Friday, November 30, 2007

Unrequited Love (further to)

So, the good folks at Anansi Press, "after careful consideration and review", have decided that my wonderful and groundbreaking novel does not meet their current editorial needs.

I am now zero-for-nine. Six more rejections should be arriving in the next month or two. I wish I could say all this negative energy is only making me stronger, but, well, it's not.


On a related note, my novel is about treeplanting, and this is post #3282, which was the highest number of trees I ever planted in a day.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Edsel '58

Seen in the RONA parking lot.

It's not every day you see an Edsel

in Winnipeg

in November

in the snow.

Pigeon of Power

300_pigeon02, originally uploaded by babajiwotan.

A funny thing happened to me on the way to the drink hole last night.
It was of course extremely cold and I was hurrying along. I looked over and there was a small commotion on the street. There was a small crowd of people standing over a bird. So I went over there and took charge. It was a pigeon who couldnt fly. I picked it up and held it. It was obviously very cold. I held it for a few minutes and spoke soothingly to it in the language of pigeons. After contemplation I realized that none of these people were going to save this pigeon (and yukdugu would eat her) and I had better let nature take it's course so I carried it to a spot away from the cars and let it go hoping it would relax and warm up and then maybe it's wing would work. To my surprise when I opened my hands, Miss pigeon didn't fly away but just sat there perched in my hands. So I figured, well, Miss. Pigeon do you want to go get a drink? So I started walking along with the bird to the bar. The bird and I were actually getting along quite well and I found the conversation to be flowing easily. When suddenly passing by an alley a crazy driver suddenly came a- swerving! Miss pigeon and I were startled. She flew up crazily from my arms over the dash of the car and I shouted out. The driver and I made eye contact for a second and I truly wonder after what must have been passing through his mind.

After cursing the driver I looked and Pigeon had flown up into a tree but was stuck there with her wings in the branches. So I climbed up and got her free. Then I figured she would probably get scared again by the big city lights so I just put her there in the snow. When I came back later she had mysteriously disapeared. Strange because I could see the little snow nest where I had put her but there was no tracks of anykind around to indicate she had stumbled away. My hope is that after warming up a bit she was able to fly away on her own power.

Now here I sit, it's early in the morning.
I can't sleep. Is she ok?
Will she ever come back to me? Will I ever see her again?
Was she mad at me because I didn't take her to the bar? Should I go back out there and make sure she's okay?

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

hit me baby (one more time)

everything i need to
know about the world i
learned from

watching britney spears--


--being famous has a few perks, but mostly it just sucks
--never create anything that you're not prepared to devour living and whole
--success makes happy people happier, and crazy people crazier
--be careful what you wish for (you just might get it)
--know what you're talking about before the cameras are on you
--don't let other people tell you what you want
--stay in school for as long as you possibly can
--always represent yourself as you really are, and not as you think others want you to be
--eat healthy and get lots of sleep

--you are not your body, as hard as that is to believe.

"the irony is that i'm otherwise a fairly happy person who, for some reason, feels compelled to practice the catholic art of self-flagellation"

i wanted (us)
to imagine it's not
0545 on a tuesday
morning and i'm not
wide awake
or that you're somewhere
twisting into knots over
this too
or that
everyone hadn't stopped
believing in
magic or the
truth of cinema

or imagine that
this all has a purpose,
that i'm going to
rush to the airport
before you go,
tell you you're not
leaving without me or
that i'll find you in
six months
when all this
is over and
you'll cry, of course,
and agree and we both
admit it was all so
foolish and there was nothing
to have stood between us
for so long

but instead we're
here, or
i'm here and you're
sound asleep

why do i knot
up on this
over and
over why
do people we love
die why do
so few things play out
the way the movies
tell us they should
it's 0548 i
can't sleep i
don't know where
you are and i
wish i didn't care.

More Drawing Practice

Tuesday, November 27, 2007


Hi Peeps of the blog (including random visitors)...


I'm writing an article today about a very cool and very powerful art show. An American artist named Frank Warren began handing out postcards to strangers in 2004, and asking them to write their confessions on them anonymously, and mail them in to him.

It's grown into a multi-year project--he gets 1,000 cards a week right now.

Check out this blog link below, and if you feel so inclinced, send me some random confessions-- i may publish them anonymously in the FP. What's yr dark secret? What are you joyful about that no one knows? Are you turned on by ankles and earlobes? You can post 'em here Anon, or you can email 'em to me.

Here's his blog, for samples...


I NEED THIS BEFORE MIDNIGHT TODAY, SO if you can help me i'd be much appreciative.


This is one of those sketchbook-page-collaborations many of you are familiar with. The bulk of the ones I participated in were in the organicum residency in Toronto, and let me tell you ... lotsafun! This one was done by Kim Chang Han, Jared Ingalls, the owner (don't know his name) of Ulsan's finest Jazz-playing-tavern, Temptations ('Nidge introduced me to him last year), and myself. It was really fun to go in there and impose this idea/process on them. The bar-guy didn't speak any English, but knew exactly what to do (and couldn't contain a broad smile during that time). He drew the eye part (my favourite).

Monday, November 26, 2007


from "La duexieme vie de nelly arcan", in the magazine L'Actualite:

--"L'autofiction est une pratique sado-maso. 'J'etais mes tripes sur la place publique. C'etait presque un sacrifice de moi-meme que j'etais en train de faire,' reconnait Nelly Arcan. 'Je n'ai pas de regrets, mais je ne veux plus de ca'."

untitled, later...

Time has passed
between us like..
oh, i dunno, a
river, i guess, or
like the wind,
like the morning turns to

you're in a caravan now,
in the desrt,
i'm in zurich, before the war,
pursuing nothing
(with enough passion
to destroy me)

i'm happier than you
remember you're
kinder than
i gave you credit for

and i know i
said i'd stop
these letters
but in the absences of
your eyes
they're all i
have to help me
stay awake.

Pedro da Silva dit le Portugais, 1705, First Courier in New France

According to the wikipedia page on Canada Post, Pedro da Silva was the first employee of what would eventually become our national mail service, originally hired in 1693 to deliver mail between Quebec City and Montreal.

This image is apparently a stamp that was issued to commemorate Mr. da Silva.

Ummm... so, why does it look like a photo?  I realize that it's wikipedia, and you can only trust what you find there with a big grain of salt.

Does anyone have any information on this?  I'm just curious, that's all...

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Friday, November 23, 2007

NGC 4449

he grand spiral galaxy usually is the vision focusing sign. They symmetrical spiral which 星团 gather by the new birth blue color 旋臂, then is attracts the vision the guarantee. But the small irregular galaxy also can be born the new star, one of illustrations for leaves us approximately to have 12 million light years far NGC 4,449. This frequently the galaxy which explores, the size and our Milky Way's satellite Magellan galaxy (LMC) quite. Above this beautiful colored image presents the NGC 4,449 clavate outward appearances, as well as spreads in galaxy each place young blue color 星团, these characteristics also all and the Magellan galaxy likes very much. Depends on the galaxy the underneath pink hydrogen cloud to be mad that, is the large-scale star forms the area the model symbol. NGC 4,449 is one of canis venatici 星系团 members. Generally thought it and approaches the galaxy the correlation, is impels its star to form active the principal factor.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Thoughts on Nothing

I grew into nothing, that's all that was waiting for me. I grew, and changed, and wondered who that other person used to be, when I thought about it at all, which wasn't often. Truth be told, I never thought about it, but I thought you might like the story better that way.

And then later I grew up, and looked around. I had grown out of nothing and into nothing. Had I become nothing? I'm not even sure what that would mean. Nothing is just an abstraction, an absence, a no-thing. Was I looking at it all wrong, the whole time? Missing the burnt-down forest for the clear-cut trees?

Cynical? Well, I've earned it. But don't worry, kid. You will too.

Important Announcement:

Babylon, originally uploaded by babajiwotan.

2 new tracks available for your listening pleasure:

Death is but a door

Dark Angel of the Night

nobody move, not even you mr.heinz

All About Nothing...

We all see each other passing through the streets of yellow-sunny city-town, Old Winnipeg, West Broadway, and there are too many of us, by far, though we all complain this place is too small for our visions, ambitions, too little scope here for the imagination, but I wanna see into them all today, nod, smile, let them know it's gonna be ok, that i've slept under bridges and begged change and rides in far-away cities where i had sturdy boots, but didn't speak the language...

i'm there again, front seat of a stranger's car on some weird lost highway, he and i (oddly) have the same name, same birthday (two decades apart), two older sisters, a brother 5 years our senior who is ambitious and serious-minded-- we were the gadabouts, he and i, the n'er do wells, the hobos-- he told me about heroin, the junk, about going from a $500 a night job bartending in a swanky San Fran hotel to living in a cardboard box and turning tricks--he had Hep C now--i trusted him, and slept while he drove, leaving me at the front steps of Union Station, downtown Toronto-town--

my last $6.85 for a train ticket to Steeltown, it was something i had to prove then, i guess, a way of letting go, like my friend who stood on the Osborne Bridge throwing his money into the water--a way of insisting on the end of things, of dying before our time just to prove that we were real--

and now, not so many years later, i have long, leisurely mornings, nights out with friends a few times a week, a cafe waitress who brings the paper with my morning coffee

and this city
this moment
this time,
is no better or worse than
anywhere else,
no more or less
than anything and
if there were things to
start over,
or change,
all this would be about
nothing at all,

instead it's a sunny morning,
pedestrians and traffic outside the cafe window,
all of us
glossing through these streets
like morning's glowing

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

An Ode to Elron S. Berrot & Friends

He's keeping it raw and spilling his words all over these days. But it wasn't he who showed me the boundary lines and watched me step over them, nor was it his laughter that I cannot and will not resist. No.

It's about the few and the many.

It's about how he has toughened from the blows, and although bitter, they are turning him hard like stone, but have also taught him to respect what he has learned and stolen and been given.

Her comparisons taught me something today, that eagerness to share can help ideas to grow, and the joy people share when something is anticipated together is magnificent and enjoyed way way way more when completed. Sometimes these gifts can only appear when you are ready for them. And today, the day after yesterday where the slow cooker's heavy glass lid hit me three times before hitting the floor and after an excrutiating experience at the dentist which felt sooooo good, today I was ready for the gifts, to just listen to my mind on a long drive, to forget her a little, and then to listen listen listen.

And then he was singing about the things that I did as a kid and I was tearful and he was so honest and he was preaching and spiritual and I was caught. And then it was gone, that feeling.

And look at that! There's my cue, her cry. Goodnight bloggers.

If that's what you're in to?

Heh heh.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Further Metaphysical Hit Points

is a stupid thing to say
but no worse
than most of what i've said
already so
i'll say it anyways

that i'm sorry

for having
turned you into a
fiction of my own
rockstar angst and

myself into a
caricature of
someone who writes
love poems

no, it was stupid,
i'm sorry
that in the end
you took the bait that

i'd swallowed long
before i met you and
force-fed myself
ad naseum til
i was sick of it and

made being unhappy a
(full-time contact) sport

all i was
trying to say was
i like you and i
guess i'm
not sorry
for that.



My Friend (one)

What goes on, off, starting time out in the
morning, waiting, it's
afternoon, we're watching shadows and
sunlight paint the walls and
there ain't enough coffee
or medicine in the world to
bring me back...

spring day,
talking over breakfast at
Don Deli, then over
a coffee, then over
another, sun
vaishing then re-appearing behind
skyscrapers and apartment
blocks, we're talking
down Broadway, we're
talking sitting in my
chairs, sun of
afternoon, blue
spring of
sky, smoke
sliding across the room like
soundless words,

both of us brimming with caffeine and
excitement, sensing
the raw future, it was
bigger than us,
and scary, and we
talked into it without
for breath surrounded by
creeping sunlight, the
stretch of 17 plants the
sleep of 2 cats--

waiting for Josey to call,
so we could
go watch a movie
about Townes van Zandt.

My Friend (too)

i want to tell you
a story it's about
my friend it was
his brithday he
hadn't smoked in 6 days and
got drunk he
made some
poor choices
ended up
climbing the stairs to his
girlfriend's place
one two
three then
passed out
backwards into the
waiting wintry bushes
who received him
oh so gently,
sssshhhhhhh, they said,
caressing him softly on the
way down

but, somehow, grey
as a ghost
he schlepped up
the stairs to
pass out
in the bathtub

where he managed to puke
on his own naked body
several times.

He did manage to rouse
himself, though,
just long enough to
make an advance
or two towards his
girlfriend, who

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Welcome to the B-Side

Someone has been spraypainting "Welcome to the B-Side" all over the place lately in our 'hood, including on smktgr's brick fence.

Further Marley Breakfasts-- en route and in situ

Friday, November 16, 2007


Hi all-- your favourite (?) lycanthropic (thanks macro) bleeding-heart poet person wishes to advise you that, while further angsty laments follow this urgent announcement, he is feeling much better and healthier and is in the process of semi-successfully extracting himself from unhealthy situations.

Of course, good poems are suddenly harder to come by, but hey... what can ya do?

smoking, exterior, night

I know
lynn is sleeping
in her place near
the river

and i can see inside her
a picture
that says


it's a warning sign
of the fact that,
of course this gets too heavy
to carry,
and hurts our tired backs... and
it's late, yes, but i
wanted to run across the street
just to see if you were there--it's ok,
though, i told you
yesterday that if i
write it out enough times that
it's real
that i
don't care no
really i
don't it's enough to tell you
i mean me
another time it's
almost morning there's
something stuck in my spokes and
a guy sleeping in a bus shelter
across the street and it means
nothing to me who you're
making eyes at tonight it's
ok, i'm
willing (myself)
to let you go.

Grey day, interior (Don Deli)

I don't like this
direction but it's a game
i've invented with no
losers (or winners either,
i suppose)
i call it tying myself
up in knots-- it's a way
of my life
with my uncluttered apartment and
a way of making nonsense
out of the sensible--it's an
inheritance, i suppose (as i
come from a long and proud
line of worriers and tie-ourselves-up-in-knotters)
so partly i blame that,
partly my own
vulgar fantasies of love (or whatever
they're calling it these days), partly
i blame the way you
know just the right combos of
words, gestures (unconscious, like mine,
so i don't really blame you)

and now,
with a cold
parking lot and the Starbucks sign
glowing green across the street
the truth of it is that
for a month after we met
i kept forgetting your name,
nothing personal, but i
guess that, like you,
i'm tired
of the madness, the knots,
the framelessness, the patterns,
the layers upon layers,

and whatever we used to be,
this knotted-up feeling cancels it out

so tell someone who
cares less
who doesn't need
to write about you--
take a million lovers
back to your too-small bed

and call me again, if
you want
from wherever it is you
end up,

if/when your fingers
get more knot-freeing nimble.

(I know you said you wouldn't,
and i know i told you
not to,

but i'll keep my number the same
just in case.)

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Owl Fantasy

owl, originally uploaded by babajiwotan.

Interior, night

(Nov 5, drinking a beer and waiting for K to get off work...)

it's not enough to
think about, or
remember, to remind me
of the time we had
sex on the couch
at your work or that
you're turned on by
my brain it's not
enough or too much that
i'm drinking a comped draft
beer or that we've
learned the basics of
each other's habits,
routines, or that the
end of the world is coming and
we're still not running out of things
to teach each other and
no one (least of all me)
wants to learn about sacrifice,
duty, devotion, outdated
concepts from a bygone age and
i certainly don't want to
(or won't) tell you that
i wrote things in front
of the Bloor Theatre about
how the sunlight reminded
me of your skin and how
every painkiller morning
was like the charcoal around
yr eyes-- no, too cliched,
i won't even start on
that... so it's 1246 am, a different day,
i'm stumbling half-drunk down
Broadway, wet fall-night
grass b/c i'd rather
drink with people i barely
know and only half-like since i
don't care i
don't care i
don't care i
wrote this all to tell you that, exactly,
and to tell you that
nothing inside me
feels funny
when you smile or wants to
wake up beside you i'm
wasting too much
paper on this and
too much energy i
don't have enough left to
give you so i won't even bother--

i'll just smile back as you float gracefully by,

thanks for the beer, baby,

you're a doll.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Monday, November 12, 2007


those nights
of summer's dog days
are now gone
when we sat
in our sin
and watched the world go by.

and in those moments
of Maryland’s incandescence
and the shimmer of skin
glances told more than
feverish tounges
dipped in beer and gin.

Relinquishing their
to paint the air
with the smoke of laughter
and howling refrains
in that quiet violet
between the pavement and the sky.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Nov. 11

"We fought through the worst mud and death imaginable, through hell on earth, and they called it Passchaendale.

"And when we got home, people would ask: 'Oh, you were at Passchaendale--how was it?' And we'd always say: 'Oh, not bad.' "

--WW I veteran and novelist Will Bird, from Nova Scotia

Saturday, November 10, 2007

The Dali Lama Sells Out

Actually the photographer is probably more to blame for this cheesy shot. Clearly the poor guy was on multiple deadlines and could only catch the Dali Lama (who I assume has recently been to Winnipeg) at the airport on his way out. Rather than an otherwise dull picture of a world-famous religious leader seated on an airplane at James Richardson "International" the photog brought some props.

I wonder if the Bombers will have a picture of the Dali Lama in the dressing room and a message in the coaches handwriting "Let's win one for Tibet!" Or, "We've got Buddha on our side." I also wonder how many times in the Dali Lama's illustrious life he has been asked to pose with paraphernalia from the local athletic club. I'd venture it's not his first. You gotta feel a bit bad for the guy, don't you? But love what he does to spread his message at the same time. He's a bit of a publicity whore, but he's got a damn good cause.

Anyway, what do you think? Hokey publicity shot of an international leader, or stroke of journalistic genius?

Rainbow Wasteland

metatcubebw, originally uploaded by babajiwotan.

Dreaming Dreams I dreamed I dreamed before
Dreaming dreams in a rainbow wasteland

beleiving in lies
there's no prize
dream dream
the end is nigh
black dragon roaming the night sky
dream you're the lord of flies
is this what it's like when you die
open up the mind's eye

what is it for it's for freedom
freedom to die in peace
if you're not with us
you're against us
ride the magical bus
but please there's no fussing or fighting
lighting up the dark inside

blood sweat and tears
its the same pain
falling rain from the sky
tie up the loose ends of your spirit
then you may live again
when the end has become the beginning
sinner becomes the saint

dreaming dreams I dreamed I dreamed before
Dreaming dreams in a Rainbow Wasteland


jaguar, originally uploaded by babajiwotan.

Hello freindly people, I was baptized a Unitarian.

Unitarianism is the belief in the single personality of God, in contrast to the doctrine of the Trinity (three persons in one God). It is the philosophy upon which the modern Unitarian movement was based, and, according to its proponents, is the original form of Christianity. Unitarian Christians believe in the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth, as found in the New Testament and other early Christian writings, and hold him up as an exemplar. Adhering to strict monotheism, they maintain that Jesus was a great man and a prophet of God, perhaps even a supernatural being, but not God himself. Unitarians believe in the moral authority, but not necessarily the divinity, of Jesus. They do not pray to Jesus, but to God directly. Their theology is thus distinguishable from the theology of Catholic, Orthodox, mainline Protestant, and other Christian denominations, who hold the Trinity doctrine as a core belief.

Unitarians sum up their faith as "the religion of Jesus, not a religion about Jesus." Historically, they have encouraged non-dogmatic views of God, Jesus, the world and purpose of life as revealed through reason, scholarship, science, philosophy, scripture and other prophets and religions. They believe that reason and belief are complementary and that religion and science can co-exist and guide them in their understanding of nature and God. They also do not enforce belief in creeds or dogmatic formulas. Although there is flexibility in the nuances of belief or basic truths for the individual Unitarian Christian, general principles of faith have been recognized as a way to bind the group in some commonality. Adherents generally accept religious pluralism and find value in all teachings, but remain committed to their core belief in Christ's teachings. Liberal Unitarians value a secular society in which government stays out of religious affairs.

Ive been having vivid dreams. here's one I had the other night:

I was in a harbour and in a small boat in the water with some people. The boats in the harbour were enormous long sleek sort of viking ships intricately carved and painted mostly red and black almost like giant haida canoes.. I couldnt't see anyone in the boats or how they were propelled because they had no sails. I was talking to my friends my small boat when suddenly I looked and the prows of two of these giant ships crossed right in front of my little dinghy I can remember this very vividly as if it were a real memory. The swell caused me to fall into the water and I was swimming but I had my big steel toe rubber boots on that Im wearing at this job so it was hard to swim. Just then my friend Don Maximo who was still in the dinghy informed me that I had been chosen as part of this crew for some sort of race and he tossed me these two peices of oddly carved wood. Sort of like banister poles. I think they were carved like lions but I can't remember. So I crawled out of the water onto the shore and I can remember I dropped one of the wooden things and had to go back to get it. Looking on the ground I noticed some excellent amethyst specimens like little marbles so I picked them up. I hopped into a big sort of space-van very spacious inside like a limo almost and was driven to town by my freind KV's dad. In town I needed to buy some supplies for the race so I was walking around downtown when I happened on a shop display and stopped to look at it. It was a display promoting the life and work of the actor James Caan who I had watched in a spagghetti western the night before. I can remember there were pictures of James Caan's hairstyles over the decades. I chuckled to myself and remembered thinking in the dream; wow, what a coincidence, I just watched a James Caan movie last night!

that's about all I can remember.


OT-073-med, originally uploaded by babajiwotan.

God has Heard

whose flesh was turned to flame, his veins to fire, his eye-lashes to flashes of lightning, his eye-balls to flaming torches, and whom God placed on a throne next to the throne of glory, received after this heavenly transformation the name

a figure who is accuser, seducer, and destroyer. He has been regarded as both good and evil.

the Angel of Death, the chief ruler of the Fifth Heaven and one of the seven regents of the world served by two million angels; he resides in the Seventh Heaven.

His appearance is that of a lion-faced serpent

Drawing Practice

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Every one of them

They will all dominate you
she said
clasping down with her
making me wish
she loved me

I actually wished
for all
of them to love
me and some did

and I was cruel
and I was vicious
and I attacked them
all with logic

I could get out of anything
and there was no pretence
to the truth:

I was guilty

not of sexual relations
but of emotional ones

and I thought of all of them
every single one of them

from first year
to those that I
can't even remember
their names
to the ones that
left indelible marks

I thought of every one of them

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

The Greatest Discovery

Hi all-- i've posted some of my own stuff below--

Here, though, is the lyrics to Elton John's song "The Greatest Discovery", in honour of Leslie Mae, the newest AlfA blogger.

Elton John - The Greatest Discovery Lyrics

Peering out of tiny eyes
The grubby hands that gripped the rail
Wiped the window clean of frost
As the morning air laid on the latch

A whistle awakened someone there
Next door to the nursery just down the hall
A strange new sound you never heard before
A strange new sound that makes boys explore

Tread neat so small those little feet
Amid the morning his small heart beats
So much excitement yesterday
That must be rewarded must be displayed

Large hands lift him through the air
Excited eyes contain him there
The eyes of those he loves and knows
But what's this extra bed just here

His puzzled head tipped to one side
Amazement swims in those bright green eyes
Glancing down upon this thing
That make strange sounds, strange sounds that sing

In those silent happy seconds
That surround the sound of this event
A parent smile is made in moments
They have made for you a friend

And all you ever learned from them
Until you grew much older
Did not compare with when they said
This is your brand new brother
This is your brand new brother...

This is your brand new brother.

Night One, And Too, etc.

So the first night
of too
I was a bit distracted
(didn't know until later)
and not quite ready and
it was too dark
too much on my mind
too much wine

in vino veritas,

too much truth,
too much wine,
too much time
on both our hands and
a world of things to complain and
laugh about.

So, it was only a warm-up,
I guess,
for night two, too,
but we still manged
four point five hours
of non-stop conversation.

Not bad, we said,
not bad.

Night two--
jolly mariachi band
in a dim basement bar on bathurst
and times may move on,
but they never seem to change.

I can't remember much
of the music
or what was said--
covers of the Gypsy Kings, i think,
ideas about who we loved the most
in the world and
things that reminded me
of the old country that i've
never been to,

and it's all slowly emptying itself
of meaning and
substance but
this pre-dawn morning is open-ended here
in Parkdale or
back in West Broadway where
Jean Luc sleeps in his garden and
Trixie sleeps on her couch
not yet noticing that I've gone

and we barely notice the band here
or the cold air when
we step outside for a smoke
hardly notice the clock that says
as we walk back to Clinton St
(resisting the urge to quote
Famous Blue Raincoat)
arm in arm

and i think,
i know,
the world feels right
at this moment
and it's good to be here,
to be alive,
i think,

but i haven't had time to process it yet
because since we met up
four and a half hours ago
we haven't stopped talking and
the world might not slow down
or wait for us, but for tonight,
at least,
it's one beer (we swear)
that magically triples,
mariachi band
playing their hearts out
under their oversized hats
and under the radar of our
endless dialogue on
life, the universe, everything,
and the answer, anyway, is 42
and there is no answer and even if
there were one it
wouldn't matter because
we'd just keep on talking

(My review: 4.5/5 stars)

Say nothing (nothing to say)

There's the beggar
writing on scraps of paper and
sitting on the sidewalk
and the guy in all black in
the ritzy Jewish coffee shop
across the street
writing notes too
and they know the same things
as you and i
(since all forms are know, as old Dean said)

and naturally I thought then (who wouldn't?)
of the impossibility of
saying anything at all
and i thought:

from now on i'll say nothing

but the sunlight on Bloor's ragged concrete
and on the face of distant skyscrapers
was too much here
so i stopped
in front of the record store

and thought of some things i wanted
to remember to tell you
or the way the glowing sidewalk
reminded me of your skin

and it was just enough,
i thought, to say something
this one last time.

More Mae

Monday, November 05, 2007

Leslie Mae Culleton, 7lbs 1 oz, 2:01pm


More Chicken Wire night...

Pics by Rod Christie.

Note the beer-soaked vest (you really gotta click on the images to get the detail).


Emboldened by your passions
and the owl's brass look;
You're obscene
Yes you are

My favourites at the National Gallery of Art, Washington DC

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Shoki, Summer '07


I was going through some pictures I had taken during the summer.  These two are from the storm that spawned that tornado in Elie on June 22nd.  I was at the Red River Ex grounds in Headingly at the time (though we didn't know about the tornado until later) and took these shots of some very wet, heavy clouds.

More Nina

If you are able to get your hands on the compilation "Saga of the Good Life and Hard Times", there is an absolutely amazing version of this song which was recorded at a concert (along with Mississippi Goddam and some others) shortly after Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated.

C-Washington DC