Tag Archives: crazy

The Harrowing Descent of Mr. Hand Puppet

It started innocently enough
he constructed a hand puppet
named ‘Willy Nilly’
to entertain his girlfriend’s young son
and together they put up clips
on YouTube.

“Hey-Hey-Hey! Duuuh! Howdy, Mr. Rabbit!”

The shows started getting longer
he made up more characters
–more puppets.

A shelving unit was built in the bedroom closet
where they would be carefully stored
when not in use.

His girlfriend joined in
she was a sassy little pink bunny
named ‘Boo!’

It was all in good fun
for a while…

Then something changed
the shows became angry
political and
at times bizarre and
uncomfortable to watch.

It was no longer for the son.
He started filming just himself
in the basement and
spending more and more time
with the puppets.

When it got to the point where he
was always in character
we knew that there would soon
be big mean trouble.

Mr. Hand Puppet
was what everybody called him
by now.

He would take the puppets for walks
downtown
talking to himself
in the voice of whatever puppet
he had on
at the time.

Then one day he just disappeared
but other people
started disappearing too soon after
from the homeless shelter
downtown.
The police would find strange scraps of
fuzzy bright material
at the crime scene.

They didn’t know what was going on
but I did
deep down I knew exactly that.

It was a week later
that I got the afternoon phone call
that would put it all to an end:

“Hey-Hey-Hey! Duuuh! Howdy Mr. Rabbit!”
Mr. Hand puppet
sounded peculiar perhaps because
he was far too happy
to be sane.
“What are you up to today? Hee-hee-hee!”

“Just tell me where you are.” I almost whispered,
by now ready for just about everything
but not this:

The front door of the house was
wide open and I
rushed upstairs
to find Mr. Hand Puppet
in the bedroom
lying face-down in a pool of
growing blood.

I froze.

My mind was racing with possibilities
and none of them good
even the fact that I was now standing in
the middle of a crime scene
was also not good

but those thoughts
were suddenly swept away
as from behind me I heard
the closet door
slowly being opened
and a voice say:

“Howdy Mr. Rabbit…

would you like to know a secret?”

Cracking Open A Fresh Box of Wine

Her face is stark white like a fresh sheet
sailing happy blank eyes summer sky blue
white pearls packed together everywhere
between her balloon watermelon lips.

It’s mesmerizing,
you become captivated
and start to writhe about like a charmed snake.

That’s the lady that works the Sobeys wine store
by far one of the most jovial
perpetually rapturously excited
overwhelmingly joyous
Hallelujah’s
that I have ever encountered.

Her moon face is always lit up
brighter than a solar flare
streaking across the midnight of my existence.

I quickly snatch my box
away from her smile but not before
checking my hair in her teeth.

I growl
and rush out of the store
peering at everybody suspiciously.

They want my wine.
Even though there are boxes of boxes
stacked everywhere in plain sight
where I just came from
they want mine.

Those fuckers
are not getting shit from me.

I hold it tight against my chest
right beside my heartbeat
and make for the door.

mmmyyyy wwwwiinnnne.
Mee luuuuuvvvss meee wwiiinnnee.
Sooo preccciious.

In anticipation
I tear open the box
and crack the seal on the spout
in the car
making strange mewling noises.

No, there’s nothing wrong with me
at all.

I get home kick open the door
slam the box on the counter and
quickly check out some bondage action on my phone.

Grabbing a glass from the cupboard
is always an exercise in delicate judgement
it has to be the right one
but since I only have two types to choose from
forget that I fucking said anything.

Then…THEN…
there’s the first pour.

The first pour is always the best.
It doesn’t just stream out,
It GUSHES out like a CANON or
like water BLASTING from a CRACK in a DAM!!

It’s like a MIRACLE of GOD!
A freshly spread VIRGIN!
A volcano in the soul erupting loud colours
across the cement hue of stubborn February.

Makes you just want to
spray it up into your face while laughing maniacally
spray it out into eternity
while laughing at your own nothingness
shoot it out into the streets
let the people dance when not murdering
each other’s spirit
as trumpets blared
angels sang
and midgets danced.

As it comes out straight from a heaven
that you will never see

you just want to pour it
all over your
fucking soul.

A Mad Woman, a Shovel and an Icy Embankment of Existential Angst

My Russian neighbour’s wife,
she has a lot of heft to her and she wields it like
a battle-axe in a field full of dead Scotsman.

She likes to spend her time shovelling the snow
and for reasons beyond my mortal grasp
she will shovel the holy flying fuck
out of everything in sight
for hours at a time.

Because I hear it from my window
all day long
day after day
when it’s not even snowing
and hasn’t for days.

First she’ll do the driveway
then the adjoining neghbour’s
then the sidewalk
the edges all around
twice
and finally the front lawn
all with this look of rage darkening her pale face
turning it red
while she pushes that shovel hard in deep as though
she were killing a small furry animal
or destroying the lives of the innocent.

I know that there’s something wrong with her.
Some people wear crazy
all over their face.
You could see it.
You could smell it.

So while I was out salting my driveway
the other day
as she shoveled away
I began to dance
because in being a
stand up stand straight standout guy
I thought it would bring some levity
to her existential angst
as she furiously drove the shovel in
cracking large chunks of ice
like they were the backs of the weak.

She most likely hated her reality,
despised her kids,
hated Canada and Canadians.
Americans, them too.
Probably hated her husband most of all

and when she was done here
she was going to go back inside
and beat him half to death
or worse, fuck him.

I could picture his face grimacing
as she enveloped him in the folds of her flesh
screaming out as she thrust angrily,
screaming something about the good old days of Stalin.

He probably didn’t like it. I know I wouldn’t. Christ.

I was on the road now
shaking my two cups full of road-salt
in each hand
like they were maracas
feet like Usher, like Beiber, like Timberlake
all rolled into one Godless pointless fuck
as she continued to pound the handle
deeper into China.

She hated sunlight and music,
ice cream and happiness.
She hated not being in chains.

She wished that unicorns existed
just so she could stab one to death
with its own horn.

I was dancing. I was really shaking it.
I was a giraffe. I was a lion.
I was a monkey.

She plowed away at grass now
throwing chunks of frozen earth
onto the road.

She hated Ghandi and Bambi.
She hated things that slept peacefully.
She hated things that tried to crawl away
from the merciless hammer of industrialization.

I was doing the robot, the running man.
I was hustling into another dimension.
She thrust her shovel deep into an embankment of ice
and started heaving pieces of it
over towards me.

I danced out of the way,
thank you, Mr. Timberlake.

Her husband peeked his head out the door
and asked her something.
Face flushed, she turned and started screaming at him
in Russian most likely telling him
to go to Hell in a really creative way.

Overall, my dancing had little effect
as she still seemed as angry
as Hitler giving a speech
so all that effort was for naught.

She still hated God, the government, gravity.
She hated words, shapes and colours.
She wished that everything was at the bottom
of the Black Sea and from the looks of things
she intended to dig us all there
right now.

In fact, she was out there
as I was typing up this little ditty.
Scrape scrape scraping away.

I turned up the Bach
so that I didn’t have to hear her anger
in my living room.

There is just something
about classical music
that moves the soul
into sunlight.

Don’t you think?
Maybe she should try it.

A Letter in Blood From the Heart of a Madman

I once wrote a woman
a letter
penned in my own blood
but I had disposed of it
before I could mail it
in fear that she would
think me mad
and rightfully so
because it seems the
only creatures
that would truly understand
passion
these days
are the ones that stagger
across the common room
of any given nuthouse
as I stagger across
the impossible realm
of every day.

People Lose it All the Time and become ghosts of themselves lost to what they think the world has become

I have seen a lot of people
absolutely lose it
on me
on other people, dogs, llamas, monkeys
midgets
on private and public property, televisions, fence posts
spaceships
over bosses, ex’s, children, football games
soup arriving without crackers
or just in general for no reason at all
buying a one-way ticket to the asylum
to be greeted by a dazzling array of chattering teeth
and quickly put to work cutting up paper dolls
in the basement of some psyche ward
where the mind is numbed by pills in small paper cups
and all the women want to be your mother
or perhaps sailing off the end of the world will translate
into looking for god under a rock
arms flapping out into the wilderness
quoting daffy duck.

It’s not disturbing
It’s pretty normal
It happens all the time
I wait for it to happen
watch the steam build until it starts
piping out the ears
All Aboard!
and people become ghosts of themselves
lost to what they think the world has become.

I sometimes don’t know that it’s about to happen
such as when offering a visiting friend
some stir-fry
he gazes at me with eyes as dark as a
Stephen King novel before he
kicks his chair over
slam-dunks his freshly-opened can of beer
onto the cement floor
(which was my last one, by the way)
and tears the garage door open
almost ripping it from its frame
before disappearing into the night.

I personally didn’t think
the stir-fry was that bad.

See?
It’s all relatively normal
people cry, become angry, get hurt and hold it in
the world is not a fair place and
neither is anybody inside of it
Me! Me! Me! Me! ME!
it can weigh you down or
burn you up so this kind of shit
happens all the time
because everybody is absolutely fucking nuts and we live on
the largest asylum anywhere and
fuck, babies should come with straight-jackets
because very little makes sense if any of it
makes any sense at all
and I love my eggs scrambled
with a side of Kafka and

Dostoyevsky was a drag, Man

So a little breakdown
here and there can clear
things up and make the sky
blue again for a little while.

The ones that you should truly
watch out for are those
that are so smart that
they have their shit together
all the time
all wrapped so perfectly up
into a neat little package

fuck them, by the way

you know (I know you know),
the sociopaths with freshly pressed
brightly coloured shirts
and teeth so white that it
hurts to look at them
with meticulously manufactured
manicured mentalities
that stand up so straight that
they might use a toothbrush on their face and
there also might be something very wrong with them
underneath the manic smile
something dark and hideously deranged
gliding just beneath that
well-flossed veneer
felt like electricity in a handshake
because everything is just so fucking perfect
in a world of shit
and they are not fooling anyone
but themselves
so when it finally comes
it’s going to come big
like Waco, Manson, Magnotta
Holmes (wanna go see a movie?)
and in the end there will be
yellow tape wrapped around everything
as sirens light up the neighbourhood
like Christmas in Hell
and all the normal crazy people
will gather to watch because we’re all just
faces on the side of a cereal box.

snap, crackle, pop.

quack
motherfucker,
quack.

Praying to Some Hindu God

You’ve got to watch out for them.
You know, the ones that think
this world is nice
the ones that preach peace
even when there is no real cause for it
the ones that hug strangers and feed the ducks
their lunch while whistling
Neil Young and praying to some
Hindu god.

You know,
them.

But sure, go ahead
go fall into them.
Some call it love while others
call it a desperate need to
thump some flesh and soon you’ll
find a blade at your throat
in the middle of the night
as you try to sleep
because you left the toilet seat up
or a plugged-in radio
half-heartedly tossed into your bath
because you don’t like red canaries
or an ice pick in your gut
cause it’s raining
or Drano in your drink
because it’s fucking Sunday

And only at that moment
as you hemorrhage and your eyes
bleed or you just burst into flames
you will finally realize what the deal is
as you think to yourself:
‘Holy Mother of FUCK!
I did not see that coming!’

And the next morning
You will be able to find them
at the park
hugging strangers
feeding the ducks their lunch
while whistling Neil Young
and praying to some
Hindu god.

Poetry at Work

I’m on the Clock:
As sure as a running clock or a car running over your dog
people have a bad habit of coming up to my desk at work
everyday
and talking to me about all kinds of
crazy horseshit
because there is a large neon sign positioned directly
above my monitor that reads:
“I have absolutely nothing better to do!”
And I’m the only one that can’t see it.

They complain about their boss:
“You know what he looks like when he walks around like that? A T-rex holding a lunchbox!”
Disgruntled employee #17 always had a fun new way to describe the man in charge.
Yesterday it was ‘Satan’s battleaxe’
and from there he would always launch into the same routine:
“One of these days I’m gonna taser that Megalomaniac Fuck in the back of the neck,
throw him in the trunk of my car
and drive to Niagara Falls.”
It was always Niagara Falls that he would drive to, boss in trunk.
I was never sure why.
Yes, I was.

I said, “Make sure you spit in his face before you close the trunk.”
“Yeah…yeah…spit in his face.”
It was all fun and games but I’m telling you now
I won’t be surprised if that demented fucker
showed up for work one day
wearing a clown suit and sporting a shotgun.

They complain about their wives:
“She’s crazy. She’s a psychotic bitch. I finally killed her and buried her beneath the shed!”
“Well, did you spit in her face first?”

The weather:
“It’s too cold. It’s too hot. It’s too lukewarm.”
“I just want to spit in your face right now.”

Horrible Smelling Women:
My good friend will tell me how much
his date last night stunk
down there.
The aggravating stench that this
woman had was apparently so bad
that he tried to pour vodka into her vagina
when she wasn’t looking
in order to somehow alleviate it
but she was looking:

“What are you doing?” She shouted.
“It looked thirsty!”

Now he was absolutely convinced
that every single woman smelled
down there.
That’s right, they all let themselves go.
It was a Goddamn national conspiracy
that was sure to end up on the evening news
any day now.

He even busted out some charts and graphs
and continued describing every minute detail
to the point where it was no longer a conversation
as I now felt as though I were attending
a workshop on the subject.

Their lunch:
“Hey man, somebody keeps stealing my lunch.
Have you seen anyone taking shit that’s not theirs out the office fridge lately?”
“No man, sorry.” I replied and continued typing away on a blank screen.
He eyed me suspiciously then left.
He was onto me. I might have to lay low for a while.
I’ll decide when I see what he brings in tomorrow.

You’re Too Happy So You Must Die:
And of course there is always the one person
who was just way too happy and chipper to be sane.
It was almost like they were throwing their rampant insanity in your face
and it pissed me off
but if that’s not the case than that would mean
that they had a rarely blessed life
and that would piss me off even more because
if you’re here then you should have to
suffer just like the rest of us

I’m Here All Week (Fuck Off):
I’m not even scratching the surface
of what people are like in the workplace
I could go on and on
as to what a twisted zoo of lost souls it really is.

In fact, I probably will
just not today
because obviously I’m up to my ears
in their crazy bullshit
and it’s really aggravating
because they’re doing it right now
and I haven’t been able to get anything done
for an hour.

I mean,
Jesus, people!
Can’t you leave me in peace?
Can’t you see that I’m trying to
write this poem
about you?