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Friday, April 5th, 2013

She can’t tell her bus pass from a bird
so knows the pills have found their way to the microphone
in her brain and she’ll have to walk. The mating ritual
of the clouds is pornographic and she blushes
wondering why it’s even allowed. A part of her had sat down
many years ago and refused to get up. This is who she feeds
these pills to in the hopes that she’ll be trusted and then perhaps
liked. Her therapist has not weathered well and is now
leaking, water getting into his voice so when he says mother
Friday, April 5th, 2013
For so long sleeping
under glass. Ceiling tiles

sagged in stale
breath. Every now and then

a gasp. The fan slicing out
a stutter.

You can hide a bottle
anywhere, you brag to me.

I feed you a mirage, a shattered
swig. Ice chips, one by one, trickling

your lip. You hold onto your shards
in a Styrofoam cup. Melt them

into a shot. You can’t take back    
the bottles, when they fall,

they fall from so high, for so long
rain stands in the sky
Diagram for Circle of Lights, 2012
Friday, April 5th, 2013

Sean Caulfield is an Edmonton artist whose work explores the impact of technology on the environment and our bodies. He is interested in creating visual images that blur boundaries between the biological and the technological, the organic and the mechanical, and which challenge viewers to consider the implications of this merging. Caulfield is a Centennial Professor in the Department of Art and Design at the University of Alberta. He has exhibited his prints, drawings, and artist’s books extensively throughout Canada, the United States, Europe, and Japan.

flutterby
Thursday, March 28th, 2013

Something happened to my super-speed. The flash of quickness I once relied on to propel me past any other living kid left me and I began to limp from an ache localized at the top of my left leg. This progressed into a sharp and steep pain, preventing me from walking, from hobbling, until finally I simply hopped everywhere on my right foot.

Wednesday, December 19th, 2012
I Was Just Frosted






Thanks, Ray, this is just what the doctor ordered.



No, you never see me have one with olives – your father likes olives but I
can’t stand them.



No, cocktail onions are just picked small.  Turn that down, Dan.


Avocados, toothpicks.  Coleus, root sprawl.

The diffident glints of a late-day sun, rays

splintered by leaves: they shake and, in their

shaking, streak the light.  Transparent murk
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

(Translated from the German by Ken Babstock and Eva Bonne)

Wednesday, December 19th, 2012
It’s hard being clever and cold.
And I should know. Jack Frost came
to my childhood window one night and told
me: Look, from now on things won’t be the same.

Its great stillness is not merely a pose.
Not coming in from the cold, but cold coming in.
I try to keep warm but ever since
our little mind-to-heart, I’ve known
cold’s wider intelligence.

How all days should be crystal days.
You can see cold for yourself at work
in the shapes it makes
out of any January park:
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012
There’s only one thing you can do
with a sawed-off rifle, a low IQ, and curiosity
about human biology.
You awake at sunset, yourself still,
a storm-eye of boredom, drink, and LSD.
That’s the only thing that
ever made sense, was tidy or clean:
how convenient and pre-emptive excuses are,
arising out of capitulated-to
desires, imbibing, cussing, so many
‘good times.’

You were estranged from yourself,
not yourself, that night. But this is even truer
sober. We can guess your past
The End Of The Ambersons, 2012
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

Carolyn Campbell has exhibited her work throughout Canada, and has taught painting, drawing and design at the University of Alberta. Her work has been featured in numerous publications and she was a finalist in 2009 for the Kingston Prize National Portrait Competition. She works from a studio in downtown Edmonton.

Same sex
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012
Canada was the first country in the world to perform a legal same-sex marriage. On January 14, 2001, Elaine and Anne Vautour, and Kevin Bourassa and Joe Varnell were married in Toronto in a double wedding. Initially, the ceremony was legally contested, but it was affirmed by the Ontario government two years later. It was a milestone in Canadian civil rights history.

After Ontario’s same-sex marriage decision, and numerous cross-country constitutional challenges, other provinces followed suit.

Maple Leaf
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

The Canadian maple leaf is a powerful and positive symbol, unique in the world as a national emblem. Instead of abstract shapes, often stemming from outdated symbols of nobility, this country honours an everyday concrete object from lowly nature. In other words, our national symbol is also simply a leaf on a tree.

Wednesday, December 19th, 2012
In which the graphic novelist Cameron Chesney interviews the award-winning graphic memoirist Sarah Leavitt about the potency of their art form.
Best Guess
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

I was a third-grader when I first entered a psychiatrist’s office. The prelude to my visit was a skipping lesson I gave my brother, who was in first-grade at the time, one morning before school. Not skipping as in using a skipping rope, but the locomotive kind in which you lift your knee and hop forward. I wanted to share with him my recent discovery of the joy and giddiness that comes from literally bounding through space. Perhaps I should have realized that skipping is an outdoor activity.

Law is Elsewhere
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

A friend and I recently walked into a dark cave-like room full of young, cool men and women. Most seemed to have tattoos, piercings, and smartphones. We didn’t fit in, though it wasn’t at all uncomfortable. We were at the nightclub/bar to attend a Toronto lecture series called Trampoline Hall, a monthly lecture series with a twist: the speakers are not allowed to be experts on their chosen topic. In other words, they are just like you and me at the office water cooler, chatting about things they know nothing about. The talks are almost always funny, thoughtful, and interesting.

Clouds
Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

One typical Monday morning in September, Londoners narrowly avoided collision with each other in their rush-hour dance through Paddington Station. Navigating the crowd, I slipped on the slick marble floor as I headed for my train to Somerset. A drop of water splashed against my face and I looked up. It was raining inside the station. These were not the tear-shaped raindrops teachers taught us to draw as children but flat cushions of water that pooled on the platform.

Fetal
Thursday, April 12th, 2012

Lumber Pile, 2011
Thursday, April 12th, 2012

 


Thursday, April 12th, 2012

The 1980s. Beginning of the long decade, the century’s
late works. Snow on the grid, field bisected
by a late model John Deere’s progress in low gear
with a front-end load of straw bales. Its operator’s daughter
dons her brace, thinks her scoliosis the devil’s work
on her, a not-good-enough Christian. Her mother talks
scripture on the phone in the kitchen and the kitchen
smells of coffee and it smells of dog. Christmas lights

Beaver2
Thursday, April 12th, 2012

The DHC-2 Beaver bush plane is often credited with opening up the Canadian North. It was manufactured by de Havilland Canada in Downsview, Ontario, between 1947 and 1967, yet it remains a common sight throughout the country due to its rare abilities. It’s easily recognized by its very loud “Wasp Jr” engine.

Thursday, April 12th, 2012

Dogs of the world, anonymous
wanderers, moral conundrums,
I find them by the road,
scavenging milk cartons
thrown from the bus:
feist pups galled with mange,
old hounds, blind and lame,
at the end of their utility.

Such I once whispered secrets to
and begged to keep
and was commanded
to lead into the woods
to execute and bury.
And my father was not a bad man.
And Saint John Perse wrote,
“I had a horse.  Who was he?”