The Tome attempts to document the everyday at Elsewhere; to create a tangible record of the fast and fleeting events, happenings, conversations and ideas that are in abundance yet only a select few are ever made lasting.
As with any project at Elsewhere, longevity is a concern. BLNKT and I discussed at length how to make this project survive the test of Elsewhere time. We settled upon an expanding binding and readily accessible paste for paper additions. It will be the task of the Elsewhere documentarian to maintain and upkeep the Tome, and we welcome all Elsewherians as contributors.
An unfortunate typo in the TomE (not TomB)'s construction left me with a spare B, with serif's, kicking around.
Luckily
Some examples of the services offered at "Kitties in Heaven; Deceased Pet Bereavement Services"
Queen Cabbage-Patch sits on her colour,
The dog king faces,
stoic and slow.
Fisher price pawn,
advance in pairs
The board is tilting,
best remember where you last put your last man,
he may up and move
this city speaks at night
but only in whispers
through mountain made walls
pick a square and stick to it
or you may get lost in the shuffle
City has come and gone/ I feel like I should write about it in and up front, non poetic very particular sort of way. Perhaps because I have just been reading my thorough new friend/fellow Elsewherian Aliya's blog, or perhaps because of the 3:30 time check 6 minutes ago; things need to get a lot more precise after a certain hour of the night.
Truth be told I am wilting slightly. This southern heat is a force to be reckoned with. It is not the severity, but the abundance of heat that gets to me.
It is everywhere, there is no escaping, no going elsewhere, Elsewhere is everywhere.
I have taken to carrying a fan around with me most places, but in between re-plugs, my brow starts to sweat, and the brain remains foggy.
A few words on Possum Busters:
My character ark was as follows, Moe Wilensky (yes, inspired by the Montreal smoked meat shop that no one has heard of down here), owner and proprietor of Mabel's Family restaurant. All American Family Man. (emphasis on the American and the Man) In an attempt to bring the business out of economic turmoil, Moe cuts a deal with local mobster Toni Motorolla, only to be franchised by corporate chain "Food Baron" before any benefits may be reaped.
Out of a business and indebted to the mob, Moe undergoes a major transformation. He shaves off the beard (welcome in this heat) leaves his downward sliding marriage with wife Mabel, and family (un-ruelly daughter Tina and sullen live in teenage nephew Trent)
and realizes his true calling in life. Rodent control, and, womanhood. Moe embrases his new gender and identity as Ms. Butter, one half of the Possum Buster squad (along with Mr. Berry, aka Lineberry) and has a successful run in the pest cotrol bizz, ridding City of critters and humanoid Possums alike.
I embark on a bit of signage rampage.
The project gives me and excuse to sit up on the third floor, dig through dusty piles of scrap wood and obsess over fonts.
Never alone in this space, New resident Ernesto Gomez keeps me company while working on his sound room installation; re flooring with pieced together scrap wood, creating a stacked chair sculpture, doubling as a safety structure over the gaping hole in the floor, the installation will soon house hand made instruments and a coat hanger beat machine.
This edition of City features "City Restaurant" which
involves us feeding 60 some-odd people soup,
on top of the adoption of character roles, with related antics.
I will be wearing my beard.
Just in case living in three stories of thrift is not enough, an early morning excursion was scheduled Friday, to the annual Burlington rummage and thrift sale.
84 departments, over 3000 square feet, a years worth or collectibles, hundreds upon hundreds of sweaty grouchy
bargain hunting Americans, I can almost not image anything worse,
I spend the majority of the morning hiding out in the stationary section and leave with a few gems.
A 25cent recipe card box,
a vintage radio microphone, and a jointly purchased
ten dollar guitar.
Resident intern documentarian finds a wardrobe case
complete with entire well fitted wardrobe, and possible
ghost from nineteen fifty one included.
We load up the station wagon with our accumulated items and exhausted bodies, and head back to more of the same.
Dust was stirred,
Boxes were moved,
sneezes exuded.
Long forgotten piles of detritus and dresses become subject to the Elsewhere Third Floor Round-up, a corner is excavated, assesed, and re-classified.
New Wardrobe and fabric storrage,
shelves made from doors, scrap wood and limited hardware.
Manual labour proves to be ultimately satisfying.
Object: pick up, consider, classify, move over, Repeat.
When nothing can be thrown away, spring cleaning takes on a whole different meaning.
In a world where the very notion of trash does not exist, the material object is reconsidered.
Each and every possession we acquire comes with a history, a presence, a future.
Like getting a goldfish watchband, puppy sandals, birthing little handbag babies, sewing their straps when they get hurt, and keeping the college fund zipped in a back compartment for safe keeping.
June 7th 2009
Sunday well spent starts with early morning wandering.
Two trains,
traveling at equal speeds,
in opposite directions,
leave their respective stations at 8am.
Where do they come from?
Where are they going?
Which one do you hop on?
Does it matter.
Short trip outta town with new Elsewherians Erica, Casey and Blake leads to new insight on oversized roadside furniture, Exit lanes detours and interstates, ice cream drive-throughs and collonial quaker dating rituals.
(new digs, next to the log cabin)
Dear Friends.
I, contrary to nordic instincts, fled south for summer time.
Surrounded by americans, in three stories worth of things, south for the summer. Back at Elsewhere
Faced with Deluges and downpours,
Southern storms are a force to be reckoned with.
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