Last entry from Banff

I picked up my team uniform for Turkey this week. I'm starting to take it easy now, with a day off yesterday, and just a short run today. I'll probably run hard up Mount Royal on Sunday, and then do a 3k time trial on Tuesday.



That's my buddy, Martin. He's a...pine martin. They are like pole-cats or weasels, but obviously much friendlier. He hangs out on my balcony and in the trees behind the studio.

I've written more in the last two weeks than I thought I would, and I managed to prepare a few classes, and work on some stuff for the xc season, too. I also got to be in a play, which was quite the success. A group in the science-communications workshop needed actors for their final presentation. They presented work on HIV and AIDS, in a multi-media gallery presentation. Sameena Darr and I played a couple going to the show. We were imbedded in the audience, and when we started our lines, the other gallery patrons were not meant to know that we were actors. It was pretty cool because a lot of people thought we were having a domestic dispute. My character (John) is a bit ignorant of HIV and AIDS, so he spouts wrong-headed clichés, while Sameena's character (Mary--yes, original names, I know. The science people wrote it.) gets mad at him. In the end, she reveals that she brought him there to tell him that she is HIV positive. John's reaction is not positive. It was tough--especially since I haven't acted in 14 years--but I think we got it just right when it counted. Having a beer bottle to walk around with kind of helped me feel like an asshole. I don't know why, just holding it in my hand made me feel more agressive and arrogant, which was just right for the character.

I've met some interesting artists of all sorts--a really old lady from New York City who is still hanging on to her sexual-anti-church painting, despite way too much plastic surgery; an Irish conceptual artist who is exploring event horizons; a photographer from New England, living in Miami, with a show in Toronto; and a musician/poet from Montreal. It's been cool.

Here's the last poem I wrote, part of a series with titles from the Phonetic Alphabet (hence the title):

Zulu

It’s hard to find the heart of darkness on sand
dusted plains—it’s really more of a jungle thing.
There’s something about the grit that sticks
to the hair on your forearm that keeps things
superficial, and with so much squinting
into the sun, you can never really see inside.
That itinerant, exiled existence is not much
different from riding the express bus
to work, wondering at the hearts
of the other passengers: which are broken,
which are soaring? But there’s too much heat,
and the fumes ride up into your eyes
like grey tears scurrying home at dusk,
so there’s no time to give a thought to your own.