The Sexual Life of Catherine M. by Catherine Millet 8 min in Kensington Market Cum was in the air again. Dee had wanted to ask Kat if she had smelled it on their last evening walk but didn’t dare. Kat already thought she was loopy. It was even possible Kat would deny smelling anything out of spite. Then she’d probably laugh about it with Roger behind Dee’s back. But there was a distinct scent in Read more
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins 8 min @ Salt on Ossington He was looking down at her kindly – even the cloudy left eye had a kindness to it. They’d been standing outside the “Done Crossing Market” for fifteen minutes. The night bus was always inconsistent. She kept telling him she wasn’t cold and he kept telling her the bus would be there any minute. They were a pair of liars, but a perfect fit. Read more
Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman 8 min on the floor Being conscious her smile had been frozen without any further evolution in the expression, she took a sip of wine. She didn’t know what to say, she hadn’t gotten the joke . Joan was very adept at laughing along, joining in before her confusion could be noticed. She smiled at him over the rim of her glass paused on her bottom lip. She didn’t know Read more
How To Know God, The Yoga Aphorisms of Patanjali trans. by Swami Prabhavananda and Christopher Isherwood 7 min on the Ossington 63 NB It is a photo, your standard school portrait, the kind that came in a split screen of sizes, from wallet to mantle. He has a small face with even smaller teeth in a big smile. His little right front tooth is half the size of the little front left tooth because it’s not Read more
Darkness metastasized. Bring more Light. This is an S.O.S. telegram. This is a prayer. This is an order. This could be an affirmation. Or a reminder – a Post-it™ for life. It is hard to see in the dark. That is philosophically self-evident. my shout-out to Julian Barnes. I’m trying to focus my thoughts. Paradoxically, it is easier to focus with the eyes closed in self-created darkness. Maybe that’s not a paradox, in meditation it Read more
The Cat’s Table by Michael Ondaatje 8 min on the Ossington 63 southbound I remember the smell most. The sweetly rotting smell of dead. I was eight years old and I knew instinctively when I walked in that something was dead and the something was Bree-Anne’s hamster. I knew too, that I’d have to shelter my little sister from this loss. Dad would be too happy to have the ‘rat’ out of the house. I waited Read more
Macleans (May 28 2012 issue) 8 min @ Sunnybrook Hospital, D Wing The bottle is squat and clear although the liquid is a gritty murky brown. The masking tape label is more offensive to Lena than the odor. She knows this bottle is the reason she is so particular about the state of her linen closet and the quality and color of her towel sets. Everything matches. For years this bottle held pride of place on Read more
The Book of Madness and Cures by Regina O’Melveny 5 min on the bed, Toronto The eight minutes felt like an eternity. Jocelyn sat still despite the starched lace poking into her skin. The first time she had worn the collar, she had stretched her neck to adjust it and the dentelle lace points scored fine red welts across her jaw. Still, it was an easy way to make a hundred bucks and she just had Read more