The Idle Artist

Posted to Grit Uplifted

I sit by the river, and it is a river of paint, the reeds like brushes, dipping and lifting it away to an imaginary canvas. I am Van Gogh, watching my vision flower across the sky, colouring the clouds, giving them life and animation. How casually they take up their roles, laughing at the piece: What care I? I am only air! Very well you paint me in the raiment of a priesthood, labour’s worn jeans, teenage fashions. Alright, I’ll dance for you, silly dreamer, and will you make a prophecy of my play? It is only the whimsy of the wind that tells this story, and only your own wandering mind that reads so much into it.

“Yes,” I whisper to the river, the brush, the canvas, to the mischevious actors on stage.

“And yet there is truth to it.”

Echo of the Reaper

Posted to Grit Uplifted

Death stalks tonight;
But guilty footprints, shrieking truth, betray his passage.
His heart’s a drum in sharp staccato,
Pounding mortal fear in mortal danger.
The darkness whispers:
“There is no escape…”
Blood on his fingers
And fire in the black,
The seeking eye of Justice comes hunting:
He is not the only one
To bear the reaper’s scythe tonight;
For he has run beyond forgiveness now,
And there is no return.

The Serpent Street Choir

The last meeting of Grit Uplifted in the session of fourteen was today. I feel slightly bloated. There was a small party with baked goods and a free beverage from Red Roaster, courtesy of the facilitators of the group. And then dinner at the Center of Hope directly afterward.

I spent some time after the confidence boost of reading some of my newest work at Grit walking the streets and imagining that I were leading a practiced choir of recruits from My Sister's Place and the expanded community in a slow march through the streets, singing "I Have a Right" together; two people carrying large, cardboard signs in clear black and white, one with "I Have a Right, by Sonata Arctica, from their album Stones Grow Her Name", and the other with "adapted and performed with choir by (me - name removed)" on either side by the front; instrumentalists who wanted to join in playing a simple, repeated rhythm on drums, perhaps even a guitarist.

For a long, instrumental break, I imagined the choir filling the space with a simple, rhythmic refrain in increasingly complex harmony (perhaps with parts of it singing a supportive harmony in simple aah's or la's),

"I have a right. You have a right. We have a right. We all have a right. The rich have a right. The poor have a right. The old have a right. The young have a right." ...Back into the chorus.

I imagined drawing much energy and attention while slowly progressing down some streets.

Only thoughts... But such beautiful, beautiful thoughts they are.

I really must think about trying to start up a small choir group at My Sister's Place. It would be an early step to some wonderful thing like this actually happening.

Ah, and in my imagination, with my ego, I called it The Serpent Street Choir.

Pardon My Absence

I'm sure it's no surprise to the mythical creature that I might suppose actually reads this blog that I haven't posted anything new in a full month now. Allow me some forgiveness, friend, for I have been much busier of late, with a great deal of nothing to do. My time at the townhouse with friends who eventually became enemies has finally come to an end as one of them not so patiently reminded me that I had been invited to stay temporarily, as a guest, and as uncooperative as the bureaucracy of our welfare system had proven to be, as impossible as it was to arrange to have my own place to move into, I would, in fact, have to be leaving. About now.

Let it never be said that I don't listen when told I am unwelcome. I left that very day, and have since then been back on the streets; so to speak. I returned to Crash Beds until one fateful night that Crash Beds was full, and the lady on duty told me it was her job to refer me to the Salvation Army. Not wishing to return, I resolved to try to find a place outside, on my own, to sleep, and try I did, but the night was cold and so after a brief nap I shivered and shuffled my way to the remaining refuge, where I was welcomed and led to a bed. It's been several days since then. I spend my days solving Sudokus, playing piano at a safe place during the day sometimes. I have been keeping a diary of sorts. Perhaps some time when I have more time for typing, I will share parts of it with you. I am attending a creative writing workshop called "Grit Uplifted," too, which is giving me the spark and the challenge to write some interesting things. I hope it continues to do so.

I should note that I have actually found some happiness in this wandering homelessness, free from being trapped in a safe place with bitterness and hateful politics. I feel much more self-driven, and actually find myself relaxing sometimes. It's a nice change.

For now, farewell. The library is about to close, and I would hate for this post to be delayed.