7 August 2013
On the Edge
I live on the very edge of the overpopulated clusterfuck known, rather unimaginatively, as the Lower Mainland. Looking West from my front window I see nothing but business for undertakers. To the east, beyond my back garden, I see Canada, its true north strong and free mountains. The waterfront of the Lower Mainland, choked as it is with absentee owners and various other fucking parasites, is where the money is. Out here, at the edge of the mountains, is where value lies.
On BC Day, before I made my way to Dope City Downs, I was on the edge of my property picking the blackberries that spill from the mountain onto my property, the sun already over my rooftop drying the midnight dew. As I worked a wee songbird landed on a nearby branch and then slowly made his way closer to me until he was not two feet away. We looked at one another, me with my big space alien eyes, the bird with eyes no bigger than good sized tomato seeds. I stood quiet. The bird cheeped.
He wanted me to turn the hose on so he could have a bath. I did so. Never fuck with Mother Nature, motherfuckers.