Light travels at the speed of light

When I was a child, summer  holidays seemed like they lasted forever. Now it seems like a 4 day weekend. My brother-in-law was put under for a serious operation lasting several  hours. He said that he recalled counting down from ten and waking up. The very next moment. According to relativity, the faster you travel the slower time moves. At the speed of light, everything stops. Light travels at the speed of light. Does that mean that light doesn’t move? My head hurts.

Jo Young

I had a dream. About a woman. That I haven’t seen for over 30 years. But she was in my dream. She was married for a time to one of my oldest and dearest friends. She was beautiful as a young girl, but the woman in my dreams had aged. I attempted to make a collage out of the image. I won’t say that this piece of work reflects what I imagined. But it does reflect the mood of the dream.

 

Renovations complete

A new room has been built in my gallery. iAMaGALLERY.

Seduction

Seduction. It’s always bothered me. Not the passive alcoholic driven moments of 2 people in a bar. Late in the evening. But the active, planning, Napoleonic field of combat. To a bed. You had to play a part. A role. Which inevitably involved lieing. It was all about control. If there was love involved it must temporarily be set aside. For romance. Your head had to be clear. My problem. If I really liked someone, I would start to drool. If I did not like someone, I would become… aloof. (Which does work but which is… distasteful). Of course as a young man I was under the grand delusion. That I had any say in what would happen. The woman decides. The man pretends.

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Winds of change in Toronto the Good

I’m getting grouchy. We are going to have an election in Ontario. And it looks like the conservatives will win. They won the federal election. They won the city election. And now the provincial. And I’m a democrat. But sometimes its hard. You have to hold your nose when the populous elects boobs. So many terrible things have happened in this area but hardly anyone seems upset. Recently Toronto has been exposed to the stories of what happened during the Group of 20. One demonstrator had his wooden leg torn off him by the police. They said it could have been used as a weapon. Another man who had come down a few days before the demonstration and said something about the G20 found himself naked, in jail. The charges against him were later dropped. How can people defend this type of behaviour? Some policemen are out of control. And their superiors are cowards. A man is beaten by a cop and none of the police around him can identify him. If you are an American and are thinking of coming to Toronto this summer… don’t. You’re safer at home.

power of h

I have another blog. Which runs parallel to this one. It is more an appraisal or a discovery of other artists. It is called ‘the power of h’ and can be found at

http://powerofh.wordpress.com/

The abyss

I believe in evolution. No, that’s not true. I believe that Darwin answers many of our questions about biology. And the early history of our species. But the idea that everything is getting better rubs me the wrong way. (Not that Darwin ever claimed this.) The older I get and the more I think about things, the existence of God becomes more… problematic. (If God is outside time, how can he be said to exist?) A lot of arguments get caught up in questions of language, in the meanings of words. But deep in the pit of my stomach I feel like I’m moving closer to an abyss. More and more I find myself sympathetic to Kierkegaard. Standing next to the darkness. And reaching out.

Go Now

I listen to my children. So passionate about their music. I remember when. We used to classify people’s cool by their music. If you liked Tom Jones. You had to have dropped out of high school. And be at least 3 years older. If you liked country music. Definitely not cool. Unless it was Johnny Cash. Then you were really cool. If you liked Andy Williams. You were probably dead. Classical music of any kind. You were rich. Or European. No one liked opera. Except me. And I kept it to myself. If you liked musicals. You were gay. And it went on. And then I recall romancing a young woman. Jeanne. One evening. Drunk. Both of us. We were headed home from the pub. To my place. When I said, I couldn’t stand the Moody Blues. Their only good song was “Go Now” and they stole that from a black group in Detroit. (There are so many good versions.) Jeanne turned to me. There were tears in her eyes. Jeanne loved the Moody Blues. She couldn’t be with someone who didn’t love the Moody Blues. So I went home. Alone. I couldn’t believe it. I was pissed. How could anyone love the Moody Blues?

Rob Ford’s Parade

Sometimes I feel like the stereotypical old woman peeking out from behind her curtains at the doings on her street. I was in Starbucks. A table of 5 attractive women. Actually 4 attractive women in their late 40s or early 50s. One young woman in her 30s, I would guess, was not so attractive. I did not listen to their conversation. They were talking on my bad ear side. I read the newspaper. Rob Ford, our mayor, will not attend the Gay Pride Parade. I guess he’s not proud. A young man, in his early 30s, stepped into the cafe. He was well built, ruggedly handsome. Virile in that polite way Canadians have. He touched one of the women on the shoulder. She turned. They knew each other. They talked. The other women at the table glanced at their friend. Were they envious? The whole thing was out of some French movie. The couple chatted amiably. He could be her future lover. I turned my good ear toward them. (Like the captain of a submarine, turning his periscope toward oil tankers.) The fellow was gay. I should have known. He was good looking, in good shape, a friendly smile, well groomed. I wondered if he was going to the parade.

 

 

Down those beautiful lanes

The kid in me. Leaned against the wall. And watched the blonde step into Starbucks. Her hips like bowling balls. Rolling down those beautiful lanes. Her hair carelessly tossed over her shoulder. She smiled. And lowered her eyes. I twirled the toothpick in my teeth. Around and around. My 60 year old body looked at me. And said. “Grow up.”