the darkest night
250504 | Hawks, sidewalks, and hotdogs with candy inside.
Okay, so:
Red hawk, grey hawk. Red perched low in the park: “An owl?” Grey a sentinel on the fence out back. Squirts a shit in the garden before taking off in search of robins to eat.
Soundscape: Site of ancient university of Nalanda, Bihar, India. February 2024.
Read Jonah Weiner, ‘Alien Nation’ [article], K’s recommendation. An interview with Korean film director Bong Joon Ho. Almyeonseodo sogajunda: ‘We fall for it, even though we know what’s up.’
T— the neighbour, six, comes skipping down the sidewalk, calling my name. He sings: “Bad luck’s come to my little brother.” He stops, shakes his head seriously, hands on hips. “A boo-boo on his nose again!”
I woke up with the power out
Not really something to shout about1
Mail off the girls’ gifts: two Labubus.
K’s lemon squares a hit with debate club.
Party in the art room for S— and E—. Room hot with bodies; a cracked down, propped open with a chair, yields a breeze. Alumni. I— the silent, brilliant mathematician; she’s surprised I remember her name. A— (A?) the taciturn poet whose name I don’t. The ingenue, the goth. The artists; the musicians. A cover of ‘Creep.’ Bottles of Brio in a bucket of ice. Speeches and charcuterie (“charcootree”, “sharcuterie”). A Labubu encased in plastic. The sudden smell of sewage in the halls. S— off to a wake for a student who died while camping with friends. An Irish goodbye.
Reading Cherie Dimaline, The Marrow Thieves.
More work on the book. Version control.
Period one in the park. Intro to Grandmother Oak. Phones in the bin, sun and wind.
I went out into the night
I went out to pick a fight with anyone
Gutters brimming.
The robin, the cardinal. The gull, the loon. The red-winged blackbird.
The wind steals the petals away. They glide to the earth, pastel confetti.
Reading Reynolds, Ain’t Burned All the Bright with the period one’s. Remember the summer of 2020? Breathe in, breathe out.
Pal P— plays Patsy in Spamalot, the coconut horse guy. Do not win the 50/50.
T— the neighbour: “Or, or, or … a hotdog with a candy inside!”
Forsythia: yellow broom. Magnolia. Sky and rain.
Zazen.
St-Viateur bagels from frozen, with ‘cream cheese product.’
In the staff washroom, a concrete box, a can of air freshener sits on the toilet tank. The paint on the concrete walls is chipping. The paper dispenser isn’t working again. Baked apples. The paint is blue.
Wind and rain. A block of styrofoam scuffling on the medium, struck by a car, bursts into shards, the largest caught in a wheel well, dragging against wet pavement, its driver oblivious. Sodden world.
I went out into the night
I went out to find some light
Zazen.
P— finally returns my copy of The Book Thief, the book thief.
Reading Annie Baker’s play The Flick with the period fours. A collective noun of f-bombs.
Yin yoga.
Feeding the baby bloodgood plenty of water. Soft bed of black cedar chips soaks it up. New leaves ready to unfurl.
Sweep the concrete slabs, the stones, the sidewalk. Sweep the door frame and the doormat. Sweep out the crevices.
T— the neighbour, bored with the grownups talking on the sidewalk: “I think this conversation is over.”
I woke up on the darkest night
Neighbours all were shouting that they found the light
Y— signs out a copy of James Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time but forgets it on the checkout counter. So put it in my bag. Next day, ask him, “Did you read some?” Y— tilts his head back, considering. Then, lying: “A bit, sir. Not really. Tonight for sure.”
Decide to expose him.
— Where is it?
— Where’s what?
— The book.
He pretends to sifts through his bag.
— Locker, I guess.
— You sure?
— Want me to get it?
— It’s okay.
— It’s in my locker.
— On God?
— On God. On everything.
Pull the copy from my desk drawer and hold it up. “On everything, he says,” I say. He sinks in his seat. His boys holler.
Light a candle for the kids
Jesus Christ don’t keep it hid!
Polish, polish.
d
Couplets from Arcade Fire’s ‘Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out)’ (2009)