the division of space into public and private is almost a totally inane concept: it’s not that i deny that there is such a split between the ways we live our lives. instead, the creepy thing is the way that spaces become abandoned with a sort of secretive, mythic air. i’m not even going to try and further contextualize the importance of this because it’s more the history that’s cool about lower bay station. in the sixties the ttc ran along three routes that are more or less a skeleton of the current subway system. the first–coloured blue on a handy dandy wikipedia rendering–ran down yonge from eglington, around the bend at union, up north on university to museum and west to keele; the second, and very green line followed suit, but instead ran east at museum as far as woodbine; the third, a simple, thin, red line ran east to west between the aforementioned end zones. i recommend that you refer to the map, because it gets even stickier from here–bay station served as an outlet for two lines, essentially, running eastbound, so a second, lower bay platform was constructed in 1966, but didn’t do much to really alleviate the problem, and people would just wait on the stairs between the two. lame. hautingly similar to the ttc’s future method of handling stress, they closed lower bay. at the risk of starting to ramble, i really love transit systems, particularly subways lines– i’ve already documented it somewhere before, so i needn’t explain it again. it’s cool because it’s not open to the public, but is still rumbling underground with ghost trains.

since this past saturday evening was nuit blanche, lower bay was blown open by art and hysteria, all culminating in the rather unspectacular pilgrimage i made there with lyndsay and my boys after a totally sweaty trip to blurr nightclub (now documented in some nasty photos at dose.ca, don’t look). at the bleak hour of five am, we decide that yes, it absolutely is time to put on our comfortable shoes and skitter up yonge street, suddenly aware of the horror of this route, flanked by flashy strip joints and crumbling pawn shops. we swim upstream, against the dregs of the ocad crowd, our own pack thins until i must routinely stop and determine the whereabouts of all six other people. a lapse in directional judgment ensues, but quickly leads to a triumphant dash across bloor. past a set of giant ropes, presently being used as a makeshift limbo line for very patient taxis, we find the doors to the station, marked with a number nine, and dash down. at this point, my friends seem hesitant, they don’t know why i’ve made them walk for nearly an hour, seemingly only to board some kind of mass transit. i urge them along, eventually descending to the second platform, and their doubts silence. it was spooky, and this wasn’t due only to the phony industrial atmosphere that some artist had carefully created with a set of dark, motionless subway cars, baricadding us in, and some awkward music and lighting. sleep set in, and the novelty wore off, we left, all a little disconcerted with the spooky rattling of cars we heard in the tunnel, even when trains were nowhere nearby (and no, not even upstairs, because apparently the ttc was having a really hard time keeping up with the artsy traffic flow).

i guess that this particular occasion really struck me because i’ve been wrapped up in notions of space and flow of people–the whole notion of simultaneously coming and going. and, naturally, whenever i become semi-obsessed with an idea, it appears in every other person i know: jp insisted that we all watch koyaanaquatsi, or something to that effect. i haven’t been able to glean any further details about it, but i think that i was to gather something about insustainability and the intense pace of our lives. it all fits because school is starting to feel like a thought machine; we pay tuition, have our minds totally wiped by foucault and walk out with a piece of paper in hand. i’m not into the notion.

regardless, i’m not feeling totally gloomy: radiohead’s seventh ep, in rainbows, has been kicking around the internet for a few days, although i haven’t actually had the chance to pre-order my download (for zero pounds, although i think it’s worth, or at least thirty-five cents). i’ve got a random smattering of tracks that are supposed to appear on it, but i won’t be satisfied until it’s all one complete torrent file, stored neatly between hail to the thief and kid a (alphabetically, of course).

and, for the sake of being quaint, and maybe cheering my lonely ass up on this foggy thursday night before embarking home for yet another weekend, i will report that happiness DOES still exist. what i’m getting at is this news story: a group of school kids in manchester let off dozens of balloons the other day, one of which ended up caught by another kid (well, upon further reading, he is twenty-six, but don’t spoil this for me) in hong kong. inside the balloon was a ticket–one admission to the manchester zoo. if you don’t see the terrible cuteness of this story, and the inevitable trip to be made to england by this child as an old man to redeem his prize, then you’re just a sad suck, and you should probably exit this page immediately.

that’s it. i’m done. it took a week.

phew.