the prince of poison

The days are getting shorter. I’m fine with that. My foot slams down on the accelerator. I am fine with that. Let there be more darkness.

I arrive back in the countryside last night after ten days in Halifax. As I open the front door I’m singing to myself: “So glad to be back home, be back home. So glad to beeee back home” and a wasp promptly swoops down and stings me on the leg.

Look at that bastard up there clinking off the light bulb.

I lost my tripod in St. John’s. My video camera was stolen in Halifax. I am officially out of the video recording business. Thank you, thanks for coming out, good night.

No I’m not through with videoblogging yet. I will find a way to build little QuickTimes out of pine needles and duct tape and deer poop. Just wait.

I watched the security cameras at Reflections Cabaret. There goes a tall blonde transvestite. And there goes the guy with my backpack. Tall guy, short dark hair, golf shirt. He follows a little ways behind, as if he didn’t want the two of them to be seen leaving together. Stealth mode is hard to maintain when there are eight cameras surrounding you (mental note). They meet on the sidewalk and disappear out of the frame.

Spread the word, club kids, it would be best for him to find me before I find him.

It was good to see some friends in Halifax but on the whole, a fairly soul-destroying time complete with ever-present reminders of why I left in the first place.

Montreal and Halifax have been crossed off my list. Tonight I’m travelling to PEI to perform at Hunter’s Alehouse. Charlottetown, don’t let me down.

I might have to return to Hali if only to hang out at Rejections looking for Tranny Dave and friend. But would I even recognize the guy who stole my stuff if I passed him on the street? My glasses were in that backpack too.

People are trying to make me feel better by telling me how it could have been worse. Like, it could have been a nine-year-old child that I’m missing. Fair enough. Although the thing with children is that you can always grow more.

Wasp, may your venom spread throughout my entire bloodstream, so that I may visit this sting upon the world ten thousand times over.

8 thoughts on “the prince of poison

  1. i feel for your loss baby. my car got broken into last night. CDs – gone. Headphones – gone. 2 packs of spearamint gum – gone. Not the same as a video camera, but still disheartening. a plague upon BOTH of their houses, those f’ing thieves.
    yours, Violet Petticoat

  2. screw summer, I say… bring on the darkness. soon it will be my favorite time of the year – autumn.

    I’m very sorry about your camera. And glasses. I know how frustrating that is.

  3. You have to catch wasps’ nests really early on in the summer or they get out of control. It’s hard to get rid of them once they’re established. You can get this shit in a can that you spray up in there, but if it’s a big nest you better have an escape plan. It’s better with two people. Wasp stings really fucking suck. I once got stung in my eye.

    Have you found the nest(s)? I only ask because there seem to be a zillion of them around my mom’s place in NB this year too, and they are all super-close to the ground. Apparently bees are building really high, and I just kind of wonder what an Almanac would have to say about that.

    I’m sorry about your stuff. I wish I had the guts to move back there but I couldn’t stand the aloneness.

  4. It’s a bit of a long shot…or maybe it isn’t? But she may just be dumb enough to use her stolen goods right back at the ‘scene of the crime’…Saturdays at Reflections are probably your best bet.
    Oh what a kodak moment it would be to catch her and/or her friend taking drunken videos of each other on the dancefloor. You could go up to them and offer to take there picture just like that guy in European Vacation! :

    “Le photo…photo? Le photo? Le photo. Fromage ? Non cheese!”

    …only this time ‘Clark’ has the last laugh 😉

  5. hm. well, let me tell you a story.

    years ago, after having moved to halifax and been living there just five days, i had my bag stolen -my beloved Petit Prince bag, a gift bought for me in a european comic book store, along with my glasses and wallet – from a new friend’s car while hiking on thanksgiving day. i still remember it vividly; the sun was setting in gorgeous orange tones, the air was cool, the window was smashed, my bag was gone. the gang stood around in quiet disbelief, followed by denial in which we started discussing what to make for supper. lasagna? i had a really good recipe for lasagna.

    years later, after nixing halifax and escaping back to the nation’s capital, i got a phone call on a sunny summer afternoon in my parents’ kitchen.
    “this is officer smith. did you lose your purse in halifax, ma’am? we’ve been trying to reach you for several weeks now.”
    what? yes, yes i did. is this a joke? you’re officer who?
    “smith, with the halifax regional police. we have your purse and its contents. could you confirm your address so that we can mail it to you?”
    uh, yes of course. you really found my bag? what state is it in? where the hell was my bag? christ!
    “yes ma’am. everything is there, and we’ll we sending it to you in a big ziploc-type bag. you’ll find that it’s just more… damp.”
    “we arrested an individual on a murder charge and found the purse on the roof. i suspect it’s been there for the past year or so. well now, you never now eh?”

    sure enough, i received a package from halifax a week later, all wrapped in plastic. it smelled like shit, the metal clasps were rusted, the colour had turned to a dark grey, the money and cards missing from my wallet. but the glasses were there, the keys were there, and i was reunited with that old bag again.

    i don’t think i’ve ever felt such a karmic sense of satisfaction. so, you know, you never know eh?

  6. Is it the tranvestite David who is at Reflections every night? Because if you want to call him;try 405-5164.

  7. That fucking sucks, Philip. Anyway you can swing a “Future Shop 30-day free rental” on a cheap camera in the meantime?

    And, I know what you mean about visiting Halifax.

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