Electric Cacophony

Electronic Cacophony


I gazed down through the portal in the desk. The menagerie of wires twisted below, the soft fans humming to themselves, breathing, sighing.
I made this.
It was my job, of course. To expertly arrange wires in organized systems, feed them through their portals, name them, number them, record them, plug them in.
I know what each wires does and where it goes. What information that passes through it’s coils and how quickly it thinks.
Most people would look at it and see cacophony. But I see the system. I look under the desk and see how it works instantly. I understand.

Kind of like people. I understand how they work, why people fall in love, why they break up. It’s natural for me. Look me in the eyes and I can feel if you’re truthful or not.

But most people don’t take the time. To them, it’s cacophony.




It was as if they beckoned me, those windows.
We were in the far end of Union Station, across from where the rest of the staff from the National Fatherhood Initiative’s Golden Dads crew sat in the Thunder Grill. They wanted to sit and chat, and I was restless.

And the windows, they called to me.

There was something about the design, the pattern of the glass. It reminded me of the Frank Lloyd Wright wing at the Philadelphia Art Museum. I would spend hours at a time there, just sitting and looking at everything.

And that’s what I did here. Oddly enough, some sort of art exhibition was being shown on the floor. It was empty. Not a single person in the hustle of catching their train or towing a family out into the Capital that was interested in admiring a few paintings.
I lay down on the marbled floors of the chamber and aimed my lens at the ceiling.

Nya Visits Jaju

Over Christmas 2007, we got to journey up to Connecticut to visit home. My grandfather Edward Jancewicz (Jaju) had recently taken a fall, and was in a recovery center.

He hadn’t been in high spirits, but when Nya came to visit him, he lit right up. My favourite photo is when my dad was swinging Nya in front of Jaju; every time she got really close they both burst into laughter.

Babchi (Martha Jancewicz, my grandmother) seemed so proud to hold her!

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Long Point Beach

I went to the beach today.

And; I know. If you’re thinking “Who the hell goes to the beach in Canada on the last week of December?”, then two things:

1. You clearly haven’t been following me long enough; I do this kind of stuff all the time.

2. It was the warmest day of the week, it wasn’t bad.

My first stop was in the marshlands. They had this tower you could go up and look out from the top of. The sky was mostly overcast, with bits of blue peeking through. And the clouds were moving FAST.
It has rained the night before; which meant that every trace of anything having ever walked on the beach before was erased. It felt like walking on the moon. In the direction the wind was coming from, a thin slice of gold lit up the sky…
Knowing I was truly alone; I let music fill me as I walked. @
filtered in my earbuds, syncopated with the sounds of the surf and the buffering of the wind.
The coastline was golden and inviting, but dipping my hand in revealed it was anything but. Maybe if I had some heated towels and warms arms waiting for me in the car, I might have risked a swim. But not this time.
The clouds churned as I walked; the band of gold growing wider and wider. I headed south along the beach, knowing it could take me forever. I wasn’t going to get another workout today, so I walked until I got tired.
I found a heavy log nestled among some dune cliffs, and sat to meditate as the light grew.
As I sat, the light exploded around me as the sun shot through the opening in the clouds. Instantly everything felt warmer, and I closed my eyes, basking in its glow. This shot is completely unedited; the colours are exactly as they were.
The sun wasn’t long for this hemisphere; and though this was its first appearance of the day, it was ready to rest. The wind picked up, sending waves chopping upward as the sun lit them. The log was cold all alone, so I left it.
It seemed impossible to take a bad photo at this point, nearly everywhere I went seemed stunning. Walking back took much longer, I kept stopping to drink everything in.
As the sun crested the horizon, the water grew dark and glassy, a mirror refracting the dark swirling clouds above.
As I crossed the dunes, the magic faded behind me, and the sky drew dusky. A rustling caught my attention as I pulled my earbuds out. A red heart lay tangled in the branches of some driftwood. The air grew cold and crisp. I breathed deep and walked on.