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Williams Park

Thoughts on how friendships change with the passing seasons and years.

I.
I remember that summer as
both cold and hot we
waded through the ashes of
my mother dying strapped our
tears to leafy branches watched them
float down with the current defined
by movies watched from the bed
of a truck your head on mine we swam
as far away as Hope stuck together
like five petals on a summer rose Continue reading Williams Park

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The Death of My Mother as a Movie in Post-Production

The camera pans slowly, no
more quick cuts because
by now the
director’s used to
directing, the producer’s
used to producing, the dead
are used to being
shoved into a little porcelain
cup in the dirt, coupled with
those little porcelain
pythos at the back of our
mental shelving units.

The take is edited so that good
parts come first, and bad
parts are hidden behind
them. The take is edited so that
we aren’t looking at the camera (by
accident) or drowned in
the British Columbian
rain-showers. The take is edited so
that the year is summed up in a
neat little montage, played against
a backdrop of David Guetta:
Titanium and Nine Inch Nails:
La Mer.

Can we please get a mic over
here to catch this important
moment before it degenerates into
something so profoundly unscripted
that we can’t use it in the
finished film? Thanks
very much.

The cast is set, with
lines memorized
and makeup applied, which is
kinda funny because the audience
won’t see the reality of
weeks spent rehearsing dance
numbers and musical
arrangements. Instead, all they
see is the finished product, sparkling
and a little too perfect, a full
year after the actual
event has occurred.

Post-production is always like a
unicycle trying to tap
dance: the question lies in how
to balance budget and performance
quality while trying to make a lot
of noise in time to the music and
also not fall down. They do get it right
eventually (it’s all about finding the
right person to head the team) and
there’s a few thousand dollars left
for graveyard flowers and college
tuition deposits.

I imagine it
now. The premiere. The theater
fills with anticipatory
remarks. The hush falls suddenly with
the rising curtain, and legal
guardians quiet their adoptive children:
the show has begun.

The fateful year of
production, now condensed
into two hours of select highlights
and all the important bits, plays
out in front of a sold-out
crowd. The end is
heartbreaking. The screen turns
black like six p.m. The credits roll
to thundering applause. A standing
ovation.

M.
April 25/17

INFJs and other genuinely decent persons

INFJs can range from refreshingly unconventional to inhumanly strange. It’s really hard to pinpoint them because they’re just so… different. Even for people.

The easiest way to spot an INFJ is to find their cause. Pretty much all INFJs have some grand cause they see as their mission in life – whether its educating others, spreading the joy of music, protecting kids from abuse, or campaigning for the environment. INFJs stick to their cause like burrs, and it is this cause that ends up defining a lot of who they are… for better or worse. Continue reading INFJs and other genuinely decent persons