Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A fully ripe apple, red as sin, in the forbidden fruit bin at the local Fruiterie, take the apple home and let it be the apple of your eye. Keep an eye on it and after several weeks, the apple will decay, shrivel and dry up. I have a collection of aged apples. They make great decorations and give off a pleasant, slightly acidic, perfume. As a middle-aged man, I see a similar progress of decay in my body, starting with hair loss, wrinkles, skin growths and discoloration, sagging flesh, sunken eyes, decorated with crow feet and so on. I started out fresh as a daisy and now am like Roquefort cheese. Nobody lasts forever. Even if you make it to old age, your body will eventually become a corpse. Each step along the way feels like a big deal, at the time, but eventually it's all forgotten, as if it had never even happened. Nobody could care less about your little hopes and fears, all those sleepless nights and moments of panic and anxiety. It happens to everyone. Might as well relax and cheer up. Take time to enjoy the apples along the way.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
What kind of desperation, or could it be euphoria, a new sense of freedom, led this woman to walk the freeway? There's a song about a man walking the railroad line, but no song about the woman walking the endless freeway of life. What is she looking for? Or maybe she gave up looking. It could be nothing more than the human condition, experienced by every man, woman and child. Next time I meet her in a dream, I'll ask for directions.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Leather shoes, half price, back packs, handbags, brief case, plenty of good deals, hurry while supplies still last. It was a pleasant day to walk around and enjoy the beauty of the city, over a year ago. Without the pictures, I might have totally forgotten.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
I hear the streetcar coming. It's rushing down the track. I wonder if I'm ever going to get my money back. I invested so much money, since I can't remember when. I'm stuck in this here phone booth and Jane keeps chattering on.
Mama told me to be a good boy, to not play with guns. But boys will be boys. I couldn't leave it alone. There's a lot of rich people out there who wouldn't bother to take a street car. I'm soon going to get in my comfy car and cruise on home, once I get freed from this phone booth. I got the phone booth blues. But it's not as bad as Folsom Prison.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Variety of shapes, sizes, sensations, twenty-eight flavors of ice cream and lottery tickets, it popped out at me like red letters on yellow panel. It shouted: stop! I stopped, took a picture to commemorate and appreciate the variety of ____________ (fill in the blank).
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Fishing at the fish market, come up with a couple of fish heads, Arctic char. Am I seeing double? Where's he going with fish head sticking out of red bags? What kind of dream is this? Is there some sort of interpretation that's supposed to open the dreamer to five new ways of preparing live lobsters, crabs or what if the shop closed and is no longer there? If I go back to Kensington in Toronto, will I be able to walk into that market and buy fish?