Nuit Blanche part uungh

On this blog post i will be able to talk more about being poorly, which is one of my favourite things to go on about these days. Things seemed to be just fine on Friday night after watching a documentary about Daniel Johnston. Except that it was completely accidental that Daniel Johnston was so entirely tragic, and even though i seem to be constantly engorging myself on documentaries and biographies about tragedy-stricken artistes, i was more interested in just engorging myself with a fun, mentally-ill in a positive sort of way sort of documentary.

Except Daniel Johnston was an extreme manic depressive, and through his twenties he completely lost his ability to think rationally or have any footholds in reality, and he was constantly paranoid about the devil. And the father broke down crying while remembering the time that he was flying his small plane with Daniel as his passenger and Daniel thought he was Casper the friendly ghost and wanted to jump out of the plane, and then turned off the ignition of the aeroplane and dropped the keys out of the window and the father miraculously crashed them into a forest and they were not hurt too bad.

I slept for about twelve hours and when i woke up i found that i was not steady on my feet and was very nauseous and was making regurgitations into the toilet object and was curled up on the floor and was getting back into bed and going to sleep for another two hours. And even after a few repititions, i was still feeling unsteady on my feet, and extremely drowsy. But i figured that this was a rouse ruse i had put on myself, because i had slept for eighteen hours and i had every reason to be back on top of my game, so i got up and i went to Toronto.

In Toronto last night was the Nuit Blanche, which if you are pronouncing your french properly, goes like "Nuuue Blaahh". The idea is that parts of the city stay alive and observable from 7pm until sunrise the next morning, and unobvious sorts of parks and establishments become art exhibits. Liz had invited me along and we had Ian and Clíona with us too. Clíona is impossible to pronounce correctly so you should not even try, unless you have a wicked Irish accent.

My mental capacities were more than a bit predisposed to my shocking lack of physical capacities, so i will do my best to remember what we saw.

The first thing was the Hope Tree, which was a tree with thousands and thousands of water-resistant pieces of paper tied to the branches, each displaying one of four pieces of texts, which were wishes. A truly dedicated artist would have made each and every one of the thousands of pieces of paper completely unique in what it wished for, but i guess that would be expensive and artists aren't known for being millionaires.







The next exhibit was just fog, and that is all. As simplistic as it sounds, fog is very impressive and makes for gorgeous blurry photographs, which are the best photographs of them all.



Our next stop was a strip of downtown. But i am much too tired to detail it now, so maybe in the next post.

So i will make this "to be continued". In the next post, i will reveal the biggest surprise for me personally, at Nuit Blanche, which was Windy & Carl playing at 2-3Am at a community swimming pool.

I hope i do not have the flu influenza.