Memories and Medicine

Sunday night, after we had finished our meal, Susana and I went downtown to Shadow Play, Halifax’s monthly goth event. I anticipated feeling out of place, but it really wasn’t bad. My wallflower self (clothed in my usual black, which fit well enough, I suppose) was quite at home listening to music, sipping drinks and watching the hilarity on the dance floor.
The club was rather dead and the DJing sub-par, so only three people danced while we stayed. The first was an obviously drunk headbanger who included some awkward flips and falls into his “dancing.” There was later a woman who was rather nondescript. The third was the source of the heartiest chuckles; the poor fellow had made himself a vampire-esque cape out of police tape. It was the pinacle of tacky, which I sure hope he was aiming for. There was no way to look ahead to the dance floor without laughing, I assure you.
I would be starting my first day of work the following morning and the event wasn’t all that exciting (aside from the comedy), so we headed back here before long. I remember walking home and Susana craving chocolate covered coffee beans, one of the finest candies ever invented. There are so many details such as that I’d not want to forget, but I fear my memory will betray me.

I tend to remember our walks vividly, including all their shared silences, conversations and moments. It was comforting to walk with her beside me, especially to hold her hand in mine. As I wrote yesterday, it was facinating to learn of how she experienced this place; as someone from another culture she could see it with more clarity than I, surely.
One of our first walks was along the harbour on an overcast day; we sat for a time on the bench there and talked of travel, a topic we’re both interested in (she through actual experience and myself mostly through wanderlust, though I’ve been to a few places). I enjoyed each time we returned to talking of her travels.
I recall another moment while we were walking home at night along that same road we’d walked on the overcast day that I think of especially fondly. There was one place where trees kept a piece of grassy land out of the light of the street lamps. I coaxed her into the slight dark and we sat for a short while, sharing soft moments together before returning to the sidewalk.

Wednesday morning I stepped off the airport coach and onto Barrington Street. Most stores were still closed at that hour, so I walked around some before coming to a bookstore, where I looked around. I find sure solace in music and books, so I decided to nurse my heart with a new book and some fresh music. I’d stock up on those before returning to my home. Heavy, I looked for some worthy medicine. For a book I selected Jane Yolen’s Briar Rose, a retelling of the sleeping beauty story entwined with the holocaust I look forward to reading soon.
Down the street I selected some music with care. I quickly grabbed up the rereleased EP from the astounding Arcade Fire (as an aside, I do believe RĂ©gine Chassagne of the band is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen, full of a sense of what I can only describe as quiet animation), a disc I’ve been completely happy with. I next spotted an interesting album cover on the listening rack, so I gave a few tracks a play before deciding this would be my spontaneous music purchase of the day. The album, Keren Ann‘s Nolita, has been playing a lot in my emptier home since then.
I discovered when I returned home that Keren Ann will be performing this Sunday night here in Halifax, so I purchased a ticket for the show. I’m looking forward to seeing her live (I’ve been very impressed by her studio work and “La Forme et le Fond” has emerged as one of my favourite new songs so far this year), especially since it will be my first concert outing since seeing Death From Above 1979 and friends in May. It looks as though I’ll be going alone, which is unfortunate, but perhaps it will be an opportunity to better appreciate the intimate performance (I’m told it will be in a “cozy cabaret” atmosphere).

This evening I decided to take a few photos of myself with one of the wilting roses that I gave Susana, but which she was unable to take home with her. Perhaps the photos are a bit too dramatic, but I felt like experimenting with a bit of flair. You can find the new shots in the self portraits album in my photo gallery.

I promise you more memories, a few words about my listening experience and an eventual update about the training I’ve been undergoing lately when I write to you again. Bear with me as I try to find the time to write of everything I want to.

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