i n d e x
j u l y 31
olympic tweets, july ending.
stiff neck for poots, is work that bad?
and poots, smaller in her frame, stiffer in her neck, falls in love anew, for no reason, at all.
two little girls and their ipads, one messy, messy house, tepid java, who cares what russell says anyways. but we do.
briefest calculations on a crumpled drawing, the art wall needs help.
freedom is worth it, if you call it freedom, and poots forgets her one line opener.
something about the morning, oh well, it's gone now, and a stiff neck remains.
with what can we close this month, heat persists, sick swiss, say that seven times.
we hold each other up, sometimes by a thread, sometimes with brute force.
either way, it's reciprocal, it's natural, effortless, unending, and somehow as pure as the rain.
8:19 and poots forces herself to care about being on time, only in this one instance.
in this moment in time.
the java pot ticks.
cooler air comes through the wombatting window
and i feel too old to have two little girls with ipads.
long term memory, poots,
long term memory.
the sun shines brightly through the birch undergrowth, morning birds songs morphed into late morning songs. the neighbors have not yet stirred.
the swiss man snores in the small tent, the children sit in relative peace, by the fire.
the penguin falls into the fire, scooped up, tears averted, he gets doused in 'parfume' which morphs into a discussion of the cost of parfume and an analysis that too much parfume doesn't really smell nice at all.
a successful breakfast of mango and bratwurst, and lots of coffee for the adults in the picture.where does a plane flying over rouge-matawin go, poots ponders. now fed, the children disappear to the beach, and i, left with only the slowly diminishing sounds of their voices fading into the canopy, notice more acutely now, the occasional crackling of the neighbor's fire and the flames of ours licking the still damp embers.
camping, as an art form, requires patience. not the patience of waiting for the tent to be put up - but the long, drawn out sort of patience that grows by the day, and only after two or three days, tells you that waiting for the effects of the world to dissipate is actually worth the wait. and it is this alternate satisfaction of not knowing you were waiting until the moment comes where you realize that cuba is right here, and that you created it yourself out of sheer patience which you spent having the perseverance to make it through two days of patience. and that letting whatever thoughts pass through your fingers is as nice a meditative form as it gets, and the ants don't bother you anymore, nor the trickling sweat down your torso.
one evening, last week
with five very different people:
Not a 'quiet night of quiet stars' more like a fascist bombastic collusion of people born on three different continents, and representing the major demographic of 'couple-dom'.
the suburban Toronto happily married couple;
the Finnish cosmopolitan
'stuck in a housewife life' but 'not a housewife' who
married the most desirable bachelor,
and the single El
discussions around division of labour, foreboding to my ears, i gave unsolicited advice; or perhaps solicited;
but i'm older and slightly
wiser than her, and i know it's right. it's the same
philosophical conundrum that I have concluded that there
no answers for:
why, after all these years of civilization, do the gory mechanics of the Male and Female brain still rule a relationship.