Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
love: dattes fraîches de Bam
"Handpicked, Fumigated and Processed under quality control procedures in Iran."
Sunday, November 16, 2008
love: finding this a year later
My room no longer has blinds. I can’t remember when it happened. My life became an open stage and I become a specimen. Sometime after I painted everything I guess. I stripped everything, sat on the floor and looked at the nakedness of the walls. It was like seeing some stranger fully nude at a public pool change room, drying themselves with much abandon. And you don’t want to look but you have to. Not because it’s pretty, or fascinating, but because there, right there is the most vulnerable creature on earth. He is standing there; on cold tiles surrounded by greasy lockers. His feet are inches from a drain—a drain with enough hair caught in it to cover the world’s bald twice over. And this person has their underwear sitting on one of those slotted benches, and all they want is to dry their ass and jump into their clothes. And you’re trying not to watch but you have to. And he knows you do. He’s on display, or not him but what one has to perceive to be him.
I perceived my room to be desperate for life. For inhabitation. I guess I got so caught up in showing my room a goodtime I never hung the blinds back up. So I managed to not only show my room a goodtime but also a great deal of my neighbourhood.
I perceived my room to be desperate for life. For inhabitation. I guess I got so caught up in showing my room a goodtime I never hung the blinds back up. So I managed to not only show my room a goodtime but also a great deal of my neighbourhood.
love: idea, hate: execution
Two spotlights highlight two theatre seats that sit centre stage. Virginia, a well-dressed woman in her mid-eighties sits on the left seat, her purse neatly clutched in her delicate hands. She wears classic “old lady” make-up: brightly rouged cheeks and coral lipstick.
Emily enters and begins searching for her seat. She finds it and sits down, glancing over at Virginia.
Emily: Hi
Virginia: Hello…
Pause
Virginia: I’m Virginia.
Emily: Oh, hi. Uh…I’m Emily.
Virginia: Nice to meet you, Emily.
Pause
Emily: You went to these things with her, right?
Virginia: Pardon me?
Emily: Uh…you and my grandmother came here together?
Virginia takes a closer look at Emily’s face. Emily awkwardly stares back.
Virginia: Emily! You’re Lynn’s…Lynn’s granddaughter.
Her voice grows soft towards the end of the sentence. She stares again at Emily’s features, trying hard to see a resemblance between her and her grandmother. She smiles as she sees parts of her dear friend emerging in Emily’s expressions.
Yes, yes. (She giggles) Lynn and I shared a great fondness of the symphony.
Silence.
Do you like the symphony?
Emily: Uh, I don’t know.
Virginia: Well then you’ll find out soon.
Emily: I guess so. How long is it usually?
Virginia: If the conductor’s young, then I normally wear my comfortable shoes.
Emily: Oh.
Pause
Emily: So, like two….
Virginia: But I always wear good hosiery. You never know who’s going to be looking at your legs. (She sniffs at the air) That’s a new one.
Emily: I’m sorry?
Virginia: The perfume…I don’t recognize that one. None of us are supposed to be wearing any; it states that clearly in the back of your program.
Emily: Oh, right.
Virginia: Mrs. Marmaduke in row F wears Arpege. Mrs. Laurel in row H has her 24 Faubourg. Mr. and Mrs. Young are doused in Chanel. They sit in the balcony.
Emily: Mr. Young wears Chanel?
Virginia: Dear, they would’ve been divorced long ago if Annie hadn’t found a way to mask his…aroma. We used to be great friends but people change with age and…distance can develop. Or in Mr. Young’s case: pungency.
Emily laughs.
Emily enters and begins searching for her seat. She finds it and sits down, glancing over at Virginia.
Emily: Hi
Virginia: Hello…
Pause
Virginia: I’m Virginia.
Emily: Oh, hi. Uh…I’m Emily.
Virginia: Nice to meet you, Emily.
Pause
Emily: You went to these things with her, right?
Virginia: Pardon me?
Emily: Uh…you and my grandmother came here together?
Virginia takes a closer look at Emily’s face. Emily awkwardly stares back.
Virginia: Emily! You’re Lynn’s…Lynn’s granddaughter.
Her voice grows soft towards the end of the sentence. She stares again at Emily’s features, trying hard to see a resemblance between her and her grandmother. She smiles as she sees parts of her dear friend emerging in Emily’s expressions.
Yes, yes. (She giggles) Lynn and I shared a great fondness of the symphony.
Silence.
Do you like the symphony?
Emily: Uh, I don’t know.
Virginia: Well then you’ll find out soon.
Emily: I guess so. How long is it usually?
Virginia: If the conductor’s young, then I normally wear my comfortable shoes.
Emily: Oh.
Pause
Emily: So, like two….
Virginia: But I always wear good hosiery. You never know who’s going to be looking at your legs. (She sniffs at the air) That’s a new one.
Emily: I’m sorry?
Virginia: The perfume…I don’t recognize that one. None of us are supposed to be wearing any; it states that clearly in the back of your program.
Emily: Oh, right.
Virginia: Mrs. Marmaduke in row F wears Arpege. Mrs. Laurel in row H has her 24 Faubourg. Mr. and Mrs. Young are doused in Chanel. They sit in the balcony.
Emily: Mr. Young wears Chanel?
Virginia: Dear, they would’ve been divorced long ago if Annie hadn’t found a way to mask his…aroma. We used to be great friends but people change with age and…distance can develop. Or in Mr. Young’s case: pungency.
Emily laughs.
Friday, November 14, 2008
love: The Midnight Inquirer
Adventures of a Man Carrying a Broken Heartby Jon Moses Leiner for The Georgia Straight
Thursday, November 13, 2008
love: this man I've seen twice now
I've seen this man twice now.
He looks like someone I know very well. Dresses in straight black, with a hat and a book peeking out of his pocket. Not a pants-pocket but an awkward one around his stomach. He's slim and he has a cane. He isn't old though. Maybe its a fake limp or maybe he's just practicing for an ailment he believes he will one day own.
He rides the train briefly and gets off at my stop. And maybe its because he reminds me so much of someone I stare at him when we both take the stairs and I watch the way he cocks his head and takes the stairs quickly, as if he is tap-dancing. His cane appears to make his movements more graceful. What should hinder his ability gives him a bit more stride.
And tonight, as we both neared the exit of the station I so wanted to be someone he knew. And there, at the bottom of all the stairs was this little woman. All heels and jacket, little under it all. He walked over to her and she was smiling, talking and she was most definitely someone he knew. My ride wasn't there so I watched them cross the street and disappear, into shadow.
I love the idea of him. And maybe them. Sometimes I can only imagine people singularly, and seeing him meet with someone altered the character I thought I was developing for him. So love dipped to intense like but back to love as I figured he is allowed to have such love or admiration for the little woman. I will allow him that if he'll allow me to invent the rest.
He looks like someone I know very well. Dresses in straight black, with a hat and a book peeking out of his pocket. Not a pants-pocket but an awkward one around his stomach. He's slim and he has a cane. He isn't old though. Maybe its a fake limp or maybe he's just practicing for an ailment he believes he will one day own.
He rides the train briefly and gets off at my stop. And maybe its because he reminds me so much of someone I stare at him when we both take the stairs and I watch the way he cocks his head and takes the stairs quickly, as if he is tap-dancing. His cane appears to make his movements more graceful. What should hinder his ability gives him a bit more stride.
And tonight, as we both neared the exit of the station I so wanted to be someone he knew. And there, at the bottom of all the stairs was this little woman. All heels and jacket, little under it all. He walked over to her and she was smiling, talking and she was most definitely someone he knew. My ride wasn't there so I watched them cross the street and disappear, into shadow.
I love the idea of him. And maybe them. Sometimes I can only imagine people singularly, and seeing him meet with someone altered the character I thought I was developing for him. So love dipped to intense like but back to love as I figured he is allowed to have such love or admiration for the little woman. I will allow him that if he'll allow me to invent the rest.
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