(from Waawaashkesh Ke)

Death comes mercifully for prey. The fear, the pain is all in the chase, the struggle. Peace comes with surrender. There’s such peace in surrender. I always feel it when my prey ceases to struggle, that wave of peace that comes over them. I feel for that certain moment when the breath stops and the body relaxes, so limp as to be water. At that moment, I envy them. I’ve never in my life been able to sleep that deep, to rest so completely. I don’t want to die, but only wish that I could feel that kind of serenity. I’ve been finding myself wishing that more and more in recent years. There’s a perfect completeness to death that is just so lacking in my life.

So that’s what she did. She exhaled no more and became like water. She wet my face as I ripped her open and bit by bit, she disappeared into my stomach.

I ate until I felt ill and sat down on my haunches,  tired and stupid, smarting from the wounds and contusions she’d inflicted on me, my muscles quivering from exhaustion. Someone could have come along and kicked me over and I would be too stupid to fight, too full to run. That’s when I’m at my weakest, after I’d gotten what I wanted. Such a quick descent isn’t it? To fall from the power to take a life to the impotence of being unable to save one’s own. There was nothing for me to do then but find a safe place to hide and get some sleep.

from o ánthropos

The thing I love the most about my house is the balcony. I had it made off of my bedroom on the second floor.  From there, I could rise in the morning to watch black squirrels and passerine birds as they chase each other through the network of forest limbs behind my property.  I would sit upon that narrow promontory o ánthropos into the natural world, sipping from my coffee.  I would reset and connect.

It is like a human isthmus of my dream world into the real world available just outside my door. The real world, because it’s not contrived from human hands.  It’s not artificial, so to speak. I think of the word artifice; the use of guile to deceive others out of what is rightfully theirs.  Can it be said that anything artificial has pulled a fast one on Mother Nature? Maybe.  I’m just glad to be here.

Album Review: RHEOSTATICS - Here Come The Wolves

Finally!  The Rheostatics have released their first studio album in 14 years.  They’ve been around since 1978 and slowly gained momentum to become one of the premier Canadian bands of the 90’s, but sadly split up in 2007, possibly for the same reason that many young marriages fall apart- the spouses mature into different people with new things to focus on.  Dave Bidini especially has had success in the field of journalism, writing several non-fiction books and erecting a small newspaper for the west end of Toronto.  Drummer Dave Clark has had a succession of somewhat accomplished bands, culminating in collaborations with none other than Gordon Downie of the Tragically Hip.  Martin Tielli and Tim Vesely also have been involved in their own projects, though they have been more grass roots in their concentrations.

But in 2016, they started touring again.  With Clarkie back behind the kit, and this seemed to bring back the old groove to their sound.  New songs, and new versions of old unreleased songs started finding their way into the setlist and, with the addition of violinist Hugh Marsh and Barenaked Ladies keyboardist Kevin Hearn, their shows have had a polish and power that probably hadn’t been there since their Whale Music days back in 1992.

So then comes this album; Here Come The Wolves.  Produced by Chris Stringer; a stalwart soundsmith for many independent Canadian bands such as Selina Martin, Wooden Sky and Timber Timbre, the album is a return to the fully produced, rich sound that made their most memorable albums so memorable.  They have stuck to the formula of writing their own individual songs, but there is new life in their songwriting, presenting a diverse palette of music for a vibrant whole.  Martin Tielli’s standout is the haunting “Vancouver” which has his trademark ethereal quality and his beautifully weird singing voice.  Tim Vesely seems to remain the hookmaster in the group, offering beautifully hummable songs, but his magnum opus is the heartbreaking “Music is the Message”, which plays like it would accompany the end credits of the most emotionally shattering movie ever made.  Even Dave Clark has a song: “It’s the Super Controller!”, which has that bouncy joviality that has always been integral the Rheos’ repertoire.  Dave Bidini brings his A-game with “AC/DC On My Stereo”, where his lyrical skills remain paramount with delightful turns of phrase, peppered with a deliberate Canadiana namedrop here and there. Also worthy of mention is his memorial song for Gord Downie- a surprisingly jaunty song; “Goodbye Sister Butterfly”: “I know a man who swallowed a country/We followed him to the sea/We were drunk so long at the party/He drove all night in his Chevy Caprice”. I’m sure Wicapi Omani has been bopping along to it up there in the stars.

Point Me To The Sky: Vankleek Hill, September 2017

As a whole, the album shows the maturity and patience of a band that has let their music evolve and cure over time.  Gone are the Dr. Demento novelty tunes and giddy schoolyard ditties.  Enter a full spectrum of sound and emotion that gives the listener a ride not unlike a jazz concert or a classical opus, with rich vocal harmonies, intricate transitions and unexpected twists and turns outside of the pop formula.  Rheostatics have seemed to rediscover themselves and the powers that have always made them great, and this album is the result.

JANUARY 1, 2019

I was sitting here, going through Facebook and just happened on a reminder of the very first serious book I ever read.  I'm not 100% sure, but I think its title is "John Rowand, Fur Trader; A Story of the Old Northwest". I can't find any images of its dust cover, so I can't verify if I'm correct or not.  At any rate, the book was a gift to me from my godmother aunt when I was about 11 or 12, along with a book of indigenous folk tales called "Rubaboo". The John Rowand book took me a long time to read, but in the end, I had an understanding of how Canada was first colonized and how difficult life was back then.  Rubaboo followed suit as the second book I had ever read. It told me legends and stories from many different native cultures. Written for kids the tales are lighthearted and funny, but it explained an underlying commitment to the land and the spirits that reside within it.

Thinking back now, I was so lucky to have been given this knowledge when I was so young.  I knew things about Canada that few kids my age did not know. What a rare gift my aunt had given me.  It's curious now, that she gave me those books in tandem with one another. It wasn't really acknowledged back then, in the late seventies, how intertwined these two histories actually are, how the fur trade effected indigenous culture and how indigenous culture is so ingrained in the Canadian identity.  My aunt was always a progressive thinker. She never married or even dated as far as anyone knows, always bought the latest models of cars (she once owned an AMC Gremlin!), and always dressed in the latest fashions of the times. She once told my sister that I would most likely become a writer or something creative because I always had a unique perspective on the world.  I think my aunt wanted to nurture that, and she saw it before anyone else, even before I did! I'm grateful to her for her gift of understanding.

Today I have a perspective on the Canadian identity.  It's always fundamental in my thoughts. I know the colonial view and I know the indigenous view.  I know both these views didn't grow in tandem with the other. I know that the colonial view overshadowed and very nearly eradicated the indigenous view.  But I know that they both exist side by side. Two solitudes in a large array of land and people. We can live together. I know we can. They live together in my mind, so I know it's possible.  It will take reconciliation, negotiation and co-operation, but it's possible. It will take education, and that will be the key. I hope to be a voice to bring concensus in the future, because I believe we can all live together.  We have to, because we all love this land and need to share it. Let's work on that, okay? Thanks, Tante Jo. Thanks, everybody.

DECEMBER 15, 2018

In the movie, "At Eternity's Gate" a priest asks Vincent Van Gogh (played by Willem Dafoe) why he feels he was born to be a painter.  Vincent/Dafoe struggles with the answer, then sputters out that he just doesn't know what else to do.

That is a lot like how I feel.

I'm consumed with the drive to write. I have a full time job, but it has little to nothing to do with writing.  My coworkers are aware that I've published a chapbook but think it's just a quaint accomplishment, completely unaware of how gigantic the prospect of writing is in my life.  Writing isn't a moon in my sky, it's Jupiter. Filling the sky, looming over me.

Every morning I have to pull myself away from the keyboard to go out and earn a living, though nothing would make me happier than to stay and complete a thought process.  I feel most sane, most content and most powerful when I'm writing. I don't feel like I'm suited for much else.

With everything else in life, I feel woefully inept.  With everything else in life, I feel I'm doing it to satisfy someone other than myself, and never successfully doing so.  I feel that my writing is what I am supposed to be doing, and that something is uncomfortably wrong when I am not.


So I know how Vincent felt.  I feel I have a talent that is yet to be measured.  I highly doubt that my talent measures anywhere near his, but it's all consuming and feels largely unfulfilled, much like he felt his was.  Oh if only I could carry each idea to fruition!!

OCT. 21, 2018

Taking stock of my writing this weekend, I’m happy to report that I have 3 separate books on the go at the moment.

The first and most complete is my ‘Virtus’ project, which has really been in the works for a 10 or so years now.  Through my marriage and after its dissolution, I had been writing stories about the subject of gender issues, mostly from the viewpoint of men.  I wanted to explore the true meaning of the Virtuous Man while examining our failings in becoming one. I’d been writing about fathers, husbands, sons, divorcees, brothers and bros, accidentally at first, but later, when sensing the theme, filling in the gaps to complete a composite collection of 15 stories.  I’m in the editing/reading stage now but soon I’ll be sending out queries to publishers to have it moved to production and publication. To me, it seems inevitable.

Then there is my ‘Holophrasis’ project.  There is a lovely book out there called the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig.  He takes some human conditions and gives them definitions in lovely poetic language. He has even created his own words to fit certain concepts and all of it comes across as a lovely enrichment of language and experience.  Using some of Koenig’s concepts and definitions as writing prompts, I’ve created a few stories that I think have much of the same beauty and profundity. Most are flash fictions with a word count of 1000 or less, though some exceed that count but still fit with the concept I want to achieve.  Each story starts with the single word as its title, and ends with the definition of the word, which I feel encapsulates the whole experience of reading. I have called it Holophrasis, since its definition is “the expression of a whole phrase in a single word.”, which I feel expresses the whole concept nicely.  I have seven stories completed so far, with about five in different stages of development right now. I’m considering self-publishing this book, maybe with some special bookbinding ideas with Jack Pine Press and some bookbinders I know.

Lastly is a collection of short stories I am building that all have a common thread, following the chronicles of a grassroots rock band of middle aged musicians that play the northern circuit of the Canadian bar scene. Inspired by the Tragically Hip, the Rheostatics and Paul Langlois’ band of bros, The Campfire Liars Club, ‘The Conifers’ is really a vehicle for different commentaries on the issues that Canada and The North faces, such as racism, cultural and ethnic diversity, unity and truth/reconciliation with indigenous peoples as well as the individual personal issues of the band members, such as fatherhood, addiction, marital strife, aging, obsolescence, touring and other middle-age crises that travelling musicians over 40 experience.  I’m 3 stories in already, with with several frameworks set up, as well as lots of concepts forming as I go. I plan to do some travelling and a lot of talking with people from the North from different walks of life to get an accurate portrayal for this book. It’s another concept that I feel really good about and look forward to working towards its completion.

I know what a blessing it is to be creative and prolific.  It’s a delicious feeling to be inspired, to feel the push and pull of a piece of work demanding to be made.  Anyone that knows me knows that when I’m like this, it’s hard to get me to emerge from my hermetic sphere. I would rather write than go out and socially engage, I would rather write than go out and have a healthy walk or bike ride.  Truth be told, I would rather write than go out and earn a real living. It’s actually something from which I have to extricate myself and even that takes careful planning. But I’m doing something I love with an energy that can fade at any time, so I take advantage of its presence to its greatest capacity.  I’m grateful for it.

CONGRATS BRANNY!!

One of my best friends Brandy Ford has just made the juried longlist for the CANSCAIP Writing for Children competition with her book "Remember Me"!! Way to go, Branny!!