Tag Archives: Passport

Flood’d

Home is something i’ve never known
I only how to go, go far
by train by van by thumb by plane
by my weary legs with viking calves

To be clear, from grade 1 through 4
I lived in the same house
Near a Guildford forest
Now a shopping mall
I built tree forts with abandoned lumber
Explored burned out wreckage across the dirt lane
Where i found a rusty hammer handle
Charred with reason unseen

Since then, no where longer
than three years
i don’t count the places
as i can’t determine a criteria
what’s to be included
when all is transitory

Motels for months
Uninvited couch surf for a season
Roommates unwanted
A parked van for happy nights

Years when tents and tarps
Out-counted a solid roof room
I can light a fire in the rain
Just can’t put it out

Communes, communities and rest area
wooded campout national parks
thwarting eviction by limitations
by rangers claiming beachlands
as their authority

Destinations not near as important
as the ways and the means

Frankly i’m not particular
but partial to somewhere calm
of transport conveyance
public or private
not as interesting as dirty or clean
and most often importantly
slow, or at least not deliberately swift
though speedy and secure will suffice

Some ramblers love airports
the commotion and details
i shut off senses and try to avoid
conversations with strangers
who looks like me

Give me the awkward lost ones
the folks fumbling through
not the seasoned jaded sharpy
others can interrupt train tables
whereas i can only figure
north or south
from the town i leave
and when it might arrive
Noting: if overnight, make sure stops after 9
when the coffee shops are open
workers on their way
i’ll pause to fill a cup with cream
stir in too much sugar
for false hope and energy

I wrote instructions for other to hitchhike
must add a disclaimer to ensure no damage
i can’t be held responsible for randomness
rushing highway on-ramps, just hold a sign

While a freighter stateroom is ideal
an empty cabin might have to do
to peer out the porthole
and see the same sea each day

Fringed by sand or trees or
ports requiring approval
inky stamps are a weakness
and to think 100 years ago
a passport was rather absurd
of course you are from elsewhere
present yourself
because they already know you are here
commit to your cover story
whether lies or truth indifferent

Just become who you say
before it catches up with you

Merchant of ephemera in Mile End

Meet Billy, mixed media artist, roamer and proprietor of my fave ephemera shop @monastiraki in #Montréal where i purchased expired passports, vintage hotel stationary, 4-language election leaflets, handmade chapbooks and myriad other oddities – much is now transformed into new stories. PS i need a stationery restock!

Quarry Sighted: Continued exploits and dispatches from one Thor Aronson

Thor Aronson, Istanbul
Thor Aronson, Istanbul

 ++ Continued Exploits and Dispatches from one Thor Aronson ++

Over a week now in Istanbul, just waiting for evidence his quarry was here, or had stopped through at least. But, not a lead until a well-bribed cleaner a 4th floor walk-up hotel sent word (through contacts at the port) of a passport matching his vague description.

“A Canadian?” thought Thor, “they’re not even their own damn country! Just another dominion of the damn British!”

A closer look revealed his Greek heritage which indicated he had at least two passports to travel under. The stamp s showed a circuratous route through various Mediterranean, Levant and Baltic enclaves.

Thor Aronson - "Gus Lester" passport
“Gus Lester” passport (Canadian)
Yet “Gus” is no TE Lawrence or even Wilfred Thesinger, no way he could be rambling through these remote places without assistance from a fluent Arabic speaker, various fixers and sea captains. But still, Thor was at least a step behind… if not more.
With myriad ships going in and out of the gateway to Europe and Asia, he could be just about anywhere, but most definitely he was at sea as the rail lines were still rebuilding from frequent bombings, likely effectuated by those nefarious Brits.
No matter, after contacting an inside source at the Canadian Consulate (of course sequestered down a hallway at the UK embassy) Thor knew the passport was a fake, and even the name might not be accurate, but… The face was definitely the mug he was after.
Thor sat down stone steps between the grand souk and the blue mosque, lit a cigar and waited for another smoke signal. If he was careless to leave the passport behind in the hotel safe, no doubt something else would emerge. The bribes were paid, the photo circulated and soon Gus would tip another card. Inhaling deeply, Thor mattered, “fucking Canadians, when will they get it together and become their own country?”

Hemingway Ephemera (source apparently forgotten)



Ephemera from Hemingway