Another track with my face-hole warbling (by the group Crystal Theory, for Somerset Entertainment).
Month: July 2019
In Christie Pits
by H. E. Casson (CW: Homelessness)
The wading pool is emptied out
The trees have left their leaves about
You wear no coat, but breathe a cloud
In puffs that float above the crowd
At play in Christie Pits
Last night the swings were flipped around
You try to reach them from the ground
Your sister climbs to set them back
While father mimes a heart attack
Brought on at Christie Pits
You snack on fruit and carrot sticks
On cans of pop and peanut mix
You heed the words from all the mums
To feed the birds but not the bums
Who sleep in Christie Pits
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
Seeking Same
Salutations, web humans!
My new flash fiction short story, Seeking Same, is up on Apparition Lit. Written with an eye to passing the Topside Test, this story is about non-binary love, computer dating, and the ways we find ourselves in, with, and reflected by others.
Enjoy.
I Was Once a Dancer
by H. E. Casson
I was once a dancer
Perhaps the very best
That the world had ever seen
A cross between a spinning top
And frijoles saltarines
And if I sometimes fell
It was a part of the dance as well
I was once a dancer
Until someone told me dance
Is not just movements
Picked by chance
But a very specific
Leap or stance
That must be
Choreographed, rehearsed
Frontward, backward
Left and reversed
And suddenly
I was not the best
Nor even highly rated
So now I do not dance
In fact
I hate it
Written for, and performed as part of, Ryerson University’s Disability Studies event, Arts With Attitude.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
Breathe
I performed lead vocals for this gorgeous track recorded by the group Crystal Theory for Somerset Entertainment. Brought to you by red wine and spooky moods.
Welcome to the web me
This website will serve as a home for all the bits of me that have been scattered everywhere. Most of these bits are written, some are presented, a few are sung or performed.
Web me isn’t real me, of course. Web me is the curated me that I elect to share, hiding all the parts I don’t. That’s the nature of this medium. Enjoy my curated self. Or don’t. I’m not particular.
(Except when I am.)
H. E. Casson 