Tag Archives: Listpoem

highway prism


the turcot interchange was originally built as a “dramatic” display of montreal’s global position as a metropolis, yet it has become a crumbling problem. its design accommodated both ships and trains to pass underneath its expansive footprint and in this case, deviant youth.

Interdit


you may have been there before but not anymore

welcome home to alcove




every season is Junk’s favorite season, but when the sun is shining in Alcove , Junk is particularly alluring.

magpies crash, from glinting metal escaping through patches of rust,
Junk cars arrive unannounced in the night to huddle with each other,
farm tools breach former roles to appease the whims of Alcovians.

head in the clouds

picture daydream

a fissure-like crack into a cavern of construction.
manipulations hold time and rule only to a test.
the tame and tribulations coincide in ennui.
playful interactions lend themselves purely.

not halloween


elements of fun (this time):

1 broken neck

1 apron
1 rain
1 excellent photographer
1 piece of translucent plastic
1 vanessa visit

broken glass

in the darkened belly of places left to sit
creatures become silhouettes against
the light of the whirlwind sun.
gaze they do out into the world
trapped by their own innards
and insecurity.

shopping cart pusher

we all have to make a living.

undercovers


untouched snow where green grass grows

rubbish bin

i got as close as i could. i thought that he might jump me. he has a little bit of that crack fox look, if you know what i mean. we were both out on a limb.

pigeon playground



oh, canada

immigration dreams:

i want to live, here.

the last of the newspaper boxes

it remains one of my favorite weekend routines, to fetch the sunday paper and something fresh for breakfast. then i lounge around in the early morning to read and wonder about the world, until people wake up and get excited to do things.

rippled mirror

Echoes of attraction

extend out into the
mirror of space,
beauty’s symmetry.

rumplestiltskin

Merrily the feast I’ll make.
Today I’ll brew, tomorrow bake;
Merrily I’ll dance and sing,
For next day will a stranger bring.
Little does my lady dream
Rumpelstiltskin is my name!

last leg of the journey


ominous buildings conceal the snarl toothed beauty of nature.

high vis

civil servant art

stoic cowboy

lost in the 28th dimension

outer body experience



lucid perch

moments fluttering with contemplation, self-reflection
images of escaping reality.
an attempt at being grounded
left as shadows cast upon the horizontal.

the secret quarry


a vacant hole

once purposeful
now a layered picture
the opposite of a mountain
with a reservoir at its pinnacle,
collecting gravity’s treasures
I always wanted to be a geologist

heathcliff’s harem

but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient

ballooning with ideas



it comes to a point




not everything has to be right angles

perspective: when lines get fuzzy
all the way up there, one step at a time

sights set


“deceptive lizard”- Apatosaurus


Marsh, the inventor of the brontosaurus made a purposeful mistake. The bones for his creation were assembled from a head and a body found in separate quarries, as well as in different strata. Yet it remains one of the most complete skeletons ever exposed even to this day. A fabrication of magic and legend warming out hearts to the cold blooded building sized lizard.

One must study their prey before the hunt in order not to be deceived.

paper hearts


hairless bodies clamber within the corridors of their papery spit sack;

ever-expanding production to satisfy the tireless needs of their queen.
the systematic ticking of the gauge as it spins is
patterned with humming wings and scurrying feet.
sensing danger
reaction attack

dying every second

depths of layered reality, somewhere between shadowed pasts and ghostly futures.
haunted we are by glimmers of far off white.
even the stars are dying every second.
their light may pass us eventually but it continues and expands the universe further.

Key’d


“Key?”

“No, it’s okay, I got it open myself.”

barefoot


one shoe, alone in the alley, missing its usual friend.

to be a park legend

tender on delicate branches, facing the slope to infinity of a brick wall.
feral city beasts using parks to their maximum.

the mirror’s eye

twinkle toes and stardust pressed on after the precipitous on slaughter. they fancied their gaze upon rainbows as ships finally sunk across a setting sun.

heart shaped snowflake

inspired by the massive amount of snow that had fallen and continued to fall we decided to go out into the night and try to capture some of it’s enchantment. out in the alley we attempted to get some action shots of jumping off dumpsters into the puffy blanket but all that produced was strange ghostly flashes. we did however manage to catch this magical moment. it arguably took all the chaos of the universe to procure this chance encounter.

priceless artifacts


here is to a beautiful boom-box.
an elegantly crafted piece of machinery.
an object capable of breaking it down or soothing the soul.
in some senses a slice of time itself.

an ant’s perspective


the corners we forgot
remembered with two blinks of an eye
i like looking at the ground because i am shy
but sometimes it is nice to look up at the sky

pigeon life

pigeons sit on electrical wires, vests puffed, toes warming.
but, they are anxious there and take flight, only to become cold and lonely again, wanting return to their friendly wire
.


columba livia; the rock dove; the pigeon.

pigeons came across the atlantic as food, for colonists, starting in the 1600s.
these pretty, feral, winged, city-rats breed four to five times a year. there have been attempts to halt their successful reproduction with serious measures, like electrical fences and food stuffed with contraceptives.

the winter’s tale


Go together,
You precious winners all; your exultation
Partake to everyone. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some withered bough, and there
My mate, that’s to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.

porcelain perlstein



why does china get all the good things?

woodland creatures



there is something special about carrying things around on the ends of sticks. there is also something humorous about going around looking through people’s recycling for tin cans and then hammering holes into them with some finishing touches of garbage bag fringe. some things take a stretch of the imagination and a little bit of effort.

prosopopoeia



seemingly old as dinosaurs, they display their strength with heavy arms lifting boxy cargo into the ports of san francisco

southern aqueduct

retirement dream:

watching ducks swimming in the mote around the medical castle in quaint lakeland florida.

easy getaway


you know those people who can walk through walls?

paneless retrograde



take that

attempting with friends




garbage post

over the last little while i have been developing this sort of theory that people are ok with garbage accumulating in certain places. maybe it is that they don’t really notice the piles or maybe it is the unwritten language of city, proper etiquette if you will. it seems partly due to the patterns of human behavior, the necessity of these neutral spots and there is definitely a location issue (slightly off the main street, tucked into a recess, never in someone’s front lawn). it seems that over time these spots become even more useful, somewhat like a reusing center but free, anonymous, ever changing; a reflection of the community itself.

keys and ladders

the logical use of a ladder is to reach higher space. the logical purpose of a key is to gain access to that which has been locked. but what they do have in common? = they are man made and therefore unnatural, in a sense pollution, garbage. but they sure are shiny.


the man who let us photograph the keys is a little bit hysterical, being portuguese, but he says the kids are always coming in asking to take pictures. the street art was done by toby xx on a multiple exposure.

Two Lonely Winter Princesses



About us:

We enjoy short walks in the snow and long johns.
In our spare time we try to capture ghosts.
Looking for someone who is also enraptured by the paranormal.
Comment below to give us a sign. We want to believe.

in case you were looking for a little magic


Sheep, Goats, octopuses and toads all have rectangular pupils (although they appear as slightly oval due to the rounded nature of the eye). The evolution of how this came to be is an unsolved mystery but i guess it helps them evade all the predators who hunt them both night and day.

construction tremors

montreal’s biggest problem is that there isn’t enough space to store all the orange cones. consequently, the city is forced to be in a perpetual zone of construction.

the people of montreal dream in orange cone, recounting the times they accidently hit feral tangerine or were forced another route due to a large pile up of cylinders.

to fit in, most have taken to wearing plaid of neon and reflecting.

the issue worsens in that the prevalence of construction cones is so great that they are disregarded and the city was forced to buy new ones that have more significance. violet striped cones are trumping the old fashioned orange and white. the disregard for old cones and reverence for the brighter, bolder cones has significantly increased the coneage in the city.
in montreal, we are all suffering from construction tremors.

a walk in the park

thank you for coming to the vernissage



odey mama


first two thoughts of the day:
~must feed odey
~ i don’t post enough…
what were you doing at 9am this morning jc?

be there?


we went to ottawa this weekend, and showered standing up…well one of us did.

bitter sweet surprise


a few months ago, i was invited to a free-jazz show (not to be mistaken with a free jazz show) by the lovely, lady josephine. i guess it’s pretty obvious, but lets just she was invited to the birthday party so mr. jazzman could have his cake and eat it too (*if you know what I mean). and what a show it was. if ever you have the opportunity to watch a beautiful woman jump out of a cake, please take it. the party was at the space formally known and loved by my many of us still, 185 Vanhorne, the former BEAR loft. its always bitter sweet going back there, remembering back when it was barely livable, back when there where enormous piles of sawdust everywhere, and how we taught ourselves how to use power tools, build walls with doors, listen to the trains come and go, and we danced and laughed in the big empty space for hours that first night and so many more.