“the happy song”
kenny is like
my second mom
he told me to write myself
a happy song
I hate to admit it
but like my mom
he’s rarely wrong
so here is your god damn
happy song
here is your happy song
kenny
my second mom
I check out the fridge
eat your cookies as you bitch
drink your booze
while you snooze
you kick my ass out
of the door
give me shit
for the mess on the floor
left the lights on
and the curtains down
the tv is your best friend
can’t judge what makes you content
whatever keeps you happy and alive
here is your happy song
cuz what the hell
cud ever go wrong
got a cyst
on my wrist
an abscess of the heart
a rash in my head
that’s just a start
not like me, you never complain
just eat your many pills
watch your game shows
and live
your jeopardy
here is your happy song
kenny
my second mom
here is your happy song
what will I do
when you are gone
vancouver 1999
“the brandy song”
gladiators crawl for my dignity
and integrity
vixens float by on inner tubes
drinking my brandy
toasting our affinity
salute,
mon amie
we all know
it’s the devil’s goal
to sell our souls
and who
is the goalie now
and who . . .
is keeping score
I climb to a hierarchy
on to infinity
each rung of the ladder
just makes me madder
as I step on my ally’s heads
I feel the pressure instead
our psyches are not dead
so leave
our souls alone
the devil lends a finger
on the knot of my thoughts
as I play
with the prey in my web
an angel pulls the thread
I’m free to go,
she said
I’m always free to leave
this hierarchy
this hierarchy
we all know
it’s the devil’s goal
to sell our souls
and who
is the devil now
and who . . .
is keeping score
vancouver 1999
wrote when I got fired from film work
“perfect spot”
sit in front of a tv tray
the ocean is at my display
uh-huh
parked my van in the perfect spot
it’s not in that parking lot
uh-huh
muff + jane in the boat next door
rainbow flag waves to the shore
it’s hard to believe
it’s the end of a century
it’s hard to believe
it’s the end of
you and me
make my wish
in the magic moon
I know that I will get it soon
tarrot reader said to me
everything will manifest
if you,
become obsessed
said of love,
let it die
with a death is born
a brand new life
went to that party after 3
I was sober as a tree
uh-huh
sobriety
that young thing came on to me
had nice eyes but didn’t seem to be
uh-huh
stopped at jon’s,
still wonder why
kitty is,
my best ally
vancouver jan 1st 2000
“metamorphic trip”
headed across the u.s. border in my big purple van this summer on the 4th of July – a freeway of fireworks. then a gorgeous drive hugging the coast to california. it was my katharsis.
I hit the dunes first. the great white dunes. drove in at sunset, the sun spitting into my eyes,
I wake up with sand in my hair
make a coffee
climb in the captain’s chair
drive down the 101
listen to neil young
joni mitchel
true canadians
I sprinkle my wicked words to you
into an oregan wind
like confetti
or a cremation
celebrating love and death
or is it my own salvation
blew into california like the fog. blanketed. claustrophobic. huge trees making me dizzy. cudn’t breath. their tops lost in the fog like my ego and thots. slept under a red wood tree. it promised to protect me. but not from my tortured dreams. my bed became too small. I woke up diagonal.
hit the road again. trying to get to the middle of nowhere, I heard it’s really warm there. writing lyrics on my dash, words for a verse. put on my purple sunglasses and yellow fields turn to blue.
had beer and bagels in bodega in a bar with 30 deer heads stuck to the wall and 20 red necks stuck to the bar. a scene from felini. slept by hitchcock’s bird house by accident. then drove in every direction but the right one.
I arrive in san francisco with a full moon over the golden gate and the moodiest sunset in my rear view, my past. it’s done. now alone w/my optimism, sadness dissipates.
I greet my girlfriends like no time has gone. smiles hugs and kisses, ice cream, wine and cheese. these women look after me. I’m so lucky. blessed with angels, magic wands and the deaths of loved ones.
not long before city stress enters my blood stream. offered work the nite I arrived in sf. all my career girlfriends want me to run their lives better than their own or mine.
keep my balance
keep my harmony
there’s a fine line
between a tight rope
and a trapeze
2
they say
leap and the net will appear
they say
have no fear
they say
look in the mirror
my life is a carnival ride
somedays
I just wanna get off
not a peep show
not a freak show
my friends are strange
but they’re okay
in this parade
you’re okay
a strange year. changes and opportunity and opportunity to change. on my birthday a great article came out about my debut cd and the work I’ve done with female addicts in vancouver’s downtown eastside.
needles spoons condoms the works
strewn upon these putrid streets
the scabs the wounds the rotting teeth
if you follow her tracks
you may find her dreams
interviewed women while my friend linc photographed them for his ‘Heroines’ photo essay. with lincoln’s photos and my song ‘still have my dreams’, we made a music video that aired on much music.
she may be your mother
your daughter
your sister
your lover
now she’s the street girl
the junkie
the whore
when I returned from my metaphoric trip, I was hired to work on a documentary about linc’s work – also called ‘heroines’. interviewed 6 women and created profiles of them. my songs may be used on the soundtrack.
3
well yagga yagga. I do go on. just an abstract update. soon I want to pack my van and hit the purple road again and maybe get to texas and then maybe do it all backwards.
living so vicariously
swinging on my trapeze
they say
I don’t aim to please
brite lites,
sitting pretty
I’m dizzy
somedays I’m glad
I am sad
another town, another clown
get’s me down
my life is a carnival ride
somedays
I just want a day off.
peace + love
kat
excerpts from an e-mail to a friend, vancouver 2000
“raison pie”
me and my daddy
used to drive across the country
he’d order raison pie
ice cream and coffee
at some crazy café
and now I raise
all kane & abel
and I rain on everyone’s parade
as I look for that pie in the sky
and search for the reason why
and I know
there’s got to be a reason
for raisin kids and pie
and raisin reason
raison pie
reason why
all I want is for you
to have a taste
all I want is for me
to have a piece
of the pie
raison pie
I still look
for the pie in the sky
I still search for the reason why
there’s somethin bout raisin
your kids in the right way
there’s somethin bout raison pie
and I know
there’s got to be a reason
for raisin kids and pie
and raisin reason
raison pie
reason why
now I drive all
across the country
I order raison pie
ice cream and coffee
at some crazy cafe
vancouver 2000
“My Life in a Jar”
My moon is eclipsing my sun, my poor sun. I miss the sun like my guitar and my left arm with a wrist and a cyst that insists that it’s there, but today it’s disappeared. go figure.
I want to be warm and by the sea and I am not. There is no heat which means I want to escape. I am dying small deaths by a computer in a small room. The heat goes on – whoop-te-doo, it’s fake. I want real heat from the sun by the sea.
Life is a sandwich, a crazy sandwich made with the sweat of my thots. I’ve taken 3 bites, spit out the first, gagged on the next and still trying to digest the third. Mixed with bile, wine and tears, it is put to a test and like me it’s not sure which turn to take next. Into a dark abyss or up the garden path. I always accept my own self induced wrath.
There you have it, my life in a jar with ‘Purr’ written on the side and the lid rusty from the cold and the rain. Moths and comets have been caught in this jar and when the lid lifts anything cud escape including a dragon depending on my mood.
Time to hit a purple road. I am light years from going yet my hand is on the switch and with one sporadic twitch all hell cud break loose and I cud slip down some strange road into a sunset and find my fool’s gold.
My mom always wonders if I’ll ever be tame. Tame as the dragons in my mason jar mah. Tame as the moths and the comets and my crazy thots. My life is purfect mom. My kingdom came and went again and left me on a cold cement step.
Then rain shines on sunny days and rhymes fill my head like chimes till I am ringing and rhyming till the cows come home and then I am left all lonely and numb.
‘Come on cows’, dad used to say and they all would herd his way with those big round eyes the size of king cobs. I saw a cow cry once when its calf was taken away. now I’m convinced that everything cries including worms. Only we think we are more magnificent. we all bleed, we cry, and we all say goodbye.
Life is not a tall white building. Life is not a crowd. Life is tomorrow, today and yesterday. Life is not for rent. Life is for sale. Life is on a dump truck going to hell. Life is an empty shelf I’ve made for myself, for when I am well, for when I am ready, when I’ll have time – someday, another time.
I’m living in a drawer and drawers are for things you have but you don’t want to see. but even drawers have symmetry.
Life goes on. It stagnates in a pond. It turns inside out on a letter and finds out its spelled wrong. My life is a song that I’m singing so loud I’ve forgotten the words and I turn backwards to see forwards till I see the moon is eclipsing my sun and me and I’ve come back to paragraph one. I still need the sea but somehow I’m in a glass jar in a small room in the middle drawer till tomorrow, three days or three weeks from now.
kat e-mail to a friend vancouver oct 2000
My kingdom may never come. Sometimes line forms sentence. Sometimes I never see what’s on my mind. Sometimes I say never mind. Sometimes everything that’s there is scary.
“carnival ride”
living so vicariously
swinging on my trapeze
they say,
I don’t aim to please
bright lites, sitting pretty
I’m dizzy
somedays I’m glad
I am sad
another town
another clown
get’s me down
my life is a carnival ride
somedays
I just wana get off
keep my balance
keep my harmony
there’s a fine line
between a tight rope
and a trapeze
they say
leap and the net will appear
they say
have no fear
they say
look in the mirror
acrobatics and dramatics
contortion and extortion
not a peep show
not a freak show
my friends are strange
but they’re okay
Ii this parade
you’re okay
in this parade
I’m okay
my life is a carnival ride
somedays
I just want a day off
vancouver 2000
“chasing the dragon”
there’s a freak show
out my window
a freak show
out my window
and my hand
is on the pain
dope sick
and home sick
crying on the corner
in the rain
tweeking
and freaking
barefoot
on a junkie street
I’ll get clean
she said to me
I’ll get clean
she promised me
chasing the dragon
down the street
someone
loves you somewhere
and you,
don’t seem to care
your life
is a freak show
and you,
don’t wanna know
I’ll get clean
she said to me
I’ll get clean
she promised me
chasing the dragon
down the street
I can’t walk a mile
in your feet
cuz you’re barefoot
on a junkie street
chasing the dragon
not your dream
vancouver march 2000
about the downtown eastside
“still have my dreams”
needles, spoons, condoms, the works
strewn upon this putrid street
the scabs the wounds
the rotting teeth
if you follow her tracks
you may find her dream
lines drawn on a sallow face
she shakes upon skeletal legs
the haunting look
the hollow eyes
she created her own demise
she may be your mother
your daughter
your sister,
your lover
now she’s the druggie
the street girl
the junkie
the whore
she turns another trick
her soul for a fix
someday she’s gonna quit
someday she’s gonna kick
what is your story
where is the glory
have you found it on
hastings and main
what is your story
where is the glory
she said . . .
I still have my dreams
where is her mother
her daughter
her sister
her lover
where is her father
her son
and the holy ghost
and where . . .
are you
and where . . .
are you?
she said . . .
I still have my dreams
vancouver 1999
about the downtown eastside women
“pain and wasting”
I can tell you a story
that wud twist your heart
into a knot
I’ve been thru everything, for a start
josie said
I was a slave
in this human race
see the color of my face
I am hiding behind this wall of pain
the bricks are high and there’s no gate
I’m in pain
I am wasted again
I’m in pain
I am wasting
on hastings and main
we could be your mother, your daughter
or your niece
we are all the same and we all bleed
we are not just sex machines
we’ve been robbed of our self esteem
and we will die if we don’t get clean
do you think this was our big dream
to be a junkie on the street
if I had a choice
if I had a choice
do you think id’ chose this god dam life
if I had a choice
if I had a choice
I’d be a mother to my daughter
maybe a wife
so how can you say
how can you say
I’m a junkie, a whore, a fool
how can you say
how can you say
when you don’t know
what I’ve been thru
I’m in pain
I am hiding
I am wasted again
I’m in pain
I am wasted again
I’m in pain
I am wasting
on hastings and main
Vancouver september 2000
quotes from the women of the downtown eastside
“ah men”
how do we give
so much trust
to a man
in a robe
I don’t know
a priest,
our father
hollow is your name
as you trespass
upon us
if this is my daily bread
I’ll take wine instead
if this is the kingdom
where is my glory
my kingdom will come
for thy will be done
you give us your sins
as we forgive those
the power and the glory
are mine
. . . not yours
deliver us
with your evil
on earth
but not in heaven
a man in a robe
a tale to be told
the bible depends
on who tells the story
put the host
on to my tongue
the story’s just begun
here’s to the father,
the son
and the holy . . .
forever and ever
amen
ah men
vancouver 2000
© 2019 Estate of Kat Kosiancic