We drove a car into the desert.
The desert can be the same size as a city, but when talking about a desert, the lack of significant points of interest make it all one place. Point of interest is often refereed to as POI for short. That’s not to say one wouldn’t say “We drove our car into New York City.” That’s a pretty acceptable thing to say as well, it’s just that when one pushed for further details, one could definitely be more specific. This would be much more difficult in the desert. I said “the” desert just now, but in actual fact, there are many. There are many deserts with few POI’s.

We drove a car into the desert.
In this instance the type of car doesn’t really matter I suppose, although, if it’s a meth-lab RV with smoke billowing out of it, one may want to mention that fairly early in the story. An RV’s not a car though, so I think we’re ok there. I think though, that the car becomes insignificant and the reason one is driving into the desert becomes the focus. This gives a bit of a nod to my earlier point really. If you said you were driving your car into New York City, one wouldn’t really be mystified as to why. New York City is often referred to as NYC for short. Because NYC has so many POIs someone driving a car there isn’t strange or mysterious. A gajillion* people do it every day. However because the destination, is the desert, we gotta ask the question, why? What’s up, driver?

*It should be noted I used the term ‘gajillion’ because I had no idea the actual number of people travelling to, or living in NYC. I was lazy and didn’t want to research the topic, and I felt I should make up a number rather than guess and look like an idiot. It should be noted however that I did look up the term gajillion to make sure it wasn’t a real number, for fake number purposes. There’s some weird numbers out there man, like googolplex** and whatnot.

**I also looked up googolplex to make sure it was a real number.


I was 21 years old the first time I read poetry in public. It was at a tiny diner called the paris crew cafe at 12 Charlotte street in Saint John, NB. My friend Chris Daigle had invited me to read, and like most of my readings, I shared the night with musicians.

There was a $5 cover for the show and most of my friends at the time couldn’t afford such an extravagance. (neither could I for that matter.

The reading went well overall, I was awkward and probably read for far too long, and most of what I read was pretty terrible, but it was received well enough, and most people there seemed to say nice things to me.

I got my first piece of valuable feedback that night, not after the reading but during, also not between poems, but again, during. An swaying audience member who’d joined us from the neighboring rookies’ pub interrupted me mid poem to tell me I was reading to fast. “SLOW DOWN” came the call from the back of the room.

Fair enough.

For me though, as a budding writer of sorts, it was a momentum shift. Things were different after that reading, and I threw myself into the craft. I wasn’t very good at it, and never really got much better, but I did it every day, and when one does something everyday you almost can’t help but to pick up a few things.

tiredeyes.net is 10 years old this year, it’s hayday for regular readers and quality writing has come and gone. It’s been neglected, beat up, ignored and basically left to die. Hopefully over the next 10 years, I can bring it back to life.


“You never write anymore,” she said, flipping through an old, embarrassing book of shitty poetry I wrote a hundred and fifty years ago.

“All you ever do is watch deadliest catch on netflix, and drink coffee.”

Hobbies & Interests:
Watching shitty TV & drinking black coffee