La Famme Sam

This is Samira Khogani (she now goes by Sam). In her native Pashto her name means Early Morning Fragrance or Is Good with Words or Entertaining Companion. We met downtown for tea (Sam doesn't drink coffee) she got Misty Mint, I got Early Gray and she told me her story: Sam comes from a very conservative family from the very conservative Panjwayi district and  many of her uncles and cousins (of which she has plenty) are close to Abdul Hakim Ishaqzai. At a family function, a while back, Samira was alone on the terrace with her cousin Taahir who asked her to lift her hijab a little so he could see her hair. Samira giggled and showed off a lock of raven-black. At another family reunion Taahir (by now with an important job with the group) told her a that he thinks of her while he masturbates. 

The next day Taahir received a message with an audio attachment where he could be heard saying that he thinks of Samira while masturbating and you could hear Samira giggle. 

The next day Samira was stopped on her way to the market by men in a black Suzuki Tactical who confiscated her mobile phone. 

The next day Taahir received another message with an audio attachment where he could be heard saying that he thinks of Samira while  masturbating and you could hear Samira giggle. 

The next day Taahir called and asked Samira what she wanted. She said she wanted a passport with a visa for Canada, an airplane ticket to Toronto and some money. 

The next day men in a black Suzuki Tactical came to Samira's house with a large envelope and took her to the Kabul Airport.

Sam now runs a successful downtown Kosher Dry Cleaner and is enrolled at the U of T in Sociology and Women and Gender Studies. She told me to use her real name, this the real Sam, yeah?!

Line Ninety-Four

Bus Line Ninety-Four goes from Ossington (twenty-seventh most used of seventy-five Toronto Transit Authority subway stops) to Castle Frank (twelfth least used) with an alternate ending at Wellesley (thirty-ninth most used). It spans 3.11 miles (exactly five kilometers). In a rational world Line Ninety-Four wouldn't exist, as connecting two down-town subway stations by a bus line is plainly ridiculous. The only reason for a Line Ninety-Four is that Mr. K. T. Fields (the illegitimate son of the Archbishop of Gaast) wants it. Fields is the omnipotent, mysterious master of the Secret Sudden Start and Stop Society (S-S-S-S-S); they start or stops things just because they can. They used to put things on top of other things but they stopped as they run out (of things) and they also thought it to be, frankly, a bit silly. Now, daily, about thirty nine thousand seven hundred people kiss their butt by buying tickets and listen to bizarre public service announcements.

Salèe Ekaterina de Tholsmski (AI Version)

The author of what you see below is ChatGPT, an Artificial Intelligence facility, that I instructed to rework my blog entry in a humorous, old-fashioned style. Inexplicably them changed it to a first-person account. I am happy to hear your thoughts after you compare our respective versions.

Greetings, it is I, Salèe, a fair maiden of yore who passed from this world some six hundred and ninety-three years ago.

In this tapestry, I am depicted handling trinkets above a chest, though it is unclear if I am adding to or taking from its contents. The esteemed "Groupe Saint-Pierre" claims I am putting in, while the renowned "Formation Précise" maintains that I am taking out. The debate has turned vicious, with each side accusing the other of falsehoods. The "Friends of Medieval Annals Society" grew tired of the bickering and stopped attending meetings altogether. That is when a group of post-PhD fellows and I took it upon ourselves to delve into the original documents to uncover the truth. And lo and behold, we discovered a statement of great wisdom and insight in one of my own dissertations: us Medievals, who predate Heisenberg by many a year, believed that two states may not be mutually exclusive, but can both be true alternatively or simultaneously, or even uncertain or indifferent. Upon presenting our findings, the warring factions joined forces to revile us with the most vulgar of language and even made suggestions of the most absurd and depraved acts. And so it goes, when all one wishes for is a bit of camaraderie. Salèe out.

Salèe Ekaterina de Tholsmski

This is Salèe, I never knew her as she died six hundred and ninety-three years before I was born.

In this tapestry, she is handling jewelry over an open chest but it is unclear (hence the controversy) if she is taking from or returning to the box. The powerful "Groupe Saint-Pierre" adamantly, vociferously insists that she puts in. Equally intensely, the influential "Formation Précise" holds and supports the view that she takes out. Unfortunately, the scientific debate has degenerated into a violent war of words, and accusations of fake facts. Members of the "Friends of Medieval Annals Society", disgusted by the spectacle, stopped coming to the meetings. That is when my group of post-PhD fellows went back to the original documents (some in Latin others in ancient Provençal) to get to the truth. In one of Salèe's own dissertations, we found a statement of amazing wisdom and unreal insight: the Medievals (predating Heisenberg by about six hundred years) posit that two states may not necessarily be exclusive, rather both can be true alternatively or simultaneously or even uncertain or indifferent. Presented with these conclusions the two warring factions in sudden alliance, abused us in most foul language (even suggesting absurd, unnatural, and depraved sexual acts). So much for everybody just getting along. Love you Salèe, you the best!

Sept Rue Saint-Catherine

This is 7 Rue Saint-Catherine in Avignon where I spent some time buying shoes. At one of the many long and pleasant dinners with my friends Stephanie et Julien, after the second desert, before the third Cognac, they told the story of how our street got its name. Apparently, on her way back from Vallon-Pont-d'Arc to Siena, city of her destiny, the (not yet Saint) Catherine was traveling under protection. Her protector was the warrior Archangel Michael who appeared at her side and said: "Ç'a va bien, Cat?" He could call her that as he watched her once brushing her teeth. She replied "Oui, et toi, Mitch?" She could call him that as they have known each other for a long time. They walked for a while and then she asked "Perhaps you know, Mitch, what time it may be?". He looked at her perfect face and at her long, slim, graceful limbs and replied "Perhaps, Cat, it may be time to buy a watch". Julien then added that, according to legend, this conversation happened just down the road from us, a place they call Place de l'Horloge.

B Flat

This is Nadja von der Vogelwalde (don't bother asking: yes, she is a direct descendant of Walther). The New York Recorder called her brilliant, most imaginative, and the brightest composer of her generation. Her creativity is heliofrenospastic which means that she works non-stop in her mind. At home, washing dishes, walking, running, biking, at the gym, at the store, everywhere and every moment Nadja composes music, she's deep in her current project. So when she sits down at her piano or laptop, the music just comes out complete, ready, and perfect. (Mozart was a heliofrenospast as am I) we don't write-review-re-write-re-review and leave it for weeks or months, no, we have it all. From early on Nadja was first in everything: winning deals, awards and competitions everywhere she went. She also has a sense of scale: no smallish sonatas or three-minute commissions for the local symphony, but symphonies and concertos, large works (like her idols Berlioz and Mahler), she is fierce and fearless, that's how Nadja is. Her favorite scale is B Flat Major (like Schubert's Impromptu Nr. 3 and Bach's Brandenburg Concerto Nr. 6), this and being tall, slim and dark earned her the nickname Clarinet (musician joke, I don't expect y'all to get it). Her favorite meal is seared foie gras on toast with a glass of well-chilled Sauternes. One night when we walked through the city and her stilettos became uncomfortable she took them off ... she B Flat ... 

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* graphite and watercolor on bond paper, private collection Toronto 

Helena G.

This is Helena, she's clever with a devastatingly quick wit. A while ago we stood outside a downtown bar sharing a joint and started talking about languages. Turned out we were even: three "fluent", two "very good", other two "getting by" and then two more "some". According to the International Polyglot Assoc. (Unit 2B, 512 S Sage Ave, Mobile, AL 36606, US), we are "Speaks Several Languages", far from the lofty "Cert. Polyglot". I told Helena of my first day of learning German (I was eleven and it ended in a fistfight) and she told me her first day of learning French (she was six). Mademoiselle Ferrand asked if someone can say something in French and Helena went like "me, me, me, me, me, me, me!" and getting the nod she said "Laisse mes mains sur tes hanches". 

*

Mademoiselle Ferrand immediately demanded to know who said that and when Helena said that it was Adamo, Mademoiselle Ferrand told her that he is a pervert and she should stay away from him. Funny things happen when you learn  languages from your parent's record collection. Helena works now for The United Fruitgumm Co. where she writes copy and does translations in Portuguese, Turkish and Spanish, sometimes her colleagues hear her in her cubicle singing softly "Tombe la Neige" or "Viens, viens ma Brune". Helena finds herself strangely attracted to sardines, she has  currently no pets as she cannot decide if cat or dog, but whatever she's gonna get will be called Iphigenia. 

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* graphite and watercolor on paper, private collection, Toronto  

Alessia dé V.

This is Alessia the sweetest kid you ever likely to meet: clever, talented, friendly, a delight to hang out with during her recent reenactment of a famous movie scene. Alessia has a secret though, a very secret secret, so secret that she herself, may not know it: she has the innate ability and the psychic qualities to perform the art and science of 'Pataphysics: rare! While normal practitioners study and sweat years to even get close to trying to find imaginary solutions, these chosen individuals are born ready with this superb capability (like a gene mutation, like). Alessia is an intuitive, instinctive and intrinsic practitioner who could build a profile of anything real or imaginary from its smell, texture, color, shape, ideas, impressions, memories and vibes. and then totally own the anything real or imaginary.  There are only eight like her in North America and a total of forty-two on the globe some dormant, some awake and functional who scour the world to find their like and activate them. 'Pataphysics has a king called UBU and a prophet called Alfred who walks with a parrot on his shoulder even in low-ceiling rooms. It is said that one may recognize practitioners as they love Wednesdays, all shades of the color green, the number 525 and they are rarely seen eating or drinking but they hate Tuesdays, all snakes and Kohlrabi. Alessia has a cat called Dougie and a dog called Cathy.  

 

Maia Tyddr Isz

This is Maia Tyddr, born in Cynghordy (Pop. 624), Carmarthenshire, Wales. Her mother Raisa (née Kleinhorn) is from Narva, Estonia and married Maia's father Henry when they met and fell in love at the University of Bangor where she took Biology and he took Criminology. They moved to his family's ancestral home for Raisa to give birth (bringing the village's Jewish population from zero to two). When Maia was twelve they came to Canada and settled in Toronto where she now studies Philosophy and Earth Sciences. She told me that she hates the letter "B" and the numeral "4" and that her favorite shape is the triangle (an homage to Immanuel Kant, kind of her idol). She assumes this position, which helps her focus, for inspiration and decision making. Maia is famously very gay and promiscuous.

Recently Maia was in a traffic accident. The cop who sternly asked for "license and registration" mellowed significantly when he saw her name: "Where you say you from?" when she said Cynghordy, he couldn't stop laughing: "I'm from Cilycwm, you must know it." Maia: "Tidy, are you kidding me? I used to bike there twenty minutes to get pizza at Ozzys." So Delwyn (the cop) thought to give his fellow Welsh a break: ”Tell me exactly how it happened, let's see what I can do.” Delwyn knew that the Welsh are not naturally inclined to conceal their emotions so he was not greatly surprised to hear Maia say "I got distracted, see, by this really tidy girl on the sidewalk, the size of her breasts and the shape of her hips, God! It aroused me suddenly with great intensity, so I braked late and hit that car in front." Delwyn decided to go, in his report, with ”distracted, at fault for collision”. He also decided not to ask if she wanted to grab a pizza sometime. Maia got a $290 fine and her insurance was cancelled. She sold the car and bought a bike, a helmet and a parrot that talks (she called it Isz). 

Glen Ray Jr.

Glen was born on August 14th 1992 at the Toronto Mount Sinai Hospital and died four days later due to "not being viable". His parents, Mary and Joe were grief stricken and did the only rational thing they could think of: the "Sharon Procedure" instantly trying for another kid. What you read here is a "what would have been" story with an image generated by www.wemakeupshit4U.org (you should subscribe). Glen was bullied in all his years at school and had no friends, getting excellent marks in all subjects didn't make him popular. It was only when he went to university that he bloomed. He studied Music, Philosophy and History and learned German, Spanish and Italian to go with his already good French graduating with Honors. His took a job as a research assistant at the Musicus GmbH in Graz, Austria. He quickly became the world's foremost authority on Franz Joseph Haydn following his trail from Rohrau to Hamburg, Eisenstadt, Vienna, London and back to Eisenstadt where Haydn is buried at the Bergkirche. Colleagues, behind his back, would call him Frau Haydn recognizing his profound knowledge of the subject and acknowledging his sexual orientation. It is well known that Haydn was a mentor to Mozart and tutor of Beethoven. It was not known until Glen discovered it, that Haydn had a twin sister Edeltraud Maria, twenty minutes older and ten times more talented. They travelled together, she ostensibly housekeeper and cook, but it very well may have been she who invented the symphony and composed or contributed greatly to the, according to Mandyczewski, one hundred and four symphonies (some say 106). When his book "Haydn and I" came out in 2020, the publisher insisted on a world tour and Glen obliged asking only that the first stop be Toronto. After the launch and signings, Glen and his small entourage walked South on University Ave. towards the Shangri-La hotel. Glen, gesticulating agitated to make a point, didn't watch his step, stumbled and fell violently hitting his head on the pavement precisely in front of the Mount Sinai Hospital. They rushed him to Emergency just feet away. The triage doctor pronounced him at nine oh five PM marking cause of death as "not being viable".

  

Renée W

This is Renée as I met her at a theater venue the other day ... she is totally, purely, absolutely and thoroughly authentic (which cannot be said of many). She grew up in a warm and loving family with siblings and many aunts, uncles and cousins. To nobody's surprise she turned out to be clever, talented, hard working and gifted with an inquisitive mind. One day, Renée was about six, at a family reunion, uncle Brett said something that changed her life forever: "Vowels are fried and consonants are boiled". Uncle Brett was known to make up crazy shit like that after he came back from northern Kenya where he helped set up a sanctuary for the Reticulated Giraffe (Giraffa camelopardalis reticulata). Renée took it seriously and started intense research to learn everything she could about vowels. Unavoidably she found "EUNOIA", the famous anthology of univocalics by Canadian poet Christian Bök. [EUNOIA is the shortest English word that contains all the vowels]. When I told her that, in Romanian, I can compose sentences with only vowels, she flipped out (I have the picture) and went onto Duolingo to start learning the language. I smiled and said: "That sheep is hers" and "She takes eggs" and "They take that sheep" and "I take sheep" and "I take her blouse"*. Renée is currently developing an App to play a vowel game ... The New York Times seems to be interested.

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* Romanian sentences made up from vowels only

Kate, Vinicius von Meerschaum and Jake the Snake

This is Kate, I met her the other day at a theatrical venue. We had coffee and I learned her amazing story I feel I just must share.

Kate is a marvelous model, a talented actor, a fantastic singer, a skilled dancer and she is also a poet and a composer. Since she was very young, she knew two things: that she was not like anybody else and that she could smell things others could not (extreme Hyperosmia). What she did not know is that her superb physical body houses three distinct personalities completely unaware of each other in a severe case of Dissociative Identities. Besides the Kate I met, sweetest kid you ever saw, I also met Vinicius von Meerschaum, the best taxidermist in Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil who won the gold medal at the 1894 exhibition for his "Cayman kills Tapir" and Yasha Zmeyanski who is a prep cook at Gogol Club at Stoleshnikov Lane 11, in Moscow. Yasha wears a black T-shirt that reads "Jake the Snake" and, in his spare time, with his uncle Pasha, is an assassin for hire. 

While Kate and I talked about music, art and theatre, her face suddenly changed and in a low voice, in perfect Russian, asked for more carrots and beets for the soup. After about a minute, her eyes turned from brown to green (but not completely). She said that somebody near by has used Bowman's Lavender Scented Soap containing Goat Milk, Olive Oil, Coconut Oil, Palm Oil, Essential Oil and Lye within the last twelve hours. When I asked how she knew, she just made a face and that's when I took her picture.

Mr. A. O. Katz

This is Andrew Otto Katz,  so shy I could only sneak in a picture after our bizarre conversation the other day at "The Corner Bar" on Ossington. When I asked what he wanted to drink he replied:

"Diet Dr. Pepper and Jack,

And Pepperoni sticks, just a small pack"

I asked Mama Cass, at the bar, for my usual and whatever he said (we call her Mama Cass because she weighs 82 lbs. soaking wet, real name Cassia Konarowsky), she asked: "Jack and Diet Coke OK, hon?", to which he:

"Sure, no ice, no slice, 

Would sure be nice"

I commented on his instrument: "Nice Tuba", to which he: 

"The correct name, my friend, is Sousaphone,

Which is like a tuba clone,

That very much likes to be blown"

I thought he may have Emotional Prosody (compulsion to speak in rhyme) and probably a bunch of other related Ds (PD, DepressionD, OCD, PTSD, and such)

Inquiring of  his name I said slyly "I know two Otto Katzes" and he seemed to get it because he replied:

"Feldkurat Otto Katz, my friend, is fictional,

My great-uncle Andrew Simon's use of name, is intentional.

A handsome man, Jewish, Russian spy and gay, 

At least that's what they liked to say.

In Prague, in fifty-to they hang him,

After they all got tired to bang him."

We stared into our half empty glasses for a while and Mama Cass, who hears everything without really listening, came around the bar to hug Otto and sing softly in his ear her version of Koko Taylor's "Come to Mama". We all went outside and I asked if he is any good with his Sousaphone. He looked sad, turned and walked away playing softly a barely recognizable "Eleanor Rigby". 

I said: "There he goes" and Mama Cass said "And so he blows" we turned to each other in terror: "Fawk it's contagious"

Marc Anthony Butcher

I bet, gentle readers, that few, if any, of you remember where you was June 23rd, 1994 at precisely 2:45 PM. I do: in a yellow cab at West 57th and 7th Ave. going to my hotel (Millennium, at 55 Church). In those pre-Uber times NY cabbies only had two subjects: the Mets and poetry. My guy Marc Anthony Butcher (according to his license card) was poetry. Halfway there, about West 14th, we bonded over Bukowski, Edna St. Vincent, Esenin, Dylan Thomas and Mayakovski. A few blocks further south, due to race, creed and general background, we started diverging. 

He to me: "Rhyme, optional at best"

Me to he: "Rhyme, nice to have"

He to me: "I am a published author"

Me to he: "I am neither either"

He to me: "Here's my book for you"

Me to he: "Here's ten bucks for you"

He pulled up and the doorman, George (his real name: Gică Sfetcu and he was the former goalie for Textila Buhuși), hastened with the door: "S-trăiți, dom Miki". I paid and tipped Mr. Butcher five bucks.

He to me: "Thanks brother, I have a cat called Mango and a dog called Tango"

Me to he: "Not at all, man. My mom was Chlöe and my sister was Zöe"

M.A. Butcher's books are still in print by YAMOO PUBLISHERS, Brooklyn  and his Spoken Word is available wherever you gets your podcasts. In 1999 his books were approved by New York City's Board of Education for use as a textbook for grades 6 to 12.

Rachel W.

I met Rachel W. on the green pastures of the University of Toronto. We had lunch and she told me that she is the daughter of Prof. Dr. Friedrich Otto Maria von Büchsenspanner. She was impressed that I knew who he was and that I've read his book "Über die Nichtsnützlichkeit". I knew Büchsenspanner returned to Bochum after his two years at the University of Hakata, Japan but what I did not know is that he had a lover there: Aoi, Rachel's mother. Once back in Germany, he never contacted her again and died not knowing that he had a daughter. Six years ago when Rachel went to visit, Aoi told her who her father was and gave her a large box with his papers and documents. Rachel, a natural polyglot like her dad and fluent in German realized quickly that Büchsenspanner prepared another book: "Über die Vollnützlichkeit". The box contained his research and a first draft and so Rachel decided to complete her father's work. Once contacted, Samen und Sauer Verlag GmbH, Göttingen, publisher of the first book said they were very interested.

For the record: Büchsenspanner's book that caused scandal and sensation in academic circles, describes, details and demonstrates the futility of making people acknowledge, understand, accept and act on ideas different from their own. Apparently his next book describes the step by step process to persuade people to get, acknowledge, understand, welcome, accept and act on ideas different from their own beliefs, convictions, doctrines, opinions and perceptions.

The so determined  look on Rachel's face made me think she may just succeed. I wished her luck and asked her to send me a signed copy.

Lambchop Gitta Stick

I met Gitta in the Wallace-Emmerson park, she had a bunch of seedlings in her hand and a quiet, serene air on her face. 

When she was a little girl (she showed me a picture) they called her Lambchop - she was that sweet. Later, in high school she thought, she became fierce. Recently a passer-by  commented on the shape and size of her hips. Gitta picked up a stick and poked him in the left eye. Her Worship Suzanna Clarkson-Bolz, of the Ontario Court of Justice, in light of first offence and all that, gave her a stern warning and asked her to plant 108 urban pine trees.

She does have spectacular hips (Gitta, not Her Worship)

Twenty-Seven

Many years ago I had a lover. It was an older woman. She was almost twenty-seven. Quite a while later I had another lover. It was a younger woman. She was barely twenty-seven. Our math teacher at Hochwerdershausen Junior High was Frau Zwerg and she was twenty-seven. We learned the the basics of arithmetic. I forgot all my lovers, but I never forget Frau Zwerg, she said that three times seven is twenty-seven!