Favourite expression I taught to a child “close but no cigar”. She knows it means almost not quite – but cigar remains a mystery word, perhaps one day she’ll understand and it will make even less sense. The dream last night, Van Morison and his love, 30 years ago acting in a musical and Kevin Spacey guest appearing as intoxicated extra. I don’t invest too much into the interpretation department but love how many aspects of dreams I can’t trace and just finishing a book called Trace by Lauret Savoy. Nature book / memoir. Stings when you read her account about old maps and racist names for many places. She’s African American and traces the terrain and offensive conditions her mother occupied as a younger nurse in Arizona. What is reflected about landscape and why, who decides what to call something, who is erased. Also conjures up Bach teachers, different insistences abut the rules though Monsieur Bach is dead and can’t confirm or negate their authority as if they wrote it. Who to insert their tape loops into a young mind. Who allowed Glen Gould to find his own way to intersect it differently? Give them a cigar.
Asked the stranger sitting near me to watch my computer when I went downstairs to pee, she said of course. Later steeled myself returning the corner that maybe I will find her gone along with my computer. Similarly when my little girl hugs me for no reason, imagine a future version that screams she hates me because I bought the wrong sandwich. In recent weeks construction happening at many subway stations. Retrofitted for cards vs. tokens and the ticket collectors bored, distracted often taking smoke breaks. People could just walk right by and if they play it confidently enter free. Some of these growlers testing that theory bear a striking resemblance to me. NFB you rule. Became angry Bob while watching Angry Inuk. The Friday student is making a record though her generation does not buy records. I don’t mind, I trained for this. The new Tranzac manager hears me recording/ fixing/ repeating phrases a million times. Fine tuning small aspects or pitch or timing or harmony. As a result he sings back through the walls new nonsensical lyrics, turns “no jumping off this train” into “no gerbils on this train”. I’m liking that version a lot. Yesterday realized currently without callused fingertips, better make time to scrape them on sandpaper or else be accordion guy for my upcoming show.