• The ocean engulfs
    Deciduous reverie
    In sweater weather

    (sad how this haiku couldn’t fit: apple cider brewing on the stove for the next 5 months, balcony hot chocolate in quilt watching hummingbirds drinking)

    October 27, Dundarave Beach park, colonial west vancouver, unceded and occupied MST lands.
    A windy day, with 1m waves and driftwood.
    Deciduous trees in green, yellow, orange and red.

  • https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40964 [Orbit 1.2, 1953]

    don’t think about every amazing Philip K. Dick story or novel that has been made into a good or bad movie

    don’t think about allegory

    don’t think about maga and carney and the c/a/n/a/d/a project

    don’t think about south africa, or ground penetrating radar or residential “schools” or marked graves or mass graves, or “Indian Day Schools” or the “Indian Land Trust” [which is maybe worth C$600b to C$3t] or the great canadian genocide [ongoing, as well as historical]

    don’t think about what “Indians” means

    don’t think about Indigenous women making up less than 4% of the population here, but 48% of the federal prison population [it was 24% a decade ago, and 12% two decades ago]

    don’t think about how “remigration” is straight out of the nazi playbook

    don’t think about Nakba, or October 7 or eight decades of slow or brisk genocide of zionist psychopaths in Palestine, or zionist settler paramilitary death squads, or how canadian settlers are…on someone else’s land

    don’t think about Gaza or the manifest destiny of greater israel

    don’t think about the flotillas and the beatings and torture and sexual assault, or how the canadian and swedish governments did sweet fuck all to maintain how they are appeasing the zionist psychopaths, so they chose to not support “their” citizens who merely seek an end to genocide, when our elected leaders cavort with those fuckers

    don’t think about antifa and how we were all antifa until 80 years ago, and now with most wwii vets dead, we’ve let nazis and fascists exist under cover of civility politics

    don’t think about how mairikkkans are afraid to physically stop, let alone shoot or kill masked terrorists in their streets kidnapping people, under the guise of homeland security

    don’t think about how naive it is to think that if we protest peacefully the fascists will just stop, but they don’t think like us, and when 80 years ago we had to kill them as fast as possible to stop a global fascist takeover

    don’t think about the global fascist takeover happening right now, shhhhh

    don’t think about how so many people think antifa is an organization with a leader, whose girlfriend has been taken into custody by ice

    don’t think

    just, don’t

    but do, do read Tony and the Beetles!

  • Before my guardian angel
    came crashing to the ground
    in a heap of bloody early summer cottonwood fluff,
    he clipped the top of his left wing
    on an abstract steel sculpture
    recently implanted in a park in what used to be
    his typical oceanside flight plan from
    up there
    wherever
    to the balcony of my apartment
    where he would normally perch,
    occasionally to torment the odd pigeon or seagull
    that’s not quite tuned into
    the abstract, ethereal vibes
    that constantly inhabit my balcony,
    whether angel-boy is there or not.

    And before the crash to the ground,
    perhaps it was yesterday
    or last month
    [who knows, what with Pacific Angel Time and all]
    he hit a patch of vertigo
    while hovering in the cliffside updrafts
    in the Grand Canyon.
    When he panicked and plummeted
    he was fortunate that the mildest gust
    tossed him enough
    so he could land on the cliff edge
    rather than down down down.

    I used to be somewhat self-conscious
    about having a sub-standard guardian angel.
    I mean
    is my karmic balance so out of whack that I don’t rate
    a qualified guide?
    Did I piss off some early muse
    as a cocky teenage poet
    full of self-defined genius and
    overwhelming erotic allure
    and hyper-critical insight
    into the stupidity of the previous poetic generation that I
    —and only I—
    had the power to erase them from the canon?

    But as I got older
    from being such a teenage cock,
    I started meeting others who,
    when properly motivated by what I learned to cultivate—
    a safe trustworthy ear,
    would admit to having suspicions
    of cosmic incompetence
    “guiding” them into co-dependent, dysfunctional
    ultimately imploding, self-destructive
    relationships with uber-egotists.
    So maybe I wasn’t alone.
    Maybe we’re all in this trap,
    thinking there are reliable wings to catch us,
    when really they’re not necessarily
    any more reliable than our own common sense.

    And then I began asking who sets the standards
    for quality, or even competent,
    guardian angels.
    What committee was empowered
    and by who
    and what about the applicants—
    was there a sufficient pool to draw from
    or do dead 1970’s glam-rock drummers
    get to apply?

    And once I’d cultivated enough doubt and suspicion
    of my supposed guardian angel,
    I came to see him more as a companion,
    a mostly unobtrusive friend
    who thankfully lacked the capacity
    to annoy me like some inconsiderate roommate who never cleans his pasta pots.
    And wouldn’t you know,
    I began to see him more
    as my sense of awe lifted.
    He’d sit on my balcony rail,
    ten stories up,
    often lost in his nearly-patented daze
    staring at meandering
    lava lamp cloud formations—
    as if he had some major life decision dilemma looming over him.
    Maybe he did.

    There were even days
    when he looked so down
    and I was amidst an optimistic, inspired streak,
    that I felt it was actually my presence around him
    that made all the difference,
    that kept him from sliding off the rail
    to kiss the pool deck below
    at terminal velocity.
    Those were the days
    that if it weren’t for the groove I was in,
    I’d be cynical enough to think that the Great Chain of Being
    was actually one of those chains
    attached to a rubber plug in the bathroom sink,
    that every time it slipped out of your hand
    the chain would seek the plumbing depths
    by diving, jingling, down the drain,
    desperate to drag the plug with it,
    only to be ultimately frustrated when
    the plug
    merely
    did its job.

    So when I heard the crash
    and saw the bloody cottonwood fluff,
    I knew I was on my own.
    And the air,
    it doesn’t taste all that different
    after all.
    But I still miss you, angel-boy.


    Copyright 2002, Stephen Buckley
    2002.10.16, 915-945pm

  • It’s early autumn
    Freckles fade now, because fog
    Cider sweater stars!

    s.e~b, 2025.10.04

  • Harry Bailey, almost at the very end of Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. #antifa, through and through.

    pssssst, here.

    like, everyone I know is antifa

    at least if they aren’t, they should fuck off:

    I’ve started talking to people about my favorite fictional character who was antifa. Harry Bailey. People generally know who he is. I talk about how he saved so many people’s lives on that transport ship, because George Bailey was there to save him as a child. That’s what anti-fascism means to me on a real empathy level.

    The president even gave him a fucking medal for his heroism because he saved other antifa, by killing fascists.

    And thennnn they get to badly argue why It’s a Wonderful Life isn’t an antifa film, because is sure fucking is.

    And we all watch it every Christmas.

    It’s also anti oligarch, and pro community housing and credit unions. Fuck Mr. Potter…

    Fascists hate that shit.

  • This poem is almost 4 years old now (as I empty the content from meta platforms)…

    midnight blue darkwind

    nine stars still peek among clouds

    sleepier autumn

    s.e~b

    2021.10.30

  • a fancy global event

    focussing on Palestine, genocide, climate change, citizenship, slavery and indentured work, broligarchs (25% wealth tax/year, dropping to 5% when they’re down to $78m), neocolonialism and landback and reparations, science is real, disability rights, general fascism and actual democracy. The big details are below.

    canada on fire, as of this hour

    compare today with 1980-2024 above, so filthy

    the Nanaimo rally?

    • At the start, 80% were over 60 years old, so let’s check in with VIU and k12 students hey? By the end it was up to 1/3 under 60.
    • lots of honking and waving
    • People in cars with deeply odd political statements [any first year political science student is welcome to deconstruct these gems]:
      • You’re all going to hell
      • This is Canada, you fucking liberals
      • Climate change is a fucking lie

    Why do we Draw the Line?

    We refuse to stand by while the government and Canada’s richest corporations hoard wealth, gut our public services, fuel climate collapse, attack migrants, exploit Indigenous lands, and prop up a genocide in Palestine.

    They think that if they can overwhelm and divide us, we won’t fight back. But climate justice, migrant justice, economic justice, Indigenous rights, and anti-war movements are uniting to prove them wrong.

    On Saturday, September 20th, we’re drawing the line – for People. For Peace. For the Planet.

    From rallies to strikes, marches to gatherings, this September 20th, communities will mobilize across the country and demand that Prime Minister Carney and the Canadian government pick a side: injustice, violence, and climate destruction- or a just and safe future for all of us. Read our full demands below.

    let your eyes soak it in:

    this boat, contrasted with the foreground Arbutus tree, is grounded, stuck at a king tide line, feeble and impotent and incapable of change. that’s the c/a/n/a/d/a project. OUR job is to intervene!

  • You lay on your side
    naked
    fetal
    in a field
    of wild flowers and summer afternoon heat.
    I had no wings
    —though I imagined them—
    yet I hovered over you
    covering you
    from the elements.
    When I stood
    your halo pulsed.

    We went to a Shuswap Medicine Wheel
    in the summer of Oka.
    The eagles soaring above
    often appeared
    and disappeared
    out of
    and into
    nowhere, 
    despite our search
    for continuity in their flight. 
    My sweat lodge lasted days
    [liminally].
    When you emerged
    from the moon lodge
    I asked how it went.
    Your eyes looked at mine
    into mine
    through mine
    around mine
    all over mine,
    and you said
    —ambivalently—
    that you couldn’t say.
    You aren’t able to say?
    You aren’t allowed to say?
    You shouldn’t say?
    You aren’t moved to say?
    As we walked to an after dinner meal
    Your visage was substantial
    and weighty
    yet light
    and fluid
    and opposed to gravity.
    Your halo began to envelope
    your neck and head,
    pulsating.

    You lay on your side
    naked
    fetal
    in a field
    of wild flowers,
    bees,
    and summer twilight.
    I had no wings
    —though an eagle appeared above—
    I hovered over you
    covering you from the elements
    [the cooling sky].
    When I stood
    your whole body aura
    was pale
    and rose and fell
    with your breath.
    Time
    —clearly—
    was counting down.

    We were sitting on a boulder
    in March
    on the west shore slope of the Maritime Museum marina,
    facing the setting sun
    grinning into crispy winds
    and the intermittent spray
    of the life
    in the sea.
    Your ears were reddening.
    Your fingers icy.
    Your resolve was firm.
    Squeezing your eyes closed,
    inhaling deeply
    then holding your breath
    you willed your
    body temperature to rise
    miraculously
    beyond where the wool sweater
    expected.
    Your glow spilled out your eyes
    and cocooned your whole body,
    capturing parts of me
    —and the boulder—
    inadvertently.
    I’ve never since felt that 
    rich
    golden
    hue.

    You lay on your side
    naked
    fetal
    in a field
    of wild flowers
    on a northwestern shoulder of Mount Baker,
    chirping insects,
    and midnight blue sky.
    I longed for wings
    —the moon began to creep up over the glacier—
    I hovered over you
    covering you from the elements
    [the cooled sky].
    When I stood
    I watched you wake,
    yawn
    stretch
    sit up
    hug your knees
    grin,
    feel the glow
    emanating from your bones,
    close your eyes
    and fade into light,
    leaving me to walk
    back down to the forest
    alone,
    grinning,
    yet with tears of loss
    streaming down my face.

    The last time I ever saw you
    was the following winter
    in the pub
    at SFU
    where we sat together
    sharing a huge hot chocolate
    with Baileys,
    reading our respective books,
    pausing and watching the winter wind pelt
    —then sprinkle—
    the rain
    onto the windows.
    The moon wouldn’t rise that night
    behind the overcast darkening sky.
    Because of this,
    you looked up
    out the window
    and back at me.
    Borrowed time.
    Ineffable memories.
    The flux of moments.
    Your waiting.
    My wondering.
    The feeling of loss
    of contact
    of fleeting contact
    and days gone by.
    You stood,
    packed your gear,
    and walked out into the rain,
    to face south,
    look up into the brooding sky,
    take the pelting rain on the chin,
    let the wind whip your hair wildly
    and stare
    until the clouds thinned
    then parted
    and the moon
    returned to you.

    Copyright 2002, Stephen Buckley
    2002.07.24, 1:15-2:50am 

  • This is so vile! This sick, racist verbal assault at Coquitlam Centre mall.

    The c/a/n/a/d/a project pretends to be friendly and polite. Sometimes we are nice, but we are rarely kind.

    We ignore our, and other genocides.

    We are steeped in white patriarchy in our systems, culture, institutions and sport (Hockey Canada rapists included here)

    The tri-cities used to be predominantly white decades ago, so it’s no surprise the whites are emboldened to spread their racist filth out loud, in public.

    But GENERATIONS ago, the tri-cities was Indigenous land, which is mostly lost on white people despite Coquitlam being an actual Indigenous word. Colonialism is a core, unexamined identity here.

    White people: our jobbbbb is to intervene and confront racists we encounter. There are no bystanders, but enablers and appeasers.

  • when they tell you right out that misogyny doesn’t violate the community standards, leave…

    because racism, misogyny, fascism and hatred ARE the community standards

    join me on Mastodon

    from instagram (where I only exist a few times a month now)

    regarding the Hockey Canada Rapists…

  • A light shines on a wall, where there are bumps in the plaster, that combine with the spreading light to look like a young boy is a comet. Is he your inner child?

    i love this guy

  • ok several things happened last night in the chain, linked above:

    1. they forced england out of Ireland 103 years ago
    2. they forced england out of India 78 years ago
    3. Czechoslovakia transformed into other things since say 1991
    4. the c/a/n/a/d/a project needs to go, same with mairikkka
    5. because of 1-3, we can do 4
    6. because of 1-3 we can get rid of israel, which is why that since 2023.10.07, zionist shills worldwide pushed the existential narrative that “israel has a right to exist” and “but do you condemn Hamas?” even though international law is on the side of the occupied (including in North America)
    7. Christians, Jews, Muslims and so many others coexisted in Palestine for centuries before they introduced the zionist cancer (with apologies to cancer)
    8. this Mastodon post above, and so much more, happened–read it, and the chain that followed, to see a variety of views about what we need to do with Palestine…and the 2state fuckery is not it
    9. also, this will help you orient to a 21c where we remove occupying empires…https://www.threads.com/@the.harm.in.harmony/post/DMxLXyPx5Ub
    10. and Rachel Gilmore first alerted me to slash-and-cut-carney pondering recognizing Palestine…so while the c/a/n/a/d/a project is inching forward on Palestine, it’s for almost alllll the wrong reasons.
    11. kthanksbye
    12. oh and fuck off american eagle master race fuckery too, and all you dine with

  • passive income = getting something for nothing, yet OTHER people are lazy?

    nothing…especially when it’s inherited!

    does that feel right? either way, here it is, much more eloquently:

  • Statistics Canada data shows only 36 per cent of police-reported sexual assaults ended in charges between 2015 and 2019, and fewer than half of those ended in a guilty verdict.

    https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/sexual-assault-court-process-canada-change-1.7593766

    and what percentage of sexual assaults don’t even get reported? someone left that enormous number out of this article, as a testament to failure

    too drunk to be credible, but ok to provide consent

    5 hockey players know enough to coerce her to “provide” consent on video?

    the bar is so insanely high for beyond a reasonable doubt, that it’s no surprise that racist genocidal colonializing upper class white supremacy men a few centuries ago, created our legal system

    these 5 hockey players…a pox upon anyone who pays them to wear skates

    they are in the stanford rapist circle of hell

    let’s make sure they stay there

  • https://canadianlabour.ca/buy-union/

    hey, here’s a list of unionized goods and services for you to prioritize in your spending

    you don’t have to be a political economist to know that with threats from #mairikkka (invasion, tariffs), climate breakdown, #BigCarbon, the wicked #CarneyCuts coming up to federal programs…one amazing thing to do, with very little effort, is to buy things made here by union workers

    we buy things anyway

    we want to improve our economic resilience

    we want to support other people in our communities

    we want to buy things that benefit workers, which unionized workplaces help accomplish

    but it’s hard to do all the research to make sure our money doesn’t help impoverish others or bleed out of the country (the database website doesn’t note foreign ownership, but some of the brands will be obvious to you)

    and it’s hard on your own to do all this research and filter by product or service, by city, etc.

    luckily the Canadian Labour Congress has done all that for you!

    go to there, isolate for your city, get familiar with what you could be buying

    and I suspect you’ll also see lots of things you’re already buying that are made here by unionized workers!