this post is animated

Struggled to find a narrative this week. Yes, fine, fine, who cares about meaning just give me the story. Not just this collapsing hectic with no sound at the bottom.

By Thursday, all I could come up with was: slow down, do your own work first. IGNORE ALL OTHERS. Certainly it's a short list but still several people who I don't mind doing last-minute-panic work for – my wife, a few friends – but the rest is unadulterated bullshit.

With an inflated sense (and growing) of who we are comes a certain kind of hyper demand: everything right now, I love your work but centre that please I want it to be consistent although I don't know why, when can we meet to talk about the changes. This broken tail light blinking ASAP ASAP ASAP.

Graphic design continues its slow death amidst total chaos and like the end of Rome it has to be absurd and awful and veering towards a manic blackness. Yes, fine, fine, and let's be honest: it was always bad. Any dynamic where you go to someone for their expertise – making them responsible for the result – while keeping all the authority for yourself was always destined to be fucked from both ends. The schools need to discontinue the degree programs and just teach it as a skill, like essay writing or time management or unicorn spotting.

This would leave a lot more time for THE POWER OF YOU, which we can all be thankful for.

glamour, by extension

C is friends with the fashion stylist Rebekah Roy (left in both pics above) ... one of those people who personify calm and smiling success. On her blog she presents glamour in this very sincere, straightforward way ... whether she's taking pictures of people on the street , talking about stain removers , her favourite videos , or attending some glittering party . One minute she's ruminating on hair extensions, and in the next she reveals how she's been featured on the Vogue UK site. A real disarmer and charmer (and this without meeting her yet, although I feel like I know her because we both did our time in Winnipeg). * * * * * Coming home from Russia, we did many bad things. ; mixed media on canvas, 10 x 10 inches. In my own life, the glamour is wholly imagined. * * * * * witches, smoke ; mixed media on canvas, 10 x 10 inches. My second go at this one, and for some reason I'm painting a lot of smoke lately (note to self: tell C that I want to be cremated). *

the indisputable weight of the ocean

People are always telling me that my work is too dark. So I've put up this sunnier story, but even it has a shadow, as its original publisher – a fine Atlantic Canadian literary magazine called the Gaspereau Review – is no longer in business. ---------------- It was a simple enough thing and that thing was simply this: Edmund Kelley was a gentleman. Of course his mom called him her 'little gentleman', as in 'Oh Edmund, you are my perfect little gentleman,' which did seem to hold to a certain logic that these type of things often follow, considering her affection for him and the fact that he was, after all, only ten years old. Still, Edmund himself was not particularly fond of the diminutive aspect of that title. Gentleman was enough; gentleman summed up the whole thing rather nicely, thank you. He was definitely a more refined version of your average child. He lived in a state of perpetual Sunday m

Oona Balloona (doesn't care about new tables)

Well, it's Friday, and since I'm pretty depleted in the chit-chat department, I might as well put up some pictures of Ol' Giggles At Ghosts before Grandma starts sending me hate mail. Man, what a goofball. At this rate it's going to be, like, eighteen years before she has gainful employment and moves out of the house. I mean, come on . * * * * * C is especially crazy and frantic today. About two months ago she decided that she no longer liked our dining room table (take that, dining room table! no more BFF for you!). Since then she's switched the dining room and kitchen table (and all the rest of the furniture in the house -- about thirty times, but that's another story) as a provisional solution while she scoured area stores for an upgrade. And she thought she had found one, on Wednesday, at JYSK ( Whatever , I said). But when she ordered it, JYSK called back to say that they were really low on stock, and that the stock they did have was damaged, and

red-handed

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