"find beauty in the freedom to give meaning where it is not inherent" - found in the bathroom at the galley house in fredericton, new brunswick. long gone pastures, gnawing on orange skies and the passing clouds staring down the lean dark soddy ground, and a biting wind blows a low sound. hills and swathes of brush cresting and falling, and the twisting frames of houses being built all around. big sky open rails and rumbling roads nearby, as we walk and talk and walk on. this autumn is rumbling too, with a frost looming and darkness creeping closer, and my muscles hugging tighter to the slow motions of my memories locked deep within my bones. im falling behind now, looking into history back, when i would dress warm for long walks through the city of brampton with a backpack and a pair of headphones, big black boots, and go rooting through the dumpsters all over the city for the first time, picking up butts from the sidewalk, bus shelters at the city centre or at queen and kennedy, or the downtown terminal, or the many sandpit ashtrays around the city i had mapped out in my mind. i would listen to crass, benedictine monks, smashing pumpkins, rancid, white zombie, stars of the lid, and mix tape after mix tape of everything else i could record. wearing an undershirt, a t shirt, a long sleeved striped shirt i loved and had four of the same of, a sweater from cardinal leger my friend gave me so i could walk around her school with her unnoticed as an outsider by the teachers, my first punked out black hoodie with the thumb sleeves, and the jacket i found in "skatepark" as the graf told, or sproule park as the developers named it. i would carry a book to write in, a book to read, a book to return to the four corners library or the free thinking collective library, a couple extra tapes, extra batteries if i had them, a pocket knife, a couple pieces of bread and cheese (in case i couldnt find anything in the dumpster, or growing on the fruit trees along the trails). i'd climb down the concrete slopes to the drainage ditches along the etobicoke creek and explore, interpret, and write graffiti, and just follow the winding diverted creek all through the night, as far as i could, or at least as far as it would allow me to get while still being close enough to just make it home after a long night of adventuring. i would also run through the forested greenbelts which ran along side the trail, all the way from heartlake conservation area, way down into bramalea and beyond into.. im not really sure.. searching out lost and hidden pathways through the brush and trees only seen by pale moonlight or by the wild eyes of drunken kids, or the ever ingenious bmx'ers who'd make all the bike trails. i'd walk down the c.n. tracks into the industrial district by clarence and orenda and try and find scraps of metal or wood, or find any other signs pointing out that i could in fact build my dream shanty under the scott st. bridge, or that i could indeed fix up that burnt out bulk frame of what once was a house on mill st some friends and i explored (the "Id squat" as i would call it, named after the hair salon on the corner). i would go to meadowland park or dugan park or madoc park or chingacousy park or valleybrooke park or bruce beer park or gage park and just play on the swings, and stare at the stars and trying to kick em down if i could just get a little bit higher. i'd climb my old schools, like agnes taylor, or indec north, or central peel, and throw down all the tennis balls, soccer balls and frisbees so the kids who showed up way too damn early in the morning might feel like they get some sort of reward for it. i would walk through the old brampton graveyard on beech st and sit and roll my butts and read and write by light of empty parking garage on the south east side, where in the summer we'd play capture the flag, where my long ago friend fell three stories onto his head when he rolled away, the wrong way, when the cops showed up (he was always kinda slow). i'd try and get friends to come out and visit the landscrape with me, or heart lake, or norton place park (or "chassels" as we'd call it, named after a long ago vet who lived and worked there) for a chilly midnight swim, or just for a friend to explore this huge and strange city with me. i would dream of running into people i went to school with and invite them out, or just rehash old memories and brag and embellish on the adventures i was up to then, or just returned from in faraway lands. i swear i rushed against that terrible dawn thousands of mornings, trying to keep the night clear and empty for a tired dreamer who only went out to get lost in that sub urban wildness in the first place, and it was just as terrible when i realized where i was.. that damned vodden st. seemed to wind through all of creation some nights. i would ride to the edges, ever gnawing and ripping up the farms which bordered and battled and lost, and the city would spread, and grow and reach out and eat all it could grasp in its boney jilted developments, scratching up the world i knew and loved and tasted every night when i went out just to get lost in the mist.   . my block .