bombs not guns

Now the rain’s like gravel on old tin roof
And the Burlinton Northern’s pullin’ out of the world
With a head full of bourbon and a dream in the straw.
And a Gun Street Girl was the cause of it all.

comfort tagging, yarn bombing, grafknitti [though i’m not much of a knitter]

st viateur and st urbain

laurier and clark

fairmount and parc ave

i do this for many reasons

like rebelling against the colour grey which we are coerced into having a relationship with in this disgusting urban environment

like opening up a dialogue with my fellow citizens.  living in a closed world, the subversive act of doing something unusual in a public space creates a safe place to ask the questions ‘what are you doing?’ ‘who are you?’

this is a good thing, i tell myself

this is not like dancing alone

this is like being something realer

this is reeling from the blow of returning to the [un]fair city.

the light here is not unlike trying to photograph heat
my keyboard is still set to german because i couldn’t stop writing about einstürzende neubauten

here’s to hoping my Ys and Zs are easilz transferable and feral enough to hold their own

in effort to not turn into a sponge, i created a little [semi small] art book of 10 mixed media drawings

duet cover

duet epic

to the mewling of our qat outside, i dreamed of hugging and running to the sea.

i wonder what that feels like.

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