Not In The Past

Looking forward from 30

Archive for the month “June, 2010”


This shot was taken out at Five Islands Provincial Park on the Minas Basin in Nova Scotia.  I went camping at a private campground near Glenholme on Victoria Day weekend (the weekend before Memorial Day for all you Yanks), but on the way back to New Brunswick we drove along the coast instead of using the Cobequid Pass toll highway.

This may offend some New Brunswickers, but I’ve always preferred Nova Scotia’s scenery to New Brunswick.  This is not to say that New Brunswick is entirely lacking but it really does feel like it’s the “drive-thru” province sometimes.


Pretty Words

My original goal for this blog was to just get into the habit of writing again, without really much thought into presenting a coherent story or log of my day so far.  I often forget I can just write whatever when I’m using the internet without having to tailor to my audience or to have a finished story.   I just want to be able to use this space for whatever my imagination cooks up, but I have been working on a short story: it’s just too easy to get distracted with the particulars before I can even work something out on the page.

I think that in case I end up somehow hobnobbing with the moderately financially secure and somewhat interesting, I would at least need to refine this air of dreamlike observation.  I work on it whenever I sit in a cafe with my pen and pad, sucking blended juices and ice through a plastic straw.  I can almost pass for contemplative, but I really don’t mull over anything besides how to spend the next 20 minutes before they lock up and send me and the wizard-bearded man reading the newspaper on our way.  Maybe it’s my surroundings; very lackadaisical with the clouds drifting faster than everything else seems to be moving.  I see cars speeding in the distance but from my perspective they might as well be insects, only making everything else look even more still.

Sometimes I can actually create whole imagined encounters and conversations when I’m just trying to keep distracted, but to actually translate these from brain wave to written word is just something I haven’t disciplined myself into doing yet.   There’s always this disconnect: where you are vs. where you want to be.  Vivid images somehow falling into the traps of not being able to find the correct word to do it justice.

La danse du paysage

I got this shot when the weather started warming up around here.  This is on the Riverfront Trail in Dieppe (part of the Trans Canada Trail), right behind that ugly strip mall and the Kent Building Supplies on Champlain Street, just east of where Moncton ends and Dieppe begins.  You’d never expect something this vast and open would be so close to that hideously generic cluster of buildings near the mall, but if you just walk for a bit, there it is.  The trail snakes along the Petitcodiac River; I haven’t really gone too much further in that direction but that’s something I’d like to do in the near future: just walking slowly with nothing but my camera, my iPod, and my notebook.

Things come to me in that kind of state; there’s an openness and receptiveness that isn’t there when I’m in front of a computer screen or in the city.  I love city living but I need that periodic escape.

More of a random write than a true freewrite

In careless days, I used to sit around with my hands on the floor, firmly squeezed under the weight of my ass.  I would sit until the feeling would slowly disappear and eventually let the feeling slowly tingle its way back in.  Where do your hands sit, Lilly?  Why do you look at me that way with your mouth shifted over to the left side?  I thought I had you figured out but maybe I was taking a shortcut.

Sitting on a balcony with my shirt off.  I just drank a mixture of vodka with whatever juices were left in my fridge.  Pretty vile.  I’m slouched in a camp chair held together with duct tape and one errant body movement away from hilarious collapse.  Well, it would be hilarious to whoever watched.  There’s a group of cars pulling out of the parking lot down the street, jerking along and screeching out that their drivers don’t have any business behind a steering wheel.

You still come to me in dreams.  Just accidentally, not for any particular reason.  These dreams leave bigger impressions on me than they should; why I remember them while the others fade into my subconscious scares me.  But they just end, not resolving themselves in any form and the questions they lead to aren’t worth wasting time on.

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