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Pinned to the spokes (updated)

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

I have just found out that similarly to my cousin Richard, rest his soul, another cousin of mine has decided to take a trip westward. Although, unlike Rich who left Cornwall for Vancouver on a motorcycle to start a new life, Pat is temporarily leaving Hull on a bicycle to join some of our relatives in Sudbury for my grand-father’s memorial service.

So, if you see a young man riding his bike along highway 17, why not slow down and shout out something nice? Maybe stop and offer him a bottle of water… and maybe give him this message for me? Richard and Denis would have been thrilled to see you live this adventure. Be safe.

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posted by Primessa Espiritu
12:40 pm

Soap Bopper

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I now have the new Ned 7" Soap Bopper. The B side holds "Omaha", what seems to be the soundtrack to a Ned bio-pic that hasn't been scripted yet. Curious? Get yours here. Go on. And don't fret about "Deux", I believe it will still be on the new album.

Thanks to Nathan for sending it out.

Along with Soap Bopper, my friends will now find in my small cardboard box collection, The International Film Festival (Themes), Feed The Folk, Où est passé la noce? and Fragile.

Let's play chess.

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posted by Primessa Espiritu
9:10 pm

Happiness Is

Saturday, August 25, 2007

A blank journal entry.

posted by Primessa Espiritu
1:56 pm

To the factory farm

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

posted by Primessa Espiritu
9:43 pm


As easy as 1, 2, 3...

Sunday, August 12, 2007

posted by Primessa Espiritu
1:48 am


Monday, August 06, 2007

Last night I dreamt about autumn. I haven’t been able to remember any of my dreams for a few months now. But sitting here, at someone else’s desk, I heard the comment “What nice temperature. It’s like October!” She was referring to the dark blue light cast by the clouds and the echo of the rain through the streets.

As soon as those words left her lips, my mind had left, returning to the images of my hand touching an elongated cluster of dried flowers that were still holding the end of a branch of a peculiar tree I have never seen. The colors were strange, all in an orange hue. Burnt orange. I remember thinking that it was too soon for this.

The skies they were ashen and sober;

The leaves they were crisped and sere--

The leaves they were withering and sere;

It was night in the lonesome October

Of my most immemorial year:

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posted by Primessa Espiritu
9:53 am

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