Archives for February, 2006

There is a letter buried in one of my organisers. It’s written in rounded script in multicoloured ink on pink, flowery paper.

These are the voices in my head. There are images floating within my mind, distracting me, blurring all the neatly arranged facts I’m trying to memorise.

I found myself panicking slightly tonight, trying to remember the exact placement of the furniture. The stone wall, the gated front yard, the dining room table. The sun, the despair, the exhilaration.

A vague stabbing somewhere in my gut.

Edit (Feb 28): Appears to have been a one-time lapse in judgement. But it’s got me thinking … who chooses the subscription?

I breeze through the JDUC lobby. On the way upstairs, I grabbed a paper from the newsstand near the staircase.
The National Post?
Continue reading this entry »

Regarding a friend’s wife’s leaving him, he says, “He could be violent. Still, if she could have managed …”
(The punctuation lies. This was between a period and an ellipses.)

It’s strange: societal assumptions of male strength, when it is women who are expected to bear the brunt of it wordlessly daily.

I’ve run out of the words to make this something more than a soundbite.
I’m just waiting for inertia to care of itself – how ironic is that?

There are butterflies, monarch butterflies with overgrown wings, fluttering in my belly, wreaking havoc the colour of fire, leaping up to the back of my mouth.

And what does it mean, strange voyeurism, to feel something after watching a movie about something so complex it could never be reduced to 80 minutes of surround-sound technicolour? Continue reading this entry »

I returned a few days ago, spurred by guilt and something like desperation, to the old grind of newspapers and inky fingers.
And was immediately engulfed in images, screaming headlines, and pages of tiny single-spaced text devoted to the topic of The Cartoons and the ensuing riots.

I read voraciously, then snuck around the internet. Steeped myself in this latest “crisis.” Continue reading this entry »

It is past midnight. Dangerous things happen in the AM hours of the night.
Like wondering what the hell was the point of … ahh, cliched existential crises on the horizon. And so every sentence stops half thought, because – c’mon, admit it – you already know what the last word will be. And what’s there to say, you haven’t read the papers, emailed anyone, said anything worth saying for how long now.

Disconnect.

And: at the edges, an unnerving thought: that it all comes down to the attitudes I’ve surrounded myself. And worse: that I never consciously made the decision to think the things I think I think.
Fear.

So, yes. Dangerous thoughts.
Promising chaotic silences.
I feel a hiatus coming on.