Emma embraced her Weird.

Late at night, when the lights are low,
When the kids have been put to bed,
That’s when Emma wakes…
When Emma embraces her Weird…

They talk, they dance … They travel to France
They stroll down the Champs-Élysées,
wearing yesterday’s summer clothes.

There’s wine and water with pretentious names
and lovers that flirt while the day still burns.

And ere the night is over she hugs her Weird… and remembers…
The piercings
The tattoos
The music
The living and the loving
And all and everything…
And nothing, and something.

And here in suburbia is a picket fence.
Freshly painted.
White and bright.
Coated in Weatherproof Deluxe Stellar White.
Here is where Emma gets to walk,
and work
and eat
and sleep
and look at her Normal
whenever he lingers
and smiles…


I wrote this a long time ago.
I might as well dedicate it to everyone who defiantly refused to conform to the illusion of conformity.

Grow old gracefully?

Grow old gracefully?
Not in this lifetime!
Aging by definition doesn’t inspire me with thoughts of grace.
I’ll invest in sourcing the most raucous thrash metal until I can’t rock anymore.
Or deafness…
Whichever comes first.
I’m already thinking of purchasing a ludicrously loud motorcycle to treat myself if ever I become a venerable 70-Something.
And should I happen to pass into that long night, play some Metallica at my farewell party!

These thoughts aren’t intended to portray a flippant attitude.
Not in the least.
I once attended a funeral where AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” blared into the auditorium and bore testimony to one who dared to live a full life despite years of experiencing adverse health.
Nothing about those few minutes filled with power chords signalled the intent to rebel, or even dismiss the finality of that goodbye.
And I saw not a single dry eye in the house that afternoon.
Appreciation for a life who dared, against all odds… And the loss thereof affirmed with a loud and fitting eulogy!

Over time I’ve met too many older people who, in my opinion aged because they lost interest in exploring new things.
This is a question I’ve reflected on many times…
Do we lose interest in the complexity of life when we grow old, or do we subscribe to an idea that advancing age automatically comes shipped with a new “more dignified” or “toned-down” set of rules for living?

The idea of turning into a crusty old git never appealed to me.
I also dislike the idea that some older folk feel that their age allows them to be caricatures of insufferable behaviour.
That being said…
If I’m not a danger to myself or society, and I don’t embarrass myself too much then I don’t see the harm in recreating my own language for “growing old.”
Opting to use words such as “Diminished capacity” instead of “it’s done.”
“Recovery” instead of “regret” and “redefine” instead of “resign.”