December 29, 2010
December 23, 2010
‘Time’ is a factor in all growth. It seems obvious of course. But what if ‘time’ existed in some subatomic level, in the very programming of life. And it has a direction. If you could find those clocks in matter and turn them back, if you could focus on particular areas of space (an infected organ) and turn the clocks back, then you could, for example, make cancer disappear by returning the infected organ to its former state of health.
December 23, 2010
We used to go to this working class pub after hockey. Sweating. Quaffing down beers. Arguing about how great I was that night. There used to be this guy. We’ll call him Drake. About 50. He’d walk in, dressed in a suit, his hair slicked back. A real Casanova. And he’d buy a beer. Lean against the bar. Checking out the talent. There were only a few women in the place. One of them was a waitress and cleaned up afterwards. A couple other women were in the place. Sitting with a table of guys. Smoking a cigarette. And laughing too loud. They were like synchonized cougars. Drake would glance their way. Perhaps they were beneath him. He never paid much attention to them. Always seemed to waiting for that special ‘someone’. Drake would always leave alone. He was in his own dream. Like the rest of us in the bar. Except he smelled better. Probably.
December 20, 2010
I was listening to CBC radio the other night. It was a program on books. And the person interviewed was talking about the author of a particular book. She sounded like a combination of therapist and worshipper. And it rang a bell with me. The perception of artists/writers/poets as cripples. Either psychologically or emotionally. And in a peculiar way their art is seen as a symptom of their illness. The underlying belief (though never expressed, perhaps not even recognized) is that a healthy individual doesn’t create art. They have no need. They aren’t sensitive enough. Of course, its rubbish. But go into any of our universities and listen.
December 18, 2010
December 15, 2010
Marie Howe and I went to college together in the early 70s. We both had long hair. Hers was brown, mine orange. She and her sister were affectionately called ‘the hags’. Marie was charming and fun and had an earthy sensuality. She was more open than me. Perhaps more conventional as well. I always remember how she would say ‘a egg’. It continues to bring a smile to my life. Over the years since then she has become a respected and accompished poet. In all the conversations we had back then I don’t think we ever talked about writing. Very odd.
December 14, 2010
I have long been a fan of Edgar Allan Poe though I do confess it has been decades since I picked up and read one of his stories. So many literary gendre finds their roots in Poe (from scifi to detective stories). I remember reading the Fall of the House of Usher and the name stuck in my head. I changed the title of this piece from Usher to Kuris. Kuris is an artist friend of mine and I don’t like Usher.
December 12, 2010
If there were no human beings, would the universe exist? (The old tree falling in the woods story.) What we are referring to is consciousness. And what is it? And was the universe asleep until we opened our eyes? (or some other sentient being) As my own life draws to an end I find myself perplexed. What was this all about? (Avoid the religion explanations for now) If we, if everything exists by chance (or by nothing), then existence is just weird.