joy. Of course, I imagine a lifeguard shouldn't be sullen, angry and full of shit because no one - not even someone choosing between the white light and white concrete - would want CPR from a lifeguard with bad breath. Besides, there was enough shit, anger and regret seeping out of my pores to comfortably feed the both of us for years.

She saved lives. I made pizza. I saved pennies. She made lemon chicken and crepes. We had sex on a soccer field during a thunder storm. I knew then - somewhere around the 30 yard line - that sex before marriage wasn't a sin. If God wanted to strike us down, I can't think of a more appropriate opportunity.

She was strapping on roller blades ( "A fad." I told her. "It'll never last.") while I was lacing my shoes for a walk that lasted far longer than originally intended.

I finally said sorry today. She accepted. Once a lifeguard, always a lifeguard.

Every Girl's Crazy About a Sharp Dressed Man.

We have nothing against you. Hell, some of us are one block away from taking a seat right next to you.

Of course, we'll all be wearing Brooks Brothers suits -- maybe a pinstripe with a baby blue dress shirt, burgundy shoes and a silk tie. We all have a skin like this in our closets for special occassions: Weddings, funerals, strip bars.

That's how we are though. Always trying to keep up appearances.

Thanks for the honesty though. It's very refreshing. Now please move along. You're blocking the view of our mismanaged perceptions.

Excuse Me, There's Acceptance Floating in My Beer

I used to love this place. There's a picture of me above the bar. I'm smiling, holding a beer to the camera: "Look Ma, One Hand!" I'm secretly wondering if the person next to me knows what I'm really thinking.

There's a bust (Patrick himself I assume) hanging on the wall. From five feet away it looks like aged copper. From five inches away it's nothing more than cheap plastic.

Betty drinks Guinness. Betty doesn't even like Guinness. It's St. Patrick's Day though, so Betty has to drink Guinness.

The band has been playing the same song for eight years--something about an Irishman drinking too much and walking in on his wife who's sleeping with a man who's leaving on a boat to catch fish that aren't there while his brother toils in a mine for the coal that keeps the power on that feeds the amps plugged into the wall so the band can play their four hour song.

A girl dances on stage. She's doing a jig, only she really doesn't know how to do a jig. She knows how to jump up and down though and I assume she took karate at some point because she sure can kick! She's with the band. I know because she made a point of telling me this. Three times.

So, she can stay and I'm not allowed to punch her.

Drink Responsibly. Those Who Like it Like It A Lot. Know When To Say When. Brewed With Passion Since 1767. Arrive Alive. I Am Canadian. Seems the owners have all the angles covered.

I used to love this place. Where's the cheque?

Two Out, Bottom of the Ninth. (For Dizzy)

When I was seven,
Johnny Palmer hit
- my little sister in the head with a baseball bat.

Because I was seven,
I hit Johnny Palmer
- with a barrage of kicks and punches.

It was my first job interview.

Take Two and I'll See You In the Morning

Excerpt

Two blue pills. One white paper cup. A giant man with a white beard. Funny how it's come down to this...

- What are these?

- Librium.

- What are they for?

- They should help you sleep. Hopefully prevent seizures.

- Seizures? I've never had a seizure in my fucking life.

- How would you know? You've been sedated for ten years. Besides, one more night won't hurt. And watch the language. It's time you learned the language of the heart.

Two blue pills. One white paper cup. A big gulp at base camp.

- Get some rest. You'll need your energy. You an athletic man, Matt?

- I dunno, I suppose. Played baseball 'til I was fourteen. Hockey 'til 18. Why?

- Well tomorrow you start climbing. Get some rest.

- Climbing? To where?

- Who knows? But if you don't start climbing, you're going to die.

- Who are you?

- I'm Jack. Think of me as your guide. Now sleep.

Two 60 watt bulbs. One white switch. Sadly, it's come down to this...

Friday, June 16th. 7:42 PM

Extra large.
Two cream, one sugar.
That's where I'll find some clarity.
(Really, I have things to do.)

First I'll stop at the pharmacist.
Ask to see the Mad Russian.
Maybe he'll provide me with some answers.
(Really, I have plans to keep.)

If he's not available,
I'll knock on the laughing pirate's door.
Ask him if he can can still see the future with one eye.

(Really, I have ideas to tinker with.)

But first someone wants to talk to me,
He whispers so He sends Mary.
Her message is simple; her delivery violent.
(Really, I need to be somewhere.)

When one door closes, another one opens.

Annabelle ( You're Going to Die of Cancer)

I saw a woman once,
In the smoking lounge at Logan.

She was sipping on a martini,
Nervously eyeing the departures
and smoking Capri 100s down to the filter.

I was sure she left teeth marks in the butt,
And I questioned whether I would let her
entertain me orally.

At H16, I boarded my flight for Detroit.
She was going to Miami.

God I hate airports.