Phase Two of the new regulations in The Trust in Real Estate Services Act (TRESA) came into effect December 1. You’ve probably read a bit about it in the newspapers. Here’s my early take.

It was 1980 when I fell for The Cure, and leaned hard on Siouxsie. I was living in Mississauga, just arrived from a little village outside Oxford, England, and without my music I’d have been completely lost.

I’ve been listening to PJ Harvey for an awfully long time. It never gets old.

Viagra Boys are an absurd, and absurdly compelling, Swedish punk band.

The market this fall has surprised everyone. We expected busyness and instead found only sluggishness, and anxiety. What happened?

They’ve been blasting Sirius Radio into the square behind City Hall. It’s a terrible idea. Let us listen to summer slipping out the side door instead.

There wasn’t much happening in August, and so I drifted, or at least that was how it felt.

I was in Brooklyn for a week in August with my son. It was awesome.

I don’t write much poetry these days. The focus and time required to get anything remotely right just isn’t available to me.

One afternoon the hydrangeas seemed to be eavesdropping, intent on picking up as much as possible from a conversation I wasn’t part of.

For a moment there seemed a way to plot the fruit on an X and Y axis, or at least to create a plot around them, to squeeze them into something new.

I don’t think as often as I should, maybe, about how hard it would be to keep food cold without refrigeration. How restrictive that would be. How damned difficult life is, in other words and in yet another way, for the unhoused in our cities.

A song about house-hunting. And about settling. And looking for something. The first in a series, if I can find the time.

Smoke drifted over most of North America last week. The world went not dark, exactly, but yellow or orange or green, depending on where you stood. Air purifiers were worth more than gold.

Hayden, the mostly melancholic Toronto singer-songwriter has just released a brilliant new album. He’s also coming to Kingston!

I’ve listened to an awful lot of Ryuichi Sakamoto’s music over the last forty years. Sadly, there will be no more new material.

The encampment at Belle Park has been mostly dismantled. If that meant that everyone had been moved into reliable, safe housing, with access to the services they need, this might have been good news.

I was looking through recent photographs and realize just how regularly I turn my gaze to the up and down footpaths that cross what used to be the old municipal golf course on outer Montreal St. The Belle Park Meadows, I call it.

If you’re trying to make sense of the market, and possibly even to make decisions about whether to buy or sell in the coming months, you’re not alone. It’s weird out there. But we’re here to help.

While I wait for life to settle down, the market to pick up, an idea to strike, things to just generally change, I listen to music…