The worst kind of monkey

A subdued return to Toronto, capped by the acquisition of a Revenue Canada monkey on my back. Alana says that's "the worst kind of monkey." But I deserve said banana-consumer for being a chronic late filer. Now I am paying.

The babysitting gig wth Devon was a lot of fun. We invented the Nose Game, in which, for example, I hold my nose with thumb and forefinger and beep out a little rhythm, using high and low notes. He then holds his nose and repeats my "tune," then leads off the next round. We also did a sound poem based on the word "Google" and on dogs in space. I enjoyed the evening so much, and it was nice to know that Clint and Julie were off on a rare evening out themselves, seeing a movie.

Paid a visit to the Vancouver Art Gallery too. I'm too morose over the Revenue Canada thing at the moment to talk about it, but man, there was some excellent stuff in the contemporary exhibits. Wandered briefly through the Rodin exhibition, and the most striking thing there was a massive B&W photo of his funeral -- Rodin's coffin sitting in front of The Thinker, with hundreds of men crowding around.

Astonishingly, I wrote about 15 pages of poetry in the past week, mainly on the planes to and from Vancouver. The new Big Poem is coming along pretty well. It's a very cathartic piece in which I get sort of emotional. But hopefully not crappy.

Tomorrow is a Poetry Boot Camp at This Ain't the Rosedale Library. I think I have seven participants. Gonna try out some new experiments on them.

Please don't feed the monkey.

Over and out.