water balloons marked PROPERTY OF ENOLA GAY

I’m feeling a little like an amateur magician whose tricks have come real. My mailbox is a battered black hat from which I pull out little glittering treasures. Somewhere there has to be a catch. I look at the time and it’s hours later than I thought it was. The sky has been the same pale null all day so there’s no shift of light to warn it’s evening. I jumped when the buzzer hummed. Who would be coming over? My boxmate back from work already. I meet him at the door to warn him the ferret is out and consider how many hours have been sucked away by a surprise from the other side of the planet. The internet strikes again, lashing out to amuse. Synchronicity. Speak and the demons will appear. Called into being with chance words. Why are all the charming men so very far away?

Shaw is offering a months free cable and so as Gavin is a telly watcher, I’m writing this as the cable guy prods at the back of the dying set. Internet is down for a few minutes. Scaring the ferret as well, no doubt. At some point I really should turn off the Madras orchestral music I’ve become enamoured of today and leave the apartment. Get some real clothes on and simply walk out of the box. Ferry my latest film to the developers out in Richmond. Sooner than later as later I know I’ll be using my energy in deflection. Two of the fellows are hoping for my particular talents tonight. Winding them down after work, I should almost start charging. Kneading out the knots they get from thier long days. Whomever calls first, I suppose. I don’t know who I would prefer to spend time with. The frenchman actor knows better but plays persistant and the tomcat director’s just discovered me. He doesn’t know any better yet than to like me.



I need to get shoes whose entire purpose is to look incriminating when carefully left in the lighting. I’m thinking red.


My morning is looking far less bleak then at first glance would say. James crept out on me this morning, keeping in tradition with the boys who’ve been staying overnight lately. Except the actors, they hang around for breakfast like the girls. I suppose it’s from working in the Arts. It tends to leave you a bit hungry. The local talent will always come down for the opening or the closing, hardly ever mid-run. There’s no plates of tidbits mid-run, no lubrication alcohol. Groups standing by the tables, chatting it up full-square. We’re all a bit cheap but sure we’ll support your show. Really loved the sets. I’m just going to nab some of this chicken, thanks. You did some great work, could I get at those carrots?

they only want you when you’re seventeen, when you’re twenty-one you’re no fun

The sky lied to us yesterday. No hollow rainclouds, just sun to warm our coats into something heavier than they were. Reunion of nothing in particular from the outside. If it were possible to create an animation of the two of us together for the years, we would be walking towards the fourth wall. His hair would get shorter, the cut and colour of his coats would change and I would get taller. We walked down the Drive to my box then transit took us to Miriams. The evil empire Starbucks has bought the building, so they’re closing September 6th. Get your pie now. They’ve been in the business 17 years, so they make good ones. Avoid the coffee or bring rum. Add to taste.

they take a polaroid then let you go

We sat at English Bay watching all the want to be pretty people. There was a photographer on the beach taking endless pictures of the horizon. The clouds destroyed any chance of sunset and the light was wrong for anything else. I would look up from picking at my crumble to discover her walking to yet another place to put her tripod. There was never a chance to ask her what she was doing. She left before we did and when we eventually wandered off, it was in the other direction. The sun set by the time we left our bench, leaving us to walk into the orange glow.  I jumped off the seawall halfway to the Burrard Street Bridge onto a curl of rocks trailing off into the water.  The two of us, not-so-cool, standing on this lick of stones at the tip-toe end.  I wanted a camera then. Frame him as a microserf, being by ocean and city light and I wondered if I too made such a picture.

say they’ll let you know

We went for drinks at Carlos & Buds. James was surprised, but I didn’t think it so odd. It might be, I couldn’t say. On the ferry back from the Island there was a boy by me smoking marijuana on the upper deck. Too young and obviously an idiot. His left wrist was broken and he was too proud of his white logo baseball cap. I had a sudden impulse to go up to him and steal the joint from his lips. “You’re too young for this”. I would do it with impunity. We’re not that legalized yet. I took two steps of the three needed towards him and stopped, realizing that if I did so, I would walk away smoking it myself. I wasn’t sure if I wanted that. Suddenly realizing I didn’t know who I was anymore. I felt heavy and fey. The beautiful sullen view warped me into something I’m not usually. Heavy and silver, like the candlestick used to kill the Doge.

so come on

I’m on-line now with my lover and Warren Ellis. One’s here in November and one’s here in January. I’m to wear stocking for both of them.

we only want you when you’re seventeen

when you’re twenty-one

you’re no fun