I’ve moved to a new part of town. The move makes it feel like I’ve moved to a new city completely. A place that I don’t recognize at all. Tremblings of doubt when I’m riding home after work. “Is this the right way?” The surroundings remind me of Victoria, as it was two summers ago, that hot city with thick wet air slinking along through two-storey Edwardian streets. Like a gilded dream of your imagination of a U2 – Beautiful Day. There’s more than a pinch of a Surrey-style seediness to this place, which I appreciate myself but it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.
Because I have to pull down a larger amount of money this month to put down the 1st and 2nd month’s rent at once. I have been working a lot. Now comfortable to survive in a more overt bachelor frog sort of way. Worry less, steady as she goes. Pay the rent and have $50 left to last two weeks. Solid. Totally doable.
In any case, I haven’t found anyone here that I’m really motivated to pursue or invite into my life. And I’m too emotionally sickened and numbed to care. I would rather just concentrate on creativity. In the metropolitan environment of Vancouver I could be an appealing oddity. Here, I’m just an oddity among other oddities. Salt-of-the-earth characters, but, still. But, I don’t care. I’ve shut off the machines, thrown dropcloths over everything, turned the lights out, locked the doors- deadbolt, double lock, hoisted the bar over it, and thrown the key into the ocean. The heart migrates south through the body to a final exit. Fuck love forever. Fuck it inside out until it’s a doughnut. Romantic love anyway. It’s for others to experiment with. People with less spleen to squeeze, people with more chips to sit down with, people with motion.
The whole place seems to be shedding off an earlier outer layer in order to convert itself into a viable place to live for economic refugees from further west, into the city, or rich people and their families who want to buy a house or a contract farm or a cottage out here and use it in the summers.
Working with a tremendous layer cake of different types of oddballs. Like I’ve been assigned to my appropriate place to live with the other misfits. Half the department is High-School kids so I’m enduring childish discussions about sex. Sniggering chatter about the beautiful ladies working in the Beauty department. (Aptly named, since they are all fugitives from planet gorgeous.) Very tiresome. There are a few truly interesting returnees, though. Among them:
This is a man who appears from time to time in a very smart tweedy blazer and beige turtleneck. He’s in his mid-50’s at least, with an impressive muttonchop beard isthmus, and always wears a tiny pin on his lapel of a Canadian maple leaf. His voice is the rich baritone of an old-time radio voice actor, re: Orson Welles. I cannot hear his voice without thinking about a man on the CBC reading some kind of folksy tale about Toronto in the 30’s.
This man has a powerful need for oranges. Mandarins he digs foremost, but we have a lot of them. However, his luck is very bad. As a result I doubt that he has ever once managed to talk away with even one mandarin orange. His Merseyside accent seems to skitter along, like kicking a can along the pavement. Flashbacks to Dave Lister from the British Sci-Fi Sit-Com soap Red Dwarf. My spiritual hero.
An enchanting Asian woman, in her late 30’s, speaks very very fast and seems to be of the sort that develops a connection with anyone that she’ll be talking to for any length of time. Voice like a grade school teacher on speed, soft, youthful and friendly. Constantly upbeat and inquisitive. She sometimes reserves large amounts of organic food, like apples and bottled smoothies.
This is a Mother’s Day sketch I did for my mom, who is an accomplished gourmet.
Torturing narrative concepts are swirling around me all the time these days. The idea of Time Travel has lodged itself pretty deeply. But not any usable form of time travel, more likely a form that is uncontrollable but also irresistible. If time travel were possible, it would not be a controllable experience at all. It would be an involuntary, invasive experience. You would exist in several co-valid timelines at the same time and would have no way of knowing which of your actions will have an effect in which timeline. A horrible mixture of total disorientation and total surrender. This time, you really don’t have any control. Time twists ahead and back, finalities fade- and reoccur…