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Showing posts from August, 2013

jelly

Whenever the interview subject starts talking about Shakespeare or Dickens, I mentally burn the page. * * * * * Why do I only see cops in my neighbourhood at 6:30 on a Sunday morning? The total number of people around are: me, that bakery guy on his way home and the old lady who gets up to sit on her porch and sing to her fucking cat. * * * * * That's it, August – keep your hands in the air, keep moving towards the door. * * * * * Found three quarters and a saucepan on the sidewalk this morning. I took the quarters. * * * * * Oona, yesterday afternoon, telling me about her new " jelly restaurant ". * * * * * In cigar-tin stories today: you can never forget us .

this post is about nothing

But then show me a post that is about something. As far as writing goes, it's a bit like debate club for mutterers. * * * * * Bought a new camera last week. Slim, cheap. (The old one sort of bloated and died, which was far too allegorical.) At least now I can correct a certain deficit in Oona pictures (lately). * * * * * Bought the camera at Walmart. Had not been there for a few years. So much had changed so little -- still slightly malevolent in its baggy-panted randomness. Why are they selling groceries? And then there was that certain moment where I realized that I might be the most able-bodied person in the building – TERRIFYING. The quickened, cattle-call checkout in the centre area is new; I kept expecting to be fed into a giant, bloodied threshing machine. * * * * * Number nine is our exquisite corpse is up. Also: making stuff up is abandoned in killing kind of way.

the charges, lately

Conspiracy to Commit Fibs Grand Theft Lego Aggravating Assault Hand-Washing Fraud Crimes Against Daddy's Humanity Supper Evasion Public Goofballism Perjury Extortion Indecent Exposure Harassment Accessory After the Completely Fabricated Fact Bamboozlement Doll Battery

the sun gets into everything

the sun gets into everything, shut your eyes and see ; original painting – pencil, inks and watercolours on a page torn from Turner at the Tate (Martin Butlin), 8.15 x 11.5 inches, cigar-tin stories . * * * * * A long weekend, a summer weekend. Things in town (like the park ) and a day trip (to the beach ). Minimal craziness! Jesus I'm tired. But the days are already getting cooler (and of course, my office still freezes ). * * * * * Chapter 7 in my story collaboration with Ariel, and my direction metre is pointing inward, and low. Part 1 , part 2 , part 3 , part 4 , part 5 , part 6 .