this interpretation of the real. a story nested within a story, nested within---
ad nauseum. admit it--we are surrounded by beauty.
Just finished an assignment on the novel Room by Emma Donoghue. 
A superficial take on post-modernism: what story has meaning for you?
What narrative do you believe in? Do you understand that you construct your own narrative? That you are responsible for your fairy tale?
Thee snow moved in today, officially, with the help of the wind and some dipping sliding temperatures. 
"All the cares and fears of the mortal world were gone, replaced by the hum of immaculate industry, divine creativity, and, through it all, that unmistakable always-known sense of deep familiarity, of belonging and completion"--Grant Morrison, Supergods.
At this very moment Tycho is playing, and yes, it's pretty much true to form. 
I like this sign. If memory serves me right, it outlines some proposed new development in and around the dog walking park. It's not going over well. I was there the other day, fairly early in the morning, alone--except for the intrepid Mr. P., of course. 'Twas great. Any proposed development will fuck it up...but what cans you do with a growing potashopolis?
Deja vu Monday night. Finally a bit of snow on the ground. Anyway, I stayed away from the library this evening and settled like snow into the basement flat...just like January and February and--. This term is almost over. I've given up (no I haven't) exclaiming over the quickness of time; even I'm getting sick of this particular cliche...but anyway, the term is almost over and I'm not in panic mode. I'm up on my work and there's only two weeks to go. Mind boggling. 
Read some phantastic books this fall, some for school some for me...Supergods by Grant Morrison was great--but I've got a mancrush on him, so I cannot offer any salient criticism on anything he does. I finally read some Tomson Highway, Kiss of the Fur Queen to be exact, in a CanLit class, and loved it. For years I've had a completely nonsensical prejudice against Canadian literature, and the U of S english department has steadily eroded that inclination. Don't know where it started to be honest, probably around the same time I humbly thought I was the next incarnation of Henry Miller and Kerouac. Wack.
Frustrating it may be, but happy to be regularly handing in writing to marked/critiqued. I always think everything I do is fine--indeed, that what flows from my keyboard is SOMETHING for EVERYONE. And you better not change a damn thing PROF. Today I had to do a rewrite on a short assignment, and I must admit that when I saw it in my inbox my temperature rose a degree or two. She was write, of course.
University has been a joy this fall. Some stress early on, but I do feel blessed to be there and going to class. Listening to the profs and fellow students has been a gift--that I'm paying for--nevertheless, there's a hell of a lot of people in this world who cannot do what I'm doing through no fault of their own. And the people who could do these humanities studies are, quite rightly, studying subjects and trades far more practical. Hard to say what the real worth of this sort of education is these days--I know what it means to me--some sort of grad studies and academic/intellectual work down the road (maybe?--I'm past the point of being 100% sure of anything, anymore). Therein lies the rub--I need to formulate a plan and an area of study over the next year--time to narrow the focus. 
What would Magnum P.I. do?
The bridge city has been holding its own. 
Won't see this for a few months now...
...there will, however, be frosty mornings, hazy pink skies, chugging trucks and cars, and the quick cold snap of an essay deadline.
A little break from the studies, writing on Kogawa's Obasan, listening to Animal Collective, Merriweather Post Pavilion I believe.
Check out http://moremuir.com/
Summer fa fa a d e. Leaves left pretty much. Time to stop.
Recycling summer's memories. Kogawa writes that "...like a spider with its skinny hairy legs, the past skitters out of the dark, spinning and netting the air, ready to snap us up and ensnare our thoughts in old and complex perceptions. And when its feasting is complete, it leaves its victims locked up forever, dangling like hollowed out insect skins...". 
I believe something new has started to grow. Visited Winnipeg briefly in August--previously, I had only passed through there on the bus. Winnipeg for me was an orange countertop in the bus stop at three a.m.; a frozen player's filtre with fries. Now: Winnipeg is concrete radiating heat in the bare sunshine; slow flow chocolate rivers; witnessing distant wedding portraits--black and white figures framed in brick and concrete shadows downtown; vinylly serious record shops; the best tomato spinach salad I've ever eaten. Not to mention Whisky Dix.
Went to Jasper for the first time in years. Watched Tears for Fears perform on the beach.
That part's a lie. Got together with old friends, and started to make some new ones.
Re-learned the not-so-secret code of summer: suck up that sun while you can.
Funny how a season can be wrapped up in a little package and placed in the hibernation drawer. This past summer's dreams will carry over to next summer; last winter's joys and disciplines are currently being unpacked. 
Ah, summer. Where have ye gone? 
Well I successfully avoided the computer for at least three months. Good thing too, as it was getting pretty grim there by the end of this past spring...'twas time to leave the basement and spread my wings like a good little moth. 
Phew. And just like that the wheel turns. Past few weeks back at work, and tres gorge it is. Sun, trees, sand, wind...bye bye to photo above, hello to--well there's no pictures yet. Yet to be fully settled up north...the old trailer has departed, a newer one will be rolling in sometime soon.
Ever seen Wallander? If you haven't, do. It's the BBC filmed version of the Swedish detective novels by Henning Mankell. No, I have not read the books. I must say that I instinctually feel that though the books may be great, the filmed versions are just as good. It's the same thing with the Dragon Tattoo series. I've read the books and watched the films in that particular case, and enjoyed both. Anyway, Wallander is relentlessly grim, but the rural scenes of southern Sweden remind me very much of Saskatchewan. And Kenneth Branagh is fucking great in it. I read somewhere recently that he's sold out, just because he's directing the new Thor film. All this reaffirms for me is that those who sit in their basements and get mad at people for selling out are, well, sitting in their basements getting mad at people for selling out.
Sickness combined with my old frenemy/alter-ego Super Procrasto, left me a little desperate, a little alone in my own void, sweating with fear and self-loathing. Yes, it was that bad. You know, as if bin Laden knew the Seals were coming to get him in twenty minutes, and those stewing moments stretched themselves out into hours....
I exaggerate. There were a couple of good times in there. 
Alex Ferguson, manager of Manchester United, calls the battle for supremacy at the end of the Premier League season 'squeaky bum time'. It was getting a little squeaky by the end of April. But everything got done, exams all written, now I await judgement. 
Finished the last exam with a Pixie concert, slightly shellshocked, glad I went. 
Thought I started work on Monday. I spent most of Sunday wishing I could spend the day on a patio drinking beer. But Waskesiu called...turns out it was a wrong number. Two weeks until I start.
Now I've got time to--do everything I was neglecting. Taxes, trailer, spring cleaning...thank the gods! Thank them over and over and over and...
Kind of fun being old enough to see youthful predictions come true. What's the cliche? Be careful what you wish for, kids...
I've always lived as if I have an eternity at my fingertips. S'pose I do, if I give reincarnation its due. But it is lovely to learn the strict about-face. That the opposite of what I once believed is also true, too. Am I repeating myself? I detect a theme in this blog...
I find myself laughing a lot lately, and eight more days to go--then school's done, and work begins--or is it the other way around? O fuck off, Herbert. The insufferablenes of it all is getting a little much. Time for a little Steely. Dan, that is...
Drive each morning to the off leash dog park, documenting the spring melt, letting Poods stretch his legs, contemplating the surprise ending to the first term back at university, waiting for the virus or whatever it was to leave my body. (I believe it finally has).
Also, soon, another year older...
...no more excuses, time to be a little bolder.
The world does not look like this anymore. Went to the off leash dog park early early this morning (my stomach virus is like the opposite of pregnancy--I feel best right when I wake up), and spring is definitely finally here. This particular photo a memory of the winter, and that's where my mind still is. Yeah. Right there. On that bench. 
No, seriously, four days of bad gut and nausea, no school, rolling around on my futon feeling sorry for myself, falling behind in my university work at a critical stage of the year, etc etc boo hoo hoo. Have not felt this sick in years--so I suppose I was due. A wonderful opportunity to plumb foul moods and feelings, despondency and despair, hopelessness and--okay okay, you get the idea...but it has been intense, sleeping during the day with vivid dreams, waking to watch movies like The Shining, programs like Wallander. Sill slightly nauseous, but at least now solid food stays where it's supposed to until its properly digested: and all I want to do? Be horizontal in the dark. Fascinating post, this. Thanks for reading!
