Mythos & Marginalia

life notes; flaws and all

j.g. lewis

original content and images ©j.g. lewis

a daily breath...

A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .

Mondays are just young Fridays

It wasn’t about age; it is still about the music.
   I, and an almost-full arena, took in a spectacular concert last night as The Who played Toronto.
   Augmented by a full orchestra, the timeless British band gave us two hours of absolute magic; full of the sonic glory you expect from guys who have, at several points in history, proved that rock and roll is what it is.
   The Who could have spent the evening simply trotting out a career’s worth of hits, but instead opened with a string of compositions from the rock opera Tommy. Later in the night we were treated to a solid set from Quadrophenia. Both albums go well back into the ‘70s.
   Of course they played, and played well, the songs that many people know more from the CSI television series, but several of the big hits where left out (they did not play I Can See For Miles my absolute favourite song ever), but that was okay. Last night was all about the music.
   I’ve long considered The Who to be mostly about Pete Townshend, the guitarist who wrote much of the band’s catalogue. Now, at 77 years of age, Townshend is still in fine form. But so is lead singer and front man Roger Daltry, 78, singing and screaming in a manner that defies age.
   I’ve seen the band a couple of times in my lifetime, and chances are I will not have the opportunity to see them again. This may be The Who’s last tour, but then Townshend said he would quit touring in 1982.
   So there is hope, and there is still the music.

10/03/2022                                                                     j.g.l.

 

Giving Into Time

Gardens across the city are looking tired.

The flowers and foliage have for months been growing, blooming, celebrating the glorious sunshine and making our days on this big, beautiful planet ever more enjoyable.

But, come October, even the most curated gardens and manicured lawns are showing signs of wear and tear from the dipping nocturnal temperatures, lack of rain, care, or even neglect.

The cycle from spring, through summer, and now autumn, becomes more obvious each day. Daisies, Black-eyed Susan, Echinacea, once-boastful geraniums and hydrangeas are giving into time.

I can’t even find a dahlia anywhere.

Our landscape is getting darker.

The colours of flowers we count on to fill our lives will soon only be available in photographs, florist shops, or bouquets of the day at the market. We take it wherever we can, whenever we can, but we will wait patiently for next year’s gardens to bring back the everyday joy as the cycle will begin once again.

10/02/2022                                                                            j.g.l.

Truth and Reconciliation

truth
comes at a cost

honour
those who have already paid

respect
the process

healing
takes time

forgiveness
takes even longer

 

In Canada, September 30 marks the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation. This day honours the Survivors of residential schools, the children who never returned home, and their families and communities.
Orange Shirt Day is an indigenous-led grassroots commemorative day intended to raise awareness of the individual, family and community inter- generational impacts of residential schools and to promote the concept of “Every Child Matters”.

09/30/2022                                                                            j.g.l.

I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.

j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.

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Posted on November 28, 2015 by j.g.lewis Leave a comment

 

Enlight1

Let’s go out tonight, drink
warm beer, listen
to mediocre music
and spit
on the dance floor. Nothing Fancy.
Just a place
with people we don’t know,
where we can be anonymous.
A place
we can smile.
We haven’t done that, really,
for a while.
There are a few places
we could go. Not The Rex, no,
the music is too fine and it’s usually full,
the line-up is too long, and the service
too slow. The music
would be a distraction. Tonight
all that matters is you and me.
We don’t have to talk, not
about the past, or
what’s been growing
in our minds. We can sit silent,
and smile.
That’s just fine.
Let the night
tell it’s own story.
How about that place, further
down Queen, the crowd
is a little rougher and
the music gets loud. Often the cops
take a tour of the room, but it’s good,
it’s okay. It doesn’t mater, if it’s now.
We can drink
to any sorrows, or
find laughter when we can. Casual.
No need to dress to the nines, like
maybe a seven, or eight.
You always look good. I’ll be me,
a wrinkled shirt and shabby jeans.
We’ll blend in
with the scene, the
kind of comfortable where we know
where we’ve been.
No need to talk,
we can soak up the bluesy,
some say sentimental, groove,
and we’ll watch the drunks sway
to the tunes
as Bad Luck Woman plays with
an off-key bass, but a lot of heart.
Romance rekindled, lovers
or strangers, even this crowd,
immune to the danger.
It get’s loud, hard to talk,
but the night tells it’s own story
narrated by misfits, and mothers,
smoking cigarettes
at the edge of the entrance,
talking about
where the money goes, what
went wrong
and how the Leafs
might do it, this year. Maybe.
All important stuff.
With the occasional shatter
of a glass on the floor, as wizened
old hippies shout out for
more.
More of what? We don’t know
we don’t care,
we need this time
to say nothing, to clear up the air.
It’s good, it’s fine, it’s the night
we need to shake off silence,
let thoughts of the past go to rest.
No need to discover
if our emotions are addressed.
Order another round of
watered-down draft, and
drink a toast to
the moon. Let’s go out
tonight
and let’s do it soon.
                                                  © 2015 j.g. lewis

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