” Planet of the Arts -Vol 4-No.4-1989. BY MADONNA HAMEL isten to this damn building. It gets ar- thriticin therain. Aching onrusting hinges. Sinking slowly in the cold mud. The only sound that warms me up is the sound of his key in the door. I become supple. My back arches as the bolt slides open. But, all Ihear is the rain, those falling cats and dogs. I slide the window open and yell up: “how about dropping a wolf my way?” And Wandathe Witch yells from down the block, in her pajamas and raincoat: “I got a rat upstairs, if you want him!” and disappears around the corner. Out of cigarettes again. Ican’t remember the last night I spent with him. I’m trying and I can’t. But he’s still got my key and I wouldn’t mind a surprise attack about now. Instead of a sheepish phone call. Meek as a lamb, he’s become. Meek and mild anda hard working son of a bitch who’s not going to drop what he’s doing for a good screw in the middle of a Mon- day night. [look back up at the cat black sky: “Send me a wolf. I want a wolf with no wool!” Here comes Wicked Wanda fidgety and empty-handed and mad as hell. “Store’s closed eh?” Lyelldown at her. “It’s later than I think, come on up, I’ve got half a pack of Player’s.” ‘Hey thanks. Billy’s passed out and I want to take a bath but Ican’t without my cigarettes. You know how it is! It’s pissing down a zoo out here!” I never really know how “it” is with Wanda. But I kind of like the fact that she always assumes] do. I don’t talk to her much. We always visit at odd hours when the careful structure of Time has crumbled to the ground, asleep with the rest of the world. And there’s an odd intensity to those talks at those hours that seems unavoidable. She barely knocks, then walks in and shakes like a dog out ofa lake. “We should be living in an ark!” she says. She sniffs around for a light, having already found my cigarettes. “That'd be fine by me, at least then there’d be two of every animal in every room!” “Itchin’, eh?” “You could put it that way.” You could say ’'m fidgety and empty-handed and mad as hell as well. I light a cigarette to keep her company. And to have yosymies|oyy [2189 UROGENITAL TRACT AND A ARNED A LIVING SINGING AND DANCING A REFERENCE MONSTERS OF THE GILDED AGE“ BY MICHAEL MITCHELL = nF something to roll around in my fingers. To watch the tip burn down to the end. To see smoke. To hope for fire... 3 “Billy-boy up there is one fine dancer, I must say.” Wanda blows smoke in the air with a contented sigh. “He moves in dangerous ways. One minute we’re talk- ing about cars and guitars and the next we’re stuck so close I’m riding his thigh and we’re sailing across the dance floor and down the street and up those stairs and into my bed! Honey, he’s too much to believe!” “I thought you said he wasa rat?” I’m jealous. She smells of just having had sex, that’s enough to tick me off, but just having had dancing, too! I can feel the rhythm, I can hear the blues, the notes and riffs and licks are still dipping and diving around in her paja- mas and they’re dropping on my floor hidden in the raindrops. “He is. He is. He’s come and gone already. If you know what I mean.” She flops down onto the couch. “Please. I don’t want to hear about it. Idon’t want it second hand. Where did you meet him?” “I threw upin his cab last week. He wasso nice! He © gave me a lift home when I didn’t have the fare and then he asked me for my phone number.” Then she adds, asifit just dawns on her, “so he’s not really arat.” We sit quietly for awhile. The traffic’s died down outside, but the rain keeps raining. I try to pick out a rhythm and follow it like a dance step... I remember dancing with a man who put his hands on me and they Y Vy were so big they swallowed my frightened fists, they melted my rigid shoulders. It was one ofthose summer nights where the only place to dance is in the street and the only thing to wear is a red dress and the only way to move is to sway to the samba, drape your arms over your partner’s shoulders and fall away... “Well, I gotta go have my bath. It’s the only place I can smoke and sleep and not burn the place down!” She laughs, nervously. She used to weep in the tub. Openly. Noisily. It’s how I first became aware of Wistful Wanda: awakened in the middle of the night to the sound ofa running tap and someone sobbing. It was summer then. All the Np, Fa, poe SSN : cs TE = ~ mm SS eS SSS Uf) = = MiLLIE AVD CHRISTINE WERE SINED AT THE HIPS AND HAD A COMMON, M BELOW THE JOIN. ND TRAVELLED WITH FAIRS eh eS windows in the building were open. It was my turn to have company. The moon was full, making lunatics of us. A slight wind lifted the tiny glass pieces of the chimes on the neighbour’s porch across the alley. It was a beautiful, delicate sound. Asoothing song. And for a second we stopped our howling and pawing. Wanda stopped her crying. And we listened@ Madonna Hamel is a Foundation student at EC- CAD. The first inkling she had regarding the power of stories was in confessional, where she learned to eaves- drop at an early age. Among her storytelling influences and educators she credits Michael Ondatjee, Spalding Gray, Tom Waits, Joni Mitchell, Laurie Anderson, Paul Klee, Fellini, David Byrne, strangers on the bus. BY MADONNA HAMEL isten to this damn building. It gets a thriticintherain. Aching onrustinghings Sinking slowly in the cold mud. The only sound that warms me up is the sound of his key in the door. Ibecome supple. My back arches as the bolt slides open. But, all Thear the rain, those falling eats and dogs. slide the window open and yell Jup: “how about dropping a wolf my way?” ‘And Wandathe Witch yells from down theblock, in her pajamas and raincoat: “I got a rat upstairs, ifyou want him!” and disappears around thecorner. Out of cigarettes again. Tean't remember the last night Ispent with him. I'm trying and T can’t. But he's still got my key and T wouldn't mind a surprise attack about now. Instead of a sheepish phone call. Meck as a lamb, he's become. Meekand mild anda hard working son of a bitch who's not going to drop what he's doing fora {good screw in the middle of a Mon- at day night. Took back upat black sky: with no wool!” Here comes Wicked Wanda fidgety and empty-handed andmad “Store's closed eh?" Iyell down ather. "It’s later than Ithink,come fon up, I've got half a pack of thanks. Billy's passed out andIwanttotakeabathbutTean't my cigarettes. You know how it iat Its pissing down a z00 out here!” Inever really know how “it” is ‘at odd hours when the careful structure of Time has ‘crumbled to the ground, asleep with the rest of the ‘world, And there's an odd intensity to those talks at those hours that seems unavoidable. ‘She barely knocks, then walks in and shakes like adogoutofalake. “We should beliving in an ark!” she says. She sniffs around for a light, having already found my cigarettes. “That'd be fine by me, at least then there'd be two of every animal in every room!” “Techin’ “You could put it that way.” You could say I'm fidgety and empty-handed and mad as hell as well. I light a cigarette to keep her company. And to have MILLIE AND CHRISTINE UROGENITAL TRACT AND A NED A LIVING SINGING AND DANCING something to roll around in my fingers. To watch the tip burn down to the end. To see smoke. To hope for fire. “Billy-boy up there is one fine dancer, [must say.” Wanda blows smoke in the air with a contented sigh. “He moves in dangerous ways. One minute we're talk- ing about carsand guitars and the next we're stuck so close I'm riding his thigh and we're sailing across the dance floor and down the street and up those stai and into my bed! Honey, he’s too much to believe! “thought you said he wasa rat?” I'm jealous. She ‘smells of just having had sex, that's enough to tick me off, but just having had dancing, too! I can feel the shythm, can hear the blues, the notes and riffs and licks are still dipping and diving around in her paja- ‘mas and they're dropping on my floor hidden in the raindrops. “Flo is. He is. Ho's come and gone already. Ifyou know what I mean.” She flops down onto the couch. “Please. Idon't want to hear about it. [don’t want it second hand. Where did you meet him?” “Ithrew upin his cab last week. He wasso nice! He gave me a lift home when I didn’t have the fare and then he asked me for my phone number.” Then she adds, asifit just dawnson her, “sohe’snotreally arat.” We sit quietly for awhile. The traffie's died down outside, but the rain keops raining. Itry to pick out a rhythm and follow it like a danco stop... I remember dancing witha man who put his hands on me and they WERE JOINED AT THE HiPS AND HAD 4 NERVOUS SYSTEM BELOW THE Joi. THEY AND TRAVELLED WITH FAIRS ae were so big they swallowed my frightoned fists, they melted my rigid shoulders. It was one ofthose summer nights where the only place to dance is in the street and the only thing to wear is a red dress and the only ‘way to move is to sway to the samba, drape your arms over your partner's shoulders and fall away. ““Well, I gotta go have my bath. It’s the only place ean smoke and sleep and not burn the place down!” She laughs, nervously. ‘She used to weep in the tub. Openly. Noisily. It’s how Ifirst became aware of Wistful Wanda: awakened inthe middle of the night tothe sound ofa running tap and someone sobbing. It was summer then. All the AN Is WF \\\u Mi COMMON, windows in the building were open. It was my turn to have company. The moon was full, making I us. A slight wind lifted the tiny glass pie chimes on the neighbour's porch across the alley. It was beautiful, delicate sound. A.soothing song. And for a second we stopped our howling and pawing. Wanda stopped her orying. And we listened Madonna Hamel is a Foundation student at EC- CAD. The first inkling she had regarding the power of stories was in confessional, where she learned to eaves- drop at an early age. Among her storytelling influences ‘and educators she credits Michael Ondatjee, Spalding Gray, Tom Waits, Joni Mitchell, Laurie Anderson, Paul Klee, Fellini, David Byrne, strangers on the bus.