kootenay gothic

by underswansea


Damn fear. Fuck it. It’s all around. Waiting on the news or at the job site. I grew up with fear. I was shot at and had knives held to my throat. Half the stand arounds cheered my death, the other half worked for my release. Neither side made a difference. It was in the gut of my captors if I lived or died.

That was when I was young. There is plenty we can’t control. Sickness, cruelty, what we endure and what we inflict. And if you don’t think we’ve done our share of inflicting fear on others, you’re fooling yourself. Look where we live.


We make it up. All those times we bolt awake. Or feel it pushing us to cower. We have so many fears we have to pick favourites. After all it’s as strong as love, and that’s why it’s there. To hold vigil. Keep us on guard for our young kids and old parents

Bears don’t worry me. Nor does a nuclear winter, old age, losing my mind, tidal waves, slipping on a banana peal or a patch of ice (my head can’t be cracked), a misfire through a thin barrel, thin ice, loose lug nuts, addiction, speed, downers, booze, bad friends and good, salad dressing past it’s best before due date – they can all kiss my ass.

I’m older now. My heart beats steady. My dog would bark if something was really out there anyway.