As a child, my sister was often the target of bullies. Bullies sniff out the weak, the vulnerable, those who have already experienced the wrath of others. I spent a lot of my own childhood trying to protect Jodi from those who had nothing better to do with their time than to torment a shy, fragile, little girl.
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Last Sunday the Toronto Transit Commission had yet another service interruption, complete with shuttle busses and detours. That didn’t deter me from going to The Black Swan at 154 Danforth Avenue in the late afternoon for yet another concert from yet another fine group of Toronto based musicians. The bill included Mark Ripp and the heymacs, who were making their first public appearance ever, apparently, although their excellent videos are a staple of my timeline.
Every morning, around four a.m., there’s something that wakes me up. I don’t know if it’s a noise from the street, a neighbour heading to work, or a very punctual raccoon with OCD, but nearly every day, there’s a sound that rouses me from my dreams and leaves me washed up on the shore of my thoughts.
The reveries that preoccupy me in the hours between four a.m. and an almost normal six o’clock rise are the ones that might flit through your mind during the day, but that are not chewed over like they might be at say .. quarter to five in the morning.
Thoughts like, could Melania actually be Trump’s Russian handler? Is this weird red mole-y thing cancerous? And, why is it that so many males, from boy to man, love running around pantless?
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 