Mythos & Marginalia

2015 – 2025: a decade of days


  • This Puzzle

    Hesitation is seldom efficient.
    Moments become a weakness.
    Alone. Struggling with the blur
    from one day to the rest. You
    try to see the hidden meaning.
    Will you write the right words?
    Finding certain rhythm, sorting
    out time. Each step or notion,
    guarded breath or concurrent
    emotion. Seconds, then minutes,
    comprise a day. No silence with
    solitude. No path. Today. Clues,
    random dogma, unclaimed truth,
    passive aggression, as you work
    your way through to the answer
    in plain view. Mystery in the grid.
    Seeking substance in this puzzle.
    Will you look again tomorrow?

    © 2020 j.g.lewis

  • To Be Appreciated

    I bought a guitar last week. By no means a spontaneous purchase, I’d been thinking about it for a couple of decades, even more seriously over the past year, or two.

    I know myself too well to even think I could rush into a decision like this. A guitar requires commitment, and patience, and attention. You see, I am a Gemini and often plans, goals, or interests can waiver slightly or rapidly move from one thing to another. A passion one day can be a pain in the ass the next week.

    A guitar is something to be appreciated.

    It’s not that I don’t have some experience with a guitar. I took lessons a few times at different stages of my life. I was keenly interested in the instrument, up until I discovered the drums. After that, my kit was all that mattered.

    Drums were the perfect instrument for teenage aggression but you learn, after a while, that they are limited. They are crucial for keeping the beat but require other instruments to be truly effective. Drums, on their own, are nothing but noisy. You can’t take your drums to a campfire sing-along or sweetly serenade your girlfriend. In fact, you can’t just pick them up and take them anywhere. Anytime.

    I sold my drums decades ago. I suppose I sold my drums when I grew up. Since then, I’ve always wanted a guitar. I’ve always wanted to create beautiful noise.

    I. Have. Always. Loved. Music.

    With more time on my hands these days, like everybody else, it suddenly became important for me to pick up the guitar (again). I set a budget and began my search, clicking through the used ads and buy and sell groups. Music stores, or pawnshops, were not an option in these pandemic days.

    I bought a German instrument, from the same decade as me. It’s got more than a few scuffs, scratches and scrapes, and needs a couple of adjustments and a new set of strings. But it is, or was, a quality instrument.

    In my hands it felt perfect, for me.

    I even remembered how to tune it, and most of the open string chords came back to me. Now, my fingers have not stretched like that in years, and the muscle movement (or memory) will take some time. But I, like everybody else, seem to have a little more time on my hands.

    This guitar offers a promise. It is an inspiration. It might even be a distraction, but it’s been a long time since I’ve made some music of my own.

  • Except Lately

    It’s shocking, but shouldn’t be, and sad for no other reason than of all the streets in Toronto, I am most familiar with Queen Street West.
       I have no roots in this city but, after moving here five years ago, spent my spare moments of summer photographing the sights of Queen. It was a way of familiarizing myself with my new home.
       I discovered Queen West is more than a street and far more than a neighbourhood. With all the shopping and dining, it is a street that seems to run 24-hours a day.
       Except lately.
       This street, like so many streets in Canada and beyond, is silent. The street is all but empty. Businesses locked down, storefronts are boarded up, and the restaurants that are open offer only take away. Parking is not a problem today.
       It is not business as usual.
       We don’t know how long this will last, but we know it needs time to heal.
       This is not what we expected.
       The face of the city is changing: it always has and always will.
       How will we change with it?

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Wealth Walks And Poverty Sleeps

     

    click above for a look at Queen West five years ago

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Only Wednesday

       Wednesday sits naked
               and ordinary
                   waiting

       between the bookends of social Saturday
       and restive Sunday. The day is
             little more

       than a cluster of hours or a stop on the
       treadmill. Indecisive and
            lonely

       nobody chooses a Wednesday. Nothing
       happens
                 on a Wednesday

       and it’s the same each week.

     

    © 2014 j,g, lewis

  • Faith Without Discretion

    Take these humble hearts,
    those who trust, perchance, too much,
    the ones who now shelter themselves
    from the agony which lingers
    from trying; from hoping; from
    believing there could be more.
     
    Heathens, yes, for lack of a more apt word
    but neither an infidel, nor a fool.
    Where trust is too much, there is faith
    without discretion. There remains a
    longing few can see, or realize,
    for they need to believe.
     
    See these unwilling victims
    not for what they have not been, but for
    each tiny gesture, shameless notion, and
    act of empathy, however inferred.
    Allow them to create, leave them
    to their ways. Let them be.
     
    Teach them, these broken souls,
    not to look for the lesson, but to accept
    the graceless guidance oft shone into
    clotted shadows. Knowingly they will
    expand and contract in self-preservation,
    self-examination, and sorrow.
     
    It is there, in seclusion, where errors in
    understanding take on perspective. There,
    those humble hearts, may come back
    to being. Each carries a pulse. They bleed
    silently and remorsefully. They have loved
    you before, and may again.
     

    ©2017 j.g. lewis