one more try

mai 3, 2012


so anyway, i’m playing with these pictures and with the idea of what text+ photo would look like in my blog. obvs need either more practice, or a sitebuilding teacher.





insert photo

mai 2, 2012



spring of whimsy

martie 8, 2012

i was waiting for the nightbus around 1 am at papineau, one of the last (hopefully) cold nights. a couple behind me in the bus line started dancing, and this wouldn’t have been unusual. but they were practising increasingly complicated steps, with switches and twirls and curtseys, and everybody started smiling. then the bus came and the driver had the front window all made up with plastic flowers and plush toys, and a bowl of candy for the passengers. apparently it’s ‘la semaine de relache’ – school holiday? more and more colleges here are going on strike, so i’m completely out of the loop on who’s studying and who’s not.

in the same vein: yesterday on the 80 down on parc avenue, a lady in a swirly silver-sequined skirt and a gold-sequined beret started playing a small harmonica. a guy was standing opposite her – very normal looking, except his face was painted like a cat mask – nose and moustache. we saw him keep the rhythm, then approach her and start talking, then she played another song and he accompanied her on her tambourine. it just felt so reassuringly logical that these two people should have met and interacted.

i went to have a haircut and spent an incredibly long time (with melanie, haha) being styled by student-hairdressers who had to consult with their teacher before cutting any 2 hairs. now my hair is layered! and ‘texturized’, for whatever that means! and straightened! (i have pictures! the straight part will disappear in about 1.5 days, so.) anyway, while we were waiting to pay and leave, an arabic man comes in with his wife, and we somehow realize that he’d come with her for her haircut, in order to give instructions on how her hair should be cut.

i walked up saint-laurent to bernard/st viateur. i hadn’t been there for at least one season. something small has changed, disturbingly, i can’t really pinpoint what. the mounds of grey snow are melting into small lakes, there are sales on ugly dinosaur-like shoes in outlandish colors. every possible type of garment is almost plausibly affordable, or almost fitting, almost-almost necessary but not really. right after dark (18.10 pm) i had a twinge of fright that it was the anglo bookshop on st viateur that had closed, disappeared – but no, that one’s still there.

not so much left

februarie 8, 2012

The Word

 Down near the bottom
 of the crossed-out list
 of things you have to do today,

 between „green thread”
 and „broccoli” you find
 that you have penciled „sunlight.”

 Resting on the page, the word
 is as beautiful, it touches you
 as if you had a friend

 and sunlight were a present
 he had sent you from some place distant
 as this morning – to cheer you up,

 and to remind you that,
 among your duties, pleasure
 is a thing,

 that also needs accomplishing
 Do you remember?
 that time and light are kinds

 of love, and love
 is no less practical
 than a coffee grinder

 or a safe spare tire?
 Tomorrow you may be utterly
 without a clue

 but today you get a telegram,
 from the heart in exile
 proclaiming that the kingdom

 still exists,
 the king and queen alive,
 still speaking to their children,

 – to any one among them
 who can find the time,
 to sit out in the sun and listen.

– Tony Hoagland<a

the year of living.

februarie 2, 2012

by Marie Howe

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss–we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.

carmen in january

ianuarie 24, 2012

1. allo darlin’ – my heart is a drummer
„…and when you call me, on the telephone my fingers will still twist through the cord
and I’ll slide my feet up and down the wall,
…but I know that I’m stronger than you are
…but I know that I’m stronger than you are.”

2. fleet foxes – helplessness blues

3.the decemberists – january hymn

4. emmy the great – where is my mind

5. said the whale – black day in december
(thinking of vancouver a lot!!!)

6. the knife – neverland

7. emily and the woods – steal his heart

8. hungry ghosts – i don’t think about you anymore but i don’t think about you anyless

9. ane brun – to let myself go

10. tango with lions – in a bar

chinese new year

ianuarie 23, 2012

or: „a crazy person with a pink paint can at midnight”
i tried to catch up on sleep time today, so i woke up all woozy from a nap around 10 pm. i go to the kitchen and melanie says, it’s chinese new year! the dragon is coming! we should celebrate! and she gets more and more into it: but this place is a mess! our entrance is all blocked, that’s bad luck! we should sweep and mop and take our shoes from there! we should put something red on this wall, for good luck and money etc. to which i’m like ok, i have some balloons! so i start blowing up balloons. melanie mops the hallway, i sweep, then she brings out the can of red paint we’d had left from painting in summer. ha! she mixes it with white, so the result is a…peachy pinkish smth. i’m sure it has a name. the initial idea was to do red stripes on our entrance walls, like columns…in the end, by midnight, we have two thick pink stripes, and assorted balloons. i think the dragon came, took a look, and started tearing his hair out. good times all around.