by Tim Girvin | Aug 12, 2011 | Diary
THE PORTALS TO SEEING SOME ONE WAS TALKING TO ME ABOUT WINDOWS. Actually, I was looking at old windows and wondering about what’s been seen between the seer and the sight beyond. These were old windows — that were removed from houses. They were being sold...
by Tim Girvin | Mar 5, 2011 | Diary
I’VE BEEN WALKING, THE LATE NIGHTS, THE EARLY SHIFTS. SOME AIR, IN EITHER — BOTH FROSTED IN THE MORNING — CHILLED, THE WIND AND RAIN AS DAY FALLS. I went out walking late, Vancouver. That night, the rains came, then they turned to mist, and finally...
by Tim Girvin | Jan 11, 2011 | Diary
I was in an alley, early morning, only days ago — and the cold was almost unbearable. This, 5am — and walking the alley, steam rose up into the light, creating a kind of painting. A misted water-coloring, awash in seething color and watered plumes of fog...
by Tim Girvin | Nov 28, 2010 | Diary
NYC Looking north, pre-dawn, when only the mist is the light of Central Park, it’s like a land that hasn’t yet been discovered — there’s jungle there. And indeed, there’s jungle, round that jungle — ring, on ring; adventure —...
by Tim Girvin | Nov 1, 2010 | Diary
The road When I go out there. I’m looking for the long road — what’s out there, the long running. Like any road, really, can you see to the end of it? Out on the prairie — the long reach of the emerging fields, some just beginning, others fully...
