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And then but so:
I find it hard to write between events. I sit in hallways, notebook open in my lap, and it is as if I have made an unfortunate mess, how embarrassing, I'm sorry sir I'll clean it up. Laid across my knees, with needle and thread for mending, I'm sorry this quilt looks so amateurish. To be honest, I never did keep up with my whittling classes: it's ( Read more... ) -
Discussing how to make lightning.
You are traveling through a forest at night, hunting
and you hear a...
how long do rabbits live?
how much sleep do i need, how to get a girl to sleep
partially heard
I also know that the time of love has ended,
and the beautiful words have died. -
...and travelling on a barquelounge.
This landscape's edges have been tucked up ( Read more... ) -
Out.
breathing in cold air ( Read more... ) -
Writer's Block: Novel Ideas
Narcis is a human-sized spider, who only desires to tear into the flesh of the living, breathing humans around him. Recently immigrated from his home in the Amazon, he seeks to make a life for himself in the Graduate Library Sciences program at the University of Toronto. He enjoys spinning lifeless bodies up into thick web shells, and waiting ( Read more... ) -
Loss.
"Leave the mobile at home tonight, shall we love?"
It irritated him, the way she whispered to persons more creative through every god damned meal. "Certainly," she tested him. Walking back through the door, silent, she picked it up. 5 messages. Her sister had died on the way. -
(Untitled)
A Toronto woman, Mandy, reminisces about the breakup of her second serious relationship to a Frenchman, Pierre. Thinking of partings brings to mind the imminent departure of her parents from the city to a retirement home in Florida ( Read more... ) -
Auburn revisited.
Seven hours far from my own daylight a man pumps water from his basement. A pipe has broken. He’s old, handsome and wise ( Read more... ) -
Returnments.
No explanations, no jokes, just an entry, okay? Sorry.
Alaska, Alaska: I dreamt about a doll's house last night. The one in the attic just outside of Covington. You could hear the horses snorting white, phlegm-flecked steam at 1:00 in the morning. Perched cross legged in front of the mouldy toy structure in pyjamas and the red windbreaker I stole ( Read more... )
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