Saturday, June 30, 2012

alors! shipwreck!

 just when you think the seas are calm, and all is safe

treacherous shoals appear

and all is lost

iced tea and sorbet 

crammed into fourteen hour workdays, the in-between bits filled with InDesign, back issues of the Economist

Monday, June 25, 2012

the beautiful briny sea

 encampment on the Harbor Islands, in the shadow of military barracks

seawalls, crumbling into the sea
 little boats versus the elements

to the lighthouse!

Friday, June 15, 2012

the time, high noon

Sounds of door slamming, engine starting.

C: Damn this parking lot. You'd think we were all grandmothers, the time it takes everyone to make their way out.
A: What's your hurry? Tell us now, we're here.
C: Well, you remember back when there was that mix up in the human resources office down at City Hall?
B: You mean when they paid the janitors what the town planner usually got, after the computer system was somehow upgraded?
A: I always thought some wise ass high school kid hacked into the system and rearranged some numbers.
C: Well, anyway, not that one. No, I mean, you remember the mess when they accidentally shredded the registers of births, deaths, and marriages?
A: That was when they were, what, microfilming or scanning the records, right?
C: Something like that. It turns out they used a low bid firm for it, and they didn't check references.
B: Do they ever?
C: But it gets worse. So they said that all of the records had been shred, but it turns out that they weren't only not shred, they weren't scanned or digitized, either.
B: Hold on. I need something stronger than iced tea.
A: This means what I think you're saying?
C: You bet it does. None of us were born, none of us were married, and those headstones in the cemetery are just for show.
B: Yeah, but where are our records?
C: Well, you listen to the six o'clock news. Where do you think they are?
B: Seriously?
C: Absolutely.
A: I need something a whole lot stronger than iced tea.

Meanwhile, in an industrial prefabricated building that could be anywhere at all.


reading Google maps

weather: the livin' is easy

Saturday, June 9, 2012

knocked all out of habit

"It's so much easier now, you see, that the ghost trains are running a more consistent schedule. Why, years past we'd be out waiting with the new moon, and even though that was the scheduled night, why, any little alteration would delay things like you wouldn't believe. There were plenty o' times we were left stranded all night, had to wait for the next new moon, and like as not had to find a new city to wait in. The trains were temperamental like you wouldn't believe."

"Wait, so there's a schedule? You're here for a final destination?"

"No! Don't answer!" my niece interrupted, "We don't want to know where we're going until we get there."

Margie winked at me, but before either they answered my question or offered more clues about where we might be going, someone else arrived in our compartment. He looked like one of the dwarfs taken straight out of a picture book or a costumed actor from a stage set. Everything about him was stereotypical, the green wool vest and the pointed brown beard, and he looked up at the children and set his satchel on the lower berth. I couldn't tell if he spoke loudly enough to be heard accidentally or not, but his "Ack. Foreign travelers. Wish they'd go back to taking their own trains," was unmistakable. He propped his head on his bag, sprawled across his berth, and the smell of whiskey permeated the air. I hoped it came from a flask, and not that he reeked of it naturally.

In the skin of a lion / by Michael Ondaatje

sunshine + rain, but no rainbows

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

time / tide

taking the castle, by kayak

clouds in the window
carved books

carved books II

recent journeys in the Saint Lawrence, reenacting the war of 1812.

Monday, June 4, 2012

four tell-tale signs

Our grandmother wore it until the night her breath ceased and her heart stood still, and my sister would not see another sunrise. As I scattered her ashes in the current of the river, watched her drift towards the ocean, the sky glowed deeply in the full sun of early summer. We were to leave, to make way for the rains and the strangers who were to arrive, but we were not to be destroyed. I could not hear or read the words of the fates in the shape of a cloud's shadow, but my heart drew me through the lands of our ancestors, and we would change and become strangers ourselves. When the sun was overhead, at midsummer, I gathered together an expedition, a reconnaissance mission, and we set to create a space for ourselves, a point of stability under the shifting sands of fate.

AMC schedules

raincoats and waterproofing