I spent the day walking around my neighbourhood trying to get some sun. I sat outside for a bit reading Erica Jong’s biography of Henry Miller but the midday sun burned my scalp and I got awfully dizzy. So dizzy my stomach started hurting and I had to keel over and lay down on the dirty gravel messing up my white shirt. Instead, I grabbed my camera and walked around the Wychwood Green Art Barns. Sneaking around the construction, hoping nothing would fall and kill me. It felt so strange walking around all alone. For a moment, I wanted to call someone, have someone with me even if by telephone, but I stopped myself. How can I ever think about anything if there’s always people noise around me? This summer has been so strange though. It always ends up pouring rain at some point in the day. The weather is strangely proportionate to how I am; I’ve been a pouring thundering sky the last few months. Blindingly sunny in the morning, overcast midday, a bit of sun peaking through in the late afternoon before the thundershowers start. Toronto’s weather has been markedly undecisive and confused, just like itself. Unable to decide what it should do, how it should be. Instead it’s always dreaming of a place that is sunny, that has choices; dreaming how to let go of itself and become another city. How fast can you untangle history?
“I remember we were driving driving in your car
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped ’round my shoulder
And I had a feeling that I belonged.”
“It’s been a long, long, long time running
It’s well worth the wait.”
