Oversion’s Weblog

Still it is probably 20 kiloyears away but the Science Fiction Motor Inn is less far in the Future than the World Of Today has Access to. Which makes it only more impressive. Fathom any think it isn’t here now like sonorous echoes of a night’s lucky trip; and the day will come. Right now it might seem like a pike dream, but the day that is on the way is already here now. If we venture from our ground dwelling dreams into the expanses but with our ground dwelling mentality extact on our senses it is visible now.

Got off the bus this morning to the stunning sight of (simultaneously) a huge hawk in flight and one in the snow. I could not believe the one in the snow. Is there such a thing as a red tailed eagle? It was only 30 feet away. Muckin around. For all I know they’d just eaten one of my little animal friends, maybe it doesn’t even have a red tail usually, an awesome bird nonetheless. Above, the 1st photo I got of it. Despite remaining on the ground what seemed some time, once the camera was zoomed and up and the snap’s hangtime had let go, it had landed. In fact in seven photos thats the only one you can see it a lot, while in another it’s vivid but through trees, and once zoomed, would seem no better than a drawing. Hot hawk!

Also thrilled by other delicacies of the day…

These sexy bird prints caught my eye coming out our fire escape back way this morning. There’s a real sense in which they look larger in this photo than they were; they were tiny super delicate prints. I don’t know bird it would be. But it sparked my morning! And it just got more intense: the combo of a night cat’s prints along with my a human’s bootprints and a bike track, how exotic:

Some days you can’t make a move without getting all stirred up all sparkly invariably or not involving a pussy o my cat centred mind, always thinking fluffy tail!

Hello Oarsome Friends And Welcome To The Metropolitan Orpra Where We Are Today Presenting On The Big Screen A Poem By George Edward Fielding.

And now let us dream.

My mother despite the subtleties of her age, has continued to find ways of painting in her primary passion that of oils. 3d in a splendid way that I grew up around. I expect it is true of all art, but having my mother’s paintings around since my birth (as well as in progress most vividly all the time) I’ve been thinking about this effect of light for some time. The question arises further when one thinks of digitally photographing the paintings. Is it not a reality that the life of artworks the like of these were present in every year of childhood, teens, and on, seen at night on dark nights, at night in glow of tv’s or tiny red lights on equipment, the way things are now. Viewed in all kinds of states of mind. One thinks of all those evenings of trundling through rooms, always the paintings looking back. And imagine given my longheld belief that the paintings were partly metaphorically auto-biographical, as I so felt I could our family and other goings on and even spirit world perhaps, anything, really. The issue percolates fascinatingly thinking on using a digital camera, with their many settings and responses to light and conditions, and the camera’s own intentions whether to gather light or send a flash, the different settings resulting in such variety and seeability in the paintings, transforming them to a considerable extent. And again, glare, which is common, or too dark, which is also common, can be adjusted by increasing or reducing gamma, restoring a bit with saturation or contrast, and again, one can study the paintings in so many contexts and search for so much meaning in the shapes. Like Van Gogh without the thatched huts, but indeed, what one can find in the areas of paint, the densities, pressure points, intensities, as well as in the core structure of the painting. I saw her build these paintings from their cores, and can reinvision what they would have looked like and all these structures – like ‘the original text’ - At the same time for me they are this entirely other storytelling expedition, and one that is alive, one can still look and be fascinated, livingly fascinated seeing how the splashing waves or gesturing trees or undecided clouds or veering birds seem to respond, like pets, to current conditions. And they answer. And still, more. One can see them altogether new. All the angles one has looked at the paintings in, over the years

We had several good Van Gogh prints in the home along with the ever changing cast of paintings, and other art and artifacts and objects and things. In the darkness, in the morning light, the afternoon’s copper shadows, flickering light, what light is ‘accurate’ and what other lights are just interesting? They are now infinite. In fact often I can remember or imagine seeing the paintings a given way and actually intuit ancestral responses and responses and never not find something new.

I’ve often wondered what sort of writer I am. Romantic in so many ways, as, wouldn’t even make sense of this era. Even my politics? morality? essence of soul? Romantic? I can think of time when romanticism is turned off, and times when romanticism is… turned on. Today was such a day: after the most wonderful whole 9 yards human loving thrilling visit, I was ever so gently let to resume my now pertoward wondered at life here, wondering and wondering, filled with wonder, made whole with all the eras of myself such rare synthesis as frequent as not being in a hurry, as rare as feeling whole, welljourneyed in the region, further educated to the depths of the world, huzzah. And found myself thereafter so calm, brain like a snake from the heart, fanning tongue into the snowful day. Awesomely, The Snows of Kiliminjaro was on one station and a wild snowbowl game in Buffalo, blasting the U Colts right off the field, and I went back and forth between and documentaries and news and weather reports just swinging along in such flowing wondering bliss

And I kept finding myself comparing Joanne to every one of the women stars in their relations to G Peck in the movie, even while ruminating on Peck/Hemingway’s seeming so absurd. And switching between that and the Buffalo Bills beautiful ‘Outdoor Game’ (hope Bettman doesn’t sue haha, what with the realization of the beauty of snowy weather, football, wonderment, self-examination of Sundays and the whole emotional progression regression progress like breathing in the great and only world I’m wholly aware of (if that) so beautiful. Plus! Joanne brought back the Jeff Healey blues I’d been doing without. Healey came to prefer jazz to blues but I prefer Healey Blues.

Hero of my World!

And

the pianos,

feeling

most at home,

oh, like the olden days,

so traditional: 

it’d rattled me the idea of big terrible accident right after we were there, a lot of the literary component of the night held in abeyance, real audiences being such a fascinating blend. the vaunted big souls of ottawa lit, and montreal minds, windsor and lansdowne, hull, gatineau, ganonoq, always that french native “eng-lishlish (irish scottish scottisha irisha, becomes english french native, old canad-a rules, everything else is burred, lost in gigantic reports, as primitive and non- as as the the 19th century.

I actually am a bit alarmed that that highway 416 we were just somewhat fearfully traversing (specially friday night going there, when it was snowing) (I’m definitely one of the ‘you can do anything’ school of thought, still, it makes my heart patter pitterally with aftershock, having whirled along dreading just such a thing specially in the snow sideways horizontal slick ice black ice rear light superreflectors – not very Windsor at all – nervous wreck in the bones but happy in the heart in Ottawa Friday, more a cosmic effect I’m sure than any number of linear effects, still, it’s alarming, a 75 vehicle crash on that very highway and no news since, I want to say how wonderful I thought it was up there. I sometimes wonder if Ottawa and region all – to a man, as it were – realize how far North it is, you are in the north! not suburban buffalo, people drive the conditions they know. We put the hazards on and drove behind a salt truck, with me watching the back of the car for anything coming at us. Sure enough cars had flung into ditches, one was really mashed up, we cruised on by with our hazards on while in the left lane cars going 30km more than us rocketted on past us. DRIVE SAFER IN GENERAL! Stressful, and yet the amount of love in the car I always feel like that still counts like the branches of trees in the night clouds - And So –                ”The ride there was wildly frantically energizing and we arrived in Ottawa.

So much faith in a little red wheel barrow, so glad i don’t dryiive so glad i don’t  Drive, so glad i don’t drive o multitask generation don’t drive  Ease down cars

O the drivers, I think the biggest problem is, and I’m some bullshitter, I think the biggest problem is drivers quite outside the whole range of aggressive manic driving, but the people who just completely obliterate good driving sense, those ones that cut off everybody and drive like 170 on the tight roads – I think they’re insane, sure, thrill of youth, but the career dudes, 29, 39, 49, just drive like that, double triple fast and I see a few every time I’m on the highway = superhard to photograph, but if I had my bicycle! Driving issues… I’m trying to write up several of the happiest days of my life, while sublimating the nervous system of these highway driving issues. Imagine how fun it is: drive slow and carefully, entertaining yourself with the good little decisions, city of toronto driving, so frightening. Downtown tons of faith further north in the city so little faith. Life! AND SO WHAT ABOUT THE READING? SUCH AN UNBELIEVABLY GOOD TIME. & I COULD NOT BELIEVE HOW FRIENDLY WELCOMING OTTAWA WAS, IN A PERFECT WORLD

Astounding fun! Completely unexpected! So nice! I adore these people.

We even got to go to Ganonoque and Desoronto. Ganonoque was unimaginable, the Riverside Pub, and Desoronto, we met these cats, jm did an awesome job apprehending the manic claws of thone, the 3 inch nail not yearling, hopefully germ free, in friendliest fashion, sound, like a vets' hands

After the amazing journey, we could have stood to slept 7 hours, but arrived just in time for the whole event, ottawa is bizarrely laid out. Upon settling in I had to see the various loved ones were all good then zap outside for a bit then up several flights of stairs to the washroom (a staircase above the reading) then down to start, arriving on stage gassed, half insane ~ rushing palpitating heart wild breath refocusing - Max, above, provided a good breathing catching introduction with all sorts of odds and ends mentioned and I got to take this picture of him from already seated waiting to read

Infinitely my admiration of the most sublime sort for George Edward Fielding was only enhanced further getting together Friday night at the Cameron House on Queen Street last night. Whether it’d been that he did not suffer fools well, or that he could cause subtle people to feel their most free to be around him, the gathering consisted of such as moments of mourning and sadness would spontaneously give way to the great joy of befellowed humanity at its best.

And so with a very suitably folksy bluesy band coming on as the gathering unfolded a gladness to carry forward was born out of the opportunity to collect together a good many of Ed’s friends and family at one of his favorite bars.

His eminently charming daughters, fellow artists, writers and collaborators in the theatre, and just good old fashioned friends, all happily afloat for a few hours, amid reports from an entertaining and fun and quite believably psychic friend that Ed in fact is enthralled with afterlife brimming with joy and excitement and, can one really doubt, relieved of the consuming task that is bad health! I myself do not know how any of this dimension of reality truly works, but cannot come away with a negative inkling of any kind from such living. All in the same spirit though, being up so early the Saturday after, what marvellous thoughts come to mind as to what we could in a grand renewal do with a day like this, all reunited in pristine health and, perhaps, flush, in sunny weather. Eggs Florentine with Caviar, a nibble of red salmon, and a drive to the countryside; stroll down a soft old path toward a cabin with wide landing; paintings unrolled and perused with nuanced background inspiration; then into the woods to the water, elegant swimming, to warm dry on the dark rock… and then back into the city for an energizing party, all the way to first glimming of the next dawn, and at last a a return to the contenting sleep that weds the worlds. Anything like that in the future will include him

My Dad must have had some happy times when he was stationed in Downsview in the late 50s. He was there doing a so called “Time Motion Study” which at the time, since I was simultaneously hearing his additional discussions of Keats Negative Capability, I took the idea of his doing a time motion study for the air force to be something more exotic than a man-hour count on basic core tasks of the Air Force. There’s no question my love of the phrase “Safe Telepathy” emerged out of that period of weeks when I went through his old essays and air force period journals and book manuscripts, all of it somehow adding up – when I was around 20 and redoubling when I was around 40 and said to my Mum I was working in Downsview and she said, “Oh, …you were conceived in Downsview… Imagine the amazement. A place I’d never knowingly been til finding my way into a job located up there, as we were back in Moncton by the time I was born. Grew up thinking Downsview was another part of Moncton. They’d mention the dog we had then and things like that, but that dog was named Bess and died before I was born. No record will ever show that I was in Downsview til decades later. I was born in October and my Dad was packed up from the time motion study by February. In those days people didnt know at the time they were having sex that they would have a baby. But how happy he must have been, back then that part of Downsview would otherwise have been forest and clearings, ravines and creeks and substantial ponds, reservoirs, as they say, and having been poor before joining the Air Force and then in Turkey for some time, ie pretty much carrying on with the sheer daily difficulty with life, to suddenly find himself wonderfully married, and an officer in a dear little town like moncton, practically ee cummings city in its way, with riverview city across the creme brune and the birds there, to endure the Downsview assignment while happily newly married and gradually on more stable economic footing, 35 years old and looking good in the uniform, to discover that around the base were all these ravines, all this water, wild species of everything of this region. Birdwatching, really quite awesomely, has tended to time and again in the most surprising fine ways, intersect with the best learnings from all the grand centuries old traditions, religious and philosophical, but as practised by people focused on birds. Indeed the same people who come to the most advanced levels of ‘letting beings be’ birdwatching techniques of mind, who fully learn the very zenmeccan judeochristian pause and flow of stillness and immanence at once, the holy welcoming and selfnegation roll breath that does not disturb the air, the Daoist Christian Heideggerian Jim Carroll Gerry Gilbert breath in take. It’s funny to put it like that, because when you mention religions it sounds like a lot of people probably do it, when in fact as you see when you search for poets who embody it suddenly it’s particular individuals, like D’Onofrio on the major cases law and order, such a talent that dude, totally, poet, I actually race home on my bike to be there in time for my home work nap to be during that show on repeat each night on the omni 2.  D’Onofrio does all these hesitations in his poetry, on that show, great jazzy trick riffs of thought and breath, including the letting it all swirl down to nothing motionless, which is the same breath in the Jim Carroll long poem on Poetry In Motion, (the best poetry movie ever made to this day that i know of or have seen. Home from my Day in Downsview where I was, as i say, conceived! People have a few drinks at a party, and tear off into the night. Yay. I think North American mainstream culture has long been divided between those who rock and roll, and know they were conceived, and those who require some distracting confusing bafflegab. Everyone feels feeling slighted by everyone else. So, anyway, everyone who is raised by birdwatcher librarian poet artist parents without that much start up money, knows. Energaia indeed, and all the breathing patterns out there. Please take a lesson from the small birds speed on the flight thereof possible in your breathing. Birds are the scientists of breathing. The reason they survive so well, it’s because they breathe so well. Huge fluctuations reqiored om reeething paterrn … solves a lot of problems.

i will fight for your liberty as you have fought for our liberty all these eras times moments dreams and periodic good news

warbler bats in flight, fast like swallows, but even more flareoff lazer beep eeratic