It’s been awhile…
Sunday, 6 June 2010 | 22:26Imagine my surprise when I checked in here this evening on my way to bed: I was sure I had posted something on this blog in the recent past… Perhaps it was all a dream? Despite my long absence, and rather surprisingly, I see that people are still stopping by to check up on me here. For you, I post this video until I gather my thoughts sufficiently to transform them into a proper post. Enjoy
Video: Florence & the Machine, Drumming Song, from the album Lungs. I’ve been listening to this album a lot these days.
Windows open
Saturday, 15 May 2010 | 14:29The scent of freshly-cut grass wafts in through the windows. The air swells with the intoxicating fragrance of blooming white lilac trees. The sun shines high and strong, its warmth unleashing a burst of energy in the city’s green thumbs. The sky is blue and cloudless; the birds are chirping merrily; the neighbourhood dogs are yapping joyfully. There is a yard full of weeds and overgrown blades of grass awaiting my attention; they will have it – but first, silence. Savouring these perfect moments of springtime, one by one, before the seasons change once again and the days become too long, hot, and humid to bear.
Happy Mother’s Day
Sunday, 9 May 2010 | 8:17Food for thought
Friday, 7 May 2010 | 19:29See the rest of Mark Ryden’s haunting yet quirky oils in The Gay 90s Old Tyme Art Show, on display now at the Paul Kasmin Gallery in New York.
One month
Friday, 30 April 2010 | 15:18Northern lad
Thursday, 29 April 2010 | 17:33Ô doux regards, ô yeux pleins de beauté,
Petits jardins pleins de fleurs amoureuses
Où sont d’Amour les flèches dangereuses,
Tant à vous voir mon œil s’est arrêté!
Ô cœur félon, ô rude cruauté,
Tant tu me tiens de façons rigoureuses,
Tant j’ai coulé de larmes langoureuses,
Sentant l’ardeur de mon cœur tourmenté!
Doncques, mes yeux, tant de plaisir avez,
Tant de bons tours par ces yeux recevez;
Mais toi, mon cœur, plus les vois s’y complaire,
Plus tu languis, plus en as de souci.
Or devinez si je suis aise aussi,
Sentant mon œil être à mon cœur contraire.
Louise Labé, Sonnets (XI)
Sinister fiends
Saturday, 24 April 2010 | 10:08So here’s the deal: spring has sprung. I reside in an old house. It’s drafty, it floods a little during heavy rains – in other words, it’s not exactly hermetically sealed. Over the past hundred-plus years, small critters of various species have been busily forming hidden tunnels throughout the walls and the foundation – boring holes here and there, widening cracks that appear as a house ages. In the fall, small mammals start appearing in the house – namely, mice. Tiny little mice, seeking shelter from the coming cold.
In the spring, it’s a different story. Whilst the mice play happily wherever it is mice congregate in cities, the underground railroad in the house’s foundation serves as a kind of highway for a different breed of creature: insects and their cousins, arachnids. Last weekend, as I was camped out on the living room floor, I spied something moving at the other end of the carpet – the season’s first sow bug. The sow bug is an insect I’m very familiar with; they could frequently be found crawling madly along the baseboards in my childhood home, having come in with the wood that was brought in for the wood stove in the rec room downstairs. As a child I was fascinated by these insects, watching them “run” – if you doubt me, just try touching one lightly; one wouldn’t think such tiny legs could move so quickly! I also, for reasons unknown to my adult self, had a penchant for flipping the bugs upside down on their hard shell-like backs, to watch all those tiny legs in action. They’d kick and kick with all their might, and after a minute or two I’d rest some object against their legs – a toothpick, the edge of a flyer, a shoelace – and watch those little legs grasp on to whatever was being offered, allowing their owner to right itself. Then I’d let the bug go on its merry way – or, perhaps more accurately, sprint all the way to its family screaming bloody murder in a language I couldn’t understand. It was only a little later, when I was slightly older, that I started to take the bugs outside rather than leave them be in the house; otherwise, they’d just end up dying of starvation (or getting crushed by one of my parents). So last weekend, as I saw that little guy crawling across the carpet, I did what I almost always do when I see an insect nowadays: I picked up a flyer from the recycling bin, scooped him up, and put him outside. (The tricky part is always getting to the door before the bug ends up crawling on your hand. Because whilst I may be a little fascinated by them, I still don’t fancy having them on *me*.)
A few minutes ago I had an entirely different encounter, though in the end, the finale was the same. As Sophia might say: picture it; I was sitting at the computer, the very computer on which I am typing this story, when in the corner of my eye I saw movement. I looked over to my left, and indeed something was moving, rather slowly, across the floor, but it wasn’t a sow bug this time: it was a spider. About the size of a twoonie, brown, ugly as all get out. Sauntering casually across my floor – the nerve!
You see, my interest in insects does not extend to their eight-legged relatives. I’m with the majority of the population on this one: I hate spiders. I have no idea why. Six legs = no problem. Eight legs = OHMYGODGETITAWAYFROMMEI’MGOINGTODIEARGHHH! However, being of a gentle nature, I still recoil at the idea of actually killing one – though I have been known to commit arachnicide on occasion, but generally only when I have no choice; those cases where it’s either me or the spider. (Sorry, fellas: there may be enough of you to rule the world, but in my house, I still reign supreme.) As a child, the sight of a spider was enough to keep me out of entire rooms or sections of the house until I saw its lifeless corpse with my own eyes. Of course, spiders are notoriously hard to catch. (It’s those two extra legs. Damn evolution.) And they hide in notoriously hard-to-get-to places, like under cupboard overhangs and in ceiling corners.
I’ve had spiders drop off the ceiling and into my hair; I’ve woken up in bed to find myself literally face to face with a spider sitting on my comforter; I’ve stepped, barefoot, into a white, cotton-ballish spider’s nest; I’ve washed a spider down the bathtub drain only to have it miraculously hang on to the pipe and then crawl out of the overflow drain about 10 minutes later while I was having a bath… My horror stories are endless. I have done battle with countless sinister fiends and have lived to tell the tales. Including this morning.
So there he was, taking in the sights on my floor, when I slowly, gently came up to him with the flyer. And that’s when all hell broke loose. He scurried off to the safety of the corner. I chased him with the flyer, all the while saying “nononononono you don’t!” We proceeded to do a sort of demented dance for the next few minutes: he, running flat-out along the baseboard, and I, cutting him off with the flyer, causing him to turn round and run the other way, where I greeted him again with the flyer. So we both were running back and forth along the wall. At one point I thought he had given up, as he curled up in a play-dead ball; but no, seconds later he sprung into action again. I’m sure we looked absolutely ridiculous. Finally, I wrested the monstrous little beastie on to the paper and tossed him out the door (there was no time for niceties, he was moving too quickly). I watched him scurry along the stairs, and I came back inside and flopped in the chair, exhausted. Crisis averted – for now.
Interestingly enough, almost as soon as I sat down, I noticed something moving again – but this time, it was an ant. A disabled ant: he had lost the use of his two hind legs and was just kind of dragging them along. He also had a tiny bit of dust stuck to one of them and it was causing him to kind of go in circles. I used the corner of the flyer to pull the dust off, waited for Mr. Ant to crawl on the paper, and put him outside as well – away from where I had put Evil Googly-Eyed Spider Monster. So, two minuscule critters rescued today: one causing a wave of cold terror to wash over me, the other eliciting only sympathy. My question is: why? Does it really all come down to two extra appendages?
“La femme des femmes”
Sunday, 11 April 2010 | 9:43Ceux qui rêvent leur amour, un cauchemar les réveille. (Marcelle Auclair)
P, C, F… initials engraved on a two-tiered quartz paperweight. Lists, gifts, transcripts, logs; evidence of betrayal hidden in daily life but left out in the open on holiday. Suddenly no reason to hide? Or were those hints there all along and were simply brushed aside?
With all the information we are subject to every day, all the choice with which we are faced, the bad news with which we are confronted, it’s no wonder we cannot process it all in a day. The scenarios that our brains propose, while we sleep, in order to answer its questions and sort its files, though, are strange and convoluted – sometimes wonderful, sometimes awful.
However, if dreams are to sort out what’s gone on in a day, what about those dreams that are so spectacular – in a good or a bad way – that they stay with one upon waking and refuse to leave all day long? Instead of settling things for us, then, our subconscious has provided fodder for a day’s worth of ruminating. How ironic.
Après l’hiver, la résurrection
Sunday, 4 April 2010 | 16:23Take #2
Monday, 29 March 2010 | 10:08St. P
Wednesday, 17 March 2010 | 18:42Dirty, mucky snow melting in the shade of a sunset. Peach yogurt and litchi liqueur whilst waiting for the hot water tank to reset after loads of laundry, so that I may settle in to a hot bath. All around me: boxes, cleaning, moving, upcoming upheaval. Spring: a time of change, turning over of new leaves, dawn of a new day…
Beauty in truth
Sunday, 7 March 2010 | 9:29Inner voice
Tuesday, 2 March 2010 | 22:26If we could know each other’s deepest, most innermost thoughts, feelings, and fleeting desires, we would all run screaming from one another. Sometimes, we need not know everything; sometimes we need our human ignorance. Sometimes the darkness is a needed friend, even – or especially – when what we don’t know would hurt us. Sometimes we just don’t need to know. But only if in the end it truly does no harm – when it’s ephemeral, harmless; when knowing would change nothing, and not knowing allows the inner reflection necessary. But how to judge when this is the case, and not something sinister lying in wait? A thought, a fear, an inkling – when does it become obsession, something “serious”? How does one differentiate? When is the inevitable panic justified?




















