Untitled

BY JESSICA JOY WISE ‘

At the edge of night heavy dark clouds tip-toe across the sky. Trees push
the wind, and sirens wail the four quadrants around. It is fall in Toronto,
leaves hide the street like the persona hides the person. It is Halloween and
my parents are gone for the weekend. | have nothing planned. | tend to
think along the lines that to try and have a good time lessens the poten-
tial for success. Anyway, what fun is there to have in this lone quiet
suburb where the most exciting news is who is getting a divorce and who
is suing who. My friend Kimmy is coming over for dinner.

Outside the neighbourhood is especially quiet; the usual game of
roller blade hockey is retired and the air leaves no trace of b.b.q cook-
out. A feeling of stillness and insulated safety wraps our bodies. It is the
calm before the storm. We are warned of things to come; something so
peaceful can only transform into something wild and unruly.

Kimmy and | walk to Shoppers drug-mart to get pasta for dinner. As
we walk, lightening overtakes power lines and thunder pulses at the rate
of near death. The power is down. No need to fret however, things are
still the same in the dark and the stove is gas.

It feels as if we are being followed. Yet there are no signs of life,
save: men dressed in plastic and people hanging over balconies where
fire trucks park. We have walked into an accident sight. It is a chance to
see potential victims of death. We wait. We watch. Nothing much is hap-
pening except small huddles of men in private discussion around the fire
hose. We continue onward. I could not help but look back. The flashing
lights and the procedural actions of the men pull me in. I want to see. I
want to know what is happening. It could not be worse than anything
that I have seen on T.V.

We enter the door of the “mart”. Bright lights take a moment of
getting used to before the blinding wears off. We came in through the
out door. We crossed over a threshold; we have become separated from
the outside world. Here we are secured by categorized consumerism; a
place where we systematically let ourselves be taken advantage of; we
accept that everything is just a ploy. The walls absorb any hesitation we
may bring from the outside. We get our pasta fast and we get out.

When we return home - power still down - the front door is wide
open. We had left from the back. I summon my next door neighbour,
Harvey. We all walk through the house - Harvey in front with a flash-
light (he would have shone the culprit to death) - looking for signs of
danger. We did not find anything so Harvey went back to his home and
left us with the flashlight. As I shut the door behind Harvey - Kimmy
attached to my arm - I walk back into the kitchen - Kimmy still
attached to my arm - and remark in a bitter tone of irony, “we didn’t
check the basement.”

We wait. We sit down. We sit down in the kitchen and we think. The
closest source of protection is the cook-ware. I grab a frying pan, she ‘
grabs a skewer. Dinner has been postponed. Actually dinner looks as if it
is going to be more interesting than we thought. So we head for the
basement. I open the door. I yell behind me for my imaginary friend Joe
to “start up the B.B.Q.” I remark that “ I would love to see his Karate
moves after he finishes gutting the eight foot fish he caught in the
country last week during that tremendous torrential thunder and lighting
storm in a wooden canoe on the way back from the marathon in the
heart of the Algonquin.” But by the time we make our way to the second
step: the lights come back on, Kimmy is on the phone inviting guests
over, and I have become too pre-occupied with the blood sucking mos-
quitoes that have infiltrated the house since the door was open... so that,
the fear of death has subsided, and that the pangs of hunger have ceased
too exist. It seems that whatever we were afraid of has left. Whether in
our minds or simply in the dark, something lurked that made me feel as
if next time my parents go away I am going to plan a party so that
strange people in the house will be a matter of security. ~®&

Your tunic
matches the

Color of your
eyes 2..

After the Fest
by Jessica Joy Wise

| am walking down the street disori-
ented because the past has caught
me looking too hard for a direction. |
have to move forward.

Despite the bright lights downtown
this place is pretty dark.

- The mountains are so big, the people

are so small.

Everything is a scene, a take, a dia-
logue waiting to happen.

| walk as if the climax is imminent.

Each block surrounds you with
another culture. They are all subver-
sive depending on which corner you
stand.

| walk a lone text. Not sure where |
fit in.

Not sure if | do.

Not sure | want to.

After all, everything is a projection:
yours or somebody else's.

One way or anrother you get caught
in between

the perception and the perceived;
all of which makes up this drama.
| am in it but | cannot see myself.
| cannot see what you see.

| will show you mine

if you will show me yours.

NovemBer 1995 / Emny 25

Beth Jankola

Untitled

{At the edge of night heavy dark clouds tip-toe across the sky. Trees push
the wind, and sirens wail the four quadrants around. It is fll in Toronto,
Teaves hide the stret like the persona hides the person. It is Halloween and
‘my parents are gone for the weekend. I have nothing planned. | tend to
think along the lines that f0 try and have a good time lessens the poten-
tial for success. Anyway, what fun is there to have in this lone quiet
suburb where the most exciting news is who is getting a divorce and who
Js suing who. My friend Kimmy is coming over for dinner

Outside the neighbourhood is especially quiet; the usual game of
roller blade hockey is retired and the air leaves no trace of bb.q cook-
out. A feeling of stillness and insulated safety wraps our bodies. It isthe
calm before the storm. We are wamed of things to come; something so
peaceful can only transform into something wild and wnraly.

Kimmy and I walk to Shoppers drug-mart to get pasta for dinner. AS
we walk, lightening overtakes power lines and thunder pulses atthe rate
of near death. The power is down. No need to fret however, things are
still the same in the dark and the stove is gas

Ie feels as if we are being followed. Yet there are no signs of life,
save: men dressed in plastic and people hanging over balconies where
fire trucks park. We have walked into an accident sight. Its a chance to
sce potential victims of death. We wait. We watch. Nothing much is hap-
pening except small huddles of men in private discussion around the fire
hhose. We continue onward. I could not help but look back. Te flashing
lights and the procedural actions of the men pull me in, | want to se. |
want to know what is happening. It could not be worse than anything
that I have seen on TV.

We enter the door of the "mart: Bright lights take @ moment of
keting used to before the blinding wears off. We came in through the
fut door. We crossed over a threshold; we have become separated from
the outside world, Here we are secured by categorized consumerism; a
place where we systematically let ourselves be taken advantage of; we
accept that everything is just a ploy. The walls absorb any hesitation we
‘may bring from the outside. We get our pasta fast and we get out

‘When we return home - power still down - the front door is wide
‘open. We had left from the back. I summon my next door neighbour,
Harvey. We all walkthrough the house ~ Harvey in front with a flash-
light (he would have shone the culprit to death) ~ looking for signs of
danger. We did not find anything so Harvey went back to his home and
left us with the Mashlight.As I shut the door behind Harvey ~ Kimmy
attached to my arm ~ I walk back into the kitchen ~ Kimmy still
attached to my arm ~ and remark in a bitter tone of irony, “we didn't
check the basement.”

‘We wait. We sit down. We sit down in the kitchen and we think. The
closest source of protection is the cook-ware. I grab a frying pan, she
{grabs a skewer. Dinner has been postponed. Actually dinner looks as i it
Is going to be more interesting than we thought. So we head for the
basement. I open the door. I yell behind me for my imaginary friend Joe
to “startup the B.B.O.” I remark that "I would love to see his Karate
moves after he finishes gutting the eight foot fish he caught in the
country last week during that tremendous torrential thunder and lighting
storm in a wooden canoe on the way back from the marathon in the
heart of the Algonquin.” But by the time we make our way to the second
step: the lights come back on, Kimmy is on the phone inviting guests
over, and I have become too pre-occupied with the blood sucking mos-
{quitoes that have infiltrated the house since the door was open... so that,
the fear of death has subsided, and that the pangs of hunger have ceased
too exist. It seems that whatever we were afraid of has lft. Whether in
cour minds or simply in the dark, something lurked that made me feel as
if next time my parents go away 1am going to plan a party so that
strange people in the house will be a matter of security. -

After the Fest
by Jessica Joy Wise

1am walking down the street disri-
ented because the past has caught
ime looking too hard fora direction. 1
have to move forward

Despite the bright lights dwntown
this place is pretty dark.

‘The mountains are so big, the people
are so smal

Everything isa scene, a take, a dia~
Fogue waiting to happen,

| walk as if the climax is imminent.
Each block surounds you with

‘another culture. They are all subver-
sive depending on which corner you

‘stand.

I walk alone text. Not sure where 1
fit in

Not sure if do.
Not sure L want to

‘Aer al, everyting i projection:
yours oF somebody else's

‘One way or anrother you get caught
in between

the perception and the perceived;
all of which makes up this drama.
1am init but | cannot see myself

| cannot see what you se.

1 will show you mine

if you wil show me yours

Novewex 1995 / Emr 25