i just came home. my apartment smells of smoke. the lights in front of my house are not working. in the dark, i can not find an explanation for any of this. no traces of smoke on a door, nor discarded pieces of lumber. everything looks fairly normal except for a fresh batch of incense sticks that f. bought and left on the living room table.

i went to the museum of the chinese in the america's today. it was my second visit there in the same number of years. it's a small place, well worth the 3$ admission fee although it probably takes the average person less than 20 minutes to see it all. their first exhibit called 'where is home?' is quite memorable. maybe only because i think i wanted to be home when i was going through it. (their definition included: a place where you feel welcomed, safe, understood, where there is comfort food and familiar talk.)

chinatown is bustling on the weekends. old women sitting on stools on the sidewalk with a table in front of them displaying various sizes of flesh-colored underwear. old men bringing their birds out for a stoll in the park, just like in the Tremple of Heaven park in Beijing. i can close my eyes on some street corners, smell their air and pretend i'm back in china.

there was a sign on a store that sold spiritual paraphenelia on grant st. that read accesorize your spirit. it reminded me of this restaurant i passed by years ago on the long bus route to toronto, the one that goes through every small village, god's mercy cafe - serving jesus daily. or should we say, marketing jesus daily?