So it begins. The Occupy Movement rolls into Toronto. I couldn’t get to the kick off in the financial district, but went to St. James Park in the early afternoon.
Category: Spleen
The category, Spleen, is for posts that make us angry.
Occupy Wall Street – But Keep It Simple
As the Occupy movement creeps ever closer to Toronto, we who support it brace ourselves for the inevitable backlash, not only from voices of power, but also from an eerily complacent middle class.
We Can’t Af Ford This
After being away for a month, I returned home to Toronto with a question burning on my lips: So how’s Rob Ford’s War on Graffiti going? On Friday, I went downtown to get some answers.
Thanksgiving: One Turkey of a Holiday
Personally, I don’t see the appeal of slaughtering, plucking and skinning one them, letting it simmer in its own juices for five hours, then serving it up on a platter of bread crumbs and whatnot that have cooked inside its own body cavity…
Poem: The Canadian Museum for Human Rights
there’s a path in The Forks where we stumbled on a humble little man dressed in a loincloth and armed with a walking stick a strange sight in Winnipeg though less strange if we had stumbled on him in wintertime we would have figured the cold froze him solid instead of the rabid pack of…
Poem: Boring
I hate to drive through the prairies.It’s boring. It all looks the same.I love to shop at Wal*Mart.All across this great country,Wal*Mart is the place for me. (if performed, this verse should be repeated at least 300 times, once for each Wal*Mart in the country) Download the complete collection of poems and accompanying photographs as…
Poem: Economic Action Plan
self-congratulating signslitter roadsides allacross the countryharper masturbatingon our shoulderswhat a good boy am itearing down mountainsraising up valleyswrapping ribbons of highwayaround the nationknotting a tight bowlike mickey mouse earsa great big beautiful packagethree lanes each waysquirting goods from a to bk y gel efficiencybut nowherenot a single stopno pull out rest areaplace to stretch and…
Poem: Old Growth
Eighteen years since Clayoquot SoundToday the trees keep fallingInky tears drip on the pageA pulpy sheet for writingMore organic, they exhort meGrow your words like corn stalksBut I press them out precisePlaned and stacked like lumberi’d throw a wrenchdrive a spikefill the gas tank with sandif i knew howor whereafter that what would i write…
Poem: Dependencies
Wobbly-legged, we rise from lunchand chardonnay, the capstoneon a noon-time tasting.Best to pause, recoverequilibrium, gaze acrossthe vineyard rows, reminiscentof corduroy or shopping aisles.In the middle distance, a farm,hot-houses where flowers grow,row on roses, all of it—grapes and blossoms—handledby Mexican workers shippednorth for the growing season.With cool weather on the thresholdthey’ll be packed back where they…
Mental Illness Stereotypes: Amy Winehouse and Anders Behring Breivik
Mad Pride Week finished more than a week ago. I had intended to write a piece on it but couldn’t find a hook. Until yesterday, that is, when two very different stories trended all over the social media universe. One story from the UK: soul singer, Amy Winehouse, had died at the age of 27.
Private Label Rights Sludge
Reuters reported last week that Spam is Clogging Amazon’s Kindle Self-Publishing. The problem, it seems, is PLR or Private Label Rights. I don’t understand how PLR works, but I suspect it’s like the water the Morlocks drink in H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine – an underground toxic sludge.
Why Do Journalists Hate Tom MacMaster?
It’s fascinating to observe what counts as news. Posts on the Gay Girl in Damascus blog counted as news when they were sensational. When they sold papers. Amina’s posts ceased to count as news when they ceased to be factual.
Poem: Toxic Tree Juice
Unshaven unshoweredhoodie soul-patch leash-tautdog-dragging morning stumblepast the local school. SUV retinuegas-chugging polished momsleery of child-snatching fiends,scary looking men like me. Veering off the sidewalkinto the cool tree-shade parkdoggy does as doggy-doobaggy swallow the shit. Drawn up short, I see itabandoned near the swing set:purple plastic tricyclebroken handle cracked wheel. Toxic tree juice in disguiseburied a…
Feeding The Trolls
I’d wager that virtually everyone of Western European descent remembers listening when they were children to the tale of the Three Billy Goats Gruff. Although Norse in origin, this story of goats and a troll spread far beyond the borders of Norway. It was the medieval equivalent of a viral video.
War on Graffiti Produces Civilian Casualty
The Toronto Star reports that the city has painted over a mural that the city had paid $2,000 to produce.