entre MIT et me

here’s what MIT looks like on the outside,
rain making the lawn glow bright green.



here’s what MIT looks like on the inside,
me beaming post-presentation exhaustion.



I don’t remember much about it,
but Lana says it went just fine.

Entre Ville: this city Between Us
. . . . .

getting there: slightly less than half the fun

There’s no direct train from Montreal to Boston and flights start at five hundred and seven dollars. So very early Thursday morning I once again I found myself taxi-hurtling toward the Terminus Voyageur to board a Greyhound, south-bound chariot of the damned. Hands Off! The moustachioed driver powered blind.



Vermont Transit puts the junction into White River Junction. Our bus pulled in and the population doubled. We waited for the bus to be refuelled under stencilled signs of possibility. Wherever it was we were, there were lots of places we could go. I saw no sign of a river, white or otherwise, on either our way in or out of town.



My friend Lana picked me up at South Station. She apologized for taking me the shortest least scenic route to her place. I said: That’s okay; I just took the longest least scenic route to get here.

The official hotel of MiT5 is, I believe, the Hyatt Regency. I’m sleeping on an air mattress on the floor of Lana’s loft in Roxbury. Home sweet ‘hood.



Navigating her gold pickup through pothole-cratered project cracked-out homeless streets (familiar to me now, this being my third visit), unmarked cop cars cruising past (one with inside blue lights flashing), shifting gears, cutting corners, changing lanes, and cracking wise, Lana carries on a long distance cell phone conversation with her Italian lover. We’re on our way to an art opening. It’s almost midnight in Positano.
. . . . .

Greetings From Entre Ville

Entre Ville is a web art project based on a heat wave poem.

It was commissioned by OBORO, a Gallery and New Media Lab in Montréal. The commission was made possible by the Conseil des arts de Montréal. In 2006, on the occasion of their 50th anniversary, the Conseil solicited commissions of new works in each of the artistic disciplines that it funds. Tasked with selecting the New Media commission, Daniel Dion – Director and Co-Founder of OBORO – felt that a web-based work had the most potential to be accessible to a wide range of Montréaliase for the duration of the anniversary year and beyond. The commission included a four-week residency at the OBORO New Media Lab.



Entre Ville launched at the Muse des beaux-arts de Montréal on April 27, 2006.

Un 50e anniversaire - En ville et sur l'île
Pierre Vallée - Le Devoir - Édition du samedi 29 et du dimanche 30 avril 2006

On April 27, 2007, exactly one year after its launch, I will present Entre Ville: this city between us at MiT5: creativity, ownership and collaboration in the digital age, the fifth conference in MIT’s Media in Transition Conference series. MIT, Cambridge, MA, USA. April 27-29, 2007.

This conference paper was a joy to write, a testament to what a pleasure it’s been to represent OBORO and the Conseil des arts de Montréal. I’ve posted a slimmed down presentation version on Entre Ville [click on the Bibliotheque Mile End] or follow this link: Entre Ville: this city between us



Summer is coming. Step into the heat.
. . . . .

Easter Bunny of the Apocalypse

Sun blows snow through a hole in slate grey sky.
The highway glows, a wet, white-light tunnel.
We speed toward the apocalypse –
Alexis riding shotgun, me at the wheel.

So, there’s snow during the apocalypse...
Um, I hate to break it to you, but that’s ash,
From all the bodies. Burning in Hell.
Oh. What do I know?

The answers to two of the Four Questions:
On this night we eat only unleavened bread,
and bitter herbs remind us of our slavery.
But about Easter? I know very little.

On Good Friday a Jewish friend takes me to
a dance show called The Screaming Popes.
We drive the costume designer around town,
pestering her with Christianity questions:

So what happens on Good Friday?
Jesus gets crucified.
Why do they call it Good then?
Shouldn’t it be Bad Friday, Sad Friday?

Total Bummer, That Really Sucks Friday.
What Are We Going To Do Now Friday.
Are the stores open on Friday?
And if so, what time do they close?

Saturday night at The Communist’s Daughter
a jazzy trio plays in the window.
The bartender is also the singer
and all four tables are full.

So why is this night different from all other nights?
After the last trumpet solo the place empties out.
Surely Easter and its opiates have no sway
over Communist’s Daughter patrons?

It’s the biggest game of the year,
I explain to an American friend, who’s also a writer.
He lives in Toronto now, but can’t root for the Leafs.
Not least of all for grammatical reasons.

Despite much beer drinking and yelling
Easter Monday brings no resurrection
for either the Habs or the Leaves.
Hockey fans hang their heads.

And where does the Easter Bunny fit into all this?
Surely, when giant bunnies lay chocolate eggs
and then hide them from children
the end times are near.


. . . . .

poisson d'avril

March came in lamb-coloured at least, on curly white snow feet.

And went out like a liar, savannah bright sun looking lion roaring heat.

Tripping cold feet, tricking me into scarf and sweater instead of jacket leather.

April’s first folly finds me in bed with a hot head cold.

Mais, en français, avril premiers with a fish not a fool.

I guess the poisson’s on me.
. . . . .