Ile Bonaventure

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Bonaventure island is 2.2 miles off the Eastern coast of the Gaspe Peninsula. It is home to 293 different species of birds, the most common being the Northern Gannet (pictured above). There are over a 121,000 birds here including the Black-legged Kittiwake, the Common Murre, Seagulls, Terns, Black Guillemots, auks, Herring Gulls, Great Black-backed Gulls, Razorbills, Leach’s Storm-Petrels, Great Cormorants, Double-crested Cormorants, Atlantic Puffins, Boreal Chickadees and Blackpoll Warblers.

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“Don’t be a fucking idiot…” was the last thing I heard Dad say before I climbed between these two wooden triforce structures to chase all these birds over the cliff. Was it a good idea in hindsight, No. This is the birds turf and If I had any idea that people wouldn’t think it was an amazing sight to have all these birds fly around at once, I wouldn’t have done it. I don’t like to make a scene. I don’t like to be jumped by 3 Park Rangers. I don’t like being treated like a witch in Salem, circa 1692.

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To Lois Lane, Mary Jane, and all the wives of Superheroes

Photobucket“I caught myself staring at your arm today for 15 minutes. I’m not sure if I’m beginning to like you so all your basic qualities are appreciating, or it’s really just your arm. I want it. I want it to hold. I want it to squeeze. I really want it in good light, nice open space, so I can take a good look; Sit quietly and watch the blood pump in and out and what have you done? Tell me what you’re lifting (now I’m gonna have to watch you open things, close things, scoop up, wring out, throw away, write down, wriggle off and can’t you see I’m already kind of busy with your arm?) Just tell me. Give me the secret, the recipe, the pictures; Draw your arm, with the arm that I like. I’m leaving. Gone. I’m on a beach, there’s a jet ski, a child, a pail of water, the surf, the sand, my towel, my toes, my nose, and where the fuck are you?! cause I’m wasting my time thinking about how relaxed I am when I’d rather be stressing about you.

Bees

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DRAMATIC PERSONAE
DAD, 60, short, frantic, goodhearted, emotional know-it-all.
BEE KEEPER, 37, French, country boy, unkempt beard, dim-witted.
JARED (older son) 35, large, quick tempered, intense, loud-spoken.
ELAN (younger son) 31, fit, quiet, head-in-the-clouds, moron.

A Bee farm on the coast of Eastern Quebec.
KEEPER: Parle francais?
DAD: Oui, Je comprends.
JARED: Dad, Elan doesn’t.
DAD: I can’t believe you don’t speak French?
JARED: You don’t either.
KEEPER: Ok, My English is not so
DAD: Fuck you, Jared, I speak French.
KEEPER: …good but I Excuse me?
DAD: Yeah yeah yeah, French.
KEEPER: Dis where we keep the bees.
JARED: Look how it filters in from outside.
DAD: It’s on an angle.
KEEPER: Yeah, it filters and shaped this way-
DAD: On an angle. Cause they smell the honey.
KEEPER: To get the more bees.
DAD: It attracts more bees.
JARED: Ok, Dad.
ELAN: What’s this bee that has the yellow marker on it.
JARED: Yeah, what’s that dot?
KEEPER: Dis one is the Queen.
DAD: It’s the Queen Bee.
KEEPER: Yeah, it’s to keep track of-
DAD: They all stop working if the Queen dies.
KEEPER: …the Queen to make sure she is healthy.
DAD: They all take a vacation.
KEEPER: If the Queen die, then,
DAD: They go to Quebec!
ELAN: Dad, let him speak.
JARED Dad.
DAD: What?
JARED: There’s honey in all the wines?
KEEPER: Yeah, that is correct.
ELAN: Are they aged?
KEEPER: Uh, yes, but only-
DAD: One year.
KEEPER: Two year, some time, eleven months.
DAD: So, one year.
ELAN: In oak?
DAD: “Oak.”
KEEPER: No.
DAD: They don’t age them in oak, Elan, but don’t tell anyone.
JARED: Dad-
DAD: What, Jared? You taste the wine? That taste’s like it’s aged in oak?
KEEPER: Not oak, but-
DAD: Stainless steel.
KEEPER: Stainless steel containers.
DAD: That’s right.
ELAN: Do you want to work here? Do you want to change places with this man?
JARED: All right, calm down, Elan.
KEEPER: We don’t hire during summer.
DAD: Now he thinks I want a job.
JARED: Dad, relax.
DAD: I’m a bee-keeper!
JARED: Oh my God. (to Keeper) Can I try this one again?
DAD: I’m gonna handle the bees!
KEEPER: Dis one?
JARED: No, the one-
DAD: Like I need to get stung in the ass.
Pause
JARED: This one’s fine.
ELAN: Yeah, that was good.
JARED: Please.
KEEPER: Ok, it’s going to be-
DAD: Ten dollars.
ELAN: Dad!
DAD: It’s says right there! Look at the sign!
JARED: Dad, enough.
DAD: Ok, you know what? Fuck you both, I’m in the car.
JARED: I mean-
DAD: Assholes.
ELAN: Unbelievable.
DAD: Can’t say anything!
Black.

Things Written on Napkins in Morning

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10 July 2008

Covering the wooden table is red cloth. Covering the cloth is coffee. Spoons, creams, filters, sugar. There is some common classical music.
Somewhere, draped in a dark grey gown-wrapped in yellow sheets, a man sits reluctant to get out of bed.
The Newspapers are Le Soleil and Le Devoir. Faces, hung on the wall, in oil. Asian children, Indian women, African Mommy’s.
Dad sips his second cup of coffee…. “They will never allow Obama in the office. Wake up to the reality. It’s all big business and lobbyists. For four months out of the five years they listen to the people, after that it’s ‘fuck you.’ Wake up.”
Today, Abu-Dhabi Investment Council, purchased the Chrysler Building.