fallow la la la

a houseguest of rita’s had turned the ringer off on her phone. so i was calling, and she was waiting for my call, both activities in vain. i about to take the bus when she called me. good thing that mishap belongs to the old year. so we were late-ish, but not so late. ashok greeted us at the door in a shiny copper shirt and a backwards baseball cap with elephants all over it, looking ready for trouble. it was great to reconnect with vancouver folk, many of whom i hadn’t seen in years, and many of whom are practically legendary figures in my constellations of vancouver arts, writing and politics. long conversation with cheryl l’hirondelle, kirsten mcallister and a few others about the role of body politics in the thinking of younger students and activists who get the globalization thing, but are fully disdainful of any discussions around identity. may be it’s ok. may be it really is over. as i’ve been saying once you get in, there’s no escape from the master-slave dialectic. could there be circumvention? it was fun and interesting to talk to people who were around when these questions were burning.

woke late today, checked horoscopes for the new year and drank tea made with water from my new electric kettle. did a bit of yoga, including a few modified warrior poses, which felt great. i’m aching for a full practice. the achilles tendon was twangy, not in a painful way, but i really have no desire to re-rerupture it, so backed off.

tackled the new novel. mostly went through edits and comments generously provided by the absent frances kruk. they are so good and helpful. eager to get rolling on projects. for me, body and writing practice are very connected. patience is not my forte.

supper tonight with rita. we made spaghetti with ground venison instead of ground beef. “fallow venison” said the package. what on earth does that mean?

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