How Canada is a province and how being from Canada was once as exotic as being from Argentina, the Far East, or the moon. How being from Canada was once like living in the extended factory of the woods, and how the world was pulled up and pulled up again to fill hungry mouths to the east and south. How the old money solidified and beat itself into the hills and rivets of the earth. How the wind runs and pulls around your smooth fabrics, flapping in the wind: your arms, shoulders, neck.

In some bays filled with poisons, how they are also filled with fish and other things, little creatures latched onto themselves, plentiful and good to eat, but not good. In some plains, how cattle were forced out into the cold and the thick snow and made to starve, how the old, roving troupes of hard-furred winter-eaters were shot with long-rifles and revolvers and made to lie on the ground and die.

How one men came and the other men were already there and they both looked at each other, and one men killed the other men, in some cases, or robbed them and made them to live far away, in little barrier-towns. How one men put the adults in one place and the children in the other, and how one men touched the other men’s children while they were locked away.

How the whole men lived in a land-factory, how the earth was subjugated and made tame, and how all of the men laid foundations and set right-angles and grid patterns over all desireable land. How the whole men lived at right angles and tamed the world, and how they believed themselves tamed, though maybe not for a long time, maybe never.

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