[ .xi. ] (eyelids longing to shut,)

eyelids longing to shut, but shudders run through your fibres, your wires all connected, all on, all wrong, sombre silence quelling, where aching filaments cross, stabbing out ward.

© Bryan McLean May 1, 2009

[ .vii. ] (feel,)

feel, as ocean crashing lips meet, as pulses break and ribs crack, and as I push through you, realize skin and cells are not, but empty vapour, and that ache shatters our pulmonary insides.

© Bryan McLean Apr 30, 2009

diary 429 (lampeyed,fisheyed)

wallowed, in your
lamp eyed stagger,
your spindly stilts,
fish eyed tumour near
you, press downward
repeatedly stomping
flat, the flattened
wool pavement,
and baying at
the mouth, piece
of the stick
in your swollen
fin, looks like
a good day, for
rain from your
ceiling interior,
that's walled
you in.

~ excerpt from april 29
diary of a miniature carp
in a mason jar on the
bookshelf of douglas adams.

© Bryan McLean Apr 29, 2009

[ .vi. ] (its getting,)

its getting, further from the
pulse, everyday faceless sentries, are
pushed up, tight against black
tongues, and pinpricked witnesses, the
merit of mother, should be
on your lips.

© Bryan McLean Apr 28, 2009

[ .v. ] (footprints,)

footprints, in your fractured skin,
these shapes are worn round
errant agents, shown in the
needful touch, where these ghosts
ache to feel again.

© Bryan McLean Apr 27, 2009

[ .iv. ] (she's spent from cold,)

she's spent from cold, the
lines marked out, the skin
we're in, not marred from
wind, but torn without shelter,
as the weary make their
way, underground.

© Bryan McLean Apr 26, 2009

[ .i. ] (it's the starlight,)

it's the starlight, first wrought
to blotch the dark, to
rearrange order, chaos eaters, every
gaseous matter burning star. they
are the traitors in the
night sky.

© Bryan McLean Apr 25, 2009

[ .s.c.h.i.z.Ø.p.h.r.e.n.i.c. ]

staring at this blinking cursor |
taunting me.. fuck you, I'll write
something genius when I feel like it?
what? whazzat?? I wØuldn't know genius
if it fell off of a dumptruck and
rolled downhill over top of me..
ya.. well.. you're a blinking cursor | 
good luck with that gig.
seriously.. that can't possibly
pay very fucking well,
get a better job, bitch?

 
[ its been a long week,
please support the emotionally unstable
people in your family and lives,
they need canned tuna and cereal too  ‽ ]

© Bryan McLean Apr 24, 2009
schizophrenia.ca

I want to get to writing my actual graphic book.. I'm not ready yet to put it all together.. I know its going to take about three or four years..  the style and plotted design is coming together, I'm missing some tools, but that will come in time..

the characters are birthing themselves in the shallows... some old some new.. I desperately want to show that there are heroes today, happening now.. underneath our very skin.

and that although our futures are clouded and often unknown to us... its not something to fear.. its something to embrace and accept that it will only be what we work at day by day to create..

hope your are well
+lost.laine+

[ .detrimental.notes. ]

and I am in you
what you're not in me
and see only a few
trying to be
a step ahead
but we have no future
when so few aspire for
nothing more
than the dollars allotted
to our menial tasks

___
currency is the currency of the age..
not 'true' enlightenment or betterment of humanity..
we have no future if this is all we aspire to be.

© Bryan McLean Apr 23, 2009

[ .iii. ] (so in love,)

so in love, its a knife fight everyday
hunger now hungover
the stitches in your side
so vehemently apparent
long lies craddle your unworthy mouth & lips
the pulse running through them
wrought from the threat
of sharp stabbing truth.

© B McLean Apr 22, 2009

[ .ii. ] (touch in earnest,)

touch in earnest, your every crease & fold
supple to searing
the reactions in your aching flux
the flex of iris, winging
that your edges seethe at your wrists
longing to be free
of my terrible grip.

© B McLean Apr 21, 2009

[ .the.motel.alt. ]

angels are just mechanisms
but you're not watching out
not seeing all the gears at work
inside your hollowed out house

but I'm ten and down here
every night every day
its all our sallow end
even with sam haine rushing on

but nothing turns on nor out here
nothing that holds
my terribly weary intent
my head in your hands
chest pressed down

here I'm shaking on the line
of everything I've ever burned
versus how are you tonight
narrow on the one side
without thanks and hungry

pangs all full inside me
all gone indie
cuz its the next hot thing
coming to cut you
and make you just like them

but someone really should
cut me down now
I've been hung out too long
and all my splendor
might just have finally eeked through

oathens good eye
still all over
all my lovers
that came and left me out here
one more dusty room
I'm still squandered down into

all my impressions are far too tight
up against your side
where all knives should be
but instead
its all my musae's work

lines and stiches now
that narrow tangent
showing that I am
out on that line
one more time

© B McLean April 20 2009

[ .through.visceral.means. ]

noose
     taught
around
     my
heart
     can-opener
needed
     for
my
     poor
needy
     fourth
chakra
     cannot
stop
     grinding
my
     teeth
or
     fidgeting
with
     my
nervous
     ready
fingers
     when
you
     are
near
     by

© B McLean Apr 19, 2009
026/100

[ .for.him. ]

my dad
adopted, loved
young and dreaming
of saving nhl goals
in nhl jerseys

older, loving
goalie, handsome
playing, then coaching
never higher than the minors
never far from the leafs on tv
in black and white

older, loved
writer, local sports news
fathered daughters
plumber, family man
built his very own house
with his own two hands
never far from the leafs on tv
finally in colour

older still, loved
daughters, son
worked the town's pools all summer
worked the town's arenas all winter
worked the family all season
three thousand four hundred loving friends
sold his very own house
from his own two hands

semi retired, loved
daughters, son, grandson
new wrists, new hip, still hip
never far from the leafs on tv
finally in high definition
spring's the season to think of him most
playoff runs and wins, losses too
right as the blue jays are taking off
watching in his favourite chair
three thousand four hundred kilometres
away

© B McLean Apr 18, 2009

[ .the.glass.cutters. ]

tumbling early on
heathens called
endless by name

granite shows silence
lingering its means
as the breeze
shows sentience
silently creating its wake

clearly now
uniformed workers
toddle their way
through market and wares
endlessly marching
ready for daily wages
slipping from their fingers

© B McLean Apr 17, 2009

[ .near.hours. ]

hanging on
cutting in defense
skin barely awake
leaking to be sure
if we're really even
in this room

eyes swelling
aching near the edges
lights gone soft
as clocks fight
to strike late
resurection only in
our smoking tangents

too close
our proximity hearts
and our failing smiles
late light narrows
as the hour nears
wings are unlikely cover
from words left out

changes in headlamps
etheral & hungry
turning against
fairer types
not sharing
holding only wants

their shape and styles
cut too near now
does not matter
in that line
that I'm damaged
in this skin

© B McLean Apr 16, 2009

[ ...now.mergers.end. ]

meager
from the onset
from nefarious accord
the guidelines
all but stalwart
in the fading
winters' heat
cheek and sides
now flush from
hands all surround
sweaty and licking
down, under
shadows crawling

© B McLean Apr 15, 2009

[ ...as.one.entwines... ]

giant feet
crushing down
like osaka monsters
invading personal spaces
as ink leaking lines
curling down
your writing arm
staining lesions
into warm fore skin
bleeding overlaps
then pulls taught
snaring twine
the cuts truth deep

© B McLean Apr 14, 2009

[ .and.two.engage... ]

daylight crawling
up, over
all incumbent surfaces
as inch by inch
its swallowing skin
enveloping matter
in the quarks
all the lost arraignments
deviphiles prepping
their workings
wonder at the fringes
the fires
we make in ourselves

© B McLean Apr 13, 2009

[ .the.one.with. ]

wreckingball right through
your sensibilities
you grubby little cunt
can't believe
I wanted to fuck that
but its shimmering
and shattering
our sensibilities
or grubby little fingers
hollow how we wait
faking to be friends
when you're better off
with your mouth full, pitiful
as the sounds you make
are offkey and obscene
idiocy is out of style
when you wander
out of your box
delicate garden flower
digging your own hole

© B McLean Apr 12, 2009

[ .how.our.bodies.work. ]

other, to get through, serpent medicine inclined, to be oil and fangs, burried down in pillows, face first,
broke your lip, on that sudden trip, drown memories, still swimming, at the bottom,
of your empty, loveless bottle, where we found you, curled, slept on a mattress, pulled from,
that dumpster, where you left her, or at least, un coeur cassé, left out to spoil and spoon, tart.

© B McLean Apr 11, 2009

[ .matter.of.time. ]

all my lovers and loves
are still alive
so I sense how trapped
I am at ground level
pretending
but never really understanding
loves lost in time
as my heart wonders
which wounds will rear
ugly and deep
first

© B McLean Apr 6, 2009

[ .obvious.marks. ]

trill on lightly
honours ever marking
as palms pull back
face turned down
glaring, upset
in the contrasting shadows
across your face
the lines so clear
that someone
crossed your heart

© B McLean Apr 10, 2009

[ .the.fever.becomes.heart. ]

still in dream
leaking out
face turned all fingers
digits in their crawling space
scratching out
dragging inch by inch
remorse and pilfered body
bloated out
crawling from
the ink stained drain
dark lines
coalested and spinning
the head cracked
backing up
retreating in panic
identity and edges
all undefined angles
as the faceless
shaking strings
matted hair how
thousand glaring eyes
all over the scalp
watch silently
in their hungry corner

© B McLean Apr 9, 2009

[ .elevator.pitch. ]

smoking altars
out on the roof
in a wet token nite
haze and sulfuric signs
beacons to travellers
proof to our purpose
as soaked see-through pavement
wears leather treads thin
just like people
that are in our wake

© B McLean Apr 8, 2009

Visionary Philosopher

Your mind's strengths allow you to think ahead of the game — to imagine or anticipate what should come next in just about any situation. Because you're equally skilled in the numerical and verbal universes of the brain, you can draw from multiple sources of information to come up with great ideas. The timelessness of your vision and the balance between your various skills are what make you a Visionary Philosopher.

In addition to your strengths in math and linguistics, you have a knack for matching and anticipating patterns. These skills and your uncanny ability to detect the underlying blueprint of most of life's situations add to your Visionary Philosopher mind. Two philosophers who share the same combination of skills you possess are Plato and Benedict Spinoza. Spinoza had insight into how things worked in the world. He could envision a future based on the patterns he saw in life, and used mathematical logic as a structure within which to present his philosophical arguments. With that base he was able to use logic to formulate his theories. Borrowing from his linguistic strengths he wrote eloquent texts and, therefore, was able to bring his philosophical ideas and structure to the rest of the world. His story exemplifies the talents that are present in the Visionary Philosopher intellectual type.

Whatever you decide to do in life, you've got a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a wide variety of ways. You can expand your mind to understand a situation. Your strong balance of math and verbal skills will help you explain things to others. For example, if you were on an archaeological dig and discovered an object, you could probably use your deductive powers to figure out not only what the object was but also how it was used. Given your ability to put things together, you are more than capable of inventing a life plan that is in synch with your perspective on how things were, how they are, and how they might be one day.

Balanced-brained

That means you are able to draw on the strengths of both the right and left hemispheres of your brain, depending upon a given situation.

When you need to explain a complicated process to someone, or plan a detailed vacation, the left hemisphere of your brain, which is responsible for your ability to solve problems logically, might kick in. But if you were critiquing an art opening or coming up with an original way to file papers, the right side of your brain, which is responsible for noticing subtle details in things, might take over.

While many people have clearly dominant left- or right-brained tendencies, you are able to draw on skills from both hemispheres of your brain. This rare combination makes you a very creative and flexible thinker.

The down side to being balanced-brained is that you may sometimes feel paralyzed by indecision when the two hemispheres of your brain are competing to solve a problem in their own unique ways.

Strategic and Creative

As a Strategic type, you want to be able to express yourself and your ideas through work. Sure there's a time and place for rules and procedures, but when a good thought strikes you, you don't want it to be boxed into one way of thinking. You're willing to go outside the rules if there's a chance that the risk will reap big rewards. You are stronger than most when it comes to generating ideas. And because of this, it might sometimes feel easier to take on all aspects of a job yourself instead of wasting time explaining it to someone else who might not "get it" like you do. But because you have so many ideas and are willing to take on so much, you might find that you sometimes have trouble finishing every project you start. Your diplomacy and adaptability make you a valuable asset. But your need to feel invested in a company that allows you to express your original ways of thinking will ultimately impact how happy you are in the workplace.

[ .mid.way.cuts.to. ]

midturn
in causeways
plural
ever casting
limited lined
lily handed integral
sights and more
are care torn
chaos quality
inside rings
now wick worn
our language
sighs and moans
ended abruptly
against phrases
breathed
by floorboards

© B McLean Apr 7, 2009

[ .finger.prints. ]

closer we get
the more can be seen
ugly perfections
all mangled up
on your insides
crisscrossing over
tasteless lust
that has no exceptions
just pretending
as your fingers
splay and stretch
leaving marks
and caresses
across cooling skin
no bells held
for dreary late nite
as digits run free
down and over
elbows and knees
gone taught and tender
but still ever ready
to sear marks into
our threading patches

© B McLean Apr 5, 2009

[ .hum.and.hollows. ]

feel it in your skin
a humming
cliff edge humming
longing in your digits
as the palms turn down

gaps slid
from cohearance
destinies ignite
as certainty
turns passive

anger fails me
fills me
reckoning
running down your thighs
in lines
the clear note's tone

where gaps are left
instead of teeth
broken like love
clear
in the hollows
and sockets
of your eyes

© B McLean Apr 4, 2009

[ .seconds.after.midnight. ]

dying all around
the moments
in their lacking semblance
fighting to believe
as passers by
look up
staring into
the fleeting skyline
as it scampers free
from it's fog ruin
heavy with intent

low light burning
at the corners
of every intersection
we struggle to pass
free from fear
sensing how hungry
the horrors near

sentinels our guardians
now oblong angels
and watching from
their pariah's perch
their giant eyes
ever searching out
our waning breath
as the late hours
now catch us
seconds too soon

© B McLean Apr 3, 2009

[ .sagacity. ]

i.

in the bowels
far below
love beckons
hark hard hearing
as her claws unfurl
ready to snatch and seize
like eye silent fans
waiting and watching
hungry for
our undying adoration

© B McLean Apr 1, 2009