The Boar

Heal

Nokyoung Xayasane — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 18:30:18 +0000

when I was younger
I clung to you
the roots of a tree
gripping the riverbank

shifting waters
could not move us

enveloped by mosquito netting
and protected from the outside
while balmy breezes blew
within a decrepit shanty

the cracks would not let in
the pain

shards of light reflecting
mirror side up
bruised forearm, broken finger

I cannot find you
in your dark
hidden by your rage
I search for you

the splashing, laughing pool
flipping through the pages
of a torn photo album

you call out to me from your
hiding place
a quiet voice beneath the fists
loving pain, gentle brutality
comforting violence

sometimes, glimpses of you emerge
falling rain, glimmering laugher
and I hope for your light

shards of light reflecting
mirror side up

my image in your eyes
my movements in your stance
quiet rage
shifting below

whispering madness seeps into light
mosquito netting, broken finger
morning grass, afternoon tag
and I remember you
as you were, as you are now

soft folds of a blanket
and the radio hums within the hut
hammock swaying
cradled in the softness
protected in the netting

and I can see you as you are now

soothing cooling
ointment glides on the burn
healing tissue replacing cut
a soft scar
in the shadow of forgiveness

and I can see your light

Community Events

Veronica Fredericks — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 20:02:15 +0000

August 2010

Kitchener/Waterloo

Summer Concert Series

Monday, June 07, 2010 – Monday, August 23, 2010
Time: 7:00 PM – 8:30 PM
Waterloo Public Square

Every Monday until the end of August.

Aug 2 – Mike Erb
Aug 9 – Red Ribbon
Aug 16 – Bosswich
Aug 23 – Juneyt

The TABU Music Festival

Saturday, August 14, 2010 – Saturday, August 14, 2010
10:00 AM – 10:00 PM
Waterloo Public Square
Raising awareness for The Canadian Testicular Cancer Association, TABU hosts 35 bands, Randy and Mr. Lahey from the Trailer Park Boys for a completely free, all-day, outdoor festival

University Cooking Prep

Kitchener Market Place
300 King Street East, Kitchener ON (map)
Every Thursday Until August 19th
www.kitchenermarket.ca
Learn how to make healthy, home-style meals in your dorm room that are cheap, quick and easy. Chef Paul from Indulge Natural and Organic Kitchen will take you through the steps to preparing meals using a hot plate, microwave, and any other equipment that can be found in your dorm room. Cost per person/ per class: $25

LINK Festival

Saturday August 21 5-8pm
Sunday August 22, 2010 noon-9pm
Victoria Park, Downtown Kitchen

Background Check

Veronica Fredericks — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 19:38:42 +0000

An assembly line inspects product to
ensure polices and mandates are upheld,
to secure preservation and enhancement of product line.
Product stuck in static quo,
kept in check through routine authenticity
examinations. Product restraint by closed spaces,
surface scarred boxes- imprinted with assumptions
in two official languages-for classification purposes.

The Boar Coffeeshop Podcast VIII

Jamie Damaskinos — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 18:56:42 +0000

Image courtesy of owaief89 at flickr.com

The Boar Coffeeshop Podcast VIII

Hi Everyone,

We’re back again!

Today’s podcast theme is Editors’ Submission Sunday. (Yes, it’s Wednesday, but pretend it’s Sunday to fully enjoy the alliterative effect.) That’s right, for a taste of our writing style: Jamie, Nok and myself will be reading pieces written by, us!

So sit back and enjoy!

Cheers,

Nok, Jamie and Veronica

P.S.

If you are now suddenly inspired to submit a piece, or if you have any questions, give us a shout at coffeeshop@theboar.ca.

The minutes between

Nokyoung Xayasane — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 19:33:01 +0000

The quiet minutes
after the buzz of an alarm
and the moment before eyes open
Awake into a world
that moves indifferently
to your presence

Try to capture nothingness
hold to the empty spaces
between sleeping and waking
Vast liberty
while the burden of independence
keeps the flesh in place

Nine more minutes
before the snooze alarm
and the body lies warm
in the folds of a blanket
the sheets that cradle
the light weight of humanity
but then it comes
palpitations
from the cold grains of knowing:
this world will continue to beat on
in the face of your anxiety

Eight minutes
before the cold draft of moving
air through this dark room
seeps into floorboards
touches the underside of footing
Waiting for the moment
when you understand
your place in this world

Seven minutes
before the long walk down a darkened hallway
holding the fleecy robe
against tentative flesh

Six minutes
before the sore return to safety
before knowing the loneliness of

the five minutes
before disrobing the garment
that shields
the very nakedness of a spirit

that four minutes ago
laid in the comfort of
a disentangled heart, of an unfettered mind

The clock winds down
and the slipping of time
slopes at an incline of despair
because three minutes remain

A yearning arises for that silence of mind
returning to the hazy fields of sleep
that vision of dreamlike possibility
a potential that expands beyond
the nocturnal chains of clarity

Two minutes moves over you
a caress that brims with sorrow
because the final minute is here
and eyes must open to the glaring noise
of wakefulness

A surrender that lasts
between dreaming and waking
the moment when you are free
before stepping from imagined colour
into the reality of shaded contours

Embrace a solitude
that can only know its place
between dreaming and waking

SS10

Conan Lai — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 22:26:27 +0000

These photos were contributed to The Boar by artist Conan Lai.

To submit your own work for consideration, email us at photo@theboar.ca or editor@theboar.ca.

Unified Divergence

Nokyoung Xayasane — Sun, 04 Jul 2010 18:45:05 +0000

You—an image—that I hold
close to my chest.
A chest that heaves an uprising
of foam, mucus, air,
bubbling forth from a vacuous
maze of uncertainty.

We shuffle through the immaculate lies,
groomed and bridled to yesteryear.
In the distance, the golden ticket
within an endless circumference,
an eternity encased in fine binding.

The hard metal of expectation
leaves water rings on the
unfinished oak table that was
commissioned to unite two beings.

We willed it to be so,
but willing does not perpetuate reality.
Willing only strains against the
selves, that shell of flesh, that
fragile center.

Imperfection marked by
a twitching eye, the fine pinprick of pain
manifesting from doubt to the
certain realization
of a misshapen circle.

Beings created from ideas of who we should be,
but not what we actually embody.
For how can one join to another,
unfinished in oneself,
produced from good will and sacrifice of the self
to be world for another?

Equally progressing in divergent axis
running parallel,
but never touching, never joining
in the commonality of pursuits.

Obtuse angles, acute separation
leaves us as an anomaly
striving for a common union
based on uncommon ends.

No related posts.

July 2010

Veronica Fredericks — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 00:35:00 +0000

Kitchener/Waterloo

Canada Day Celebrations
Thursday, July 1 2010
2:00PM – 11:00PM
Columbia Lake Fields

The Non-Violence Festival
Saturday, July 10, 2010
12:00pm – 9:00pm
Victoria Park Island, Kitchener

TELL – A Party Night and Arts Showcase by The MT Space
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
7:00pm – 11:30pm
The MT Space – Globe Studios
141 Whitney Place
Kitchener, ON

Uptown Waterloo Jazz Festival
July 16-18 2010-06-28
100 Regina Street south

Music & Movie Nights in Waterloo Park
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Music TBA
Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief

The MT Space Presents Tottering Biped Theatre – My Name is Rachel Corrie
Thursday, July 29, 2010 at 8:00pm
Friday, July 30, 2010 at 10:30pm
The Registry Theatre
122 Frederick Street
Kitchener, ON

Toronto

Toronto Poetry Project presents the Geek Poetry Slam
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
7:00pm – 11:00pm
The Boat
Toronto, Ontario
158 Augusta Street

Fresh Wednesdays
Nathan Philips Square
Farmers’ Market
June 2 – October 13
Wednesdays 10 am – 2 pm Fresh Concerts
July 14 – August 25
Wednesdays Noon – 2 pm

Toronto Poetry Slam
Saturday July 17
Season begins!
Drake Hotel Underground, 1150 Queen St. W.
Signup 730pm
$5

The Boar Coffeeshop Podcast VII

Jamie Damaskinos — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 17:26:30 +0000

Image courtesy of owaief89 at flickr.com

The Boar Coffeeshop Podcast VII

What up team?! We’re back (finally)!

That’s right, you heard correctly, the podcast is up and running again with fresh new voices and delicious new poetic grooves. Veronica Fredericks and I (being Jamie) have usurped control of the podcast from the hands of the dearly missed Philip and will be updating it on a regular basis. Really, if the podcast were a recently widowed cougar, Veronica and I would be the Claudius to Phil’s Hamlet Senior. But don’t you worry, because Hamlet Junior (played by the lovely Nokyoung Xayasane) will be sticking around to keep it real and levy empty death threats upon us! Try not to think too hard about that analogy because I know that I certainly didn’t.

Anyway, as I mentioned before, expect us on a semi-regular basis. We’re thinking that we’ll be around once every two weeks, with next week being the exception. In light of the coming G8/G20 summit being held in the Big Smoke, we will be focusing next week’s podcast on that event. Further, we will be bringing in spoken word artists to lay down some truth for us for during the podcast.

I think that is about it. More details will follow as they become clear and the haze of fatigue lifts.

Hugs and kisses,

- Jamie and Veronica

P. S. – Jamie, here. I will give a cookie to the first person to e-mail to coffeeshop@theboar.ca listing every single word that I mispronounce. Seriously.

the creative process

Travis Myers — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 14:08:46 +0000

http://www.flickr.com/markjhandel

It looks like any other doorway along a row of shops, although the stairs wind down. Two of three landings, I feel like the path led to a space underneath the street, although I can’t imagine that being allowed.

The downstairs is laid out like a maze. A couple dollars entry and you’re in. Thin, teen, natural blonde, good teeth, money; all the things that make me attractive outside of here stop applying the second I hear automated latch on the metal door unclick. Once I’m inside the only things that make me worth looking at are my cock, my mouth, my ass and my pulse.

I walk down the dark hallways. Each room I go past has the flickering glow of a television screen inside flashing across someone’s face through the open door. Some of them sit on the edges of their couches with their hands on their knees, the way you’d wait for news of a loved one in the emergency room. Others lean back on the filthy cracked leather couches with their pants around their ankles. All of their eyes make instant contact with mine as I walk by. I get my pick.

I see others walking in front and behind me entering doors and closing them behind. Some have left the door open with two occupants. I care about nothing right now. I want to get fucked; I want someone to give me that scrap. Or maybe I want to be treated like the piece of trash I feel like.

I’m a mess. I was perfect, and we were perfect together. His dark eyes and handsome face. His strong hands holding mine. Then he left, and my structure began to collapse – the grades slipping, the sleep gone. And now I’m here at the bottom of the world.

He leans over the table. “You know I love you and always will, right?” My heart is torn apart. I know this conversation. “But listen, you and I, we need to talk.” I know it’s permanent.

I see a black guy, maybe late twenties, leaning back on the couch in his room. His red track suit is a bit dingy, the top unzipped with no other shirt underneath, and the track pants bottoms crowded awkwardly around one of his ankles, the other foot naked and free and legs spread apart. He doesn’t look at me, so I stop and peer in through the door ajar. The images of porn on his screen send colours flying across his face.

I scramble. I start crying. I start begging. I never thought I would act this way. “Please don’t leave me. Please. I really don’t think I could handle it Lets think about this.” His gaze goes to the wall. “Don’t do this to yourself,” he says “I can’t watch you like this, it’s embarrassing.” I continue to cry, and he leaves.

He still doesn’t look at me, so I step into his room. I am shaking. I kneel down directly in front of him and he shifts himself over to look beyond me at the television screen. I reach my hand out in front of me and can barely make use of my dexterity. The air coursing through this place is so cold; my fingers are freezing. I feel like there is sand coursing through my veins.

A day goes by from him leaving the table. I haven’t left the room. This is my moment, my creative burst. This is the beginning of the creative process. I convince myself that my pain can be used for good, and my pain can be used to write. I write about him, his pain. I write about how awful it must be to inhabit his skin, and when I exhaust that I begin to write about me, and how awful it is to be on the floor of my kitchen wiping tears onto a t-shirt he gave to me.

Before I can touch him he grabs my shoulder and pushes my face down onto his crotch. I choke and sputter, but he doesn’t care. I don’t either.

I spend hours in front of my laptop, typing. I don’t sleep. I get it wrong every time. I can’t hit the moment, I can’t hype up my pain. I can’t translate my feelings.”I’m not sure you loved me. I’m not sure you can love me.” It’s all shit.

The black guy stands. He holds me underneath the backs of my armpits and I am laying face down on the couch, my face pressed into the cracked leather. The foam bursting from underneath is soaked with the sweat of him and the countless others who have laid there today, yesterday, and before.

There is the disgusting moment when I realize that no great novel will come out of my pain. My emotions don’t funnel into beauty. My emotions mean nothing to anyone but me.

His big hand presses into my back, my neck and my cheek all at once. I am breathing heavy as he yanks off my jeans. We both still have shirts on. I hear him spit into his palm and I make some noises so he knows I’m ready.

As I delete everything I pass across something. “I worry that I have come to a full realization of you.”

I bite into my lip and hold in a yelp as he pushes himself into me. I want this, no complaining. My thoughts split into two streams. One asks me what I’m doing, why I’m here, what is wrong with me. The other half maintains the beat of the moment, as unsexy as it is – I know I want this. Harder. Deeper.

“Don’t come inside.” The only words I had said to him yet. Within ten seconds of my request, he finishes on my back, pulls up his pants and leaves. I stay in the awkward position for a moment longer.

“I worry that I have come to full realization of you, and you’ve done the same with me. And that is why you are leaving.”

I hate myself.