root canal and radiohead blue latex covers the area surrounding the dying pulp tree tooth my life is in a rain delay, tarp out thom yorke’s voice is on shuffle play, spotify light, needles, novocaine, and drills mouth open, it begins i’m confused about what’s happening there’s a stranger digging into my pain his hands in my mouth and his assistant sits beside him passing him tools, needles he will fix it. she will help. and i close my eyes and listen to thom yorke’s voice on
i walk past gate 11 at the rogers centre and i see an 11-year-old boy sitting on the concrete steps eating a sandwich before the game with his stepdad chicken sandwiches that his mom made for them to save money she got the deli meat from st. joseph’s bakery in st. catharines a little polish bakery on facer st it’s still there, still feeding that polish and italian neighbourhood i walk past gate 11 at the rogers centre i see that boy waiting in line red hair, freckles, and a b
This is my little corner of the internet. My place away from the noise. I'm not here to scream. Tired tricks are too easy. Baseball is weird. And so am I. I started this site a couple years ago to rant and rave. I reread some of the old pieces that I wrote. They aren't very good. The delete button is a writer's best friend. I didn't press it enough. I stepped outside the batter's box. I am setting my feet back in now. I've changed my stance. I don't want to yell. The world is
Jaws is my favourite movie. Tom Candiotti had a great knuckleball. And I'm about to float 60 feet and six inches like a knuckleball. Maybe I'm coming home. It's summer. It's time to drive the asphalt. And see where it leads. It's all about the story.