stagnanTVowels

fig.6.54) Father, say hey. So say, yeah! I'll say it, I miss the downtown diners, just not this one. It should have aspired for something more. Instead, it lingered in the center of the road, where it waited too long. In the 90's, I worked there waiting tables and the whole staff was dismissive of the owners. They were always hiring people, posting ads for Help in the free weeklies. But in the end, the timid and habitually lost wouldn't save them. Their food was fair but pricey, particularly for us students or anyone answering one an ad for one of their jobs. Once upon a time, when the theater outside was still an arthouse or even before that when artists lingered in the studios upstairs; you might find a decent bowl of soup here.  There goes our honeymoon, now it's back to work. We've got to reduce those taxes, create extra arcane loopholes for the corporate shills coming from the dark office. Remove the services, sell the resources and make up the shortfa...

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for the tidy sum of walk, so our toes will be cool in the Lak. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anything while more of the same is boiling over everywhere. When I was younger...

fig.02.210) another harmless baffle There have always been things in front of that window; once Milton cut out paper leaves that he hung there with fat pink string. The high sun cascades in, letting shadows playing at the edges of the floor. Watching it is like seeing a brittle plastic film in a cinema that's the size of a bathroom. After a short wait she steps into the light. Her nose is just visible. The mask she's wearing seems well gnawed, some purpose must have interrupted the hungry vole of reason that's responsible for such violent deckling, but the barn of reason now forgets it's stopping. Why does she wear this, thing. Maybe she's disappointed in choices she's made?   Brushing the hair from her eye's hotly, she exhales meanly. Standing up quickly, Myko turns and leaves the kitchen. This is when the world ends. The End. Chapter: The Next, To Begin! I adore her quick smell of perfume and whatever it is she has in her pockets. Back when kids would roa...

Fig.01.213) Me, the Apple with J Mascis During this time... The voices of many telephones murmur as proles manage what business is appointed to them by distant masters. There are never short answers in the stacks. History is a tightly wound coil around a small golden chair sitting beneath an even smaller umbrella but short answers require clownishly large shoes. Not springing from the loam of a hallowed vale, the narratives within these aisles are constructed from the straw and twine of whatever is easiest, most expedient or convenient to lay hands on. All of it is being piled higher and higher at the urging of untidy fools, until it finally falls down. Now, here we are. As in the United States, most clandestine, independent or alternative publication actions in Montreal and Toronto ceased by 1973. So the short answer could be, we aren't Canadian... The Canadian social and political realities of the 60's and 70's were particularly contentious. The country was sorting thr...

fig.45.95) often ranched with the ghosts, in the neat sight of the sun. "The hurry up art is under the bad stairs, crusty paintings and framed photos sharing their time with a few well marked, four color calendars. Gary, Denise and the other Gallery-Friends will be here soon. But that bunch from the Disco isn't coming until later, their Doctor Person is always late. But right now, Alice and Chloe are fitting the last light bulbs into place before the big show tonight." In the garden behind their house, Milton is writing before opening up the gallery. He has coffee to drink and cigarettes to smoke, but sometimes he'll still share breakfast with Alice. They're neighbors and they like to sit behind the small house together, talking about the scale of elephant jokes, talking about couches and mice. The slow tease of a perfect oolong tea making both of them giggle. At night they sometimes drink martinis and they read from a favorite shared dictionary, laughing even mor...