whenever they play jive talkin' too early on a saturday morning the room seems to shimmer and my right leg goes numb

C going through closets and clothes today, a process I fear and abominate, because attending it is whole armloads of what-doesn't-fit-me-anymore, which is in the same shattered neighbourhood of Aging and Other Ruinous Effects of Time. Yes, you can keep your head down but blame, like drones, has always played fast and loose with the truth, and sometimes you'll get it in the neck for just being in the vicinity.

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Another fun sign of spring in our neighbourhood: people sticking bags of dog poop between slats of fences, or hanging them off trees. So in a fit of human being-ness you took your (giant, untrained, probably half-insane) dog out to poop and you brought a bag and you scooped the poop into the bag and you tied it nicely and then suddenly you remembered where you lived and who you were so you hung it off a tree like some kind of inverted version of decorating or perhaps even making a statement like, Look at this, you pricks, this is what I'm all about.

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In the afternoon we went swimming to see how a public pool at the beginning of March Break can often look like one of the crowd scenes in a Godzilla movie. Oona wanted to 'race' a lot, which meant thinking of different ways (dogpaddle, starfish, etc) that I could lose. When I get a break what I like to do most is go to the deep end and tread water, feeling for a few minutes at least that my weight and ponderousness is only half imagined.

cutthroat // two-headed poems

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

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). *

red-handed

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