Shannon Larratt is Zentastic

First a memory.

A few days ago someone burned down the main section of the kid’s castle at High Park. Over the years I’ve played there hundreds of times with my duaghter and her friends — the picture above is one she drew of it a while back. I have many, many fond memories of that castle, and you’ve seen pictures from it many times (there’s even a photo of it in the background of my now rather out-of-date art portfolio page). It’s a wonderful part of Toronto’s landscape and the memories of more childhoods than I can imagine. And now it has been destroyed.

Over the years I have seen small charred pieces of this castle replaced many times. It’s not easy to kill, and I am quite certain that whoever did it this time must have poured gasoline or some other accelerant all over it. I don’t see the fireproofed materials burning like this otherwise. I’m sure it was completely pointless too. Just a dumb “let’s break shit” thing by some remorseless teenagers. Unfortunately it’s something I’ve seen around town over and over. I hope that the outpouring of grief by the community at least makes them realize what a terrible thing they have done. It’s incredibly sad. I don’t know what else to say about it.

The only positive is that I’m pretty sure that I heard the city counselor for this region on the radio say that loads of people have been calling in with offers of help in rebuilding the playground. Hopefully it happens quickly, since summer is practically upon us. If you are reading this and want to chip in, I’m guessing that a good first step would be to contact Gord Perks‘s office. Caitlin just told me Canadian Tire just donated $50,000 to the rebuilding — that motivates me to shop there next time I need something they sell.

Late last night I was lying in bed trying to get to sleep but I couldn’t because my right knee kept dislocating and was in a lot of pain. I thought it might help to walk it off so wandered through the many loud St. Patrick’s revelers crowding around bars (I hadn’t realized the day so it took me a minute to clue in to why there were so many drunks about) and took an extremely spooky walk through the dark forest (I did have a flashlight in my pocket, which might only have made it spookier) and eventually ended up in front of the dark burned out husk of the castle, surrounded by a temporary fence. I stood there for a while looking at it and trying to remember all the good times I’ve had there. Amusingly Caitlin did not believe that I took a midnight walk until I showed her the blurry pictures in the background of the animation as “proof”.

This graffiti is on one of the warehouses on my street.

While I’m talking about places…

A friend was looking for flowers for a tattoo, and I joked that she should get daffodils because they have an interesting mythology. It’s not so flattering a mythology, thus the joke. In my dreams Toronto is surrounded by fields of daffodils, which I’m sure comes from their original name. I’m not talking about “Narcissus” (which comes not just from the legend, but also the root word which means “to grow numb”, due to the plant’s narcotic uses), but the alternate form, the “Affodell”. This comes from “Asphodel”, as in “Asphodel Meadows”, which is a part of Greek underworld where people who are neither good nor evil end up. These fields are quite pretty, full of daffodils as far as the eye can see, and these daffodils are also the dead’s only food. Being neither good nor evil as in being boring — being middle of the road nobodies. Before entering, they drink the poison waters of the river Lethe, which strips them of their identities and leaves them like a mindless machine — a harmless zombie in effect. They just sort of stumble about mute and mindless, eating daffodils. It’s incredibly unflattering and a little disturbing.

Politically the reasoning behind this part of hell is quite interesting. The more heroic members of society got to go to the more paradise-like Elysium Fields, and it’s thought that the concept of Asphodel Meadows was created to brainwash people into becoming soldiers. Ironic, really. But the thing that’s a real head scratcher for me takes us back into the real world. A bit east of Peterborough, so a little North of where I grew up, there is actually a region called “Asphodel”. Why in the world would someone choose this as their namesake? I mean, I get that the average person desperately wants to be an anonymous nobody that never makes waves, but they rarely want to admit it so publicly!!!