Well two weeks have fled by, racing in terror from the advancing autumn. Leanne has come and now gone. Two weeks of laughter, stories, dreams, games, dancing, music, savouring. savouring. mmm
Highlights?
Montreal was statuesque and lurid as ever, gawd bless it.
The Rex has become a home away from home, fellow freaks and world travellers and music, such music. Kevin Quain, must remember that name - astral projection of Tom Waits: a beautiful way to end any day, start any night.
Long slow evenings of sipped scotch and backgammon.
Watching the sun rise from Angela's rooftop deck, the phallic tower a charcoal finger rubbing against the pale colours of dawn, after a night of hard liquor and soft smooches. I love girl kisses, they're so ...smooth. moist. that small pause, gasp of breath, sucking each second's pleasure, the lascivious lunge, hungry yet gentle. mmm.
And now, alone again - talking to myself and dancing nekkid in my glorious flat, sprawling out on the bed, or being loud or quiet whenever I want! And resting, recuperating, dreaming like Coleridge, laying in Wordsworth's words: "When from our better selves we have too long Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop, Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, How gracious, how benign, is Solitude."
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
luscious leanne...
oh joy oh glee! i've been blessed with a luscious little red-headed girl freshly arrived from the wild west, keeping me company and making me smile for a few weeks' visit.
mmm, luscious leanne. cherished friend and lusty playmate visiting this new home of mine for the first time: welcome to toronto! and tomorrow we'll be piling into a rented wagon with lisa the fabulous, and driving off to my home sweet home, montreal (although by now i feel like my roots are planted in vancouver soil). that's a helluva lot more exciting than thinking about smoldering flames. blech. don't even know the point, it's not like i'm fantasizing about connecting or "getting back together" (although to say getting back together might suggest we ever were together when in fact it's more like he was a bemused witness to my passion and love.)
today started off gray, hazy, but i didn't mind: it kinda suited my brain. fried green tomatoes indeed. i was so out of it, trapped in fuzzlandia, that i went into the shop to purchase my morning's sustenance, laboriously but dutifully paid the lovely lady, even alert enough to give a penny (ensuring 45 rather than the pesky 44 cents change), tucked the change back in its cozy little home, and stumbled out. about three steps out the door, i started to laugh, and walked back in to see the lovely lady with my breakfast of joy in a bag, waiting for me to take it home to my stomach.
heh. i been dazed and confused for so long it's not true...
but it was a well-earned morning, last night was fucking brilliant: mellow and perfect. leanne and i grabbed dinner at squirrely's. (on queen w of bathurst, if you've never been, go. stellar décor and death-defying sicilian bruschetta (feta, artichoke, something else) and all in all fabulous ambiance) we sat on red leopard shag and reminisced and daydreamed over a miniature feast and a large thirst.
then we moseyed over to the done right inn, a block or so west, to meet angela and her friends who were making music on the very lush, very fertile, very cosy back patio. we shared lazy stories and getting-to-know-you-hooha over a pint slowly sipped and then raced through another pint (literally, we were putting frank the tank and his funnel to shame!) to be able to get to the liquor store on time. we tumbled into a cab and told the cabbie of our urgent mission. he was hilarious! he glanced at the clock, dramatically exclaimed "9 minutes, we can make it!!" and man, it was like pedal to the metal and tearing through amber lights: very exciting. we made it in 4 minutes, yay fun cabbie!
and then it was over to angela's soon-to-be-someone-else's very cool loft, up the rickety ladder to the skylight out of which you can climb to the rooftop patio. it was perfect! spy challenges, theatrical musings, and a lot of talking shit. what a purrfect night...
mmm, luscious leanne. cherished friend and lusty playmate visiting this new home of mine for the first time: welcome to toronto! and tomorrow we'll be piling into a rented wagon with lisa the fabulous, and driving off to my home sweet home, montreal (although by now i feel like my roots are planted in vancouver soil). that's a helluva lot more exciting than thinking about smoldering flames. blech. don't even know the point, it's not like i'm fantasizing about connecting or "getting back together" (although to say getting back together might suggest we ever were together when in fact it's more like he was a bemused witness to my passion and love.)
today started off gray, hazy, but i didn't mind: it kinda suited my brain. fried green tomatoes indeed. i was so out of it, trapped in fuzzlandia, that i went into the shop to purchase my morning's sustenance, laboriously but dutifully paid the lovely lady, even alert enough to give a penny (ensuring 45 rather than the pesky 44 cents change), tucked the change back in its cozy little home, and stumbled out. about three steps out the door, i started to laugh, and walked back in to see the lovely lady with my breakfast of joy in a bag, waiting for me to take it home to my stomach.
heh. i been dazed and confused for so long it's not true...
but it was a well-earned morning, last night was fucking brilliant: mellow and perfect. leanne and i grabbed dinner at squirrely's. (on queen w of bathurst, if you've never been, go. stellar décor and death-defying sicilian bruschetta (feta, artichoke, something else) and all in all fabulous ambiance) we sat on red leopard shag and reminisced and daydreamed over a miniature feast and a large thirst.
then we moseyed over to the done right inn, a block or so west, to meet angela and her friends who were making music on the very lush, very fertile, very cosy back patio. we shared lazy stories and getting-to-know-you-hooha over a pint slowly sipped and then raced through another pint (literally, we were putting frank the tank and his funnel to shame!) to be able to get to the liquor store on time. we tumbled into a cab and told the cabbie of our urgent mission. he was hilarious! he glanced at the clock, dramatically exclaimed "9 minutes, we can make it!!" and man, it was like pedal to the metal and tearing through amber lights: very exciting. we made it in 4 minutes, yay fun cabbie!
and then it was over to angela's soon-to-be-someone-else's very cool loft, up the rickety ladder to the skylight out of which you can climb to the rooftop patio. it was perfect! spy challenges, theatrical musings, and a lot of talking shit. what a purrfect night...
Friday, August 06, 2004
unseasonal weather
there's a chill in the air these days, toronto's shivering instead of sweating. and i gotta tell you - despite the whinging and boohooing i have to dodge left and right, i love it. i'd like to think of myself as an all-season lover, the ultimate weather hippie embracing all seasons tenderly, lovingly. but my heart is secretly crying out "autumn, you know i love you best" and spring, summer and winter are biting their quivering lips, pretending not to care. sweet autumn, i love her so much i've beckoned her early to come play with me on these fine august days. heat-lovers be damned. take your smug muggy mugs (too much?) and fuck off. give me the chill, the bite, the fresh cool air.
not like last week, last month or next week. that toronto heat, when the day flares up, igniting itself on its misdirected energy. it's wayward and fiery and licks your pores til they are spent, exhausted and weeping. it's almost like a self-generated mechanism, the cycle of the city: the pollution gives birth to the smog that will taunt the sticky cling to cleanse us, squeezing the angsty pimples of pollution from our sickly cells, making us young and pure again until we are spreading our arms wide and falling into the excitement and movement.
perhaps.
but that doesn't take away from the fact that those muggy toronto days make me feel like i've eaten a bucket of kentucky fried chicken (amazing how i can't for the life of me remember when i last ate the stuff, but i can still recall that grimy post-feast feel, sluggish and greasy. ick.) clad in humidity, toronto is like a dirty old man pawing me lasciviously, leaving a film on my flesh that smears like cheap, moist mascara when i try to brush it off.
...and people are lamenting the loss of that? egads. people are weird.
not like last week, last month or next week. that toronto heat, when the day flares up, igniting itself on its misdirected energy. it's wayward and fiery and licks your pores til they are spent, exhausted and weeping. it's almost like a self-generated mechanism, the cycle of the city: the pollution gives birth to the smog that will taunt the sticky cling to cleanse us, squeezing the angsty pimples of pollution from our sickly cells, making us young and pure again until we are spreading our arms wide and falling into the excitement and movement.
perhaps.
but that doesn't take away from the fact that those muggy toronto days make me feel like i've eaten a bucket of kentucky fried chicken (amazing how i can't for the life of me remember when i last ate the stuff, but i can still recall that grimy post-feast feel, sluggish and greasy. ick.) clad in humidity, toronto is like a dirty old man pawing me lasciviously, leaving a film on my flesh that smears like cheap, moist mascara when i try to brush it off.
...and people are lamenting the loss of that? egads. people are weird.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
sloppy sky kiss
rainy day
splish splish
sky bowing low to greet us
give us a sloppy kiss
mmm
thoughts of vancouver swirling through my brain. standing in the rain, early early in my vancouver experience, the first time getting high on fine western weed. emerging from the smoky theatre, i stumbled and soared through the gritty backstreets of the downtown eastside-ish, just south of the hurly burly, but north yet of the shabby chic soon-to-be designed artist lofts. i stood under the dribbling sky on what some call the original skid row (for the skidding logs so much before this new skittish population) and watched the bus lumber toward me, slowly bobbing its lazy head up and down. and i could hear its voice, like an old doddering man, plodding through anecdote after anecdote, bobbing his head in appreciation of his archaic humour. it was a nice bus, nice bus.
that theatre's closed now. sad. i've seen too many theatricides, a thousand shakespearean tragedies shaking their fists at imperialists.
splish splish
sky bowing low to greet us
give us a sloppy kiss
mmm
thoughts of vancouver swirling through my brain. standing in the rain, early early in my vancouver experience, the first time getting high on fine western weed. emerging from the smoky theatre, i stumbled and soared through the gritty backstreets of the downtown eastside-ish, just south of the hurly burly, but north yet of the shabby chic soon-to-be designed artist lofts. i stood under the dribbling sky on what some call the original skid row (for the skidding logs so much before this new skittish population) and watched the bus lumber toward me, slowly bobbing its lazy head up and down. and i could hear its voice, like an old doddering man, plodding through anecdote after anecdote, bobbing his head in appreciation of his archaic humour. it was a nice bus, nice bus.
that theatre's closed now. sad. i've seen too many theatricides, a thousand shakespearean tragedies shaking their fists at imperialists.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
oh. the. compulsion.
don't want to work...
don't want to think...
don't want to email...
oh! i know! i'll post something stupid and senseless in my silly new blog cuz it's here and hungry,
this recently seduced virgin-no-more,
hungry to be pumped full of random thoughts,
hungry for some vanity,
some exhibitionism,
spreading her new blog legs
to let nobody in particular
read nothing in particular.
oh the futility of it all
how whimsical
la la la-la
(still it's somehow better than working or doing real writing.
oh joy, oh slack, oh shirking of responsibility)
la. la. la...
don't want to think...
don't want to email...
oh! i know! i'll post something stupid and senseless in my silly new blog cuz it's here and hungry,
this recently seduced virgin-no-more,
hungry to be pumped full of random thoughts,
hungry for some vanity,
some exhibitionism,
spreading her new blog legs
to let nobody in particular
read nothing in particular.
oh the futility of it all
how whimsical
la la la-la
(still it's somehow better than working or doing real writing.
oh joy, oh slack, oh shirking of responsibility)
la. la. la...
blog virgin no more
well i'm not really keen on the blog scene, but a friend has a blog and i wanted to post, and was tired of posting anonymously. but just to make this half-hearted first entry not completely irritating or pointless (unlikely, especially given that it's a blog which puts the less in pointless) i'll share my latest drunken revelation:
the duty of a writer (that's what i am, incidentally) is to throw one's self out, savour all the recycled memories and gripping revelations - to go to every depth and height and transcribe the soaring or the horror - but then to caricaturize it just enough to make all the wisdom pallatable.
the duty of a writer (that's what i am, incidentally) is to throw one's self out, savour all the recycled memories and gripping revelations - to go to every depth and height and transcribe the soaring or the horror - but then to caricaturize it just enough to make all the wisdom pallatable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)