See the door to Le Happy there? Doesn’t that look inviting? It does, doesn’t it? I used to have skittishness about walking through that door, which is possibly not as crazy as it sounds. (Or, conversely, it’s possibly even crazier than it sounds. Your call.)
I’ve been thinking all my life about green and growing things and for weeks have wanted to see Wings of Desire for the millionth time just so I can hear the angel Damiel’s list of what he’s observed that day,
Because I love the sad and beautiful truth of nothing-can-stay.
If tomorrow I were to walk away to some other place, go live in a where that is not this where, the place I would go would have lots of snow and the house I would live in would be made of cold, a house of snow — or of-snow-adjacent.
… you just have to love it back.
You know how much I love words and the physical act of writing, how much I love the graphemic grace of the thing that is written? Yeah, you do. And you know how much I like holding a pencil in my hand and making marks on a paper with it — marks with meaning, I mean — and also how much I like reading a paper full of writing from someone else’s hand? Well, I like all that very much, you know I do, but I like something else too:
Dave Kinsey at Fecalface has a treat for you, me, and the lamppost:
You know what I love? I love “yes”. I love “yes” so much, and so hard, and also its more boisterous adjutants “hell yes” and “fuck yes”.
Butcher’s charts take it all apart.
Sewing patterns put it all together.
The sundering and the reconciling … they interest me, both. I maybe love taxidermy because it requires both; I should maybe love the jigsaw puzzle more than I do, for the same reason.
Often I think of the poetry of objects
about the way a seam is resolved
or the way a spine grows
about the things we make with our bodies
and the bones from out of our bodies
Sometimes I feel like Reepicheep finally arrived at the edge of the world and sometimes I feel like I’m standing way up high on a tall place where I have to make a choice about whether I’ll step off and float away, or not.
The world spins on its axis, on and on and on, no matter who comes here or leaves here, no matter how happy or sad you are, no matter, no matter.
How to catch an octopus
by Patrick Widdess
It is such a miracle, this ridiculous Internet thing. Just a few days ago, I was sitting bundled in sweaters in an old farmhouse in Quebec, looking out the kitchen window at the blazing colours of autumn while simultaneously peeking into the studio of artist Ghadah Alkandari; the thing about Ghadah’s studio is that it’s located in Kuwait, half a world away from me. But with a click of the Send button on her Mac, she was able to show me a little piece of her reality and that is an eventuality I like very much. And oh my, how I like publishing these images so that you too can step into Ghadah’s world for a moment or two.
Okay, this is just the loveliest thing, this project by Nathalia Ponomareva. I wish we lived in a world where all the daily objects of life could be similarly delightful.
It’s not terribly often I say this but
Here is maybe the greatest Canadian song ever. And if you disagree, I’d love to hear your nominations for that position! (Click the green post title to make the jump.)
A lot of [my] paintings aren’t of Canadian subjects, but somehow they always end up looking Canadian — it’s strange. I’m aware that I can’t get away from Canada, because my formative years were spent there.
— Peter Doig
The backbone of the backbone.