I’ve only been back in Vancouver for two months and I’m already in the paper. I especially enjoy that this reporter called me a singer and she didn’t put singer in quotation marks. Click here to read the article: http://www2.canada.com/vancouvercourier/news/story.html?id=e7606bfa-7968-4f06-8b77-e67942f826f6
My lovely friend Michelle prompted me to write a poem. I sent it to her and she turned it in to art! Thank you Michelle. I hope we can live in the same city again. Until then you shall be a Londoner in Argentina and I shall be a boho
My friend Michelle is doing a writers residency in Argentina- lucky girl! The theme she is working on is ‘Home.’ She asked me to write a piece for it and I figured since I’ve been quasi-homeless since I left London this would be an appropriate subject for me to write
“You wanna spin- spin! You wanna jump-jump! You wanna sit in the corner and do yoga- sweet, do it!” -DDPP NYC The female-only cult phenomenon known as Dance Dance Party Party™ (DDPP™) which began in New York City is finally in Vancouver (again)! Unlike typical workout or dance classes, Dance
This is a short film of a poem I wrote based on something that happened few years ago. It is directed, edited and photographed by my great and talented friend Kim Buikema. We filmed this short in South London one Sunday in the summer of 2009. I’d like to thank
I recently started a new job. It’s a job-job complete with a desk, office hours, a direct phone number, paper work and a commute. There is a novelty to this new life and the fact that I’ve avoided it for so long. I am an alien creature meandering through silly
London is a city with over 7.5 million residents and I believe that most of them are good and honest people. This is because during the year I lived there I experienced some extreme good will. People were so kind that my faith in humanity was completely renewed. In late
I don’t even think we had rubber boots on at the time. My ripped jeans were soaked right up passed the knees. Plaid shirts wrapped around our waists and clipped in our centre parted hair were plastic little girl barrettes. It was 1993. Sarah and I were 13 years old, jumping into puddles on a warm spring day. Hockey moms drove by and glared at us with a look that scoffed, ‘ugh, teenagers.’ But we didn’t give a flying fart what anyone thought. We were best friends (Best Friends Forever!) splashing in the last days of childhood.
Sara Bynoe 