The time is lunch ... which, around here, is like stepping within the confines of a moving cloud, and then trying to take dimensions. So I draw, then go to the library. * * * * * Returning to the library: Summer Blonde and Shortcomings , two bully reads from the Easter long weekend. Tomine's stories always have this ghost hanging around -- the unresolved, the agonized, the string snipped off. The presence of thin hope is just more or less than fifty-fifty. My favourite character is the miscreant, self-smothering Hillary Chan (from Summer Blonde ), who only emerges from her sour shell to torture passers-by with crank calls to a payphone she can see from her apartment window. * * * * * Suddenly: everything is green. It's been cold/wet, cold/wet -- last night, on my way to three pints of Guinness, I wore an insulated, almost-winter jacket with a toque. And for weeks now I've been watching the ground look stuck on the dun colours, the dried-dead-brown colours. But now
Draw things, paint things, write things, make things.