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I’ve been a bit of an insomniac lately, and when i do sleep, it’s been full of strange dreams.
Yesterday i had three. You know the type, the ones that bleed into the next.
In the first, I was sailing a gigantic ship over enormous waves in the middle of cottage country. But the ship would bend over each wave, like a rubber sole, so that the masts would cross. Despite being thrown about the rigging, everyone (being miscellaneous friends i couldn’t place) seemed pretty happy. The sun was blinding, and we would high five every time the masts bent close enough.
And then, it was night and David Suzuki was trying to teach my crew, the “dangers of isolation while ice fishing,” by dramatically faking a suicide and throwing himself off an ice flow (why one would fish off an ice flow is beyond me). But, just as we were getting worried, he popped back up grinning wildly, and lifts something above his head. “Don’t worry I have a secret rope!” and pulled himself back up and out of the black water.
And then, I woke up the next morning to find a birds nest at the back of my head. Literally. My hair had been woven into a tiny basket. My dream self was confused as to how this might have happened, and eventually concluded that a group of swallows must have come and done it while i slept.
And then my real self woke up (it's always strange waking up twice), and thought it was such a bizarre and pretty little image that i had to draw it immediately.
I spent the early part of this year, shifting between the isolated wilds of northern alberta and the warm coast of british colombia. Both provinces contained a barrage of new friends, that felt like old ones. Months of living out stories, instead of retelling the ones that have already happened. And since the moment my plane has touched down in toronto, it’s as though i’ve hit the ground running.
This entire year so far has been an acceleration of tiny moments, that feel like big ones.
I finished this tattoo design in the rainy coffee shops of east van, for a roommate i left in alberta. And while i’m so glad to be home, it reminds me fondly of wood paneled motel rooms, and the muddy backs of pick up trucks.