Published on Mondays, with columns by Artists and Writers
Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication
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Caffeine Reveries
by Shelley Savor


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The Photograph
coordinated by Kamelia Pezeshki

The home series, May 4, 2020 by Jamal Falahatgar

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Poem a Week
by Gary Michael Dault

A Moony Evening

a moony evening
leaves droplet tidepools
along a writer’s
somnolent arm
he thinks
a black mosquito
has laid a row
of venomous
pinprick eggs
on his icy skin
now he scribbles
his own tornado
with which to wish
the eggs away
into an already
omelette sky



DOUBLE DOUBLE issue 0226-2021

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CONTENTS: Night Owl Sonata (in one movement), written by Holly Lee / I have a six by six table named Novel  (three) by Lee Ka-sing



by Kai Chan

"Floor Paintings 1"   2016

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From the Notebooks (2010-2021)
by Gary Michael Dault

From the Notebooks, 2010-2021.
Number 74:  Jesus Comes Ashore (February 12, 2021)

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by Cem Turgay


by Fiona Smyth

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by Madeleine Slavick 思樂維

Theatre (2020)

Travelling Palm Snapshots
by Tamara Chatterjee

India (December, 2016) – My impression of Amber Fort is muddled with opposing views; the opposition due to the hordes of noisy tourists and unrelenting hawkers trying to sell useless trinkets from China.  While trying to avoid calamity; I amused myself watching one of the caretakers surveying the ruckus from her side perch.

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Some Trees
by Malgorzata Wolak Dault

Number 63

I didn't know about English actress Judi Dench's love for trees until accidentally coming upon this exquisite BBC One video, "My Passion for Trees" a few days ago on YouTube.  It was filmed in 2017, when Dench was eighty-two (she is still going strong now at age 86).

Here is the link:


In addition to her splendid work in such films as The Last of the Blonde Bombshells, Tea with Mussolini, The Importance of Being Earnest, Shakespeare in Love, and the recent Victoria and Abdul, it's worth mentioning here, for those of us who love the music of Stephen Sondheim, that on BBC Proms 2010, Dench gave what is surely the definitive performance of "Send in the Clowns" from Sondheim's A Little Night Music.  It's available on YouTube as well.

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The Raw and the Cooked, MYTHOLOGIQUES
(A column on the culture of eating and cooking)

A Middle East Dish
by Kai Chan

I was inspired to read quite a few Middle East cookbooks after having amazing food on my trip to Istanbul two years ago. After a few trials I have come up with a recipe/formula of my own.
I list six groups of food items and a delicious meal could be made by combining selections from two or more of these groups.
Group One has beans like lentils, chickpeas or fava beans. Group Two has grains, such as couscous, rice or quinoa. In Group Three are vegetables; zucchini, red and green pepper or onion, for example. Group Four could be fish, chicken, lamb, pork or any kind of meat. Group Five includes nuts, dry fruit, pomegranate  seeds,  olives and herbs, dry and fresh mint leaves in particular. Lastly Group Six will have yogourt, feta or goat cheese.

When preparing the cooked food, spices like cumin, chilli or garlic could be added. The variety in each group can be very versatile. Some of the cooking could be done a day or two ahead. I have used left-overs from previous meals. I enjoy this formula very much and it is a delightful dish for dinner parties.


The Raw and the Cooked, MYTHOLOGIQUES is a new column on the culture of eating and cooking, with contributions by various authors. The column name is borrowed from the title of a book by Claude Levi-Strauss. It is spontaneous, a little amusing but serious at the same time.



Leaving Taichung Station
by Bob Black

"Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember”--Seneca
"But what is grief, if not love persevering...."

A crescent moon dangles on the lip of the late-bit night sky as if a finger nail
Shorn away by the bite of a nervous god
And there you are
Standing breath large and explaining, counting the paces between the spine of the horizon’s distance
And that, all of you, which is the all of your twin, taken in:
This sway.
Between the tunnelled inhalation of sight and the parabolic exhalation of imagination:

You breathe to recreate the world, you inhale to make it rhyme anew.
You reimagine the fluidity of exhalation as much as your genes and
You make up for in how you hold yourself and shadow as the vapour of boiled tea
Of how you hold yoursel in the mirror in the dispassionate and forlorn night.

The small elipse  of re-membering, the quibbled itching of your hope,
Once rubbed upon your thumb like the earth printing itself upon you in the garden
The soil, the broken, cheap pots born without negotiation standing in line,
The bruise of the spanner took facilely handled
And the forefinger and the world grown anew, fecund--
This doodle of testament and gospel and our dividing selves.
You still haunt me, and I tuck the taste of your thumbs from the dirt
Inside everything I taste and share in the syntax of stories.

Are we not divided and reconfigured by the attempt to re-puzzle all that marked us, scar and scent and stellation of home.

Once, among the green hills and the patient land, you believed in the entire geometry of our life.
Your taught me that, the accumulation of what shivers through us
Just as your falcon had taught you of the underbrush in the woods squirrelling
And and and, what else: the ticking and the tocking: your counting and the beauty
of how you held utensils and breathed upon them to remind you of you wished to see.

Once, again, there was that lantern, the body of ghostly incense, your voice in my ear,
Your tears bowing, dilating the floorboards of the world,
The phosphorus stuck in your mouth at birth, the element
You, unstilld, incandescent and still pivoting: taste that.

Once again, later in our memory, you pointed to the milky moon, wearied of its blue-spectral brother, and whispered:
There, both of us, will you remember this years from now
Cottonseed breath, the netting of that summer night windowed by the dampness of the green hills.
And then you asked: “what shall we do with your ashes when you depart?
For in every glass, in every sway of light and sound, I see your bones aged,
The ribs of your smile, the teeth of our skin spread between our embrace-s
Wide in one another’s care, of which became you: and eventually us.

Two unrooted tuber branches inside each other’s urn.
And then, in that green night you spoke, forever, when you said,
While we tango'd together beneath the night's light and gazebo bronzed by rain,
"Do not forget the puzzles to be solved by children during Lantern Festival,
And their faces lit by the incandescent sun of the swaying red moons of flickered paper--
A balm on the bruise of the night--
That your voice is like  history strung over this verdant hillscape-
The alphabet of your becoming and
The reflection of bewilderment and its solutions" and then again you spoke:

"I too shall flower through the loss and the leave of all this.
This is what you birthed in me,
This is what you meant to me"
Buckled by a pause and it did come into this.
We were of a twinned sense and we rose


For: Christopher Mantrop and Wan-lin Young

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(The hallway)

Located on the second floor of an art space, INDEXG Bed and Breakfast has 4 guest rooms, all with ensuite bathroom. Since 2008, INDEXG B&B have served curators, artists, art-admirers, collectors and professionals from different cities visiting and working in Toronto.

50 Gladstone Ave, Toronto

ISSN 1918-6991
Published on Mondays, with columns by Artists and Writers
Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication


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