Month: April 2006

hello.

  • Monkey Fluids
  • Married to the Sea.
  • Cow abduction.
  • Your Paragraph Negates Woofer.

    Duncan as a sweet young thing: part one, part two.

    Saw Brick on Thursday with Sam at the Tinseltown special premier. I watched it with a feeling of deep appreciation, but I don’t think it made the same astounding impression on me as it seems to have on most of my friends. The idea was clever, the follow-through skilled and intelligent, but that’s what I expected. I wasn’t surprised.

    Three more mystery letters have arrived. The last two had no postmark, though they had stamps.

    Beloved Jhayne,

    Once upon a yesterday, when strangers
    woke in familiar places and other woke
    in familiar faces, a young woman walked
    through the forest searching for a flower
    for her hair. Now, any child knows that
    more flowers are found in fields than
    forests, but this young woman was vain
    and wanted a flower one had seen before.
    After much wandering she found a tree with
    golden leaves and blossoms that glittered
    like gems. When she plucked a flower, the
    golden leaves cut her hands and stained
    it red with blood. The young woman ran
    from the forest, and though her hands still bled
    when she arrived home, her mother only said,
    “What a pretty red flower in your hair.” The
    flower never fell or faded,
    and few noticed that
    her fingernails were
    golden and her
    tears glittered
    like gems.

    X

    Love

    		Sweet Jhayne,

    Once upon a yesterday, when the stars
    still sang and the sea still listened, the
    man in the moon came down to visit to you in
    a dream. He said, “Over the rainbow is
    over-rated, you know. I don’t belong in
    a place where blue birds sing, nor
    little girls from Kansas neither.” “I like to
    sing,” you replied. “You’re not from Kansas,
    now, are you?” said he. “And you know
    better than to stop believing in fairy tales.”
    “Sometimes I wonder,” you said, but for now
    you’d believe in dreams, and the man in the
    moon. It’s rude not to believe in someone as
    he sits at the foot of your bed. “I have to
    wake up,” you said, so you may not have
    heard him say, “When the end comes, I’ll be back. We’ll go
    under the rainbow,
    you and I – see
    how far it
    takes us.”

    X Love

    		Precious Jhayne,

    Once upon a yesterday, when certain girls
    cried diamonds and certain trees grew
    gold, a woman lived in a hour on a hill
    from which she could almost see the
    ocean, but not quite. Every night the
    stars would singer her to sleep and she
    would dream of a prince who would show
    her the sea. Every morning she awoke to
    the smell of salt. Once day a handsome
    man passed by her house on the hill,
    and she asked him “Are you my prince?”
    The prince looked at her and said, “I
    would not want an ugly woman.” The ugly
    woman watched as he walked away. That
    night, when the stars began to sing, she said,
    “I do not want to dream anymore.” The stars,
    silenced. Now the ugly
    woman does not sleep
    but looks to where
    she can almost
    see the ocean,
    but not quite.

    X

    Love

    • browser clean

  • Wisconsin voters support Iraq withdrawal.
  • Homeland Security official arrested in child sex sting.

    A nun and some schoolgirls have set themselves up as an international arms company to highlight the absence of weapons brokerage laws in Ireland, successfully importing torture equipment with the assistance of local justice group, Afri.

    Amnesty International has made a short but effective shopping channel film on the topic.

  • No domain name left for you.
  • The top 100 Livejournals.

    Chris Applebaum, one of the youngest yet more heavily T&A music directors, (the guilty man behind the Paris Hilton Burger advert), has done it again, this time allowing Britney Spears to prove she deserved that statue.

  • New String-Theory notion redefines the Big Bang.
  • First lab-engineered organs successfully transplanted into humans.

    • the mystery continues in love


    1541albumcover
    Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

    Lovely Jhayne:

    Once upon a yesterday, after the
    beginning and shortly before the end,
    an old man stood fishing by the
    sea. To each fish he caught, he would
    say, “Grant me a boon, for I have
    trapped you fairly.” Each fish he would
    throw back when it did not reply.
    A little girl came along the shore
    and asked why he sought boons of
    fishes. “One yesterday a snared fish
    offered me a wish if I would release
    him,” the old man said. “I wished my wife
    away, and now I want her back.”
    “You must love her then, to do this so long,”
    said the little girl.
    “Love and devotion
    are not the same
    thing,” said the
    fish as he
    swam away.

    x

    Love

    Another letter, as unsigned as the first two, as anonymous and comforting. This one, however, is quoting me more evidently than the last two. Perhaps it is a clue?

    contact, we have contact

    Ghost In The Shell: Stand Alone Complex

    Tomorrow there shall be another gathering at Andrew’s house to watch the Ghost In The Shell TV series, called “Ghost In The Shell: Stand Alone Complex”. We have watched the first 14 episodes and will be continuing from there.

    Feel free to bring snacks.

    Where Call me or Andrew if you don’t know.
    When Show up for 8 pm, we’ll wait a little bit for latecomers before starting. We’ll go til we get tired.
    Who If you know either me or Andrew, you’re invited. Simple as that.

    Tonight, darling Imogyne has surprised me with a ticket to the Hawksley Workman concert tonight at the Cultch. I’m devlishly pleased, though I’m leery on the details of who that actually is. I think I have a mash-up cover of Striptease on my home computer that wasn’t too bad.

  • New TV on the Radio video for Dreams.
  • Lucky, a short film by Nash Edgerten.
  • an essential Drinking Driving Awareness commercial.

    • This will not happen again until 2106.

    alone in my room but for you

    In retrospect, the resonant frequency between my voice and yours, (between 300 Hz to 3400 Hz), is too many decibels for the tongue to remember. Instead I want to offer you a hand-woven microcircuit, a dark map of my hair from when your fingers were caught in the grain, pulling just enough to make me catch my breath. I want to give you a pattern of wires that precisely describes the dark streets that shudder in the corner of my mind as a memory in minature of when we were lovers. Because it’s enough to shut out the world, that hand-span recollection caught behind my eyes, trapped fluttering and warm. You mean Prometheus, a back-seat wedding of mythology and fact. It’s enough to separate me from my actions, from my current behaviour, and set my record function to pause, rewind, play back, play.

    On Wednesday, tomorrow at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00 in the morning, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.

    I catch myself dwelling on your skin, a shade pale like porcelain, on the colour of your absent eyes, how they crack my indifferent sky. The sparks of impressions you left, I wrap them around me to keep warm in the rain. They are blurring, becoming one thing. A cloak of constellations to quietly change my point of view into something fierce and gentle and forgiving. I feel honoured and privileged, a mirror lens of potential, young and unshaped. Lacking focus, but learning.

    my itinerary’s solidifying

    All who are interested in heading down to Santa Monica for the Gregory Colbert show say “Aie”. It’s time, duckies. Easter Long Weekend. The show closes when May begins, so we’re running out of time. If I have to, I’ll go alone on the train, but I think this should be by group design. It’s too beautiful otherwise. Help me, come with me, let’s go.

    In the same sort of vein, Sophie‘s looking for Sin Borrows. I’ve just recently tossed out everything I could have given her, does anyone have anything proper that would fit?

    we're so awesome

    HOWTO tag walls using laser electro LED graffiti.

    I hung up the phone and smiled again. I feel like I’m at a train station and one of us has run next to windows, shouting “I’ll see you again sooner than someday.” There is reason and love in my mind and it’s nice. So few are my moments of grace.

    I watched, enraptured, as someone played the saw last Saturday. I love the tonal structure of it, the glissando that arc out to pierce the audience so effortlessly. I swore again, as I have at least once a year since seeing Delicatessen, that I would find someone to teach me. Burrow tells me that all is required is a saw and some insubordinate patience, but I’m not so sure. I’m going to trust her on this one to the point of digging out a saw and an old bow, but past that I’m shy. How silly will my injuries be from holding this sort of musical instrument wrong? I can only dare not imagine. It’s not like gamelan, where the worst I do is pinch a finger carrying some of the bigger gongs.

    for though my eyes read, they do not need to plead anymore

    Darling Jhayne,

    Once upon a yesterday, when wishes
    were fishes and fishes came true,
    a young man saw the moon drowning
    in a pond and fished her out with
    a bucket. “Thank you,” said the moon,
    “How may I repay you?” The young man,
    taken by her beauty, begged her to
    stay with him always. She hesitated
    and hedged, for the moon is more
    someways then always, but finally she
    said said, “I promise, I will stay.” She was
    gone the next day. The young man
    waited by the pond and one day caught
    her again with his bucket. This time he
    said, “Let me teach you
    always.” Every month
    the moon drowns,
    and she says,
    “I will stay.”
    Always.

    x

    Love.

    Dearest Jhayne;

    Once upon a yesterday, when
    promises were promises & lies
    were promises too, there was
    a little girl without wings. Which
    is not so unusual, as little girls go.
    Perhaps the unusual bit is that
    she felt she should have them
    at all. The little girl would pick
    up feathers in the park, and ask
    the pigeons, “Have you seen my
    wings?” One day a little boy heard
    her query and laughed. “Don’t be
    stupid,” he said. “Little girls
    don’t have wings!”
    “Neither do little
    boys,” she said,
    and he fell
    out of the
    sky.

    x

    Love.

    I recieved an enchanting gift today. Two small envelopes with my name and address beautifully printed on them were in my mail-box. They carry canadian stamps and no return address, though the postal office tracking number tells me they were sent from a mailbox downtown by W. Georgia Street.

    Thank you, my unknown Polyhymnia, for reminding me to wonder. Your letters bring the poetry my life has been lacking, the mythology I have been strangling without. Thank you for catching me as I fall, for knowing me so desperately well or guessing so grandly. You have given me a gift I cannot measure without vivisection, without the sudden demonstration of spontaneous conflageration. Thank you.

    I’m looking forward now.