Melanie Janisse's Blog, page 5
September 1, 2009
LOOKING OUT
St. Anne's church dome sits in the sun outside of my window. Nestled in between still green trees and aging rooftops, it sits there in my vision reminding me of beacons, pregnant friends, the confusion of faith. The little white houses against the backdrop of the chocolate factory are themselves coconut treats, lined with little perfect hedges. Fall is in the air only for a short time, and so I look forward to capturing moments of it in forever. Cashmere blankets wrapped around good conversat...
August 6, 2009
Meh.
It smells like garbage on the concrete. There are piles of bills on the counter that I cannot pay. I am at odds with myself, with success, with the great obsession for money, fame, prestige. People that I know who chase this dream, seem to me sonambulists. Empty. Once, I tried to point this out to one of them, and they became a vampire.
Here is what I am: I am a successful failure. I fail monetarily and so therefore, I am vulnerable to the criticism of this. You never have any money. Just get...
Here is what I am: I am a successful failure. I fail monetarily and so therefore, I am vulnerable to the criticism of this. You never have any money. Just get...
July 21, 2009
Expat
Wildflowers. Bike rides away from the city where I live. A lake and one sailboat. Suddenly I am anywhere. Riding under massive car towing expressways, riding, reeds, the smell of sweet grass.The hum of distant cars. If it weren't for a vintage Peugeot and the Humber river, today, I would pack it up and be out of Toronto. In fact, conceptually, Toronto no longer exists for me. I am in Paris, the south of France, Point au Pelee. I am in the great North. In Belgium visiting an old love. I am in ...
July 20, 2009
Make this pledge. I will be there when you disappear.
Make this pledge. I will be there when you disappear.
July 19, 2009
London Town
Brick Lane. Wind shirts and lost youth crowding around picnic tables. Searching. I am searching for my friend, for riding boots, for a deep breath. Rattling bicycles, drug addicts selling urban rot on old sheets. Depression glass necklaces I tuck into my bag - for mom, for Canada. Victorian England held by beer drinking hipsters. Rescue a tin type. Rescue air. Sit in buses made into vegan spots with the Metis, with dying connections. Everything in a wind tunnel. Everyone moving around the bri...
July 18, 2009
OLD FRIEND
I hear the rain fall on the roof of my van as I sleep in your driveway. You have found yet another little wartime house in our city. You have moved and moved. Old carpets pile down in what should be your dining room,but is where your band plays. Old 1930's furniture overfilled with clothes in your bedroom. The rain falls on our hometown, where I am visiting. I am visiting you like a memory that holds different things for me than it once did. Eartha Kitt is on your record player as you and you...
