tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1024076553791967222011-07-07T16:06:07.585-07:00A novel in progressGlennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09197837765675193820noreply@blogger.comBlogger61100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102407655379196722.post-17409326324177428512009-08-11T14:04:00.000-07:002009-08-11T14:35:57.580-07:00

A Wednesday afternoon, July 1991Please, please, please open. Shit. It's jammed.I really don't want to go back in there. It's bad enough when it is just mom, dad, and pepere and memere, but my uncle and cousins are there too. I'm too small, too weak, and too damn useless to get this goddamn door to open.----Of course, my grandfather with the weak heart gets it open first try. Nice.-Merci, pepere.I

Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09197837765675193820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102407655379196722.post-9910232557576625802009-08-10T13:22:00.000-07:002009-08-10T13:44:55.691-07:00

Some Friday morning in November, 1999This, right here, is the sweet spot.Drifting in and out of consciousness, warm and toasty in my bed, dreaming now and ignoring my insistent bladder then, I'm happy. There's no stress and no anxiety right now. Just me and my dreams and the heartening presence of my pillow.It won't be long now though. I can hear the carnival in the distance. The insistant call

Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09197837765675193820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102407655379196722.post-8370268236341021982008-12-02T07:00:00.000-08:002009-08-10T13:54:00.391-07:00

Some Saturday in early December, 1998"It's colder than a witch's tit out there", my dad said.My dad was right.I went to Tim Horton's for a coffee this morning, and when I tried to drive home the fuckin' car wouldn't start. Turning the key did absolutely nothing. I don't know much about cars, but I knew it wasn't the battery. Fuckin' starter died on me.So my dad comes get me, we go to a parts

Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09197837765675193820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102407655379196722.post-53378642536250674052008-11-24T14:16:00.000-08:002009-08-10T13:53:04.281-07:00

An essay about a man I admire, as I would write it for grade 12 English class, if I had any balls at all, November, 1997.My earliest memories of my grampa are of visiting the farm. I’d marvel from the backseat of my parent’s car as we’d turn off of the civilized highway onto the be-graveled road that ran up and down hill and gully and out past the collapsed barn and right in front of the old

Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09197837765675193820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102407655379196722.post-78888741669219083622008-11-21T06:42:00.000-08:002009-08-10T13:51:25.346-07:00

A Sunday morning in November, 1996Have you ever woken up in the morning with a thought ensconced in your mind? Like, "who the hell uses the word 'ensconced' in casual conversation?" or "why won't my eyes open?"My eyes won't open. I'm not sure why. All I know is that my eyelids are sore, and that I don't care too much about that one way or the other, which worries me.In retrospect, maybe I

Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09197837765675193820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102407655379196722.post-50899573107748498772008-11-21T06:36:00.000-08:002008-11-25T10:07:15.699-08:00

Hi there.Allow me to explain what this blog is all about.Screefer Madness is a project that I've had in mind for a long time, ever since I spent the spring of 2000 planting trees in Northern Ontario. Rest assured that it isn't a technical manual on how to plant trees correctly or efficiently. No.It is hard to explain in a paragraph or even a short story, but the experience of living in a tent for

Glennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09197837765675193820noreply@blogger.com0