Tuesday september 11th 8:45 am new york time: plane careened into the world trade center’s south tower.

8:52 a.m. http://www.wtccrash.com- registered. worldtradecentercrash.com had already been taken.

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One of the hardest things I have done is to freestyle. The almighty Wikipedia says: "Freestyle rap is an improvisational form of rapping, that is performed with no previously composed lyrics, and reflecting a direct mapping of the mental state and performing situation of the artist."

I had the privilege of hanging out in one of Mike Sheehan’s freestyle workshops. I left convinced that freestyling is a means of liberating one's mind. You literally have to stop thinking, stop scripting and stop regurgitation the slogans branded onto our consciousness. Although associated with the nastiest of canned culture (rap with a bad rap), I believe it is a tool of liberation from the hypnoticness!!

So when brother Mike has turned his spontaneous rhyme into a dirge on Santa Clause, I stop to listen! Check it out...

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i struggle to live the story that I am attempting to write
i ink myself along each line of the day
fact and fancy smeared with the curve of my palm

my imagination of all that could be jogs in front of me-
wagging his ass
ill never keep up
or surpass
always- his behind is in my face

and the newsbrokers pummel pummel PUMMEL
my heart and sense of mind
with all that’s gone askew
-my innards so mashed that i can barely soak up any hope
before it all seeps away

ive called upon the muse for new lines to our story- to end the madness-
and from her the ink has rained down so greatly
that I struggle not to drown
in the darkness of responsibility
and accountability
of awareness

it would be so much easier to just... dot...dot...dot...

so much to do... so much needs to change
It ain’t just a matter of time
when we are running out of pages to write upon


at least there is one comfort that I can embrace from my pain
- I know that I have shred my trance

when i’m in a room with a television on, i cannot NOT look at it

i am a moth, drawn to the flame
sucked to flambé by my primal urges

i am an early-man seeing ancestors in the fire
mesmerized until sunrise

my brain is skunk-drunk
sea-sick and drooling on my chest

My sea is afloat with a submarine war
fire all sensors, fire all sensors!!!

stoned with stimuli

my eyes pop out like spiderplant shoots
reaching for the light

and in the meantime- i am canadian
pours into my mind


i-can-NOT-look-at-television