barbarian girl, still with wrecked ankle


Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

This link has everything needed to tell a story and I like it. (and this explains where it came from. thank you Duncan.)

I feel like dancing. I’ve got new super-perfect music playing, the Kaya Project, (yes, go get some), that’s erasing the unfortunate substance of yesterday’s job hunting. It was a slow Monday, the whole day drifting like early morning. It was taking forever to accomplish anything, the thick simple gravity of the world was holding time down. Clear but molasses. I was tooling away at my computer, able to judge for how long, aware of tasks finishing, but unable to grasp how many were left or still needed to be done. My heart felt too light, my head too hollow, like cases made of calcium and ivory, places for quiet telepaths to live in who didn’t need me to be complete.

Vancouver Zombiewalk 2006 CBC Footage.

When my eyes refuse to read advertisements anymore, I’ve been watching video I took of Chris Murdoch doing contact juggling and falling in love all over again with the wonder and awe that he engenders so easily in me. I need to rotate some the video and lighten it before I can share it. Fool with the gamma a little, tweak the curves. It’s magical and a little too dark. My camera can do a lot, but I expect miracles and lately the poor thing’s been flatscreen crashing.

Oh deary me, the things you find on Craiglist…

I really want custard and I don’t know why.

Last night I climbed onto the outside railing of a balcony and found on stage an attractively costumed man with painted eyes playing a banjo and crooning into a strange contraption that looked like a sci-fi prop black box had been caught molesting a trumpet.

Sometimes life is alright.

After him a girl in a black dress sang about the moon in New Orleans, holding her black curly head and complaining that she could hear people making love, then was a projector based shadow play with happy-face gelati spoons and a masked clown. The audience is entirely artists, strange clothes, odd conversations, a lot of raw talent. Beautiful Joanna stood in front of the velvet next and enchanted us while she played the guitar and sang everyone in love with her, and after her were women who started with thier feet on fire above thier heads, who became throaty chess-pieces in black and white hooped dresses who played matching clarinets.

Just another party at The Big Yellow House. I never feel as inadequate as I do when I visit.

How to remove Logos from your PDA / cell phone with sugar. found by lynchwalker.

Once again, I wanted to remind everyone that the fine establishment that is Sunday Tea tm is being held at my apartment this week.

Sunday Tea is a roving Vancouver tradition, an open-invite social event held weekly at different venues, generally from 11am-ish to 2pm-ish, depending on the hosts. Basically, if you’re reading this, you’re invited and so are all your muffins and your most fun friends. If you want to come but don’t know where I live, drop me a line and I’ll give you directions.

This time, it will also be a culture-jamming preparation day.

Here’s a quote from my roommate Graham: “This Monday will mark the five-year anniversary of September 11th; the day where a tragedy marked the beginning of the erosion of civil liberties throughout the Western world. I am organizing some humorous culture-jamming for the night of the 10th and the morning of the 11th to remind the world that not all demands for security are reasonable.

If you would like to participate, or are just curious, you should come to my house between 11 am and 2pm on the 10th. There, all will be explained.”

“You are welcome to invite other people if you think they’re reliable, interested and discreet (i.e. Zombie Militia, Rhino Party).”

He urges people to bring not only the usual trappings of Sunday Tea, which are tasty snacks and good people, but also tape.

good news is on the way

Graham‘s got a friend, Christie McRae, who has an Art Show Opening called ALTERNATE REALITIES tomorrow night at the Bump ‘N Grind Cafe at 916 Commercial Drive. He says be certain to be there, because there’s going to be a DJ and free shots of espresso. He really leaned on mentioning the espresso, so it must be tasty.

Also, Graham and I are hosting Sunday Tea tm this Sunday, so come visit, bitches. I have been cocooned, I need to see your scrubbed faces to remember you exist.

This week’s been full of music and strange adventure. Jon Bartlett lent me Mervyn Peake’s first book, for one, Lung and I went to a porn theater, (which was a far more unpleasant experience than we’d supposed), my mother sang with the Now Orchestra for the improv Metropolis soundtrack for Eye of Newt’s Silent In The Park series, I’ve installed an angel in my house, and begun a drawer of personal goods at Oliver’s. There’s more, but trying to remember everything is like trying to read text in a photograph damaged by salt.

So last we heard, our girl Friday is sitting outside a backpackers hostel, waiting for Esme to come rescue her from the appalling chance that one of her exes, who is now filthy homeless junkie upon the streets of Victoria, may come upon her and attempt to molest her person. American Brand Fear. She’s sitting with her book, appalled at how much she’s read already, and beginning to worry about her phonecall. She only had a moment, did she convey everything needed?

Olbermann’s Special Commentary Towards Bush.

Esme was only late because parking was hard to find. The cafe was nice, (though it’s the only place anyone’s tried to pick me up by telling me that they’re an astrologer), the music not terrible, (Nicholas was playing in a corner that was pretending to be a stage with two friendly middle-aged men), and the drink Esme bought me was delicious, a mixture of hot chocolate and chai I rather liked. It was a fund-raiser of some sort, likely for a cat. A good welcome easy to slide away from.

After we went to a velvety restaurant that floated Goldfrapp softly over a crowd of beautiful people, but it was too late in pretty little Victoria for food, all they had left was small plates of unsatisfying tapas, so we ended up in a second-rate late night chinese restaurant with comfortingly unidentifiable lumps of strange coloured food, the same you’d find in any Canadian town with a population over 1000. I don’t think we got home until two in the morning, full of grease and weak yellow tea.

OK GO doing the impressive treadmill dance live at the VMAS.

Nicholas’ house is a wonder. His “Mad Uncle” renovated it something like six times. Camouflaged to look like any other pebble and glass fronted house, it pretends to be middle-class and rather unassuming. Inside is another story entirely. Nicholas lives in the basement, a 1960’s style wood-paneled German porno bunker complete with secret passages. The walls glows with a shiny oppressive veneer that inspires me to start collecting vintage Playboy covers for us to varnish onto his ceiling and the only way to get upstairs without leaving the house is to go into the washroom and climb inside what, from the side, looks like a medicine cabinet. It actually opens into a tiny carpeted passageway lined with moldering vintage board games that lets out into the floor of the upstairs front hall closet. Upstairs looks fairly normal again, until you take into account the stripper pole in the bathroom and the occasional mad scientist electrical box. (Apparently they make scary ticking noises and, in the past, have genuinely blown up in proper mad scientist style even.)

and now it’s time to go to Eye of Newt



Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

There is a boy asleep in my bed. He has dirty fingernails and one of the prettiest smiles in all the world. Kier, I’ve written about him before, called him an angel sitting by the side of the street. He had a purple hat then and spoke french to me. This time he was trying and failing to light a cigarette. Bandages on his face, knuckles scraped free of skin, he was sitting torn on someone’s front step. “How’re you?” “Terrible, you?” That smile, bruised, but like light. The matches were being blown out one by one by the wind. When I pulled out my lighter and lit it for him, our hands cupping the flame, I felt like I had stepped into the sort of film I found romantic as a child. Henry and June, Delicatessan, something with a heavy handed denial of pathos, quirky with a decent twist of Anias Nin.

It makes me uncomfortable that part of me finds him maddening, as if I could somehow swallow him whole as a muse, transform his flesh into shadow and stich it to my own, so I could be an artist too. I’ve never understood it and it has always made me wary. He’s one of the few people I can’t stare down. I’ve known him awhile now, but I see him rarely. Divinity is dangerous.

And speaking of disturbing things, this wins this week’s Most Awesome Video award. I’ve been passing it around on my messenger, so you may have already encountered it on your friend’ page, but if not, it’s well worth the momentary horror.

Also: Zombiewalk footage is now available, as are my Zombie photos.

this is from august 9th

and so she wakes again with the feeling of crows wings,
feet in the corners of her eyes,
like her gaze was walking in her dreaming,
seeing and being in places she’d never been,
never thought to be.
Sky reflections of water falling,
rain green instead of silver,
the sound of a shower in the next room.
Tile floor, a dressing room table with claw feet.
Old, all old, and comfortable,
the wood silver washed,
as if surviving generations of children had
worn like water
and made the furniture friendly.

It will all pass, they say,
we have more time than you,
so come and be merry,
and we won’t have to notice you again.

and so she wakes up with the feeling of being there again,
that place that is no place,
that name without a name.
Cliches, all of them,
and all of them true.
Waking to the sound of a shower in the next room.

cut and pasted from rumble.org

I do these every year and I have yet to regret it. The Eye of Newt Collective is an exceptionally good group of musicians, I’ve been an avid fan of the NOW Orchestra ever since I was a little kid. The people who come out to these tend to be of the fun and educated sort. I’m going to be at this tonight, you should be too.
Also, in lieu of a Friday night party at my house, we’re having another Sunday Garden party at my night-time house,so drop by this Sunday, at Victoria Drive between Grant and Graveley, anytime between 2 pm and 8 pm. Bring instruments, and food if you like, we’re stocking up at the farmer’s market tomorrow, and we can throw together a meal for 6-ish. (And of course there will be copious amounts of red wine.) Then, at 8:00, we’re trooping down to Grandview park for the outdoor screening of the 1927 silent classic Metropolis, (see below).

Silent Summer Nights

Celebrate the End of Summer in Style

Grandview Park, Commercial Drive at William Street, Vancouver
September 1 – 3, 2006
Screenings begin at 8:15pm – FREE !

Do something a little different this Labour Day weekend—stroll into Commercial Drive’s Grandview Park for the sixth annual Silent Summer Nights, three glorious evenings of the best in silent film. Park your blanket under the stars and enjoy great cinema, all to the thrilling accompaniment of original live music by Eye of Newt and special guests. A Labour Day classic.

Weather Update, Sept 1, 2006: It’s Sunny—see you there!

The Gold Rush

Charlie chaplin - the gold rush

(1925) Friday, September 1, 2006

The film Charlie Chaplin most wanted to be remembered by – The Gold Rush is the quintessential Chaplin film, with a balance of slapstick comedy and pantomime, social satire, and moments of tenderness. A Lone Prospector, a valiant weakling, seeks fame and fortune in the mad rush for hidden gold in the Alaskan wilderness.

Featuring live accompaniment by Stefan Smulovitz (viola/laptop), Viviane Houl (voice), Pepe Danza (winds/percussion), and Peggy Lee (cello).

Three Monks

A da - three monks

(1980) Saturday, September 2, 2006

Winner of a Golden Rooster and a Silver Bear, A Da’s animated Three Monks is an adaptation of a Chinese folk proverb:

“One monk will shoulder two buckets of water, two monks will share the load, but add a third and no one will want to fetch the water.”

Featuring live accompaniment by Stefan Smulovitz (viola/laptop), Viviane Houle (voice), Pepe Danza (winds/percussion), Peggy Lee (cello), with narration by Andrew Laurensen.

Metropolis

Fritz lang - metropolis

(1927) Sunday, September 3, 2006

Possibly the crowning achievement of silent cinema, Fritz Lang’s blockbuster fuses the frenetic storytelling of twenties pulp fiction with Lang’s personal fascination with the dark side of human nature. A vast towering city’s exploited subterranean workforce threatens to overthrow the technocratic elite who callously rule them from above – even if it means destroying the city itself. Lang’s dystopian vision of the future pits science against religion, love against death and revenge against redemption.

Featuring live accompaniment by Chris Kelly (sax/laptop), Randall Schmid (guitar), Pete Schmitt (bass), Skye Brooks (drums)

Eye of Newt’s Silent Summer Nights is a Rumble and Radix co-presentation.

This event is supported by Black Dog Video, The Wise Hall, Artrageous, and Now Orchestra.