Sunday, June 28, 2009

Ritual

Beans are ground, their rich aroma fills the kitchen.

A a spoon is heated, the flick of the lighter echoes in the alley.

Water is drawn, heated and passed through a filter, steam forms.

A solution is pulled into syringe, a ligature tightens on an arm.

A cup is filled.

A vein is found.

Coffee passes the lips.

Heroin enters the blood.

One man wakes up.

One man falls asleep.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Remembering







There was a prominent family from my home town called the MacGregor's they had an estate which had been past through inheritance to several generations. The house sat on a large pie shaped lot bordered by the streets of St. Andrews, Osborne and Victoria avenue. The house was shielded from view by huge lilac bushes the gardens were delightful, three large pines stood at the thin edge of the wedge shaped lot . I don't remember ever talking to Mr. MacGregor. I have a hazy distant memory of the man walking around the edge of his property wearing suspenders and a hat, picking lilacs in the sun of May.

Mr MacGregor died or his wife died, then he, I can not remember. Rights to the property past to a nephew from out of town. The nephew was not interested in living in the house, so the property was sold. There was a huge auction on the grounds of the estate, many antique dealers were in attendance.

I was about seventeen at the time and had a love of old books. I spotted a set of five Kitto's Daily Bible Illustrations. I didn't know anything about the author or the content, but I was attracted to the antiquity of the volumes and the wonderful prints inside.

There was no competition in the bidding, maybe it was the religious content that scared away the sinners from the big city. I won the bidding and paid for the books with a crisp, orange, two dollar bill.

So now this heirloom from a family that is ingrained in the history of my home town, sits on my bookshelf. They've been there twenty seven years now and never once have I read them, but I can say the I have looked at every single picture.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Scrambled Eggs and Afterthought


What arrived first, egg or chicken?
Lets hear your speculation.

What arrived first, chicken or egg?
Were there feathers before ovulation?

I used to work with a man who earlier in his life worked in a poultry processing plant. He would work all night killing, plucking, gutting, chilling and packing young chickens. The chickens would ship to the counters of grocery stores or find themselves turning on the rotisserie at restaurants.

Every once in a while they would receive an order to process a group of older laying hens who's production had fallen off. These birds were prepared for a company that made soup, meat for soup making need not be overly tender. My friend told me that often when slaughtering the hens they would find eggs within the bodies of the chickens. The crew would divide the eggs up at the end of their shift and bring them home to feed to their families.

I eat lots of eggs and enjoy chicken soup, either canned or homemade, but I found this story to be rather disturbing. I know that my eggs are not gathered by pretty maidens in bonnet and apron. I know that large scale production keeps prices down and puts protein on the plates of children who would otherwise have very little of it, but there's something about the industrialization of agriculture that is undeniably nasty.

If you are a carnivore with a conscience,
eat less meat, though eating meat be seductive.

If you happen to be an older laying hen,
then for goodness sakes remain productive!

Monday, June 8, 2009

The Golem of Galt


What is it about dolls that unnerve me so?

there eyes hold no life, but seem to glow.

They sit in silence, just sit and wait

for Mrs. Shelly's lightning to animate

I know that these things are made for play,

but to me they are golems of rags and clay.

I found this evil pair outside the locked door of the Goodwill donation centre. They were just left there, the centre was closed and I guess the donor didn't wish to have them in their house after the sun went down. I don't blame them.

I left them in their cardboard coffin and finished my errands at the plaza. When I returned home I made sure the door was locked.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Perspective

He looked down at her and thought... My goodness, what beautiful eyes.

She looked up at him and thought... look at all that nose hair.

Find someone close to your own height, life will be easier.