- Sunday Night Post -

” Oh she ain’t no trailer queen, I drive the shit outta her “. The old dude put is coffee on top of the garbage can and lit another cigarette. He waved respectfully as we left the gas station. He probably stayed there all day, roaming around his 68 Javelin, remembering the days of beautiful curves. He seemed pretty happy.

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- Sunday Night Post -

I hope the Canada Post homies who took my bottles of wine are having a great time right now…

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- Sunday Night Post -

“After this turn off your television set, go outside and have some fun tell some stories, thanks a lot.”

“Check out the face of the moon.”

At times I get the call of the mountain, the height and roughness of the ever changing perspective, when the earth seems to rotate faster and the sun dances over my head.

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- Sunday Night Post -

Slacking, slacking, always slacking…but everyday I learn from the divine wisdom of Roti Lady - she knows how to listen to the birds through the greasy Parkdale sounds, she knows how to see all the colours through the barricaded window, how to stay calm and righteous in complete mayhem, how to shine in modern poverty, and how to delight my soul with her noble cuisine.

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- Sunday Night Post -

Scratchy times. Thick as fog. I’ll never get enough emulsion stuck between my remaining nails.

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- Sunday Night Post -

I like to see the sunday morning light through my closed eyelids.

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- Sunday Night Post -

About the sounds of the night, the trembling weeds, crispy light of the setting sun. The study of a space, crunched between high-definition bourgeois projects. Newer everything, oh it’s beautiful. Plastic everything, artisans are starving, long live celluloid.

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- Sunday Night Post -

” he realized that one thing had left him like the old skin that leaves the serpent, that one thing was no longer within him, a thing that had accompanied him throughout his youth and had belonged to him: the wish to have teachers and hear teachings.” H.H.

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- Sunday Night Post -

“Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.” W.B.

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- Sunday Night Post -

“Merece lo que suenas”

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- Sunday Night Post -

In the midst of chaotic chores, the white water spins you around, crushes you back to the bottom. take a peek at that vanishing sunlight and remember the million moments where your feet were floating in the air, caressing the softest skin and burning in excitement.

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- Sunday Night Post -

it’s not that cold in the D.

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- Sunday Night Post -

NOW I refuse to believe.

“My blood is alive with many voices that tell me I am made of longing.”

- Sunday Night post -

“North wind, where did she go ?

Nobody but you, will ever know…”

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