The first hard frost always knocks the wind out of me. Sheltered by their brethren, these blossoms are now all that remain. After the day dried out it was on to seed collecting, soil amending, garlic planting and some leafy shenanigans. Stick around, autumn.
The wrap up to the month long music quest.
I hacked down my glorious goddamned bean tower to save the structure from some truly inconsequential winds. I remember being woken up Arthur morning by the sound of nearby transformers exploding. We realized we were absolutely unprepared for the storm that hadn’t been on our radar and got in the car to go purchase supplies. Seven story elms leaned diagonally across the roadway cradled by thick but yielding power lines. Wires were on the ground or slicing the air in the winds. Cue a high-speed reversal with loud cartoon sound effects. Instead, on day two, we ventured uptown to get gas and charge our phones. Coming back across the bridge at night had us driving into pure darkness as not one place on the North side had power. I fondly remember everyone in the neighborhood gathering for group meals in the evenings, barbecuing what had thawed. What a perfect way to meet the strangers next door. We kept up after it was over, caravaning to dark spots at the right hour to catch a glimpse of the northern lights. By day four the haves got generators and that electric whir overwhelmed our revelatory sense of peace. At one point the left side of the neighbouring street got power and the right didn’t. You could see them inside watching True Blood. You’d drive over the super long orange extension cords sharing electricity across the roadway. Dangerous for sure, but uplifting all the same.
I’m sure if it had lasted longer than five days or landed during a colder month, I wouldn’t be able to romanticize it so easily. I didn’t have a nine to five at the time and instead was working away at constructing my Craft Empire. I shifted my desk against the sliding patio doors and worked away while the sunlight allowed. The BBQ had a burner, so we made French toast and soups everyday while perfecting the art of barbecued pies.
The devastation that’s occurring elsewhere feels incomprehensible comparatively. Losing everything you have vs deep cleaning your freezer and meeting the people next door. It’s wild that our geography is what decides.
Submitting pieces for the group show felt waaaaay too vulnerable. I don’t know if I hate the work because it’s awful or if it’s awful because I hate it. How can you be excited about the expression of your deepest grief. Unpacking why I couldn’t make this cathartic will be truly horrendous. Well … fuck my life. Truly.
I drank a wasp. I slept alone. 
