UNACCOMPANIED
Category: Life

alone is okay with me
self taught from hunger
wiser than yesterdays
no longer feeling its way along
survivor then
enjoyer now
almost afraid to go back,

almost



a thought without noise
lonesomeness of voice
but clarity, too
with space to be wrong
where no harm is done,

that matters



alone has an echo
down in the canyon regret
stronger and louder than ever before
but ignored, held in check
with peace to breathe
sadness set free
to seek new reasons

not mine










Many of you are alone in your lives. Without partners, the solo voice in your head to
keep you company. Some of you ache from that state of being and others have become
autonomous and happily numb to it. Possibly the ache and the numbness play alternate
roles in the same life, hour by hour. Perhaps the lone wolf wants it that way.

Others are people who have never been lonely. Beacons of good energy who draw the
warmth of love and friendship to them without effort. You enjoy all that is good in this life
and try not to dwell on the negatives. Maybe you are one of the people who cannot stand
to be alone, reaching for the phone or an internet lifeline.










Possibly some of you are surrounded by the movement and welcome enfoldment of love
and family, friendship and a full life... but silently scream for mental space. Just an hour
each day to start and finish a thought. To enjoy an unchallenged opinion or unopposed
decision. You may seem to have everything that others covet, on the surface, and yet in
your most honest moments you crave the chance to be utterly alone.

Many of us, perhaps most of us, have seen both sides of this. Keenly aware of the time
passing while we expend energy on a partner not worth it. Putting up with intrusions upon
our emotional territory and hoping for a break in the pattern. There are those who have
been in love and known happiness to the core, only to experience its loss to the brutality
of circumstance. Some of you heal and move forward with hope intact while others carry
a burden of toxicity.










Enmeshed in a job that requires your extroverted skill set, and feeling yourself retreat
inward where you are physically there but mentally in another reality. Is this you?

Feeling that until an experience is shared with another person, it isn't fully formed. You?

Unable to shut off the electrical tit in order to exist in silence, even for an hour.











Hiking alone on an escarpment and disappointed at the sight of someone else on the
same trail up ahead. A component of a huge outdoor concert audience, suddenly aware
of a joyous belonging. Clinging desperately to a connecting device that seems to add a
purpose to your evenings after work, and yet having to avoid the inner questions that arise
when the server is down and panic grips you. Savoring the newspaper and your morning
coffee, with no other voice encroaching.

Countless variables. We are all threads in the eternal weave. Any attempt to categorize
a soul is an exercise in futility, but we recognize parameters of behavior in each individual.










The theme here is that of being "alone", but it remains without defining limit.

My Dad, rest his soul, professed to be a true loner. When his marriage ended, so too did
his desire to make the effort to find another partner. The opportunities were flaunted and
he shut the door firmly. Raising four boys and going through hell and high water had been
enough, and his remaining time would be alone time. That man had such a keen mind, a
sophisticated slicing wit, and a martyr's will. I saw him living vicariously through his sons,
that look of quiet satisfaction if he approved of one of our partners.

Long gone, and with his eldest son more happily in love than at any point prior, I often
think of Bill Tyrrell. My one greatest ache, aside from missing a father taken away by the
scourge that is cancer, comes when I wish that he could have met the woman I am with.

I'm a lot like my Dad, with his self-professed loner badge. I've never had a partner I more
enjoy being with, hour by hour, and still I want that empty stretch of beach or that afternoon
of introspective meandering. I'm a lot like Bill, in the way I can make and embrace new
friendships or cherish the memories and histories of old ones, but don't NEED them.

(or so I tell myself, even as I express the mind on a cyber stage and await applause)

I wonder, am I lacking a vital component, or am I just like many of you?

2:22 PM - 77 Comments - 64 Kudos - Add Comment

STROKE ME, STROKE ME
Category: Art and Photography

I am pleased to report that yesterday, July 1, was a very pleasant Canada Day.

Even though we have Quebec City celebrating her 400th birthday this year, our nation is still a babe
at 141 years of age. Don't hurt your heads trying to figure out how or why the disparity, because I'm
merely setting up a photo-blog with some superficial keyboard strokes. We had gorgeous weather
here in Toronto, and since it was a national holiday my lady and I went for a very long and enjoyable
stroll to an east side neighborhood called Leslieville.

These days I usually have the camera with me. I can't tell you how many times I've been presented
with sidewalk freaknitude of a magnitude rare. Pink-eyed hunchbacks screaming crack pipe lyrics
to a rooster strut meander. Scabby-skinned meth hookers all knees and elbow picking up suburban
johns with baby seats in the back and marriages out of whack. I've been focusing on natural beauty
with the lens and that's a good and healthy thing, but sooner or later I am going to cave in and start
the Carcass Chronicle of Craziness.

So, camera and better half in tow, I was happy to finally snap a photo of this impossibly skinny and
I might add pretty fugly house that sits on a busy downtown east street. It abuts an alley and based
on my guesstimate of a 27-inch front door, boasts a claustrophobia inducing width of approximately
eight feet. The presence of the vehicle width sign is nothing less than delicious. There are likely a
few benefits to living in such a narrow space, such as being able to reach across the room from any
chair to adjust blinds or slap someone, and I do hope the dwelling is happily dwelled.

But...1,2,3,4,5,6,7... EIGHT? FEET?










Leslieville is a nicely located neighborhood that sits just south of ultra de$irable Riverdale.

It boasts a mix of charming old housing stock, warehouse and factory spaces being converted into
lofts, and an eclectic stretch of Queen Street East where you can buy antiques or eat at any number
of fine establishments or just enjoy some great people watching. The vibe is less hectic and a hush
falls over the crisscross of old residential streets during those hot summer afternoons. You'll hear a
cicada aria, a distant lawnmower, some kids playing, your stomach grumbling if you treat yourself
the way I do some mornings. You'll leisurely stroll the sidewalks and appreciate the mix of old and
new homes, funky front gardens, and the sudden appearance of bizarre tree blossoms that defy your
camera to focus.

Check this out; from half a block up the street it looked like a mirage. As we approached it remained
fuzzy and beautifully indistinct. It was the only one of its kind on the street, in the 'hood, in the world
for all I know... I love nature but I fall short of knowing what the hell I'm admiring a lot of the time.








Trippy little tree.

Even in close-up, the detail of the blossoming remains defiantly elusive and all the more attractive
to me for just that reason. Sort of like trying to pinpoint the origin of that amazingly complex aroma
of ass and body odor when riding public transit during a heat wave.








Any of you green thumbers out there who want to hook me up with a name for this little beauty, by
all means hook away. That tree made my afternoon all the more enjoyable, as did the whimsy of an
overdone but very cute birdhouse that popped into view as we walked back toward our downtown
neighborhood. The entrance was around back, but I found the front more appealing.

(why does that sound naughty?)









Later, we watched the distant Ashbridges Bay fireworks display from Lee's balcony along with
several nearby shows being put on in surrounding parks, and then I caught the weather report.
Tomorrow, Thursday, is forecast to bring a little of that thunder and lightning that we've been seeing
so much of this year, and I'm hoping to catch some of that in the lens. Not your run-of-the-mill sheet
lightning, but forks and bolts and arcs and serious pyro.

REAL fireworks.

Our CN Tower is famous for its lightning rod status and averages up to 75 hits per annum, not
unlike some of the more renowned adult film stars who can average similar hits per anus. I've lived
in places that afforded me clear views of the tower and have witnessed some beauty strikes, eh?

Never photographed any of 'em, though.

Here's a nice compendium of images that show Toronto and the tower getting stroked real good.






- that's the most popular one, taken in 2006





- a nice tight frame from 2006






- a sweet 2008 shot taken from somewhere close to where I live







- from last month, and you can see the humidity in the air





- 2005; nice variety of power strokes!






- another sick one from last month... great arc



- June 2008






- 2008 again... the year of the light show
















** I'll include this link to a nice YouTube clip.




BECAUSE I NEVER TIRE OF LIGHTNING, assorted (non Toronto) bonus images of close proximity strikes :






- currently making the rounds, taken this year from only fifty yards away!






- another famous one from this year















- 2008, and that last bolt is uncomfortably close, zoom lens or not






- awesome when you can see the point of origin







- 2008 continues, and look at the impact point on the road






- 2008, and whether intended or not, the power lines and the POWER make for a great shot







- 2008, and one of my faves in the collection







- my runner up from 2008 so far, followed by my personal favorite of the bunch :








Infuckingjawdropcredible!

The calendar year 2008 is turning out to be one of the most pyrotechnical in recent North American
history, and there are still several prime-to-be-stroked months ahead. Mother nature; BRING it you
beautiful bitch.

1:46 PM - 84 Comments - 82 Kudos - Add Comment

CLOUDING THE ISSUE
Category: Art and Photography

There really isn't "an issue" here today, but you can't post a blog without some
twist of the lingo, right? So far this year, my Toronto eyes have had the pleasure
of beholding quite a few storms. Lightning and thunder are very cool partners,
but it's the cloud formations that rock my world and mess up my weekend plans.
So, I'll pay homage to some unusual or rarely witnessed cloud formations and
then be on my merry way! Maybe even make a toilet storm of my very own!



NACREOUS CLOUDS

Very rare, sometimes referred to as "mother-of-pearl" clouds.
They exist in the stratosphere between approximately 9 - 16 miles high.
These iridescent beauties are mostly visible from polar regions and in Winter
at high latitudes. (Scandinavia, Alaska, northern Canada) This type of cloud
can shine brightly in high altitude sunset for up to two hours after ground level
sunset or before dawn. I've never seen anything quite like these, other than in
photos, and would probably never forget the experience were I to experience
it and have anywhere near the type of memory I wish I used to have.



















ALTOCUMULUS CASTELANUS

Given the name "jellyfish clouds", for rather obvious reasons.
The examples depicted below formed at approximately 17,000 feet and take
their trippy shape when moist Gulf Stream air becomes trapped between dry
air layers. The cloud tops rise into jelly-fishian shapes and the long "trailing
virga" tentacles form from rain drops that have evaporated. I've never laid an
eye on this type of cloud formation either, know what I'm sayin' ?







NOCTILUCENT CLOUDS

Also known as Polar Mesopheric Clouds, which rolls off the tongue even
better than the other hoity toity name, this is a rare formation that occurs way
up on the verge of space between 82 - 102 km from Earth's surface.

*note the change from miles to kilometers, in honor of my nation's Canada Day
celebration tomorrow, where most of us still hate the fucking Metric system and
don't know celsius from celery*

The extreme height of these clouds enables them to reflect sunlight from the
other side of the planet at night. How very cool is THAT shit?












GRATUITOUS MUSHROOM CLOUD PHOTO

This one is naturally occurring, though, from a volcanic explosion rather than the
doom-tinkering of god-monkeys. Volcano or not, I hope to never be in the vicinity
of one of these. (especially the dreaded Texas chili - Coors light cloud)






CIRRUS KELVIN - HELMHOLTZ

A very distinct formation that is rarely observed due to its tendency to dissipate
soon after forming. This swirly fashion-designer-posh-swishy sounding cloud
likes to show off at around 16,500 feet.








LENTICULAR CLOUDS (not to be confused with lenticular soup)

Impress someone.
Take a sip of your wine and announce them as "altocumulus standing lenticularis"
while reaching into the front of your slacks to scratch urgently at your crotch.

I've pasted many a photo of this photogenic formation into the blogs here, and I
remain a big fan of their saucer shape. The homesickness for Zeta Reticuli feels
like it will overwhelm me when I gaze upon the stacks of their disc-like glory, and
then I remember that I am supposed to be human.

Irzzihj maeepteeh.





















ROLL CLOUDS

Mother Nature's blunt, maaawfeggeh.

Possible microburst activity
low slung horizontal tube snake boogie
can you say "arcus" ?
Known to associate with thunderstorm gust fronts
or a stone cold COLD front
Can't have rock without the roll, know what I'm seein'?












MAMMATUS CLOUDS

These pouchy bitches have already gotten some play on the Carcass Cadaver,
so I'm just firing in one photo and moving on. There is a popular misconception
that these types of clouds are the announcers for tornados, but much of the text out
there declares that they in fact are harmless and usually manifest AFTER the worst
of a thunderstorm has had its way with your ass.








SHELF CLOUDS

Low down horizontal wedge-shaped arcus.
Normally associated with a thunderstorm gust front (hey, it occurs to me that a great
name for a male porn star would be Gus Front, but he'd have to be sporting a scary
loaf and I'd have to be extremely tired to type such a thing here) this cloud is part of
the mass of a "parent cloud", unlike the Roll Cloud, which goes it alone. Rebel.















STRATOCUMULUS CLOUDS

Here I include a photo that depicts an extremely rare occurrence.
These low-altitude clouds became long distinctive ribbons after becoming trapped
in air currents. Isn't that fabulous?






BONUS IMAGES OF COOL SICK RAD CLOUD MANIFESTATIONS


- Flying insect, flying cloud, freak me right the fuck out loud.


- Dance for me, you wispy wraith, or I'll fling myself from this cliff face.





Wow.

That is so TOTALLY a great white shark!

foow!






Yes already, I KNOW this pic has been in three thousand other cloud blogs this week,
but how do I NOT include it? It behooves me to add something for all the religious
fanatics who are bound and determined to see God there.



- Cheech and Chong rotini.






- all out of commentary. Probably a good thing.

















(damn Mammatus clouds crept in here again)




HOME STRETCH BOOYA (if you don't have a honkin' monitor you're pretty much fucked)























(untethered space walking... hoist a cold one to that mofo)







There's how to do a cloud photo-blog on a Monday night.

Have yourselves a great week, and keep an eye on the sky.

And remember, please, always be kind to the pussy.

7:45 PM - 90 Comments - 80 Kudos - Add Comment

YOUR END AIN’T WEAK
Category: MySpace

Another weekend is here and I hope some of you get outdoors and partake of great weather and
mother nature's finest, like perhaps even the wonderful view presented above these words being
typed by a heat-fried work-shredded zombie.

I'm city-locked and the forecast calls for the big pissy pissy boom boom, but I'm okay with that.

Maybe I'll snap some way cool photos of way hot lightning bolts, and maybe not... but trust me if
I tell you the beers will be cold and loving. I just told you, so you better trust me. Music, food, ale
and love is the menu and MySpace will be back burner for now... not that I don't love y'all, too.








Toronto has had hella thunder and lightning shows so far this year, and lots of those "pop up
showers" that the weather prognosticators like to mention. All these new fuckin' terms to juice
up the stale terminology; humidity "real feel" temperatures during summer and "wind chill" during
winter... one of these days when I have more creative energy, I'm going to completely rewrite the
weather book.

"wet rack" = rain showers
"damp crack" = flooding

(you get the idea)


Any who, I hope your weekend ain't weak, and you get to experience whatever forms of bliss you can access.






Oh, HELL yeah...







Oh, HELL no... I see MySpace is as glitchy and bitchy as ever. Six error messages so far, as I piece this shit together.

Now, where was I ?







Maybe some of you have had rough weeks, too, and these pretty pictures are seeping into your worn out bones...







Do you like that, huh?







Do you live somewhere like that? Isolated in pastoral pleasures. Each blink a blessing.

Get on down and give the earth a nice big kiss, you lucky fucker.







I could walk around with the arse out of my jeans, holes in my shoes, my belly grumbling from lack
of a proper diet, and still feel blessed in those surroundings...

or maybe I am completely full of shit. It's always about the mun nay, isn't it?






Aw, fuck money. I can't wait to finish up with this Carcass soul container and get away from munn naayyy...

and job related stress...







See? Now I've crossed the line into whinery about work, and I promised myself just yesterday that I
wouldn't go there... I'm fortunate to work, work HARD, and to EARN my living.






Even if I win the big lottery this weekend, I know I'll keep busting my hump one way or another...
it's in the DNA, I think. Not to say I wouldn't lie around for a few weeks like a lazy swine.







Nope, nuh huh. I'd be enjoying the weekends to an even greater degree than I already DO with my sweetie.





Yup. Me and the woman are total bogus MySpace profiles. Slovenly, and really passionate about Anal Lube.

Nope, nuh huh.

Just messin' with you a bit before I fuck the log out of here.



If per chance you happen to be working through this weekend, you have my sympathies.






I've worked my share of 'em, and I hated it every damn time, too.

A weekend, especially during Summer, is for recreation and life-enjoyment!






Swimming, poaching, drinking, fucking, fishing... whatever floats yer boat.






As I sit here at the computer, putting the brain-dead finishing "touches" on this piece of shit blog, I am
feeling the need for some serious t-bone action via the grill this weekend.

Think of me on Sunday when I'm tucking into a slab of beautifully marbled triple A Alberta steak or a chunk of USDA prime...
even if you're a vegan, or a fast foodie.





Think of ME.



Think of Jesus, too... as in "Jesus! Eleven error messages in half an hour? No wonder I'm tired of MySpace."





- none of the above photographs were taken by me with my new camera.
- they were "taken", but not TAKEN.
- so I'll leave one that I took a few nights ago, of my favorite beaten up old wicker chair...
not much to look at but a true friend to my ass.

8:29 PM - 78 Comments - 84 Kudos - Add Comment

THERE IS NO BECAUSE
Category: Writing and Poetry

who's dream is this?
i feel my feet on the slick stone and,
peer into a fog not of my making
where two figures in waiting,
two shadow forms beckon,
some subtle threat
challenge

want.










all is forward
through risk
and blindness
a mind almost capable,
almost worthy,

infantile.









all possible
magic and trespass
stirring blood

me.










who's reach is this?
i see the span of destination but,
no purpose of my making
in the crossing,
when the plan becomes a

stop


stop here.









no reason given
no why of it
is, and only is.










no view so spectacular
as the one i borrowed

from...















from...

who's design?









this puzzle and riot of form
all in motion
all at once

because...







there is no because.















so the dream is me
created asleep
into waking

dividing dying cells
given a path and a key

to a hidden door.












































- the bottom 7 images : Alexey Titarenko - "City of Shadows" and "Time Standing Still"

- other images : uncredited

- sometimes i have a powerful need to express and let the result spark something in others,
without further discussion or accolades or puzzlement

- without dilution through wise ass commentary, however rare

- just because

- *wink* to those who connect irony dots between the blog title and above two words

3:35 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos

THE FORTUNATES
Category: Writing and Poetry

In the afterglow of lovemaking, in a small house built far north of cities and the atonal ambience
of frenetic rushing to and fro, the two fortunates decide to get dressed. It is a crushing cold night
but the sky is bejeweled in dance.

"I can't ever let myself get used to this" she whispers back and over her shoulder from their tight
embrace at the foot of the small lake near their cabin. His arms are wrapped around her, his big
chin tucked down snug against the top of her parka hood. Before her words can die brittle in the
air, that curtain of aurora lifts and shimmies and re-drapes. They sense a barely audible play of
electrical energy all around them... or is it within their marrow?

"I don't see how anyone could get used to this" he whispers, tightening his grip with unconscious
urgency. "To feeling so small and fragile."

She presses her head back against his chest, watches the ballet of embroidered abyss around a
beautiful planet, and feels his mood pass between them. He loves her with the gratitude of saved
souls. She speaks firmly through her scarf.

"So, so lucky. We are."

6:15 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos

WATCHING THE BUILD
Category: Writing and Poetry

watching the build
of awesome tension
towering above the newest fifty story spire
where worker ants in hard hats
hurry toward time dollar per square foot
this will be a killing rain
for developers swooned by profit gain
watching the build

we street level eyes
beyond our reach those monied skies
the scrape of cloud belly
cast of long shadows
crane and cement mixer
rape deep the dirt rise high the worth
like a storm of change
a synthesis of man and horizon

i dream now of a different build
from pre dawn vision to waking linger
something viewed in secret glimpses
staying with me as i stride
this cracked and bleeding human sidewalk
feeble lines etched hard
across a face that hangs there
building toward unknowable













- top photo by Carcass

- bottom image taken from a Mars orbiter

9:12 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos

GOOD NEWS OR BAD NEWS - depends where you’re coming from
Category: Blogging

No Carcass blog for this weekend.



(the previous thread is still relatively fresh and your comments are welcome/appreciated)



It looks like this particular weekend has been usurped by the Carcass alter ego, SCYTHE.

2:51 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos

NO RESPONSE NECESSARY
Category: Art and Photography

discovery also crawls






probably,
no buried treasure
no murder victim
no human fornicators







don't fuck with me
or else, i said
you go that way
i go marsh






imposed upon,
not super







pretty rot,
pretty like you







city of three million dreams
none this still







such a green
i could watch someone die here
in january







birch don't care about
property taxes and back yard erosion
bitch










shouldn't someone pave this?







rent free
no mortgage
no credit check







cute, for the price of a handout
poser
still better than me







you buzz
you fly
you have compound eyes
but i can piss farther







as they say in Britain,
up the stump







Grenadier broth
what do you hide?






if i were to drink you
would the morrow bring
a painting of bowl and underside of lid?
how robust the cotton skid?







two hours in
and i miss the exhaust,
no i do not
sirens,
no way
body funk of strangers
no







dogsquatch
padded cells
muck off
in some Bloor West Village entrance hall
that i wouldn't afford even if i could







breathe it
wave like a frond
home is in the eyeball







naturally occurring flowers
are better when the sky gives a damn







shhh
i am being respectful







compliance ain't no cloud












they are beautiful
i wish some of them were Komodo dragons







tranquility,
only slightly disrupted by the dickhead with the camera
shhhh







i'm gorgeous
don't fucking touch me
you've known women like me







back to the shit
fenced in shit
screaming electronica
streetcar screech wheels
west side crack high
ho ho Parkdale ho down










just in time for rain

9:19 PM - 113 Comments - 84 Kudos - Add Comment

NOT BAD FOR A MONDAY
Category: Art and Photography

Yesterday.

A thank you day.

Not bad for a Monday.

The recent slow down in work scheduling like some unwanted yet appreciated gift, so let's sip a
coffee on the roof deck and mull over where to stroll with the new camera. Heat and humidity is
replaced by breezy June sky blue, ridden by those cotton clouds that shape-shift blink by blink...

Sitting at the bamboo table and looking at the grey fade of the wood that is matched by the curl
of deck board and lifting nails here and there. Reminder to hammer those back down, but some
other day when freedom is less forceful. Funny how the back of the chairs are still brown with a
defiant unraveling of bindings. Nature is not a thing to be controlled for very long. We can truss
her up and use her in various ways, but she remembers more than we shall ever know let alone
forget.









Off to the eastern Toronto neighborhood called "The Beach" (or "The Beaches" ... what is UP in
this town? "The Toronto Maple LEAFs"?), I decide... one of the best ways to get next to the lake
in a city that has turned a cold developer's shoulder to the liquid sapphire at her feet.

A half block away from home and walking along Carlton street with the camera in hand, I see
those damn shoes again. The ones that were thrown up and over the visual pollution wires that
vein our cities and towns. The poles and lamps and wires that we have gotten used to, but make
me feel something wistful to have lived long before their existence. To see unobstructed sky and
not hold a piece of digital technology in my hand as I walk. Can't have it both ways, I know.

There they hang, catching sunlight and forming a mathematical parallel with a large gull that has
soared into the viewfinder as I snap the photograph. Gull, shoes, street lamp. The universe has
spoken.









(urban legend has it that the dangling shoes indicate drugs for sale in the 'hood, among other
things, but for me it's just another of the peculiar human trademarks)

Most days I look up at those shoes and curse them, but on Monday the beautiful they look just the
way art should look. Unexpected and harmonic.

- a fine example of "shoefiti" overkill is depicted in the following photo from Edmonton, Canada:






- for more information, hit this link to Wiki shoefiti.



A pleasant streetcar ride later, through the sunlit neighborhoods that sit like toppled dominoes
along the major artery of Queen street East, I step down at the gateway to Kew Gardens in The
Beach. The sun is playing hide and seek but the temperature is perfection and the breeze feels
like a cool drink. I'm glad I came out here. I'm grateful for the courage of the Canadian soldiers
who fought and died on foreign soil so that people like me could enjoy this precious freedom.

The monument at Kew Gardens :









Thank you day on Monday, indeed.

I stroll slowly through the lush green roll of the park, flanked by charming Edwardian houses to
the left and a playground filled with rollicking children on my right. This is a cherished family -
friendly part of the city. Up ahead, a baseball diamond sits unused even though school is out.
The stands are mute and worn. Defiant mother nature is rising up to reclaim what is hers through
the planks where feet and asses have been. I am reminded of the binding on my deck chairs as
the bamboo fights to free itself from human servitude. As I used to walk along the top of railway
tracks in my small town youth, I tread along the wooden planks of the spectator stands feeling a
strange blend of regret and sweet nostalgia.









Further down near the foot of the park, a tree stump lifts my momentarily unbalanced spirits.

It is a testament to life lived and gone. Instead of digging it up, someone has made the decision
to leave it for homage at the hands of skilled carvers. I approach and wonder how the hell I have
missed seeing this until now.












I like.

I like it a lot.







The organic beauty of wood grain. Next life, I want to be a master carpenter. I ask the universe
to remind whoever is in charge of the DNA lottery to make it so. The southern side of the trunk is
my favorite, and after taking the next two photos I spent a little time in silent admiration.

That human skill and reverence for all that is natural remains a thing that I do love about us.












Leaving the park to make my way down to the long boardwalk that hugs the beach, I see a money
shot opportunity. Impossibly vivid purple flowers standing tall and glorious. That I don't know the
name of these flowers seems wrongful and at the same time perfectly irrelevant. They exist in hue
perfection free of our defining and naming. I use the nine-point manual focus to pick out several of
the delightful petal orbs, and later this image pops like candy off my monitor.








"Hell yeah" I'm thinking shortly after as I stroll the boardwalk along the surprisingly deserted beach,
"this photography hobby is going to be sweet". Less than a hundred people down along the water,
most of them running their dogs or reading on beach towels. The lake has had too many years of
being declared unfit for swimming but in recent years most of our beaches have been given the go
ahead... people remain reluctant. A brisk wind comes up from behind me and the sky darkens like
a sheet has been draped over the sun. The view to the West, looking back toward the distant core
of Toronto, mocks my forgetfulness in not bringing an umbrella.












Aw, hell.
The camera bag is waterproof and I'll take the admonishment without much complaint.
By the time I reach the RC Harris water filtration plant the sky has not coalesced into precipitation.
The old art deco complex remains popular with movie productions, tourists and locals alike.







The lake is deep there. Those graffiti kids are a determined bunch.

- here is a shot of the main body of the plant, taken by a photographer unknown:









The railings and fence run for quite a stretch along the southern edge of the property, and I take
long moments to watch the play of blue into green with slivers of gold along lake Ontario as the
wind bullies the clouds. I have this thing for fences, and snap this image that displays so many
different elements of texture to a meandering mind like mine; crumbled cement and high gloss oil
paint mesh-connected to a chipped and worn top rail with the deep cold water background.

It's a damn good thing I don't do drugs, people.









Overhead and to the northwest those clouds are becoming swollen and ugly. Time to bid the
beach adieu and head back up to bustling Queen street where safe haven awaits in any number
of coffee shops, stores, restaurants. I look east toward the distant Scarborough bluffs and feel a
deep gratitude that my city hasn't yet found a way to exploit and destroy this part of its topography.









A final image begged for the camera. A little human gesture. A humble chair plunked down in
the stones for anyone who comes along to sit and relax as they gaze out across the lake toward
whatever it is they find within. I like the reflection of the rocks in the chair legs. I wonder if anyone
will enjoy a quiet blog like this and dispense the notion. It is a Monday and I am glad to be alive.















Meanwhile, as he meanders about the city unaware... something is happening on the
Carcass roof deck.








MOOHOO HWAHA HAAAAAA

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i will feed them (food for my thoughts)
Category: Writing and Poetry

a casement window away
a drawn blind shadow witness
my mind is ajar
don't intrude

i could be dying in here
stripped to the bone
killing myself over and over
in privacy

the safety of my own home
if not the safety of a mind blown
because i see them now
as never before

in stealth
in patience
so hungry
their element








a misstep away
possibly today
my instincts are trenchant
paranoia isolate
i see them now
as never before












what a perfection
i should change the locks again
they come to survive
and know where i hide








drawn
like doom
like blinds
like fatigue
like intruder

i will feed them







---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Out strolling this morning, I spy the worst of the afflicted rooming house dwellers from Homewood
avenue; the tall lanky disheveled man who is under attack from above by creatures not visible to my
limited eye. They are after him with more intensity than usual. His arms flail through the air above
his head and he repeatedly stops dead in his tracks to whirl about, wild eyes and gaping mouth.

He is soundless in this ballet.

I remember him genuflecting in the middle of the busy downtown intersection of Jarvis and Carlton
streets, with tears on his cheeks and a dissonant orchestra of surround sound vehicle horns.

I remember him down on both knees at the even busier intersection of Yonge and College, hands
clasped in prayer as he gazed up and caused the flow of sidewalk travelers to part like river around
boulder. Praying to whom? For what? For relief from the assault known only to him?

This makes me think in the tangental.

I am a locked door away. A security alarm removed. A dinner setting above...

reality in the raw.

This makes me think of nature, and how I profess a love of it even as I am a foreigner there.

Sanity to insanity. Primal survivor to business man. In the middle of a swaying bridge extended
high above a gulf that is unknown. Heading toward the other side, also unknown. It is the way of
the human mind to move forward, to place distance between the primeval and the new improved
self. I will admire the beasts. I will respect their needs, their lack of the human invention that is
dishonesty. They are beautiful creatures, one and all, and I will not denounce the part of me that
is embedded as a gift from them.





* first photo, yours truly

* remaining photos by Ralph Clevenger

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