Things blew all over the place on the day that I was born. It was windy. Dried leaves crashed against the walls of the Homeopathic Hospital. I was alive. I was alive in the horror.
The Givers huddled over me like a football team. They started to give me things and then to take them away. The things that didn’t fit they chucked back into the Funnel of the Void. The gifts were many and many were the warnings that went with them.
We are giving you great heart but if you drink wine you will begin to hate the world. The moon is your sister but if you take sleeping pills you will find yourself in the company of unhappy women. Every time you grab at love you will lose a snowflake of your memory.
— Leonard Cohen, The Book of Longing
Jonathan Hallam, Eliza Cummings (for Purple magazine #14)
Guy Maddin, My Winnipeg (film still)
"During 1926 cold winter, all the horses from the hippodrome fled away after the stables went on fire. Their only scape-way was the river. But they all froze before managing to reach the opposite side. Their sculptural heads with terror still in their eyes served as a leisure park that season. I wonder in which moment the following spring carried them out into the sea, without anyone noticing."
Tomorrow is often the busiest day of the week.