that was when I lost my leaves

September 16, 2015 § Leave a comment

We of PenHouseInk fame used to say of editing that the last cut was the deepest since it meant finally getting rid of what we of PHI fame called our pleased as punch lines, and punchlines, the lines which made you the writer weep, the lines which begin as the heart of the matter, then the scaffolding which holds the piece up until it supports its own weight such that those lines, the lines that made you weep because they were the lines which held the story, which held the feelings which propelled you to write the piece in the first place, were of course no longer needed because once finished the very work of the piece as a whole is to elicit those feelings in the reader

andso those punchlines are rendered by comparison a roughly hewn bludgeon

I was reminded of this at the shoppe yesterday when lyn, and brooke, were looking at an almost completed version of the latest book in the cycle of who am I what do I want how do I know, NAME; the first story. And after a short while they said, “we’re going to put it together how we think it should go,” (which is sort of what I say about someone else’s work, in its formative stages, if I read it differently from the way it is being laid out) to which I responded, “I am not afraid!”

Turns out they were offended or jarred or irritated or distracted, yes distracted by a sheet of paper which I had intended as flyleaf, a piece of manufactured paper with leaves, completely out of character with the rest of the pages, and to fresh eyes completely, um, extra, completely extraneous. What was that for!? they wanted to know

Indeed. It was as it turned out one of those pleased as punchlines, standing in first, as inception and then, as underpinning because I had not, did not, trust the piece even in its final shape to hold itself up, did not believe it was bearing its own weight.

In the truest sense then that remnant of paper was just that, a vestige and now completely unnecessary, but as is sometimes the way of seeing, I hadn’t.

of house and home

September 14, 2015 § 4 Comments

september 14 2015 valley fire

I’m not accustomed anymore to being the one alone at home banging around in the quiet from this to that as if I have nothing to do, or in fact because I’m not, not so much motivated as, interested in doing any of the many things I must, I am disquieted, ha. At first I was pointing at I’m out of practice, but in fact it’s the disquiet, it’s the riffle of the strand which connects us all for better and for worse of those who are losing their houses, their homes their quiet, which reminds me of that essential

a reminder

August 4, 2015 § Leave a comment

from 100 words

judi fred penhouse

rooted in all things empirical ourfather, a faithless hopeless skeptic by trade and politic, a stalwart watcher and pollster in his own write right rite and bar none the most opinionated man I ever knew, unwavering and unapologetic in his stance, never mind provocative especially during those self-affirming times of my own righteousness and to his dying day certain of everyone else’s right to be wrong nevertheless doggedly applied stalwart and stringent criteria before assigning causal relationship/s, never once claimed to know when he did not

acting as if you know when you don’t, or can’t, is no better than any
faith based rhetoric

july in a few hundred words

August 1, 2015 § 1 Comment

from 100 words

july 1

taking a break from the crush of decreasing perspective and deadline sometimes understood as focus intent and purpose which when logrolled and amassed is crushing and somehow filters out the art and heart which gave it life and purpose in the first damn place,

it’s vital to make way for the amazing things you can do with some paper scissors and glue given the time and space to follow ones nose or inclination down a garden path without anything but curiosity and a certain naivety and who gives a damn.

hinged box with latch and top notch, best damn box

july 13

abusis non tolit usum

just because something is misused does not mean it should not be used or will not or can not be used correctly, I speak my mind not to change yours but to make peace with myself, I apologize not to give you a leg up but to give me a leg down, I reach out to you not because I am right, or wrong, but because I can, and those of us who can must otherwise it never ends, the rancor, the jockeying, the thrust&parry; mistrust

if I have a partner so much the better

july 15

who am I still

still me with nothing doing not the same as nothing to do or doing nothing this nothing doing this nonetheless being beckoned by the doing the do this the there is this to do but instead being still me in stillness instilled

found two cents walking around the block three times, a smashed box of screws and whatnot that went with them, and 3 stories: a single father and his daughter; the man on his porch no longer with welcome or well go; and me wondering who am I still asif one isn’t always still themselves

July 19

Theoretically or not so incidentally post hoc rather than a priori this business of an index which allows the finding of information within a volume but what if it is not so much after the fact but a beforehand way to organize the amalgam of a text. The seed around which is germinated a story…editing reworking re indexing of course to follow but then part of the behind the scene or the always strings attached sinew…index another version of a colophon. Index as story. As syllabus as map as precursor rather than aftermath

of course there are rules

July 20


Art banjo bearing book bisexual box, brain tumor, brothers change clark community david divorce Dvora doug face family fred freight train; you are like a, riding friends footing Gary Geography gertie goldberg history Iota press Jewish people’s school judi Karl knowing; how do you know, what do you want, who are you letterpress lewis love marcuse marriage menopause music name nate nursing; borderline personality disorder, leader paul poetry participation; on the line power printing questions Rain recognize self sex sister Srul surfing surgery true USA valor violence violin wind writer weather yellow zaidie

maybe this is a good start

july 23

paying attention

no small thing this business of knowing where you are and the lay of the land, or sea as the case was
there are rules he’d said to the mother of two young boys in the middle of the line-up short of getting quick comeuppance because they didn’t know snaking from not and young boys or not they were in big boy waters never mind they had no clue about any of the imminent dangers, there are?! she said, aghast, asif she would let her kids walk to school without knowing how to cross the street

July 24

it’s clear there are many montreals to live in if one were to live in montreal one of those trying out possibility for the future if I found myself no longer able to live where and how I do and needed or wanted to go elsewhere trains of thought and whereas I hadn’t really been able to imagine it, the city for sure and the winter for damn sure, I see I had it wrong, at least the city part of it, I’d been imagining not so much a city I couldn’t live in but a lifestyle I didn’t want

july 27

it was a good disconnect from the familiar to reconnect with the familiar both going and coming. no boxes. no books. no million ideas though still many sleeps for different reasons, pillows beds storms loons mosquitoes no worries no heartburn no ongoing conversation no cats no news no internet

on the backswing the house is quiet the spaces are open there are cats indoors happy to see us birds outside happy too to be fed at the crack of dawn just afternoon and evening

it is quiet. still no books. no boxes. and ideas at bay.

just a while longer.

july 31

stopped by the shop to, in a way, get it over with, I hadn’t wanted to go since I wasn’t ready to get back to work never thinking somehow I could just go and not get to work

but just stop by to
stop by

andnow what’s at hand is not so much re~entry as entry, not taking up where I left off since part of the leaving off is then deciding where to not so much start or resume but to aw yes, to be just right where one is, yes

the idea was to recycle the momentum


July 11, 2015 § Leave a comment


Funny or interesting how why and where from it is we muster or choose or cull our metaphors and then how we decipher them. Dreamt about Billy Sticks as if it was to have to choose between him and Dag, from his point of view, “did you tell him you were with me?” And I hadn’t because from my perspective neither was I with Dag, so it was not, or impertinent, but just past that juncture along came a Jane thinking I belonged to her. Billy was not sure what to make of that.

There’s always a wild card.

self; mixed media

July 6, 2015 § 1 Comment

is one self-contained wherever one is if one is self-contained, or is the containment state and geography dependent or the self state and/or geography dependent, is self necessarily contained is self a containment and so redundant really, is all self contained or what part of self does contained abandon, yes there it is, what part of self is left out of the containment racket, another version of does one ever get over anything

yes&no, not on a cellular level in spite of the reinventings of our cellular biology over the course of a lifetime, memory is not wiped clean

box 6: in the round

July 2, 2015 § Leave a comment

taking a break from the crush of decreasing perspective and deadline sometimes understood as focus intent and purpose which when logrolled and amassed is crushing and somehow filters out the art and heart which gave it life and purpose in the first damn place,
it’s vital to make way for the amazing things you can do with some paper scissors and glue given the time and space to follow ones nose or inclination down a garden path without anything but curiosity and a certain naivety and who gives a damn

who says boxes are square. Ha!


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