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A Pale Night

“And I looked; and I beheld a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.” -Revelations 6:8

Happy return friends to this stellar cellar of secular non-sequitur. In fact, I live on the ground floor. Though one supposes it could still be a basement walkout. Damn you, ambiguous cellar paradigm!

What did Gandalf say to Shadowfax on the day of his retirement? (scrollover the blank space below to reveal punchline…)

“Show us the meaning of paste”. 

Let’s take a quick moment to reflect on how poor the reffing was during yesterday evening’s basketball event. Get your shit together, boys! I fervently hope Obama was giving Silver an only somewhat good-natured ribbing sitting next to each other in the stands. Also, Raptors Superfan, Nav Bhatia, you are the coolest of dudes and we are honoured to have you as informal team hype-bro.

Attempting a new format today. Going to release an 1/8 or so of the following poem, having not actually finished it yet. What I have done is delete and rewrite its body in about 15 different ways so let’s see what you make of it. The first 4 lines hoover me in like an under toe with a tractor-beam, but I can’t decide where to go from there. Nothing lives up to the original pristine isolate. Nothing ever does? Perhaps a touch fatalistic for a sunny Monday brimming with natural light and casual optimism.


“Pale Knight”, all over the place, 2019.  

I played death at chess last night

We went best two of three 

He didn’t put up half the fight 

I’d thought there was to be 

Should be mentioned at the start 

I’m no ace hand at game 

Never one for hustler’s art 

My horse always picked lame…


Rest assured, it’s only a matter of time before I find the bass that goes with this drum. In the interim feel free to entertain yourself with the myriad of destinies this undoubtably star-crossed fool will or may be subjected to in his triumph or perhaps hubris. The latter does sound more entertaining though, no? Pleasure Island it is then. A pale donkey? A pasty ass? Now THAT is a concept with which I am overly familiar. Casper the Anemic Ghost enquires after MY colour. 🙂

That’s all for me folks. Trot on, fair piglets, trot ever on!

-Alexander Blaikie

Categories: original writing

Tagged as:

dreadpoetssobriety

A broken mind held together by cellophane and some tack.

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