The summer clothes are stuffed in a dark corner of the closet and Lady Gravity pulls everything down once November starts. Degrees are swept below the porch with the leaves of frightened trees. Layers are added to the staircases, the shrubs, the bed and our little brittle heads. We rub our hands together to produce some kind of magic, if not at the bus stop, under hot water or in the stench of the sleepy heating devices.

Pedals are slowly left to settle with cobwebs and dust as we reach for our monthly passes. Squeezed into the middle of the crowded bus, we attempt to grab a secure fixture, pushing our arm through puffy coats and yards of scarves. We sweat in silence. Despite the biting cold we’ve just escaped, we feel sleepy.




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Labels: beard, graphic journal, mood

I love it when people come to me with gifts. You know, gifts they’ve received, gifts given to them for no reason in particular. Such lack of definition makes the gift mysterious and thus, worthy of exhibition as if to prove such unique intentions exists in today’s routine pursuits.

How dandy, I exclaim before the wanton eyes of the carrier, offering a chance for satisfaction and possible retreat. I let it be known that I acknowledge this uncommon act of generosity and return to my previous state of contentment. It would be too easy to assume that the reaction one would expect and want when showing off a gift would be envy. Intent behind action is never so black and white.

I love it when people come to me with gifts because it proves that on some level, they care about something. Exactly what it is they care about will always escape me. Rest assured such a detail is of no concern of mine. What concerns me is their willingness to come to me, for any reason. That, in and of itself, is fascinating.

Of course, I do love it when people offer me gifts. Who doesn’t? The ones I prefer are the small, tiny things that would usually appear in a garage sale or in a Tupperware. To step into a drugstore and buy a box of chocolates requires as much effort as gassing up at the corner station. It is such an automatic adventure. How a seemingly ordinary entity can become the apple of somebody’s eye is what fairytales are made of.

What is remarkable is the reason the transformation takes place. A simple cookie becomes a probe in the hands of an anxious scamp. A single flower becomes a loop in a chain to a gang. A quick doodle becomes a pink slip in the hands of a smug outsider.

How much time passes between the flower and the fruit? How many moons between ripe and refuse? There’s no telling, Charlie. There is just no way of telling. There’s no use in waiting in the tall golden blades like a scarecrow.

Labels: cult, Dear Charlie, social

I apologize for the lack of dynamic content in my previous post about my FNC picks. Here is version 2.0 of Films De Loup :


Good looking browsing: Bullet list of titles
Make it bigger: Expand post beyond the break
Open in new window: Click movie title to view FNC page
More awesome: Look at a pretty picture before reading entire post
Spread awesome: Share this post with a click of a button (see bottom of post)


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Labels: Cinema, film, FNC, montreal

It's the greatest time of the year: Movie season! We can now spend our bucks and brain waves on brilliant cinematography without missing out on hot sweatful nights.

Festival du Nouveau Cinéma opens today and it is with great pleasure that I share the following picks with you:

De la guerre
Melancholia
Once upon a time in anatolia
Survivre au progrès
3D sex and zen
Sleeping beauty
Shame
Toll booth

Please save me a seat.

Labels: Cinema, FNC, montreal