January 2010
6 posts
Analog Community
(Partly fiction)
I was 5000 km away from my mother’s cookbook and I wanted to bake banana bread. It was a rainy Saturday, snowy in Ontario, and my mother was out of town; unreachable by phone or internet. I’d already borrowed eggs from Patricia, the Polish girl who lives next door in the middleclass Honduran neighbourhood in which I had found myself living. The man who owns the tiny...
La lluvia
In rural Honduras
on the Northern coast
in a small fishing village it is raining.
I’m in my apartment
in the nearest city
typing letters onto a white screen.
Today I’ll call my mother;
I’ll call my grandmother too
maybe I’ll call my aunt and my sister.
I haven’t spent enough time with any of them.
I’ve been away.
I left on the last day of the year.
It snowed in Toronto, it rained...
Oh Canada →
Classified
WatchIf Christ was born on a beach some white dude with dreds and a fuzzy red hat would have brought the boy child fire
Christmas Vacation
On Wednesday I met a woman called Lisa, a tiny stocky sixty year old Russian-American-Jew who skydives and lives in a $2 million dollar apartment in New York City and sells real estate in Florida and signs her name with a heart above the ‘i’ and lines through the ‘s’ that turn it from the 19th letter of the alphabet to a moniker of capitalist. I met Lisa’s ineffectual son and her gigantic...