My plan was to write all day but I am in 'waiting' mode and there is only so much darkness I have allowed for in this book. More than a page and half and this will be not what I wanted. And I don't want that. Ross Porter is on in the background. He is wrapping up his Saturday morning show and playing some great stuff. Jeff Beck right now and the music is a perfect fit with my mood. Virginia Woolf, Tennessee Williams and even Shakespeare's 'Lady Macbeth' managed to find their way into my words. 'Solutions' are not just for stories and dark, dark, dark is where I was at. The book called for it and I cannot get ahead of myself in the narrative arc. Like I said, waiting. The timing and events are out of my hands and that is the danger when trying to inject a bit of truth by the way of reality and present-tense. I feel like a sadist or vulture.
The music this second sounds like a set-up for this afternoon's Spanish romp and I usually will take advantage of the extended cable package here and tune in to channel 746 for commercial-free Jazz Masters before that happens. Although without the Spanish program I would never have come up with 'La Paloma' in the Dee trilogy ( I cheat. I can't remember if it was 'Dancing Bears' or 'Harem Scarem'. ( I cheat yet again having to look up the name of the latter.) That is the beauty of having a trilogy to fall back on; sweeping generalizations unless you feel obligated like I do now to reveal the lies.) 'La Paloma' or 'The Dove' I had described as the most popular piece of music in the world with a 140 year history. The meaning is reserved for my fiction, buy the series. Oh that's right, it's not published yet. In that case send me a note, I'll send it to you; I am in the mood for requests. (Music must change right now). 746 is now playing.
I am hot or cold and have been cycling back and forth for two days at least, which is it's own madness. I was thinking about Ann earlier this morning. It's gone now but I thought I would mention it. Hi Ann. I just drank what was left of my Red Bull.
Killing time is a sport in North America. In the Middle East it means something else.
In British Columbia they are electing a new premier today. That is to say a new liberal leader. The liberals are the sitting government. Campbell has resigned and has to be replaced. A general election may or not follow. The only opposition really is the NDP and they are a mess themselves. Their leader was also overthrown. I don't think they have selected a new leader yet. Only in B.C. can a liberal mean a conservative. The conservatives do not even exist. Think about that.
When I was living on the coast the first time, I was moved to consider my own political beliefs while the NDP were governing. (Before I forget, thank you Glen Clark; without you there would have been no 'Heart Failure' and as a consequence 'Slingshot' would not have happened either.) B.C. is too far away for Quebec to matter and my idea was to run as the 'Separatist' candidate with the platform to give Quebec what it wanted. If I had been a bit more serious and given the idea more thought and energy, I am sure I could have been elected in Vancouver's 'Quadra' riding to sit, more or less, as an Independent in the B.C. legislature. I was popular enough to reasonably think I could have pulled it off. Hi Sharon.
In a few hours the patio will be busy (jammed) at Rossini's. Saturdays are the Jazz Jam at 4PM and the place is packed. Drinks and sex for all ages. I think the one-night stand was invented there ( I almost wrote 'here' :-). It doesn't take much to climb back into that space suit.) Back to my story; casual sex and we all loved Rossini's for it. The joint would rock. Musicians, artists and regulars gather at the back door smoking pot. The party breaks up at around 8 or 9 and the next crowd starts rolling in about 10. Regularly I would close the place at 2 in the morning and a few of us would hang out after the doors were closed until 3 when we would go back to Harald's and Peter's place and drink on their deck overlooking the city and False Creek and English Bay until 4:30. I was married, no surprise, not anymore.
Their deck was priceless. The flat was a shit hole but the view was stunning and the deck was big. During the summer fireworks season there would be at least 50 of us each night. Drunk or stoned and ready to explode just like the night sky. Those nights also went well into the morning. Then we would brunch on Yew Street, happy to be alive and able to call this home. Vancouver is one of those cities where living there doesn't make sense if you do not live by the ocean. The beaches are a must-have and you hardly ever forgot how lucky you were. In truth without a view Vancouver and life do not add up and the internal conflict is something you try your best to ignore. During the winter months, when it is almost always raining, it is hard to hide it.
Amongst the many things I miss are stories like this one. Spring is easier to identify in Toronto than Vancouver. Anytime after January can be pretty great there. Usually the temperatures have climbed above the 10 degree mark and the flowers are blooming. Everything is so green because of the rain and there are many many shades of green. I remember walking home from the bus stop after work one night and having been raining for some days, the sun came out for a couple of hours late in the day. Say 4:30 to 6:30. I stopped to pick up a coffee on Davie Street to take home and coming back out onto the street I noticed people were smiling. There was no mistake, we were all happy for the same reason. My spirit soared and that it would be gone again shortly and most probably for a few days, didn't matter. The sun was shining right now and it was glorious. I miss that. It is in that way that as a population, we were all more sensitive to nature. We were constantly aware of it. The mountains also helped shape our respect. We thought about things like the size of our carbon footprint. Trees were important. God at all his best is non-religious and God was everywhere. Also why there are many spiritualists out there. Sex just made sense. Love was sharing.
Yeah that's a tough scorecard in Toronto. Ottawa in many ways is similar but it is so cold in the winter and only the summers are worse; the humidity would embarrass Toronto. In Ottawa's favour the people are intrinsically nicer and so many of the women are French. They spend their income on fashion and they are beautiful. Stunning really. That's one of the trades.
Suddenly I am better. Bored still but better. It must be my medication. Ah yes. I was thinking about Eugene O'Neill. That explains it.
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