Day: May 8, 2005

All these people drinking down the weight of desire, I look at them and picture myself baring my teeth like they do, sending my arms up to crush someone to me. It’s my birthday this month, a couple of melancholy smiling weeks away. Nicholas will be in town, which should involve, at some point, sitting around and cleaning our faces in sunshine with gelati dripping down our wrists like messy children. Michel is threatening me with tickets, a Damocles sword of Montreal and cats and finding out how his eyes must crinkle when he laughs.

Katie made something beautiful today.

When driving through Stanley Park yesterday with Brian, I caught sight of someone recording the passing ocean and mountains out their mini-van window with a hand held camcorder. It raised a prickle or irritation and I explained, suddenly, how I have very little respect for inert media. No, it’s fine if they’re going to go home, touch it up a bit and then put it into the media flow. If they upload it and let the off-chance occur that five generations from now, it will be accessible media. A “Hey wow, so that’s what it used to look like before the earthquake” sort of thing. Otherwise, what’s the point? They’ll maybe watch it once with some friends and then the tape will collect dust until somebody records over it or it gets thrown away. It’s waste somehow, there’s no recycle, there’s no use in it. I’m interested to know if this is a point of view shared by anyone else or if I’m merely whistling in some technocratic darkness.

Speaking of technology, Tristan left his phone behind at my party. He called it and a girl picked up. He thought it was me, but he was mistaken. They know who he is, but now the battery on the phone has died, he can’t call them anymore. Would the mystery female please step forward? It would be great if you would get ahold of him.

download: futureheads – hounds of love

I was a happy thief. I had the Futureheads playing and I’d eaten almost an entire bag of something called Milkfuls, which I picked up at the airport to stave off depression. I was dancing about, this close to picking up a hairbrush and singing into it, while drying off from my shower, (I’ve never actually tried the hairbrush thing, do people actually do that?), and collecting my bits and pieces for my nights costume. I’ll take my shoes off and throw them in the lake. Brian was on his way to collect me, there were only three kids in chat, and the sun was still shining.

Now I’m aching. It’s three a.m., there’s bruises beginning on my legs, I have the beginnings of a headache, and I look like a goth. I’m hoping things are better in the morning. Least now I’m home I can play good music. Somebody close to Isaac, smack him please. Thanks. It was fun, but not worth the price of ticket.

Elaine was there with Spike, who has thankfully extinguished her cancer. I was glad to see them, but I’m not sure it’s really the sort of venue we’re going to be comfortable together in. I’m too likely to end up wandering away when people are playing to hold a conversation properly. I didn’t like how sticky tacky the lilac vinyl sheets were on the beds, but I was keen to dance. Shake a little bit of tailfeather and all that. Regretfully, it didn’t seem to help dispel this black nasty frustration that I seem to have caught on the plane as if it were a cold. Next week’s SinCity will prove to be better. It’s a more welcoming atmosphere and a nicer crowd. Familiar faces will swarm abound next Saturday. If I can keep my friends from touching me this week, then it should be good. I should be able to endure cuddles without wanting to kill.