Glenn Gould

I think that some of the appeal that Toronto has for me is gained by default, so to speak. I tend to follow a very nocturnal sort of existence, mainly because I don't much care for sunlight. Bright colours of any kind depress me, in fact, and my moods are more or less inversely related to the clarity of the sky on any given day. As a matter of fact, my private motto has always been: 'behind every silver lining there is a cloud', so I schedule my errands for as late in an hour as possible, and I tend to emerge along with the bats and racoons, at twilight.


Glen Gould - 2:45 - 3:20

we live within

a glass city of loners
who can't help but love
the same place
together

and that was the day everything was still the same

(aside)
Then poor Cordelia -
And yet not so, since I am sure my love's
More richer than my tongue.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth.

So young and so untender?

So young, my lord, and true.

bluebird

The Sea

You, you are all unloving, loveless, you;
Restless and lonely, shaken by your own moods,
You are celibate and single, scorning a comrade even,
Threshing your own passions with no woman for the threshing-floor,
Finishing your dreams for your own sake only,
Playing your great game around the world, alone,
Without playmate, or helpmate, having no one to cherish,
No one to comfort, and refusing any comforter.

Not like the earth, the spouse all full of increase
Moiled over with the rearing of her many-mouthed young;
You are single, you are fruitless, phosphorescent, cold and callous,
Naked of worship, of love or of adornment,
Scorning the panacea even of labour,
Sworn to a high and splendid purposelessness
Of brooding and delighting in the secret of life's goings,
Sea, only you are free, sophisticated.

You who toil not, you who spin not,
Surely but for you and your like, toiling
Were not worth while, nor spinning worth the effort!

You who take the moon as in a sieve, and sift
Her flake by flake and spread her meaning out;
You who roll the stars like jewels in your palm,
So that they seem to utter themselves aloud;
You who steep from out the days their colour,
Reveal the universal tint that dyes
Their web; who shadow the sun's great gestures and expressions
So that he seems a stranger in his passing;
Who voice the dumb night fittingly;
Sea, you shadow of all things, now mock us to death with your shadowing.

D.H. Lawrence