With Gusto

Show Me Around This Alaphabet Town

Got into some vodka last night. "The silent stare" as it's called by some. Or was it "the cold stare"? It's a fucking great stare, whatever it is.
I reinstalled GTA: Vice City yesterday. The graphics were fucked before, letters flying across the screen. . . it looked like a horrible acid trip, where instead of flames coming out of damaged vehicles, there were triangles. Flashes of numbers, etc. Now the graphics are normal and I'm unsure if I like it anymore. I think I'm bored of the missions, as I always end up in some sort of blownup building assassinating cops and throwing grenades at construction workers.

I want to go to the Hootenany at Logan's today. I want to bring a snare drum and some brushes, put on a big straw hat and accompany songwriters. I need to write more songs, and more poetry for that matter. I'll try a poem today. Even if it's suX0r it'll be down.

The Manitoba party last night went off well. It was pretty chilled out actually, not the inspired rowdyness of the usual. I like toned down evenings. Joy came out for a few beers and then I walked her home. I stumbled in at about 3 a.m. I wore an AC/DC T-shirt and a big straw hat. I was very Manitoba. People are oddly prideful of their backgrounds. There were Manitoba pictures everywhere, and the people from Manitoba went on about them. On the plus side, there was a guide book to Manitoba wildlife. I believe the Moose belongs on the quarter.

Shitting Around

I'm looking at a folded up short story I wrote in Comox last month. I wonder what I'll do with it, or why I wrote it. . . Fiction is a very daunting thing.

Anyways, I took some photos yesterday while I was hanging outside of a dumpster at seven a.m. I ran into Brian, who humbled me. I'm very disallusioned, but this guy was all out friendly and helpful to those around him. I brought him back to my place and filled him up with empties. He slugged the dregs out of all our old gin and rye bottles. It cheered him up.

these guys were in the bar while I played pool.

Now I'm waiting for a few phone calls from some city councillors, and if they don't return my call by 4 p.m., then I'm going down to the pool hall. I'm also contemplating buying a bottle of "La Fin Du Monde."

The Broth of a Corned Howitzer

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
1. Matt
2. Matty B
3. Mato Bi San

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
1. m
2. mathram
3. h_t

THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. My fingers.
2. The fact that the wart on my knee is going away without the required medical attention.
3. What my ears hear.

THREE THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
1. The way I view commerce students and short films made by the traditional theatre student.
2. When I turn off a Nina Simone song because I want to listen to something else.
3. My bleak attitude towards school.

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
1. Norwegian
2. Albertan
3. Scottish

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
1. That most people like large sports events.
2. That the contents in our recycling bins are being thrown away with the rest of the trash.
3. The way people look towards minors for culture and music.

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
1. Music
2. Joy
3. Food

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
1. A black hoodie
2. blue jeans
3. a green and black striped shirt with a collar.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS OR MUSICAL ARTISTS (at the moment):
1. Magnetic Fields
2. Elliott Smith
3. The Sadies

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS (at the moment):
1. "I Don't Believe in You" Magnetic Fields
2. "Son of Sam" Elliott Smith
3. "Chain Gang Blues" Big Joe Williams (and friends)

THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS:
1. Cross-Canada Tour
2. Overseas Employment
3. Consistent writing

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP (love is a given):
1. Understanding
2. Food
3. Playful habits

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE
1. 20 per cent of the films shown in Germany last year were of German origin.
2. Moonface Geraldine is the same as a mouldy pear is to the unpublished works of Frederick McGee.
3. There's a cookbook to my left.

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX (or same) THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
1. Hair
2. Fashion
3. Couture

THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN'T DO:
1. Become a feature writer.
2. Re-listen the story of the flying egg and bald-headed children with the same ear.
3. Make my case in front of an ambivolous jury.

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
1. Playing Music
2. Drawing
3. Watching Film

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
1. Eat a chocolate bar.
2. Make country music.
3. Read a book of short stories.

THREE CAREERS YOU'RE CONSIDERING:
1. Teacher
2. Journalist
3. Baby Eater

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
1. Panama
2. Norway
3. Thailand

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
1. Travel
2. Write a novel
3. Deal with the reality of it all

THREE WAYS I AM STEREOTYPICALLY A BOY:
1. I like jokes about your mama.
2. I scorn girly movies.
3. I like to play in the muck.

THREE WAYS I AM STEREOTYPICALLY A GIRL:
1. I read poetry
2. I have emotions
3. Sometimes, when I'm all alone, I wonder if 'panties' is really the best word to describe the garment.

No Matter How Active It Is

"It takes a lot of love to keep your heart from freezing."
- David Gray

I read two newspapers yesterday. I have to read two newspapers a day everyday it seems for the next few months. Should get me up to speed on what's going on in the world, as well as sub-consciously amending my professional writing skills. On the plus side, I sit down and sling coffee into my mouth for a few hours while wanting to cry over international tragedies. The mother gunned down by her crazed husband while shoe-shopping with her daughter. Suicide-bombers bombing in the morning while they're prayers are fresh in their minds, without second-doubts come noon. Power Plants on MY island. Fucking Stephen Harper, "Tolerance is where we're at." -- as if not being politically correct means hating everything without a sprinkle of water over their heads.

Sixty Years since Auschwitz. Yesterday I watched "Harmonists" a German film about the Comedian Harmonists, a vocal group pre-WWII in Germany who made creative songs that made people happy, until anti-Semitism rose and with half the group being Semites, well, one thing led to another. Then it was off to the bar to write poetry with Joy and Ben and Ford. An old guy from the Hitler Youth Choir made us buy beer for him in exchange for a few stories, of which I'll compose into a poem. He did see SS officers throw truck away the Jews in Berlin, and him being 12 years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, was taken care of. At one moment he would be carrying Christmas trees up into the SS officers apartments, stolen from the rich Jews, the next he would be carting wood to a Jew in hiding. The Jew would carve toys for the German dudes mom's shop in exchange for food. A Golden Pen. The Fool Of Vancouver. I got him to write down a song he sang on the radio into my notebook. I'm thinking of photocopying it.

And now, today, I wear an orange T-Shirt and I'm fucking my own ass because I have to go and interview dorks on the street. Fucking hell. Really. Fucking Hell. I can't wait for all of this Journalism to be over. I respect it, but hate it more than anything, no matter how active it is.

Anti-Zen

Coffee has left the building. I don't know why. Maybe cuz it's a thin, oily drink that tastes bad. Strange how going a week without coffee makes the desire to drink it fade away. I'm sitting with some Irish Breakfast Tea and even though it's bagged, it still makes it go for what it's worth.

I'm acting in a movie today. I get to play some guy who shows up at the last moment to save people, so you know, I'm not surprised it's me who got picked for the role. One day I'll tally up my creative efforts, then buy myself some flowers and call it a date.

All of this journalism bullshit floats over my head like a great, wet placenta.

I got drunk last night. It's all in the head. A tiny bit of it. 2 inches outside the skull, and the bubbles on the inside of the skull don't make a difference to nobody. You can argue "community" and "change" all you want. But that's all it is - argument, and it's inside your head. Give yourself a rock, or a spy-suit with a utility belt. Now that's outside the head.

I'm looking forward to school being over. I want to become an international traveller, who raises money in Japan and then works as a journalist in other countries. See, I love the idea of a travelling, working journalist, but I can't stand the school aspect of it -- again, I feel it has to do with inside and outside the head. School is an idea, and people run with their idealisms in school so much that I know it's not real. It's just journalism. Like pipe-fitting, or something equally blasé. My plan is to travel the world until I'm 35, then make my decision in life. Included are a few goals: buy a car in Norway, drive it to Spain. Get into trouble in Panama due to some article I'll write. Find a Zen poet in Japan, so I can work on my "Anti-Zen" approach.

"Anti-Zen" not the opposite of Zen, but rather a different approach. Say you're Ukrainian. You're going on about your life, when one day you discover you have a Jamaican twin, black as night. It doesn't make sense, but the paper-work is there. That's "Anti-Zen". Or the man who shits out t-bone steaks. Does he serve them to his guests of honour? Of course he does. And when honour guest 7 asks where the steaks come from, the man says, "some little shop around the corner. The butcher is a real asshole, but he knows how to cut a mean steak. Nobody knows how he does it . . ." That's "Anti-Zen."

I wonder how music will fit into travel. Will it be guitar? Or will I cart a drum-kit along with me wherever I go. Who knows. All I know is that this school stuff is in it's last throes. I stab it. It stabs me. Like a boy.

She'll Love Me in My Chevy Van

It's taken me a long time to say this, but I hate freelance writing. I already do enough with my life that don't pay squat. . . and freelancing is work, actual work, and it doesn't pay until it sells for 200 bucks months after its completion, which means you have to convince yourself to work for no money. Sounds like a bleak squalor of a lifestyle to me. So tell me why I'm majoring in this? How did this happen? I don't read even read magazines. . .

Chronology

20 years ago I...
1) I was having terrifying nightmares about getting sucked into a demon in the basement.
2) had met my first friend.
3) rode my bike a lot.

15 years ago I...
1) wore a lot of sweatpants
2) was being teased a lot in school
3) was speaking French everyday

10 years ago I...
1) read a lot of Dragonlance novels
2) started stealing a lot of porn
3) started stealing a lot of candy

5 years ago I...
1) Moved out of the house to pursue a life of drunken debauchery
2) started playing music everyday
3) started writing journals

4 years ago I...
1) was the manager of a Rubbish Hauling company
2) finally got into the UVic Writing department
3) started going with my girl.

3 years ago I...
1) had a friend die
2) released my first official CD
3) moved in with my girl.

2 years ago I...
1) broke up my first band
2) started making movies
3) started hating journalism

1 year ago I...
1) rediscovered poetry
2) rediscovered fiction
3) moved into a loft style apartment with my girl.

In the past year I...
1) have recorded two other CDs
2) have been published in writing
3) took up a few fun habits

Yesterday I...
1) watched a really bad German movie, "Bandits"
2) was at school for 12 hours
3) involved my mind in the crazy process of savage poetry

Today I...
1) had three cups of tea
2) recorded accordian tracks and programmed drums for a short-spaghetti animated western
3) ate pizza

Tomorrow I...
1) have to go to school
2) have to relax
3) have to master and burn on to CD the tracks mentioned above.

Paid In Full

I don't have to pay tuition this semester, as a massive grant came in. In fact, I'm being paid to go to school, which is just as it should be. I have a cup of tea in front of me, a bowl of peaches, and I just had some toast. These sick days linger on and on and food becomes 80 per cent ill, as if I don't need it, as if I haven't been compulsively eating for the past 24 years of my life. Maybe it's time I give it up for a few years, sit around in diapers waiting for next Liberal Premier, the next Liberal Prime Minister, waiting for the next Catholic I didn't vote for to tell me how I should go about it.
On the plus side I'm playing some accordian today for a short animated thing called "Don't Touch My Ass". A piece done by R.R. and his brother about two Mexicans fighting over a donkey. I should bust out my portable piano and get to work.
Yesterday I was reading savage poetry in the library, blowing my nose into envelopes and cackling and moaning with the sickness. Apparantly everyone's getting sick, and it's contagious, just like Ovaltine. Remember to drink your Ovaltine.

The Arving Startist

I added a new link -- The Arving Startist. Some Guy (we don't know if he's black or white) needs some coin as money is scarce in his neck of the woods. He has a tribalesque flavour to his style. He makes stickers, prints, originals. Check it. Peace.

Sick Fuckers, Go Sick Yourself

Blergh. Everything hurts. Whooping cough, aching joints, aching head, coldness, sore throat, aching kidneys. I'm feeling as though I died and my body refused to let go, so I'm back, half the person I used to be. Maybe I'll fail university and end up touring Sooke out of nothing better to do. Or maybe I'll wear a guitar on my head and busk downtown, singing about pity and farmers and Japanese-Euro customs. At least I have a mountain of fruit, including oranges, grapes, kiwi, apples. . .

Thanks to everyone who came out to my show on Thursday night, it takes two fronts for a show to be great/good -- the crowd and the band.

Movie Reviews

"Time Regained" dir by Aroul Ruiz

Based on Proust, this is a pile of period piece boredom, filled with the flower language used in 1922 France. . . filled with a lot of boring people wandering around wondering about things. Reminded me of "Portrait of a Lady" in a way. . . in the way that "Portrait of a Lady" reminded me of "The Awakening" by Chopin. Subersively useless, providing a quasi post-colonial makeover for the oppressive classes of the time.

"I am Curious" dir Vilgot Sjoman

Buddy here was given a massive amount of film as payment, so he made a movie with complete and total freedom. Made in 1967 Sweden, there's a lot of pornography, but in a way that doesn't suture the freudian gaze. The movie floats all over the place, from jump cuts, to political rallies, to documentary style interviews of everyday Swedenfolk, the the director working on the film as the lead actress pesters him to cast a love interest. Very strange, but politically engaging, as well as great acting by Lena Nyman, who plays Lena. This film was seized on entry to the US. Also available is "I am Curious (Blue), which is the same movie but edited differently, or something.

"The Outskirts" dir Petr Lutsik

A crew of fucked up Rural Russian men find out that their land has been sold out from beneath them. They decide to find out who sold them out, so they go through a beaurocratic human-trail of Party related people in the hopes of getting their land back. Filled with a lot of snow, torture, and footage of what rural folk do to stay warm (vodka).

"Schizopolis" dir Steven Soderbergh's

A mixture between "Office Space" and "Church of the Subgenius" (re: Bob Dobbs) "Shizopolis" takes a look at the spiritually damaging office style life. Ocaisiaonally the film itself is manipulated to represent the schizophrenic lifestyle, which makes the unbeliveability of the fact that the star (Soderbergh) plays several characters in the widely scoped community that Soderbergh has created. He plays Munson, "onanistic corporate drone and speechwriter for New Age guru T. Zimuth Schwitters, and of the swinging Korcheck, Muazak enthusiast and lover of Munson's disenchandted wife" (from the back of the DVD case).
I quite enjoy where American films take pomo self-reflexive theories. The ideas that are being expressed don't have the traditionalisms of literary Europe. Instead it's more of a modern look at the Suburbanite who doesn't have any attachements to the past, which lets the narration of the film breathe beyond that of the typical Hollywood narrative, and of the typical novel. What Hollywood has created has allowed others to respond.

Do You Remember Me?

In one of my more astute moments
everything became an arm
and anything could sink into it:
rivers, stones, banks, virgins.

As music fell into the arm
what was left of its notes
deflated, though songs
still hummed their colours.

Rhythm was the next to go.
dancers still danced, a pickup
still played the radio.

When smell finally descended into the arm
It did so alone, and walked backward, breathing
into the nostrils above, the nest of hairs picking up
the signals everything left behind.

Image(s)

View image

January, it has to be that month

Just like the guy who gives you facewashes when you're in elementary school, Janauary sweeps you into its bullying gaze and makes you shit your pants. This month has the veracity of a 13-year-old in a strip-club, or one of those mob bosses who wear checkered vests. When a primate descended from the tree, the primate did not expect January to be just around the corner. Or maybe it did and that's why it left in the first place. There's that moment of awe, when the artic farts and I'm gurgling its white powder for a few hours before it settles over top the grass and junkies who've recently died. It covers for those who leave behind tracks. In a sense, paper trails. You can't run a business like January without business papers.

"And what do you do sir?"

"I'm unemployed."

I guess you may be wondering why I'm talking about January in this hateful manner. . . I don't in fact hate January, even with its caustic weather. Weather is just weather, and it basically allows the world to talk to each other. As the environment turns, we need to qualify the weather with paper trail documents, stating how it changes over time. There's a reason why there isn't any proof -- the people who are victimized seldom get out of their own ruts and make a go of it. The people who're changing the environment, changing January, obviously don't want a proper paper trail. January used to be different. It used to warm up the Eskimos. . .

I'll Survey Till I Listen to Dave Cough - Dave's Not Here Man

1. IF YOU COULD BUILD A HOUSE ANYWHERE WHERE WOULD IT BE?

In a Rural area near the beach. A one level house with a sun room, funky design architectually speaking, but rather blue and brown on the inside. Blue paint, brown wood, and the wood would've been chopped locally, and not a clear cut designed piece.

2. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE ARTICLE OF CLOTHING?

My hoodies - one black, one blue.

3. IF YOU COULD HAVE CHOSEN YOUR NAME WHAT WOULD IT HAVE BEEN?

Jake or Austin.

4. THE LAST CD THAT YOU BOUGHT? Eliott Smith -- "From a Basement on the Hill" -- it's okay. there's a lot of genius in specific moments.

5. WHERE IS YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE TO BE?

I really like country patios. A shot of whiskey, a guitar, the day off.

6 WHERE IS YOUR LEAST FAVOURITE PLACE TO BE?

Oak Bay

7. WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE IN THE MORNING?

Usually between 8 and noon.

8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE MEAL?

A tie -- Sushi : Eggs with hashbrowns and toast with raspberry jam, a coffee and a glass of milk.

9. WHAT MAKES YOU REALLY ANGRY?

Policy

10. IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

Piano

11. FAVOURITE COLORS? green, red, blue. black (shhh).

12. FAVOURITE CHILDREN'S BOOK?

Shel Silverstein's "ABCs"

13. WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE SEASON?

Summer - the intense heat and shorts and t-shirts and general laid-backness.

14. IF YOU COULD HAVE ONE SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

To metaphysically attach myself to anything and learn it's entire history at my own chosen speed. (what is reality? the universe? your momma?)

15. TATTOO?

Yes.

16. CAN YOU JUGGLE?

Juggling is for lugers.

17. THE ONE PERSON FROM THE PAST YOU WISH YOU COULD GO BACK AND TALK TO?

Walt Whitman

18. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE DAY?

When everything gets done and there's still time to fuck.

19. WHAT IS IN THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR?

Cars are not in my ownershipping hands.

20. SUSHI OR HAMBURGER?

Sushi. Hamburger is like a shot of cow's blood filled with adjusted DNA strands. Though you cannot escape DDT, not matter how pure your food is.

21. WHO DID YOU RECEIVE THIS FROM?

I read it off Joy's blog.

22. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE CARTOON CHARACTER?

It really should be Mr. T.

We Oughta Go Skiing

The arctic has farted, and with it comes the ashes of the north - snow.

Imagine 100 people in a room. At any given moment, how many are thinking about sex? How many are thinking about sex with someone outside the room? How many aren't thinking about sex. Perhaps the most important question is: of those who aren't thinking about sex, how many will end up fucking at the end of the night?

I have the intention of going photographing today. I'll plunge my mind into the floodplain and see where the snow has landed in my little chasm of the heart.

Shallow Days - Hollow Nights

I'm at the point in my life where I like working. I thought I'd never get there. The responsibility, however slim, can fill a day out, which is something that I'm often faced with. So I may hand out a few applications. I also plan on getting my bike back on the road. Bikes'll get you anywhere, usually slower than a car, but the access areas for bikes are better, and more of.

My resolutions: (1) Chill out about the way I think compared to the way other people think. (2) Thwart off any (serious) ultimatums and or attempted religious conversions.

Tonight I rehearse. I have a show in a week. Tomorrow classes start. I'm not excited. I made it through last semester. One more to go, muthers.

In other news, the best book I saw today: "The Cat Who Loved Christmas . . . and Other Stories."

Journeyman's Perspective

current song: I don't Believe in You - Magnetic Fields
mood: there is no such thing as paranoia.

A beer helps "Schindler's List" go down. After every atrocity you have a sip. I have this bizarre "thing" with the paragraph of late. They don't strike me as affective, nor effective, depending if you come from the East, or the West, in which case you'll need to shave me some asiago cheese, it's the one cheese of the 12 best cheeses that I haven't ingested over the past two weeks - to count: gouda, spiced gouda, blue, cream, imperial, cheddar (mild), parmesan, mozzarella. And I had one small circle piece of meat, one of those Kolbasas.

Perhaps now is the time to get back to the film.