Darlings, we only live in moments now (Part 1)

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” - Oscar Wilde

Approaching midnight, 21 April 2001, minutes before my birthday, Don Pyle hands me a sealed CD. “Put this on.” Piano chords strike, reverberate beneath this singular voice,

Should I call a doctor before I fear you might be dead?
But I just lay down beside you and held your hand

then, the most dramatic pause in pop music EV-VAH…

Antony & the Johnsons “I Fell in Love with a Dead Boy” UK Maxi-Single 2001

no, wait. Time has stopped. Longer. Still. Then, the angelic voice returns

I fell in love with you
Now you're my one, only you
'Cause all my life I've been so blue
But in that moment you fulfilled me

Shivers.

Like a like chanteuse, Marc Almond (of Soft Cell fame) “there is never forever, only the moment.”

Darlings, we only live in moments now. What reaches. What touches. What moves. What remains.

Bites. Niblets. A poem. A song. A night. Moments, all.

I’ve witnessed the glory that is Anohni in numerous settings. The Drake Underground pounding an upright piano showing fuzzy butt-crack all-night, Trinty-St. Paul waiting all-day to sit in the front pew, to a gown that spread across the entirety of Radio City Music Hall (then dropped to reveal a 60 piece orchestra), walking 5th Avenue behind this adorable young ‘blonde’ waif traipsing in heels, a duvet as her wrap, stopping in McDonalds for a milkshake en route (we knew where she was headed) to this remarkable lounge act “It’s Time to Feel What’s Really Happening Tour 2024” at Massey Hall.

The moment? There were several. To see her dance in her hard won body to “It Must Change.” And tribute to the great Jimmy Scott singing “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child.” To witness an artist in their powers. Again, I am forever changed.

Valentine’s Day. Sandwiched between my dates Finner & Stevie to see a rare screening of Derek Jarman’s Blue at Peter Knight’s brilliantly curated Queer Cinema Club, one of the very few reasons to still go out at all to the cinema. Paradise.

The Keith Haring show, Art Is For Everbody, at the AGO. Brazenly sexual. I went several times, each visit (w/Hoa Nguyen, Jessica Hiemstra, alone wishing I had brought a fresh bottle of poppers) new discoveries and a deeper appreciation of Haring’s all-encompassing response to the times. A fellow phallic worshipper, gloryhole enthusiast, pop iconographer with a marker, making it plain for all to see themselves. I re-imagine seeing this as a gay child. Made whole. That, and the yummy new Brad Gooch bio (a must).

Yes, I saw Madonna at Scotiabank Arena. I wasn’t planning on it (I'd seen her several times, most notably her True Blue Tour at the Ex, with fireworks shooting off Lake Ontario during “Live to Tell”) the expense, but I kept seeing clips of this massive AIDS memorial, so moving, and we’re the same age (Madonna, Morrissey & me) so I thought, if she could make it, I’d do my best to meet her there. The young latin queens dancing and singing every song off-key behind me made it all worthwhile.

My new collection (and a single, released New Year’s Day) came out this year (pub date on my 65th) an online birthday launch with the astonishing Travis Sharp before a live audience in my living room. I love reading in intimate settings of a dozen or so. My friend Jonathan Garfinkel was visiting from Berlin in Montreal, so I found a hotel room with a terrace and invited loved ones for a soiree, then stopped in Kingston on return to read in Sadiqa de Meijer’s home on “Writer’s Block,” mostly to students, a pivotal night in my reading of “She.” Then, there were the East Coast readings that saved my life, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Moments. We live in. One after another, our constellation.

Reading in London ON, suddenly lit by the Northern Lights outside The Variety Cafe. (Bucket list, check.)

It’s love. Meeting Sydney Hegele at a reading at Queen Books. That poster of Bear behind us. Priceless.

The Mockler and I read together for the very first time at Another Story. (Another Story. What a gem.)

The volume of his hair at a Coach House launch.

Sitting with this one at Poetry Weekend, Fredericton

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