the time is: lunch

The time is lunch ... which, around here, is like stepping within the confines of a moving cloud, and then trying to take dimensions. So I draw, then go to the library.

* * * * *

Returning to the library: Summer Blonde and Shortcomings, two bully reads from the Easter long weekend. Tomine's stories always have this ghost hanging around -- the unresolved, the agonized, the string snipped off. The presence of thin hope is just more or less than fifty-fifty.

My favourite character is the miscreant, self-smothering Hillary Chan (from Summer Blonde), who only emerges from her sour shell to torture passers-by with crank calls to a payphone she can see from her apartment window.

* * * * *

Suddenly: everything is green. It's been cold/wet, cold/wet -- last night, on my way to three pints of Guinness, I wore an insulated, almost-winter jacket with a toque. And for weeks now I've been watching the ground look stuck on the dun colours, the dried-dead-brown colours. But now green.

* * * * *

Dear Friend: why look, it's a rejection letter. It's not a real rejection letter, with paper and postage and the whole bit, or a rejection email, which would conform to a certain disposable logic, but an attachment to an email made to look like a letter. And what, exactly, is the fucking point? Dear Friend, here is a fake letter, perhaps to make you feel better about the rejection contained herein. Dear Friend, fuck off. I mean, I only submitted to these guys TEN MONTHS AGO.

* * * * *

More mail misery: way back in March, with tons of time before Easter, I sent my niece in Montreal a fun mini-parcel with stickers and origami cards and tiny plastic pinball games and the sort. A few weeks ago, this is what I get back. The bag is sealed; I haven't opened it. I'm going to resend the entire thing in a bigger envelope, like shipping an evidence bag (and getting the guilty to do the carrying).

* * * * *

Reading: the Design-100-Annual issue of STEP INSIDE DESIGN. Lots of pictures for us softer brains, to mollify our vague anger.

Comments

  1. You can trust snail mail just about as much as you can trust the internet.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Well, maybe if you'd bothered to read their unique and boundary-pushing magazine you would have known not to waste your time.

    And Tomine is two thumbs up.

    ReplyDelete

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