Month: January 2008

the things I want to see for myself

The silence is suffocating, I can hear not only my heartbeat but the quiet susurration of my blood. The cats are both asleep, two soft weights draped over my hips. I can’t hold them close, they’ll wake and wander away in search of a late night snack or some invisible ghost to chase. I wonder, briefly, if it’s possible to dream while so awake, at least rest the brain, but discard the thought, preferring to try and imagine where the people I love are right now. Various time-zones away, some of them aren’t all that far.

South three hours by plane, he’ll be asleep, strewn like an elegant game of pick-up sticks in his bed, lying feral on his left side, pillow loosely clutched to his head, hair caught in his fingers, cute in a way that tugs at my lungs, steals my breath, inspires me to slowly cut away his invariable black t-shirt with a pair of silver scissors and wake him with my tongue whispering poetry to his closed eyes. Stories of drinking in Vegas, Passover, his panic at the word marriage, how we laughed into every single night. Somewhere there will be a red curtains, a disco ball, a potted palm tree, and a video game console.

Another mind-set, seven hours hard drive in the direction of the impossible dawn, someone older, obsessive, more emotional than I could ever learn to be. Skin a different texture than mine, our hands exactly the same size. A half-fictional time-line, we’ve only spent time in hotels, I don’t even know what colour his sheets might be. The only picture I have is comfort, taking second place, offering a place of safety to someone falling apart. When we were together, there were no camp ground rules, if he fell down, he would try to take me with him, though accidentally. Eventually I cut the tether. Life got better. Now we could stand on a roof and scream at the stars together, if we were so inclined. Which we’re not. So don’t ask me to.

One day ahead and five hours behind, another sweet Jewish boy, like a new melodic theme, currently so far away the seasons have flipped, but not so far that we don’t have darkness at similar times. It’s not late enough for him to tucked into bed with the rest of us, however, so I lose my thread, can’t kiss him awake, begin mentally scanning pictures I’ve seen of the general antipode of the North Atlantic Ocean. Lush beaches, insanely colourful coral reefs, endless summer, dry dusty wastes, and ridiculous movies I love dearly. Lethal wild-life, big bouncing rat-things with gigantic feet. Some big rock right in the middle. Nowhere I can clearly place him. I’m bad at this game. Instead, I can picture him playing, his incredible, wry smile drenched in sweat, the effort of his music literally dripping off in waves. I can picture a stage, something festival, hemp clothing, om beaded necklaces, something wide and tent-like, people dancing, and the perpetual threat of rain. Completely and utterly wrong. He’s probably at dinner, I should go to bed. This is presumably the sort of thing that drives little girls mad in Victorian novels. Oh Herr Frankstein, only speak when you’re spoken to. Don’t use the wrong cutlery. Remember to sleep.

Seattle: March 18th.

oh hell, I think I just missed Michael Green’s birthday.

365 day twenty-one: did I?
365: day twenty-one

The sky was strangled by pale blue today, cerulean seen through milk, so novel that people could be seen stopped in the street, staring. Clear as pastel glass, but no more kind than that. The sunset brought cold as immediately as it does in the desert, as if all the warmth in the world could not soak into this city’s tightly woven bones, too attached to woolen gray skies and shadowed clouds to dream of summer.

“Can’t We Talk?” a simplified explanation how the conversational styles of men and women differ.

to help with your mondays


bunny

AddArt is a wicked Firefox add-on being developed by American artist Steve Lambert. Inspired by AdBlock, which removes advertisements from web-pages, AddArt will not only block ads, it replaces them with images created by artists. The idea is to run the AddArt concept somewhat like an art gallery with different curators responsible for organizing the shows. It’s only a prototype at the moment, but hopefully it will be functional soon. What I would like to see is this project to go through with an approval system, like the thumbs-up thumbs-down of StumbleUpon, so that a user could better define what sort of art they’re interested in.

I’d tap that

The Black Rider, a play written by Tom Waits, Robert Wilson, and William S. Burroughs, is currently playing at The Art’s Club Theatre down on Granville Island. All I know is it’s an expressionist faustian tale and apparently “fucking splendid”. It stars Jon Baggaley, Kevin Corey, Rachael Johnston, Colleen Winton, Michael Scholar Jr., and my friend Mackenzie Gray, who (when his cell-phone isn’t crazy-glued to his ear) tells gloriously Orson Wellian stories about Canadian theater as if it were Hollywood in the 1930’s.

Nicole, Ray, Brett, Beth, her mother, and I are going on Tuesday night. Anyone else want to come? Tickets are steep, but seriously, look at those pretty, pretty writers.

I’m like a singularity magnet

Kiosk, by Bruce Sterling.

I didn’t make it to Sweet Nothings last night, instead I was caught in a crime-scene on my way to the art gallery/tattoo parlour where Claire and Noah have their paintings up. I knew going down that there had been a murder, two people shot in a black SUV outside Gotham, the overly expensive steak-house across the street, but what I didn’t know was that by the time I arrived, the police were locking down the entire block.

I had perfect timing. As I walked from the bus-stop, cutting between buildings, they literally blocked off all the exits with police tape around me. I tried stepping under it to get out onto Seymour where the gallery is, as I tried to find my way out, and I was shouted at to get back, this is a crime scene, then I tried the alley to the same results, then the way I came in to the same results. Finally, having used up three of the four cardinal directions, I decided to hell with their shouting, I was going to breach the damned line, and ducked under the tape out onto Dunsmuir.

Next thing, I was sitting hand-cuffed on the hood of a police car as four cops shouted at me for sneaking in, possibly tampering with evidence, and theatening to arrest me for obstructing the law. It must have made an odd little scene. Four large men shouting at me in my long black coat, a top hat with a pretty ribbon, and gold lipstick, as I explained as patiently as I could that no, I had simply gotten off the bus, I was not involved in any way, and yes, you can go through my things as much as you like and would you please take these damned things off me, I am not twelve years old, thank you, stop treating me as such.

There were so many police present at the scene that I can’t imagine there were any left in the rest of Vancouver, so it took twenty minutes for them to find anyone who could verify my story. When it finally came crackling over the radio, “what, you mean that chick in the top hat?” I was testy enough to bitch them out for being unprofessional enough to call me a “chick”.

The rest of the night was lovely, however. Frank and Claire, once they were allowed out, picked me up at the Tim Horton’s across the street, and we stayed up immensely late taking incredibly silly cleavage-filled photos at their place. So there you are, internet, you’ve been warned. Breasts are imminent.

&nbspBrave New World, by Aldous Huxley.

spending the night up (finished green wing)

I’m going to be attending a lovely art show in about twelve hours from now – Sweet Nothings, “an eccentric collection of fantastic art and photography from a diverse group of artists ” Held at the The Fall Artist Gallery and Tattoo, right across from the skytrain exit on Seymour Street, it will feature:

Noah Stacey, Onwyn Stacey, Kathy Rankin, Sean Arden, Tamas Szathmary, Jesse Daniel, Mike Moore, Damien Pannell, Michael Mueller, Claire Roberts, Cheol Joo Lee, Leia Herrera, Christine Dibble, John Harrington, Lisa Griffiths, Stephen Dinehart, Kevin Kraft, Nick Carota, Rodger Grodan, Dave Clement, and Erin Marranca, with live Painting collaboration by Noah, Tamas, Mike Mueller, and someone billed as “D-TRAN!”.

Now me, I worry about extraneous exclamation marks, but hey, whatever. It’s somehow seven in the bloody morning again and I am still, again, awake. Functioning, not so much. (No food, no sleep, make Jhayne a something-not-as-smart). Perhaps it is paranoia, but really, I would like to think that we’re all familiar with the fact that exclamation marks are a warning sign.

Multiple exclamation marks are even worse, a sure sign of mental deterioration, they not only denote a certain sense of forced wackiness, but also an uncomfortable personality, the sort to chatter enthusiastically about nothing at all in particular, ever, but will want you to love whatever it is just as much as they do. Maybe, in fact, you’ll help them stave off the inevitable, unspecified government agents who are coming with crystals to suck out their brain to give to aliens.

Ah well, at least nothing was underlined.

Vote for Mike as That 1 Guy!! (he’s stuck at second)

I should go to bed.

Night night.

that humming might simply be nutrition, too.


365 day sixteen: drop
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

Dine-Out Vancouver started this week, an annual food festival that involves wickedly-worth-it expensive restaurants offering three course menus for either $15, $25, or $35 per person. (This doesn’t include drinks, tips, or taxes). Running from January 16th to February 3rd, it’s a wonderful opportunity, delicious, cheap, and super fun. There’s almost 200 restaurants involved, which can make it seem a little over-whelming, but they all have searchable on-line menus posted, and easy to find phone numbers for reservations. (The trick is to always call them in. The place you pick might claim on-line that they’re full up, but anyone with experience with this knows better.) They’re sorted alphabetically, by price, or by the type of cuisine they offer.

I almost always forget, of course, until it’s practically too late, but not this year. Ellen reminded me in time to keep an eye on the date, so tonight Mishka, my mother, and I went to Feenie’s this evening to take advantage. I’m a bit of a secret foodie, so it’s one of my favourite restaurants. You can keep your salty Kettle of Fish, your over-hyped Gotham Steakhouse, I’ll take Feenie’s any day. They may serve deceptively simple dishes, but it was started by a fellow who appeared on Iron Chef and the food, of course, is lovely, utterly lovely. Tonight didn’t disappoint. I had braised veal cheeks with an exquisite sour cherry gelati I would love to have enough to bathe in some day. My blood-stream’s still singing, hours later, a little happy song of contented tasty yum. Obviously I need to start roping other people into dinner.

So now you’re all properly In The Know, where are you planning on going?