Monk Rolled His Own…Scattered Thoughts On A Rainy Wednesday….

Strange Ramblings,

to whom I may concern,

Jazz God, reflecting, meditating.

Not much going on today; everything is settling down after a couple weeks of academic madness. Rain in the city. Constant beating out there. The streets are scarce, save a couple tires swishing down the wet avenues around campus; a few students are going to and from libraries, purely out of obligation. Everyone just wants to be inside. Listening to music. Windows open. Doors ajar. That wet breeze circling the room.

On days like this I don’t want the sun to peak through at all. I want something constant, something dependable. Maybe it’s my Irish Blood, but I really don’t mind the rain.

The Grand Ole Party is set to have a big ole block party tonight in Minnesota. Palin will be there, fufilling her promise to support the re-election of Rep. Michele Bachmann, and Sean Hannity will be out hawking his book to whoever will buy it. It’s called “Conservative Victory” or “Victory Mansions” or something like that. The Atlantic has said this Big To Do will be the biggest Republican party since the 2008 convention. And we can be sure it will be a party; expect bondage strippers. And for the evangelical closet cases, male hookers. Oh I go too far.

By this point you might be thinking, why doesn’t this foolish bastard talk about the politics of the Great White North?  Today, all the reasons I have for avoiding that dry, boring game of trivial pursuit, appeared to me more solid and irrefutable than ever. And I’m not the only one who feels this way/

Public hearings centered around possibile cased of torture in Afghanistan, which are primarily concerned with how detainees were turned over to Afghan security forces, and were then allegedly tortured by them, have finally been closed off to the public. This means that reporters nation-wide have been disallowed from attending these hearings. This is representative of that big black conservative boot on the throat of public discourse in this country. First the hearings were postponed (by the proroguing of parliament during the Olympics), and now they are top-secret.

There’s also been some strange madness about a kirpan-stabbing in Brampton (my hometown). The kirpan is the ceremonial dagger baptized Sikh men (Khalsa) wear at all times. But, to be honest, this old debate no longer interests me. On one hand It reminds me of how little most Canadians are willing to re-imagine their own cultural space, and on the other, it reminds me of how ridiculous and foolhardy religion is.

However, the above considered, today’s papers were quiet. That’s why I’ve resolved to look at pictures and listen to music. Fuck the news. I’m always half aware I’m only being sold something anyway.

I’ll just sit by the window, with the door open, listening to the rain beat along the brick pathway that stretches from one end of the University College  residences to the other. I’ll cut up these newspapers into a thousand little pieces. I’ll make something much more useful out of them; a little boat perhaps. And it can sail down the gutter of Hoskin street into Queens Park, and then, who knows? It’s a big world out there, despite what they‘d have you believe.

What am I trying to say here? Maybe, just for now at least, for today, we should forget about these newspapers; our volumes; our various amulets, keepsakes, and other burdens.

Let the rain remind you of that invulnerable ebb and flow, because it will go on with or without you. Be withdrawn. Look at that picture of Thelonious Monk and think how do I get there, to whatever place he’s brought himself?

May I suggest the following? (for a rainy day)

Music: Maybe some jazz, Monk, Coltrane, something slow and blue. Also, Yo La Tengo or Real Estate. Black Lake by Real Estate

Book: Michael Ondaatje – Divisidero

Beverage: Tea. If you live in Toronto go to David’s Tea and get the Bio-English-Breakfast.

Best,

Jesse.

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