out on the wild windy moors

toronto- or, if you love douglas coupland, tranna- holds this kind of mystique for me.

maybe it's the huge buildings, their windows reflecting beams of sunlight and strange images back and forth until all proper form is lost. maybe it's the masses of people, yelling, tripping, strolling [because they don't ever seem to just walk i that city] down streets with names that demand attention: bathurst, queen, spadina, dundas. or maybe it's the way the subway rumbles under you as you're sitting in a park, having coffee and enjoying the sunlight.

i don't know. i just can't place it.

i can, however, place the kink in my neck, the buises on my knees, the faint stinging in my hands and the undeniable sense of warmth that has seeped into my joints from the live music that echoed off the wooden seats and the high ceilings of massey hall last night.

yeah, all that, it's what i like to think is contentment embodied. compliments, this time, of the epic wilco daytrip to tranna that is, i believe, going to remain impressed on me for longer than i can possibly imagine.