Tonight I was fortunate enough to attend a concert by Keren Ann at The Commons Room (in the Holiday Inn Select, a fellow Choice hotel to the Quality Inn I will be working at). I discovered her music just this past Wednesday and I’m so thankful I took the chance and was able to get a ticket to the sold out show.

Her performance tonight was incredible. I have never heard a singer with a voice so precise, emotive and powerful. The instrumentation was strong and engaging, but even when she wowed us with her guitar work (both electric and accoustic) and harmonica skills or when her accompanying pianists showed their best, there was never a chance to forget her unmatched voice. Each song was completely beautiful and left me in quiet awe of her talent. She performed a good selection of my favourites and songs I’ve yet to get to know well. Among the highlights were her cover of “Are You Lonesome Tonight,” the haunting “La Forme et le Fond” (a song she told us was written as from the viewpoint of the woman at the end of the song “Copacabana“) and the terribly sad “Not Going Anywhere“. I was spellbound for the entire evening, so very deeply awed by each song and the strength of the concert as a whole. This was without a doubt one of the most moving and impressive live music experiences I’ve been blessed with.
If you have the opportunity, don’t hesitate to see Keren Ann live. I had every expectation surpassed and imagine that is universally the case. If she won’t be playing near you soon, be sure to listen to her new album, Nolita, a beautiful mix of French and English songs that breaks into diverse sonic territory.

For further reading, I’d suggest the Chartattack article, “Keren Ann Calls Everywhere Home“.

Sunday night, after we had finished our meal, Susana and I went downtown to Shadow Play, Halifax’s monthly goth event. I anticipated feeling out of place, but it really wasn’t bad. My wallflower self (clothed in my usual black, which fit well enough, I suppose) was quite at home listening to music, sipping drinks and watching the hilarity on the dance floor.
The club was rather dead and the DJing sub-par, so only three people danced while we stayed. The first was an obviously drunk headbanger who included some awkward flips and falls into his “dancing.” There was later a woman who was rather nondescript. The third was the source of the heartiest chuckles; the poor fellow had made himself a vampire-esque cape out of police tape. It was the pinacle of tacky, which I sure hope he was aiming for. There was no way to look ahead to the dance floor without laughing, I assure you.
I would be starting my first day of work the following morning and the event wasn’t all that exciting (aside from the comedy), so we headed back here before long. I remember walking home and Susana craving chocolate covered coffee beans, one of the finest candies ever invented. There are so many details such as that I’d not want to forget, but I fear my memory will betray me.

I tend to remember our walks vividly, including all their shared silences, conversations and moments. It was comforting to walk with her beside me, especially to hold her hand in mine. As I wrote yesterday, it was facinating to learn of how she experienced this place; as someone from another culture she could see it with more clarity than I, surely.
One of our first walks was along the harbour on an overcast day; we sat for a time on the bench there and talked of travel, a topic we’re both interested in (she through actual experience and myself mostly through wanderlust, though I’ve been to a few places). I enjoyed each time we returned to talking of her travels.
I recall another moment while we were walking home at night along that same road we’d walked on the overcast day that I think of especially fondly. There was one place where trees kept a piece of grassy land out of the light of the street lamps. I coaxed her into the slight dark and we sat for a short while, sharing soft moments together before returning to the sidewalk.

Wednesday morning I stepped off the airport coach and onto Barrington Street. Most stores were still closed at that hour, so I walked around some before coming to a bookstore, where I looked around. I find sure solace in music and books, so I decided to nurse my heart with a new book and some fresh music. I’d stock up on those before returning to my home. Heavy, I looked for some worthy medicine. For a book I selected Jane Yolen’s Briar Rose, a retelling of the sleeping beauty story entwined with the holocaust I look forward to reading soon.
Down the street I selected some music with care. I quickly grabbed up the rereleased EP from the astounding Arcade Fire (as an aside, I do believe Régine Chassagne of the band is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen, full of a sense of what I can only describe as quiet animation), a disc I’ve been completely happy with. I next spotted an interesting album cover on the listening rack, so I gave a few tracks a play before deciding this would be my spontaneous music purchase of the day. The album, Keren Ann‘s Nolita, has been playing a lot in my emptier home since then.
I discovered when I returned home that Keren Ann will be performing this Sunday night here in Halifax, so I purchased a ticket for the show. I’m looking forward to seeing her live (I’ve been very impressed by her studio work and “La Forme et le Fond” has emerged as one of my favourite new songs so far this year), especially since it will be my first concert outing since seeing Death From Above 1979 and friends in May. It looks as though I’ll be going alone, which is unfortunate, but perhaps it will be an opportunity to better appreciate the intimate performance (I’m told it will be in a “cozy cabaret” atmosphere).

This evening I decided to take a few photos of myself with one of the wilting roses that I gave Susana, but which she was unable to take home with her. Perhaps the photos are a bit too dramatic, but I felt like experimenting with a bit of flair. You can find the new shots in the self portraits album in my photo gallery.

I promise you more memories, a few words about my listening experience and an eventual update about the training I’ve been undergoing lately when I write to you again. Bear with me as I try to find the time to write of everything I want to.

Not long ago I returned from a walk through this city. I ventured down streets I had never set my feet upon, revisited neglected areas and took the time to fully appreciate and explore a cemetery I had only ever seen in part. Being able to see someone else experience this place for the first time during the past few weeks allowed me to open my eyes again to what I love about living here. This isn’t a fast-paced, large or obviously exciting city, but there’s so much of my heart grown under the roots and concrete of this place.
Halifax is a lover you can know for a lifetime and never exhaust her sweet mysteries. I wrote about her before, nearly two years ago.

As I’ve gotten to know this haunting place and my own internal ghosts more, i’ve come to appreciate how much a part of me this city will always be. My heart is filled with wanderlust, and I feel compelled to know, love and explore the world, but this is the home of that part of my core ever devoted to memory. I imagine I’ll take the time to live in other cities and see the world, but Halifax holds a part of my heart the back pocket of her tattered, worn jeans.

After learning the sad news that Sunday brought, I set about making donairs for Susana and I. Donairs are a food that Halifax is well known for, and the only distinctly Nova Scotian dish I could think of outside Acadian cuisine. Since Canada is so very much a multicultural country, it’s often hard to find things that are unique. This is usually a blessing because diversity is a blessing, but try picking out something found nowhere else and you may have a tough time.
I made the donairs with immitation ground beef (I’m a vegetarian) and the recipe turned out very well except for one problem. Instead of forming a loaf, the donair “meat” crumbled when I tried to slice it. I don’t know if it was the faux meat or some mistake I made in preparing it that caused the problem. I suppose I’ll have to try to make them again sometime to see where I went wrong (and because I really enjoyed having them again after a couple years without).

I slipped away during the donair preparation to buy some supplies and, more importantly to my heart, buy some roses for Susana. I had proof of my lack of domestication when I returned. We were unable to find a suitable vase for the flowers in all of my apartment. Instead, we ended up placing them in a beer mug. I can assure you I have a great deal of sophistication, truly.
Sadly, the roses have begun to wilt during this sunny day. I’ve tried to tend to them well, but I suppose they do need to dry eventually. Unlike the flowers, my memories are still fresh and I hope to record as many of them as I am able to so that I’ll always have a record of them, even if I should end up some aging, cut flower of a man. Should we not remember the beauty we encounter fondly and pay tribute to it with care?

Dear holy friends and wayward strangers,

I’m sorry for leaving you hanging during the last five days. I’m sure you imagine I became entangled in some strange mess of twine and pages, so I’m back to tell some brief tales and bring you up to date with an entry that cuts back and forth through time. Let me loosen my sugar-heavy and now lonely tongue and start with the most significant piece of this thread.

This morning I accompanied Susana to the airport for her departure. We were in a cab before seven and at the airport with time enough for her to drink a vanilla cappuccino and I some apple cider before we had to say goodbye. The goodbye was a challenge to hold back tears for. I was very sad to have her leave; I’d enjoyed and treasured every minute of her presence. All too soon the embrace and kisses were ended and I was watching her walk toward glass doors and the vast skies that she’d traverse to return to Mexico. I would soon be on a vacant bus and rolling toward my familiar downtown Halifax.
On that bus I was the only passenger. It’s a strange feeling to be the only person in a coach bus, to have the comfort but not even a stranger in all that space to share it with. I sat drinking a soda with the taste of a Smarties bar I’d just eaten lingering. I’d bought the bar because I remembered Susana had some she was taking back with her when I spotted it. I have a weakness for such small links (and candy in general, as Susana would attest), so I couldn’t resist.
When the bus had been moving for a time I took the folded note Susana had handed me before she left and read. It was a comfort to read her dark-lined words and I couldn’t stop the smiles from creeping onto my face when I came to parts where she joked (such as her insistance I’d miss her especially because no one else “is going to wash the dishes”). In the silence of the bus I let memories echo until I arrived at my destination.

Sunday afternoon Susana received word that, due to an overbooking on her intended flight, she would have to leave here on Wednesday instead of the following Monday. It was quite crushing to have our time together cut short by so much, but I think we made the best of those few hours we shared. I think the shortening made me value the precious moments of contentment even more than I would have otherwise.

If sleep were not stalking me (I slept very little during our last night) I’d share some of my memories, but that will have to wait for tomorrow and the days that follow. For now, you can look in my photo album if you’d like to catch a glimpse of a few moments.

Susana made an attempt to teach me some Spanish Monday night and in the days since. I’m afraid my latent French is creeping out into the light and complicating things (as is my general ineptness, but one does need a scapegoat, right?). I was amused that the equvalent of “bless you” sounds a lot like the French greeting, “salut.” I have three pages of some basics and such vital sentences as, “Me llamo Apollo,” and “Me gustan tus pies.” I’ll try to instill this in my brain and perhaps take my friend Mandy up on her offer of help in learning the language (Oh, and check out the awesome portrait my I’ve-known-her-since-high-school friend April made of Mandy!).

Wednesday afternoon Susana and I went downtown and spent far too long wandering around trying to find a decent place to eat. I’d forgotten about the Nova Scotia International Tattoo taking place this week and the resulting crowds at most places, so I accept all blame. After my futile attempts to decide on a place we finally stopped at a not-so-classy location to eat. I enjoyed the food a lot, but the coin-cluttered fountain was the only bit of decore that had any air of sophistication.
Later, on the waterfront, we took some photos, including one of Susana beside the craziest lobster statue you’ll ever see. It’s a hippie, with Hendrix and two other artists we couldn’t name painted on it. Halifax is littered with such strange new statues, but this one is certainly the most amusing for me. Among other strange sights were a pirate flag boasting ship, the infamous Halifax tongue-wave, streetlamps (oh, how much am I in love with street lamps?) and… myself (especially myself?).
Brace yourselves for this next bit, my friends. This virtual holy man did something you’d likely not expect (assuming you know of my casual renunciation of the past year). After a bit of shopping we sat outside a bar and both had Guinness. I was surprised to find I enjoyed the taste; I’m generally not a fan of beers’ flavours. We sat for a while talking and Susana told me some more about Mexico and her life there and in Spain. I’m truly facinated by stories of all sorts, but I especially enjoyed hearing all she told me.
That was not all of the consumption that night. A walk home and a pair of ice caps later, we were back at my humble abode, licking salt, squeezing slices of lime and drinking tequila. I’d never tried it before Susana’s visit, but I enjoyed drinking it. Before that night I can’t say I was ever drunk, but I do believe the tequila walked me across that line. I had a very fine time Wednesday; I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed time in my living room quite that much.

Thursday we again went downtown, this time earlier so that we could visit some shops we were unable to the day before. Since before Susana arrived here I’d wanted to get her an amethyst necklace, in part because the stone can be found in my favourite part of Nova Scotia, so one of our first stops was at Little Mysteries. There I picked out a stone for her that she has been wearing since. I really wanted to give her something in return for the lovely amber necklace she gave me.
Soon we were at my favourite store in all of Halifax, Strange Adventures. I could spend hours upon hours there choosing books I would love to read, but in the short while we were in the shop we managed to buy a modest selection. Susana found a marvelous green plush Cthulhu for her sister and the graphic novel Avigon while I indulged with the delightful new volume of Tezuka’s Buddha (I’m looking forward to the final volumes to be released later this year), the first issue of the adaptation of Neil Gaiman‘s Neverwhere and my two favourite issues of Demo (“Mixtape” and “Mon Dernier Jour Avec Toi”).
We later went to the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic, where we looked around in the short while before it closed. I found the exhibit about the Halifax Explosion to be very moving; it was such a terrible tragedy and shaped who we are as a people so greatly that it’s a shame we don’t explore it more. With thoughts of the London bombings of this week in mind, I find it gives hope to know that both Halifax and those from outside it were strengthened by enduring hardship and acting with kindness in response to tragedy. I can only hope we will all turn to compassion rather than anger as the conflicts across the globe intensify.

Later that night Susana received a message that left her quite upset. I often find it difficult to know the best approach to offering support to people dear to me when they are hurting in that way. My first instinct is to be near to offer comfort, but I know that offering solitude is often far more helpful, and was so in this case. I surely erred and didn’t respond as best I could, though my intent was true. Above all else I wish for her happiness and peace.

Tomorrow I’ll write about books and my last night here at my dear old hotel. For now, bonne nuit, mes amis.

Last night Susana shared some mate with me. It was my first time drinking mate so it took some time to appreciate the fullness of the taste it holds. I’d been looking forward to having some since she first told me about it (I wrote of this here) almost a month ago when we first started writing to each other. I was not at all disappointed; though I tended to drink a bit faster than would be best, I found it a very enjoyable experience, especially since I was sharing it with someone dear to me.

As I wrote in my last entry, my stories have hunted me down again. Last night, while we were drinking mate, I was explaining to Susana how I find it hard to consciously contrive stories. Most often I have story fragments or entire narrative pieces come to me from my subconscious or, if I give in to some romantic vision, holy muses. Those of you who know me well or who have read my journal faithfully will know that I haven’t remembered more than a handful of dreams in my life. I’ve been reflecting on that and how it might relate to how stories come to me; perhaps my dreams just emerge at odd times during my waking hours.

My delayed writing project, thankfully, is gaining some new life, at least in my head. This afternoon I took a very brief time to meditate; I scavenged just a few minutes to sit in my living room and still my mind from the torrent it’s been caught up in. After gaining that calm, I made a bit of a brainstorm of connections between story fragments and shifted them into something like a discernable structure. It’s a tangle, but one I can navigate.

I’ve been looking through some of Craig Thompson and Terry Moore’s graphic novels over the past few days and find myself overwhelmed by the skill and care both put into their work. I reread a passage from Blankets that never fails to bring tears to my eyes, parts of Good-Bye, Chunky Rice and Carnet de Voyage I find especially moving, and some of the Strangers in Paradise books I have. They and artists like them act like a double edged sword for me: I’m inspired by their beautiful work and know the deep desire to create something of my own that could express as much as well as they. I’m also prone to feelings of inadequacy in light of their creations. There’s no way to turn it off, though; I’m forever on the path toward creating and living beauty, love and truth. How often I stumble or must detour will, I suppose, determine if I ever arrive.

I’ll be going into the compulsion of creating soon. Whether it’s worthy of sharing or not, I have to keep those nagging doubts from my mind if I’m ever to complete anything. Otherwise, I’ll leave myself feeling very much the same, like a book with only the first page filled.
I just reread one short piece I wrote that I’m most attached to emotionally, “Coffee and Cola.” It’s from the central thread of the story I wish to write and may be the story fragment I write properly first. As I’m sitting here eating chocolate covered coffee beans (no, there couldn’t be any link between the narrator and myself having a love for coffee) I’m reflecting on the constant themes and symbolism I’ve used in my sporadic attempts at writing.
I wrote often of people being connected by threads, for instance; in one of my oldest surviving poems, “Moths + Fireflies” (you can also read the prequil, “First Fire Dances“), I began to explore that symbol and have called on it often since. Not long ago Susana mentioned folklore of threads connecting people and I saw my facination with threads in a new light as an inherited motif.
The themes of separation, distance and disunity are ones I’ve explored in nearly everything I’ve written and I’ve found it healing to explore that because so much of the struggle I’ve faced in my life had its root in such feelings. The ephemeral nature of life’s most blissful moments would no doubt leave me crippled without coming to understand that fleeting glimpse of sweetness.

I always return to knowing that life is best lived with “awkward dancing before the end of the world, falling to the grass and laughing at the fullness of life.” (see “Romance“)

Susana’s visit has been pleasant so far. I’m still quite awed by her presence, truthfully. She’s very intelligent, beautiful and great fun to talk with (I feared conversation might be more challenging because I’m notoriously silent and English is her second languge). It’s been a bit of a shock to have her here, but I feel very blessed to be able to share this time with her.

Susana landed in Halifax after several flights taking her from her home in Mexico. She arrived at this derelict hotel bearing gifts (Susana gave me a beautiful amber necklace, a beaded bracelet, a black stone ring that may permanently be stuck on my finger, two bookmarks and some nice postcards of her home city of Monterrey) and a wide assortment of candies I had never tasted before (I would later discover the sour-spicy and spicy-sweet ones are very good, though very different from anything I have ever tasted). Among the things I was given was a nice letter from Susana’s friend Ximena that, among other things, included a joking threat that she’d hurt me if I should harm Susana (I’m sure she’d be quite capable of that, seeing that she called herself a homicidal otter) and an odd new nickname, Mr. Maple Flavoured Boy. I must not forget to write her in return and send her something for the candy she sent.

Wednesday we walked to and through Point Pleasant Park before we visited the public gardens. I wanted to show her some of my favourite places in the city and those two came to mind first because I spend a lot of time there. She seemed impressed by the crows we have here (there are none where she is from) and by the amount of trees and plants that cover this city. The weather differences were the big change, though, I’m sure; Nova Scotia’s a lot cooler than Mexico. You can see some photos of our time there in her fotolog and flickr pages, as well as in my own photo album.

We also went to see a movie, Howl’s Moving Castle, an anime film that we both enjoyed a lot; the animation is excellent, with bizarre and rich scenery. Go see it if you have the chance, if only to marvel at the strange and beautiful shifting, walking castle.

There are plenty of details I’d like to write of, but I’d be typing away all night to record them all, so this will have to do; I’ll try to entrust the rest to my memory. That may be unwise, seeing that it’s a cluttered place at the moment, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed it’ll be its usual reliable self.

There have been certain experiences in my life that leave me with a head filled with stories. The clearest example of this happened when I was returning from a trip to Ottawa 5 or 6 years ago. I was trapped in a van and trapped in a jumbled mind; conflicting emotions, immediate nostalgia and a sense of leaving home rather than returning to it were an alchemical chaos. Out of this I developed my first novel-length story. Though I never took the time to write it, the themes and narritive forces have never left me. It was an epiphany guided by the muses that solidified my love of stories and manifested my desire to create. I can never forget my time in that city or the hours of travelling home.
Now I feel as though I’m on the verge of another of these times of creation. This time, though, I’m prepared to channel whatever inspiration comes into something tangible. I’m ready to brave the brambles and arm myself with a quill.

Happy Canada Day, my friends! As my friend Mark wrote today, “To all Canadians, I wish you a Happy Canada Day. (To everyone else, I wish you were Canadian.)” And from Matt Good:

Enjoy the day, give thanks for the spark of luck that gave us the chance to live in this land, and seek the courage to use the responsibility that fortune gives us to benefit the world.