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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.
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Comments

  1. Krista2:50 pm

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

    ReplyDelete
  2. Jeannetto11:05 am

    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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