Un Chat

Make A Bright Black Wish

2009-07-18T23:11:00.003-07:00

with or without you

2009-07-15T12:34:00.002-07:00

without

2009-07-15T05:55:00.007-07:00

Hello, Echo.

2009-06-18T21:33:00.003-07:00

with

2009-06-09T20:08:00.003-07:00

No friends, no career, no lover, no fear, no end, no other, no brother, no sister, none other, no sinister, no love, no mother, no duck, no cover; no, dear. No liar, no sermon, no mount, no jury, no amount, no science, no sythe, no alliance, no mice, no men, no fury, no amends; no, dear. no lover, not this, no others, no fear, no end, no friends, no pretend, not that, no reply, no what, no why, no hats, no mask, no chat; no, dear. No snare, nowhere, anywhere, no here, no mission, no listen, no gears, no there, no hear, nowhere, no fair, no care, no share, not clear, no below, no one, no above, no hit, no rear, no mirror; no, dear. No fit, no glove, my love. no it's, not it, look down, no wrists, no fist, no fits, no let, no live, no all, no nothing, no get, no give, no take, no breaks, no make, no mistakes, my dear.

far away, so close

2008-09-01T23:11:00.000-07:00

i moved

new home
away from home
home made a run
a home run
no one's cheering

i thought i moved
with every companion belonging
came every familiar longing

i said, the only thing moving was you

i was moved

epithet jest

2006-03-25T14:22:00.000-08:00

with the amount of times i have said it for clarification, i ought to change my name to: "Samwithawissinfront"
i'd wager that folks would get it right the first time much more frequently than if i introduced myself saying, "wissam".

the golden medallion, much-abridged list of misapprehensions:

wissim
wissum
wossum
wassum
wissaum (popular)
wazzum
wizzum (infamous)
waseem
wassoom
wazoom
wissma
wizzma
wissmin
wahzmeen
wazzmin
wizzmen
wizeen
hussein
osama
ozma (my laugh ruptured at a job interview)
with sam...?
shazam (yes, shazam!)
which i don't mind the least bit: an obscure, unsung, underdog animation.

i am so not a hero.

and then there's this all too often reposte that people yelp, usually teenagers, of which i work with e-ver-y-day, "heyyy!!!!! wAHssUp wissam!" i digress.

withal, the name bestowed much hilarity and has taught me to laugh at myself. apparently, as mother was convalescing and i was suckling, some anonymous woman (nurse? -- we don't know), wandered into the recovery room and suggested the name.

i gratefully await the next interpretation...

untitled

2006-02-26T19:46:00.000-08:00

Save for the faint choral music on the radio, the ride was unbearably silent compared to the swift, shifting view beyond the windows. Your eyes were lush with blood; their folds never settled to moisten and rescue your static stare, lost in the advancing pavement. A distant disposition; a mile for every inch between us. Your aviating temperament was the wheel on the road that day.
Strangely, it didn't matter.
No, I didn't seem to mind at all.

And I actualised, maybe, happiness had ceased to mean anything to you. Merely a re-creation..., a re-animation of what life ought to have intended -- in the same vein, a childhood tale, fictitiously fashioned to pacify a ruthless world, a dense moment.
Perhaps, sorrow too, had ceased its connotation weighed against what you felt within.

I wanted to extend and hold you. And what difference would it make? Our minds were dephasing, as neither of us could follow the others rhythm.
Withal, I resisted to let our current quelled affinity, this wet~climax~love, desorb into an indeterminate sigh.

I remembered your smile and was determined to smash instead, the poison pens, the tales you've bent, and delineate the shape of my heart on your face.

Our motions came to an abrupt halt. Another traveller veered into our way. My fastened flesh now laxed by the force, an unexpected, perverse thought came over me, wishing all had concluded therein.

...But I'm Afraid To Love You

2006-01-11T22:09:00.000-08:00

He falls asleep whenever I play my music.
I have learned this is not necessarily a bad thing. A ta goes to you know who.

A Price For The Priceless

2006-01-11T19:55:00.000-08:00

Music
must
be
free
no
matter
how
it
is
conveyed:
a
player,
an
instrument,
a listener.

Music liberates us; reciprocate.

I Hear Knocking...

2006-01-07T22:29:00.000-08:00

And, this time, I am considering looking out the window. I am considering opening the door. I have severe problems with the Bible. Yet, I have no problem with Jesus. I still love him and still want to be like him. I have decided to sip milk, because, the meat hurts my teeth and makes me sick to my stomach. Perhaps Jesus will let my heart soften, my spirit at ease, so that I may rest easy in the heart of Christ.

I want it back. No more sadness. No more happiness. I want Joy.

Long Distance Musicianship

2005-11-21T00:00:00.003-08:00

Sibilate that spirant sound you fricative consonant freak.

2005-11-16T23:41:00.000-08:00

For long, I have appreciated and loved the letter S.
Listening to a conversation, the sound can still be heard when the ear fails to decipher all other labial consonants. Whispers would then not be so if it were not for our salient S thrusting itself into attention to a distal ear.
S may be more universal, reliable, unconditional, and accessible to all...
S will sound like S regardless of the voice that utters S; it prefers no certain timbre and will resound its true quality for its vocaliser.

A particular affinity with the shape of S has eaten up many hours of bowing random objects into S-formations. Linear lines inevitably were reformed until an acceptable contour wrapped around and in between my fingers.

Idiosyncratic as it seems, the subconscious signification of these oddities were revealed to me in a most usual way.

(more, later)

Up shit creek

2005-11-07T22:30:00.000-08:00

...with a paddle.

I lend you some money. Some money to pay for an education. I lend it to you because you don't have any for yourself. Thirty two thousand dollars later, you can start paying me back. However, if you don't repay what I lent you over a period of five years, at once, I will make you pay more than I gave you. Only I can take my time in lending you money without any ramifications. You, on the other hand, must pay a larger fee if you take more than one day to reimburse me. The longer you take to pay me back in full, the more I will charge you. In your case, since you're still flat fucking broke, I will give you ten years to complete payments. An additional eleven thousand dollars later, I am sure you will appreciate the value of money over time.

If the Canadian federal government had not passed a law stating that student loan borrowers may not file bankruptcy, I would be filling out the papers instead of writing this dejected post.

And, the paddle?

No no no, I've already tried that dance. Those pills could have been rightfully labeled just so. For a time, numbing the senses was OK. Well, it was better than trying to end it all. Though, in fleeting moments, I think having a 'fuck it all' button could be convenient. The left nipple might be a suitable place. Installing a fuck me button might not be plausible. Then perhaps, at least, all the material things I moil over ought to have them. Like this bedevilling computer.

Microsoft alternatively could have integrated some assistance...

I say, by it's sheer levity, that prompt could delay or preclude a suicide.

The corners of this mouth will continue defying gravity.

Rain

2005-11-03T08:44:00.000-08:00

Does any one know

2005-10-23T21:50:00.000-07:00

how I can make this the start up page for this blog??? It's also known as a "splash page" or "cover page". Essentially, whenever someone links to this page, (http://www.unchat.blogspot.com) they will first be presented with the cover page. I have tried and failed thus far to find my solution.

Infamous as it may be to some folks, do help me out if you are savvy about such things. Thanks!

Philophobia

2005-09-16T21:26:00.000-07:00

Even though, one day, I may regret saying it, because some vague, laughable, and derisory notion will form, that I let you take advantage of my apologetic and forgiving spirit, I will say this anyway.

I fully validate your position and emotions. I would have long left you to be, if you were like that to me.

I have an apologetic and forgiving spirit. I do. No one, if they are close enough, believes it because I am so afraid and protective of being taken advantage of, encroached upon, and/or devastated by people I love. It happens, you know. It's happened. Too often to maintain a healthy sense of humility and my once-upon-a-time desire to fall in love with everyone and everything that is and is not.

Presently, my desires are to make, persuade, and/or convince people to fall in love with me; furthermore, and sadly enough, to convince me fall in love with me.

Before long, I may abandon this upside-down-frownism and you may not re-consider your current cautionary position.

All the same, the goal will remain engaged.

or Not To Be

2005-09-15T22:43:00.001-07:00

Flash Flesh

2005-09-09T00:15:00.002-07:00

Pre & Post

2005-08-28T13:30:00.000-07:00

Those few short seconds into the players world, before (and after) performance, is precious. Ever attended a symphony? To warm up, they practice their part of the piece and/or tune their instruments, concurrently. The result is an intriguing, layered, shapeless/shaping, chaotic, yet consistent, wall of sound. ...And the best thing about it is that you will hear an entirely different mess of notes depending on the piece they are warming up for. Hearing a symphony warm up Beethoven's No. 9 was an especially anticipatory and character building experience. This phenomena, of course, can be heard outside the classical music canon. I don't wish to entertain that right now. Maybe at another post (or pre). Yet, if the reader has any example to share, please do so.

I know we could be so happy baby (if we wanted to be)

2005-08-12T23:37:00.003-07:00

no more happy pills. an unexpected us customs confiscation; one-three month supply bottle of selective seritonin reuptake inhibitors, has forced me to abruptly conclude the quelling of every unstable thought and nerve in my soma. three weeks later, and I've never seen my eyes beam brighter, my thoughts so transparent, and I more esurient to create
.m.u.s.i.c.

You're a Window, I'm a Knife

2005-06-04T18:03:00.001-07:00

Hand It Over

2005-05-26T21:03:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I think I have limited myself in purporting the theme for this weblog: "Ineptitude for Platitudes" Well...it *is* my truth. A teacher once told me, "If you dont have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I agreed with him then, however, I've long omitted "nice" from his admonitional advice. Right... At times, manifesting my covert thoughts and emotions, into overt thoughts and emotions, seems to be another ineptitude of mine.

The regularities of life seem so irregular to me.

Regularity number one: words.
A long time ago, when I was small, I ingeminated words in my mind (mostly to the walls and the sky) until they lost all conceiveable meaning; until they were droned down to naught more (or less, for that matter) than a sound. At length, I wondered if language was an asinine detour on the road to interpersonal communication.

Word-lovers of the world, unite and take over! But, save a few of those sibilant sounds for other listeners, such as Depeche Mode; "words are meaningless and forgettable", Extreme; "*more* than words is all I ever needed you to show" and "what could you say if I took those words away?", Magnetic Fields; "I could never make you stay...Not for all my little words", Badly Drawn Boy; "and its clear that you dont understand a love that requires fewer words", Greenwheel; "SILENCE speaks louder than words, but, not everybody LISTENS".

Ah, L'Amour (la vie comme un gars)

2005-05-23T14:10:00.001-07:00

Songs To No One

2005-05-01T21:33:00.000-07:00

I type to no one. No one in particular, that is. Why, if I were here solely so that some may see my words, I would have retired this type of typetalk many clicks ago. I started writing this after I re-read my last post and wrote, "what do you think?" Well, who is you anyway?' ...I challenged my own question. Well, it's not you...Not necessarily anyway. It could be you if you had something to say. I like comments. I like knowing that someone reads and absorbs...Lord, perhaps even retains any of my mentations. Is a blogger so special if they are thought of in the three dimensional world? I think of a few when I cavort through and drag my feet across the streets of Vancouver. Yet, I have met the people who hum in my conscious mind...

I sing to no one. No one in particular. Why, if I lived the truth of my soul, screaming to sing soft rings of this and that in your ear, I wouldn't be here. About the venues and streets I would be gigging; singing my version of the blues. Not that I fancy the blues, only, I am a sponge for emotion. Emotive...where is my emotive? (answer if you wish) Trees once pushed my feet up, as if gravity eased it's consistent control; the clouds on fire from a setting sun, and pastel colours running down the horizon, welled my eyes to a candied glow. Where did I go? The boy with the thorn in his side; behind the hatred there lies a murderous desire that committed suicide. I used to change my mind at will...now thoughts, passion, everything, spills over the edge of a waterfall named yield. It's like I am on this train, and ardent, surreal scenes roll by me...bidding me to stand up, pick a stop, and journey the trails of my dreams.

...I just sit here.

{another} Ode To Pussy

2005-05-01T18:33:00.002-07:00

In the throes of discovery, who stops to worry about understanding? The moments pass as
I watch, and to him, my minute is his undying eternity. Almost envy, as I watch
him take in the world, one unfettered step at a time.

Ask yourself a question; anyone but me,
"are you free?"
Ask yourself a question; anyone but me...I ain't free.
Do you feel love is real?

Nonverbal Jest

2005-04-27T16:29:00.000-07:00

What do you think? It's for a non-verbal student who thrusts his fingers in all of his orifices. The nose was a big one; he had a picnic up there earlier today.
I created a PECS (Picture Exchange Communication System) symbol to try and divert or prevent the behaviour. I taught him to initiate communication by exchanging a single picture (left) for a highly desired item. (A jellybean which winds up incessantly rolled between his soma-exploratory hands--will address this another day.) Thus, if he wants to pick, he will (ideally) use the symbol as a way to ask for tissue, or I would use the symbol in attempt to get him to stop picking.

As I set out to implement this first stage, my duly supervisor showed up in the classroom to observe me. Digging away was he and I traveled to him pointing to the picture symbol and saying, "_______, we use a tissue to do that, not our noses." I gently tugged down on his burrowing hand. And then, the pregnant moment: our shrewd excavator gazed up at me with empty eyes and, gently, wiped his treasure on the symbol card I made--properly placed on the tissue box.

Finite, incomplete

2005-04-21T21:35:00.012-07:00

So. Children know more than they can say and adults say more than they can know.

click click

Why then should I, or you, vex over this type/talk medium if language tempers the release of our true self? Or, pragmatically, this may be a case of blogger's block. Fuck.

I am a mess; a series of shocks I have almost had enough of. Yet, I was wrong; I once thought it was all too much. That saunter gait; those lenient shoes bidding life adieu whenever questions accrued. What is life? Where is happiness? Where is peace? When will I find the strength to bring me release? Jeff Buckley saw a flaming red horizon screaming our names; currently, my ears fall deaf to this global call.

But, to what? God, I wish God would just come down to my finite level and and share a laugh with me. Perhaps this has already happened with Jesus...Yet still,...my wayward wish appears to be over 2000 years late. It might have been great if the entire span of human existence coincided with the time Jesus walked the Earth. What would you have said/asked Jesus?

Today I would say, "I trust you are masterfully working on this baby situation; you won't leave my side in resolving this absence of blood in my life. What a strange thought to muse...There's a heart pulsating, pushing breaths into the east side Vancouver air, and to think, the same blood throbs in mine. Devlin, Milan, whatever she names you, (though, it wont be the two aforesaid), I heart you; I am you endeavouring to become me.

band?

And now...

2005-04-01T19:42:00.000-08:00

!Belinda!Bedekovic!

(this is my personal fuck-you to depression.

Thank you, Belinda, you make Croatia...proud?)

{To avoid undesireable travesty, stop any current media before you click above.}

Virtues Waning

2005-03-31T16:11:00.000-08:00

Fortunate Friend

2005-03-25T22:20:00.000-08:00

And then a lucid dream of Jarsh,
(formally known as Josh).

Slow drive through mountainous Vancouver I look over to Jarsh's well-carved Jewish face and say, "Wings?"

His bottom lip protrudes, "Yeah.. Wings."

Fortunate Son

2005-03-25T21:32:00.000-08:00

Freud's postulation on wish fulfillment resonates loud within my subconscious. Lucid dreams like crystalline springs permeate my sleep, and with a svelte gait, they promenade into my waking life.

I am a father in the making. My first born son is expected to first breathe the same air as the rest of us come April 3rd. Yet, for all I know, he may already be born. The much abridged story...

I met her one night lost looking for an address to a house party hosted by indie filmmakers. Wandering aimlessly, I asked a passing man if he knew the whereabouts of Oddlum Drive. After apologizing for being of no help, he walks one way, I the other. A block away I overhear him talking to woman, asking her if she knew the Oddlum address. "Why" I thought, "is he still searching for me when I am not even present?" I walk back towards their voices and find him conversing with a red haired woman who knows what I'm looking for. Telling her I have just come from the way she pointed, she offers to walk me there. Besides, she was, again coincidentally, going my way. I convinced to take her headphones off to tell what she was listening to. From there our walk was saturated with my ventures into music therapy and her life as an orchestral violinist. It was September, my 3rd year of college, and I was new to Vancouver. Taking her number orally, as she offered a free ticket to see the VSO, I later forgot the digits. The three month semester passes.

Studying for finals with a classmate, I mention the odd encounter with the red-haired woman. He burst a riant laugh sure enough that she used to give his wife violin lessons. My romantic neurons fired; this must be a sign from the universe! So I look up her name online and find, as my classmate swaned with bulging eyes, "...The *only* red haired woman in the VSO." I call her. She remembers. We meet for tea and her late-twenties face denies her 39 year old soul.

Looking back, I mostly admired her sense of humor, acuity, and mouth watering talent on her instrument--I tell you the truth; she made that violin recite poetry. Still, in the end, it was an 8 month relationship that just couldn't find it's way past 3rd gear. It ended abruptly after news of pregnancy. Rather accommodating was she, initially, until she became tired of me and my fall-apart-heart. Hey, I was unbearably scared; hot one day, cold the next. I couldn't figure out how I felt about it or what role I wanted to have. Well, she envisioned my role for me. I have been totally cut off. Hand-written letters, friendly flowers, and gift offerings all receive the same reply: nothing. No use to go into details, but I will say that I haven't been treated with this little respect in my life. Perhaps she is only a mirror.

Back to lucid dreams...

She is standing on the other side of the street. I am crossing over.

She turns her face to pretend to not see me. I keep approaching, smiling.

Coming close enough where denial is impossible, we laugh at the absurdity of it all and a cordial embrace ensues.

In another dream...

I look at her like I don't believe her.
She smiles and asserts, "I won't ever treat you poorly." She means it. I believe her.

We sit down together in a circle with other children playing games on the floor. I try

and sit next to her, still bewildered and sublime that such an amicable connexion is welcome by her.

So there I lie, motionless, against my own volition. Lucid dreaming always does this to me...It traps me in a dream world that I keep mistaking as my waking life...And just when I think I am awake and free from lucidity, something wildly out of place occurs and I realise I am still sleeping. Or am I?

THE MOONBABIES DIG MY MUSIC!!!

2005-03-23T12:36:00.000-08:00

I tried. Truly, I did, to come up with a fitting title for this elated moment in my life and, sometimes, incorrigible laughter and gaiety is the only appropriate reaction.

The progressive pop band from Malmo Sweden requested to add me on their myspace.com website.

Accordingly, I am laying about underneath a gloating moon and feeling like a bubbling blissful baby.

Thank you again Ola and Carina.

From: moonbabies
Date: Mar 23, 2005 3:29 AM

Hey, thanks for your words and music!
Ola & Carina, Moonbabies

----------------- Original Message -----------------
To: moonbabies

From: Another Flying Colour
Date: Mar 22, 2005 12:20 AM

Thanks for the add request! Your music was/is a breath of fresh air. I love it more than I can show you; more than I know how.

Are you really the moonbabies? Or are you good fans of them?

Fucking Perfect Student

2005-03-13T17:57:00.000-08:00

Wide eyes and disquieted voices report about a boy who has the potential to physically harm himself or others. I was also told he has neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS); a term for a group of problems a baby experiences when withdrawing from exposure to narcotics. To me, upon meeting him, he seemed aloof and easy going. However, once his intellect is challenged, he turns resistant and condescending. I sit down with him to instruct a task where he is to construct a First Nation’s symbol of the salmon using a model and paper. After telling him the first step, he went on to his own made-up second step, and then a third. I asked him, politely, why he went ahead without direction and he retorted saying, “It’s f**king perfect! Look at it!” I ignored the cuss and retained overtly expressing my sense of humor to avoid escalation. I tried to redirect him to the model pointing out how the end product might look. He stopped working abruptly maundering curses about how the task was stupid and a waste of time. “Do ya hafta..ffucken...nag me so much? Quit naggin’ me!...mutherfucker...” I began to worry not knowing what to do next. The supervising teacher was close by and aware of the situation and tried to get him back on task. He eased up a bit, but soon returned to defiance. 15 minutes left. 15 minutes could seem an eternity trying to get this boy on task, so, I struck up a conversation. I asked what he does to kill boredom and what music he's into. Rapping back and forth, I discovered he slept poorly, skipped breakfast, was terribly hungry and the pills that he takes to control hyperactivity make him lethargic. He digs slayer, twisted sister, metallica and, I tell no lie, the Smiths!

I was to supervise our wolf among the sheep during lunch, so I asked the teacher if we could leave five minutes early to help him simmer down. We ate together and talked about his mom. She is out of sorts, on the streets, selling flesh, and smoking meth. I took him outside so he could smoke butts from the ground. (Apparently he does it all the time). Walking back, I reminded him how he deplores being nagged and told him that so long as he does the work, not a peep will leave my mouth. He agreed! The next hour working with him was glorious; he completed an entire report on a Mexican painter and drew an accurate sketch of the painting. He received much praise from me. “Hey,” he said with a sly smile, “I thought you were gonna keep quiet?”

Offline for a Time of my Life

2005-03-09T19:27:00.000-08:00

counterparts

2005-02-26T23:29:00.001-08:00

cease the cycle-->

Losing Face

2005-02-25T20:20:00.000-08:00

War is terrorism with a bigger budget.

Braced vs. Embraced

2005-02-24T20:43:00.000-08:00

My Pussy

2005-02-11T20:14:00.000-08:00

Assertive, nuanced and aesthetically pleasing.

Silken, gleaming hair and a purr that reverberates the room.

Free from ambiguity, without evasion or compromise, when delivering emotions

Without concealment or deception and reliably honest in expressing wishes..

A sight I prize; he repairs emotional snares and shares a stare in your eyes.

Why I relate to and aspire to the Cat...

"Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you later." ~Mary Bly
"There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats." ~Albert Schweitzer

"Thousands of years ago, cats were worshipped as gods. Cats have never forgotten this." ~Anonymous
"A cat sees no good reason why it should obey another animal, even if it does stand on two legs." ~Sarah Thompson
"Cats are kindly masters, just so long as you remember your place." ~Paul Gray
"One must love a cat on its own terms." ~Paul Gray

"Some people say that cats are sneaky, evil, and cruel. True, and they have many other fine qualities as well." ~Missy Dizick

"A dog will flatter you but you have to flatter the cat." ~George Mikes

"With their qualities of cleanliness, discretion, affection, patience, dignity, and courage, how many of us, I ask you, would be capable of becoming cats?" ~Fernand Mery Her Majesty the Cat

Cats seem to go on the principle that it never does any harm to ask for what you want. ~Joseph Wood Krutch

Cats can be cooperative when something feels good, which, to a cat, is the way everything is supposed to feel as much of the time as possible. ~Roger Caras

Like a graceful vase, a cat, even when motionless, seems to flow. ~George F. Will

Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a purpose. ~Garrison Keillor

Cats always know whether people like or dislike them. They do not always care enough to do anything about it. ~Winifred Carriere

If a cat does something, we call it instinct; if we do the same thing, for the same reason, we call it intelligence. ~Will Cuppy

Cats know how to obtain food without labor, shelter without confinement, and love without penalties. ~W. L. George

If animals could speak the dog would be a a blundering outspoken fellow, but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much. ~Mark Twain
The smallest feline is a masterpiece. ~Leonardo da Vinci

Way down deep, we're all motivated by the same urges. Cats have the courage to live by them. ~Jim Davis

Of all animals, he alone attains to the Contemplative Life.

g.g.g.g.g.g.g.g.g.g.g.g.g

4Unequivocally dedicated to Lord Buckley3

Abridged Music Reverie

2005-01-29T10:28:00.000-08:00

1. Songs that sound like happy feel: ...Sad.

Air - 'Mike Mills'/Chopin - 'Raindrops'/R.E.M. - 'Stand' and 'Shiny Happy People'/Magnetic Fields - 'Strange Powers'/Smashing Pumpkins - 'Today'/Tea Party - 'Winter Soltice'/Smiths - Ask/U2 - 'Trip Through Your Wires'/Weezer - 'Surfwax America'

2. Earliest memory: (i think)

Rock & Hyde or Payola$ - Dirty Water

Baltimora - Tarzan Boy (my cheeks are blush over this one. I recall a father smashing my cassette on the linolium floor after i repeatedly played the first minute of this song with unflagging resolve.)

3. Last CD you bought:

IAMAPHOTOGRAPHER

4. Reminds you of school:

Elementary School: I have made no musical associations in regards to school.

High School: It seems I have managed to separate musical experience with scholastic experience.

College: This would make good sense: If school is a thesis, music was the antithesis, and escapism the synthesis.

5. Total music files on your PC: ~ 1001 (i am surprized at the small amount)

6. For listening to repeatedly when depressed: (usually nothing)

Tori Amos - 'All the Girls Hate Her' 'Over It'

7. Sounds british, but isn't:

Magnetic Fields...? What *is* "British" anyway?

8. Tune you love, band you hate:

5440 - 'One Day In Your Life'/311 - 'Amber'/Flock of Seagulls - 'I Ran'/Optingannally Yours - "Ether'/Pinback - Offline P.K.'

10. Bought the album for one fucking good song:

Optiganally Yours - 'Ether'

11. Worst Song to Get Stuck in your Head:

Aqua - 'Barbie Girl' (However, the German version is rather amusing to have nattering in your brain.

Who might do this next?

Who actually looks at this site?

...Alix, you may.

And if you occasionally peruse Carol, sure...have at it.

Doug, you reading this? If you care, and boredom pervades, take it, I guess. Dallyn, take it you media whore...and do more art you sexy bastard.

Oh hey, Coconut, I fancy you'd have some interesting titles to share.

And Tanya, yes, you.

Josh....oh, Joshua, you travelling flake; who will I eat out with now? Wrack your brain and complete the list on a thick hot blah day in the land of Thai. And get used the fucking great food; your tastebuds are a bunch of insipid freaks.

Thank you for asking me to take the inventory, Julie.

Pending Title

2005-01-18T23:59:00.001-08:00

The almond-shaped eyes of someone dear to me cannot tell a lie when she writes. I thoroughly enjoyed this story and thank her for allowing me to share what I love with the unknown eyes of the Web.

2005-01-17T22:10:00.000-08:00

hello?

If it's not love then it's

2005-01-15T17:24:00.001-08:00

the Gay Bomb that will bring us together!

Patience, maybe?

2005-01-07T22:59:00.000-08:00

2005-01-05T08:08:00.000-08:00

'All is well between the breasts of passenger and slave.'

2004-12-13T06:00:00.002-08:00

Bosom; possibly the most affecting symbol a wo/man can experience. Pointedly, the absence of these poignant projections in the male body is not the only aspect that arouses his wonder. There suspends a nearly inaccessible, yet influencial nostalgic impression; satiation, warmth, security, and his first taste of life.

There sat the guy with my private life unfolding in his head; unsure of my sincerity, he lets out a short skittish laugh, shaking his Einstein-silvern hair. The corners of my mouth rise involuntarily, but I put a volitional stop to my acquiescent nerves and reiterated, "I want my atoms to disperse across the universe." He already knows, I reckoned, that I've ruminated suicide. He deduces this is my existential and dialated way of saying, "I want to end it all." Still, in any event, why would he be laughing? I decided to digress from saying, "I fucking pay you to take me seriously!" (I don't blame him; why take a space cadet seriously?) and instead settled for the said reiteration, and then, surely to his amusement, an elaboration.

See, I tried to make him understand, not in the following words, but to the effect that: all is well between the breasts of passenger and slave...my safe place...my comfort zone. So, solely as a passenger to my thoughts, I can turn off the mind, let the others drive, and take in whatever I please as the world and its scenery passes by me…But excessive escapism, when my brain is saturated in pressing responsibilities, is a rather great disservice to my existence and the others around me. Conversely, to soley be a slave to my emotions I must stand gaurd; this means freedom from responsibility recedes allowing my anxieties and pangs to take centre stage.

The archaic symbol of the bosom suggests, to me, a venue where reason and emotive may exist in harmony. I try to avoid either side by hiding in the cleavage. Neither breast, alone, supports a sense of security. I haven't found a way to get my mind and my heart (reason and emotive) to work for, instead of against, each other. Accordingly, though I miss out on opportunities to carpe diem, to be embraced in between is the most reassuring place.

In metaphor I can find amusement in these mentations, but in reality, this place in between I often regress to is far more detrimental to me than taking on either role as passenger to my thoughts or slave to my emotions.

When will I stop hiding from my fears and challenges? How do you tell yourself you've got it all 'wrong' when you are unsure of what exactly is 'right'? When will and how do I start discerning between innocence and wilful ignorance? I digress, yet again. I don't have the answers... Yet.

Why God?

2004-12-11T14:55:00.000-08:00

Why God Didn't Get Tenure

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had only one major publication.
It was in Hebrew.
Had no references.
It wasn't published in a referred journal.
Some even doubt he wrote it himself.
It may be true that he created the world, but what has he done since then?
His cooperatives efforts have been quite limited.
The scientific community has had a hard time replicating his results.
He never applied to the Ethics Board for permission to use human subjects.
When one experiment went awry he tried to cover it up by drowning the subjects.
When subjects didn't behave as predicted, he deleted them from the sample.
He rarely came to class, just told students to read the book.
Some say he had his son teach the class.
He expelled his first two students for learning.
Although there were only ten requirements, most students failed his tests.
His office hours were infrequent and usually held on a mountaintop.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dallyn's Talents

2004-12-02T16:37:00.003-08:00

<--unfurl here.

Inspired was I, yet again, by Dallyn Rule and his talents. The above piece is a composition he pulled out from his behind in one effortless sitting. ‘Effortless indeed’, you may retort. But I sustain that creating art that is simplistic, yet affecting, (affective to me anyhow) is a phenomenon we tend to overlook. Music I compose is so complicated, ornate, riddled with oddities and, at times, downright problematic. This track allows room for the mind to spread its dishevelled neurons every which wayward way. Ah, thank you Dallyn; you Rule.

Here is a self-portrait; refracted in the curvature of a spoon.

click pic to see more hits

we are

2004-11-30T23:57:00.000-08:00

One week...

2004-11-28T18:33:00.001-08:00

6 daunting projects to complete.

Why can't I be free?

I had a conversation

2004-11-27T02:20:00.002-08:00

with the engrossing Sondre Lerche.

And not only his music, his conversational demeanour. I stood a mere three steps away thanks to a small, intimate venue. From this angle, the subtle boon of his conceding lyrics slowly dissolved the mundane atmosphere; something thick imbued the air, indeed; when voices in an alcohol laden environment hushed to a whisper. Only his voice and a guitar, I was thoroughly disappointed that Faces Down had to stay back in Denmark due to budget limitations. Yet, my ears widened and my eyes relaxed. Sondre Lerche is not only an absurdly clever songwriter and intelligent entertainer; he is also like a friend. He meets you wherever you are, converses with you there, and takes you wherever you may want to go. I had the pleasure of experiencing this not just musically, but colloquially.

“Sondre, I need to know a certain something.”
He rests his shoulder against the building post, looks at me, and his eyebrows change shape.
“What,” I continued, “does the tower represent?”
A smile forms on one side of his mouth.
"Is it an actual place you know of...or...?"
He picks up the hanging question. "...Yeah, it's a collection of experiences over the years. The tower is a place in my head I can...go to meet someone when distance...distance doesn't...permit me to do so."
An overt silence.
I smile.
He nods and the other half of his mouth joins in.

Participate by Not Participating

2004-11-25T17:40:00.001-08:00

Sondre Lerche will grace Vancouver tomorrow night. Therefore it is imperative that I purchase one hot ticket to see this novel artist today ! Tomorrow is the most important holiday of the year.

They might entice. They may profess your happiness. They may even confess their sins so that they may win your will/dollar over; to them, there is no difference between your will and your dollar. Give it a rest. Celebrate your volition; we are not commodities.

Read between their lines; do not doubt they've already read between yours.

Escape!

Escape!
For those that do not understand the aforesaid, go here:

Or here if you wish to gorge like the glutton you are.

4444444444444=33333333333333

1:4

2004-11-25T01:00:00.001-08:00

The husband had just finished reading the book, MAN OF THE HOUSE.

He stormed into the kitchen and walked directly up to his wife. Pointing a finger in her face, he said, "From now on, I want you to know that I am the man of this house, and my word is law! I want you to prepare me a gourmet meal tonight, and when I'm finished eating my meal, I expect a sumptuous dessert afterward. Then, after dinner, you're going to draw me my bath so I can relax. And when I'm finished with my bath, guess who's going to dress me and comb my hair?"

...His wife replied, "The fucking funeral director."

Today (every day) is the International Day To End Violence Against Women
That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

Strange Powers

2004-11-15T23:24:00.001-08:00

Sunday night was ecstasy. Through an experience of melancholic voluminosity, I, my good friend Keith, and the empty seat next to me, all received harmonic treats courtesy of the Magnetic Fields. Two fluid hours of end-it-all-while-making-love lyrics, coupled with the ingenious simplicity of Stephin Merritt’s compositions, rendered the three of us absurdly smitten and filled to repletion. Dripping with adulteration and artlessness, Merritt delivered unabashed confessions of pain, suffering, and epiphanies concerning love. As introverted and enwrapped he seemed in his own lyrical world, some of the nuances in meaning were lost. Yet there, evincing before I, my good friend Keith, and the woman disguised as an empty seat, was a fine example of a man unafraid to embrace every pure and filthy fucking emotion within his soma.

"So you quote love unquote me Well, stranger things have come to be But let's agree to disagree Cause I don't believe you I don't believe you…" crooned Merritt. And she, the empty seat next to me, laughed boisterously. While nipping her finger between her teeth, she exclaims the song was written for me.

How odd of me to pretend such a thing. The answer may be found in science.

Empirical minds fancy that Earth's magnetic field is generated deep inside our planet where the heat of the Earth's liquid core churns, and in turn, creates convection, which generates electric currents and, consequently, a magnetic field. Earth's magnetic field has flipped many times during its existence...

Perchance the pervading magnetic fields in the Vancouver Vogue theatre that night had caused my poles to shift? Or, my convectional heart circulating hot blood, with the music merely serving as a catalyst, amplified a desire already churning within me.

No wo/man is an island?

2004-11-13T01:37:00.001-08:00

(in reply to 'Half the Man')

Do you believe in the idea of immanent elucidation? Ponder this; that panoptic lucidity does not, and cannot exist. Rather, a myriad of mirrors may be separately discovered, and in each of those reflections, a new conclusive possibility. Dare I say, Barthes would agree that we are, in reality, islands; each with our own freestanding volition (or avolition) from which we create and interpret the universe. Accordingly, illuminations of intent may be deemed worthy of death. Nevertheless, I cannot help but see the art in illumination itself. I will retract and recreate my initial question; "do you believe in the art of elucidation?"

Blah fucking blah and I haven't even answered your interrogative contemplation. My art is not my art. Somewhere in the chasm of my soma swirls a force that animates me. I know not much about this force but this: it is infinitely characterized by extreme economy of expression and omission of superfluous elements; like a poignant dream that conveys a library of knowledge into one fleeting, symbolic moment…

Simple, like a child's smile.

The big bang is a common internal event. It’s no wonder our expressions receive such a varying array of perceptions; the source from whence they arise is larger than our eyes can actualise.

I worry not then on the demystification of potential insight; mysteries are inexorable.

Half The Man I Used To Be

2004-11-11T21:47:00.000-08:00

I would Love to trust you
I would Love to Love you
I would set fire to the sky
To prove that I do

The times we had doubts
How could we forget?
All those marvellous memories
Filled with regret

Connexion

2004-10-24T22:59:00.000-07:00

Where to start
When to end
This I never knew

20 years ago, September 28

1998-09-28T23:55:00.000-07:00