Month: October 2004

from boingboing:  The age of commercial space flight officially began this morning: SpaceShipOne successfully completed the second of two flights into space, securing its win of the $10 million Ansari XPrize. On today’s edition of NPR’s “Day to Day” I speak with host Alex Chadwick about today’s historic news — as well as some of the lesser-known space history surrounding Mojave airport, now America’s first licensed spaceport. Link to today’s segment.

I’m not sure how I feel about that. Seems rather meaningless considering how well they did. How about awarding it to someone whose plane didn’t almost roll out of control? Still, one step closer means much. Take us from this disaster, let us look at it from above, like a game of chess. Every day you can look up and see nothing, how would it be if that were to change? If one day we look up and see the sparkle of a city?

from Ian:  Searching for ways to convey law enforcement professionalism to the Iraqi police, Marine MP Company C in Camp Al Asad, Iraq, developed a costumed mascot, “Farid the Crime-Fighting Falcon” (patterned after the famous “take a bite out of crime” dog, McGruff, but using an animal they believe the Iraqis better respect). Cpl. Justin Weber has the easy job, putting on the falcon suit; his comrades have the more difficult task of explaining to their classes just how Farid fits into effective law enforcement. [Marine Corps News, 8-28-04]

Found at News of The Weird.

I find myself wondering if the suit is body-armoured.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m making the right decisions in my life. It’s a very rare thing for me to wonder, as I don’t tend to think about my motivations much, but today is one of those days. This is entirely the sort of crisp fall day that should be spent lying naked on the bed with a lover. Anything else is wrong. I know there are at least five people in town who would be more than happy if I were to pluck them from their lives and slot them into this place. I think, how horrible of them to offer me this. Sometimes I could almost hate them. Sometimes I agree that having my relationship in another city is odd. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not being a fool. I need to make some hot tea to go with the veritable pile of grapes I’ve got and run my toes down the back of a leg. Gently talking about nothing in particular, reading maybe, just lying in the sunlight together. We could both have books and be only part under the covers. Another day and I’ll go mad. It’s that time of month again. Could you tell? Red dripping lines like the oldest language, like lipsticks prints on the inside of my thigh. Curves and gravity of crimson driving me into desire. I’m not going to dare spend the night with anyone this week and I’ll be glad when it comes to dance. Saturday, saturday, saturday does not help me now. I’m craving affection like breathing, and hands, and touch, and cupping me right there like this, but with tongue. It’s blackness. I hate need. I can’t imagine what I’d do to someone if there were anyone to take this out on.

This day deserves more than I have.

I’ve been reminded how immensely marvelous bototron.com is. It reminds me of black and white sun cascading down my face. Especially the witty little advert they put together for thier deathrays. It’s vile that Ray doesn’t have one. Practically a crime.

I’m slipping into a quiet day. I know that somewhere along the line I made plans for today, but unless the person I made them with steps forward, they’re going to be stood up. Many apologies.

Mckenzee was just saying yesterday that he finds it wonderful how much life is documented here and I agree. Little windows into the world, it’s fascinating. Doug is getting married and Sarah left town on Alix. I’m touched by both of these, and I may never meet them. When I do start traveling, this place may decide my itinary. How splendid might it be to visit everyone who matters on your friends list. These people you know through text and image only. Meet thier husbands, smell the paint in thier studios, have the cat you’ve seen in so many pictures curl up in your lap as you sip some tea, rain pounding down outside in a way utterly different than where you’re from. I think there could be a slight feeling of awe. We live in a world where this is possible, where we meet these people, where these connections exist. It’s what I want, it’s what is here. How lunatic to meet people over the internet, to give them our image, our personal information. How breath-takingly joyous.

You people are more real than my neighbors. 

I came across the line every time I lose a girl today on my friends page. The thought of losing a girl lets me into an image of forgetting her behind on the subway, like a bag or a book. Just a girl, sitting emptily and you see her through the windows and the door whishes shut and you yell for a second, but there’s nothing you can do. You try and catch the train, but you never find her again. She never comes home. Every day for the next three months you remember her, sitting with her hands in her lap, hands curled together on her green skirt you got her for her birthday. She laughed and insisted on putting it on, right there in the park next to the basketball court. You reached up to help her wiggle out of her pants when she got caught and she looked down at you on the red plaid blanket and said ‘thank you’. It broke you, remembering her in that skirt. Her laughter, however cliche, was like bells to you. It chimed. The light was yellow when you lost her. It was night and the only light was from inside the train. Sallow light on her rich hair, but still she was beautiful. The tips of it brushing her shoulders, you had been secretly delighting in watching her that night. Wanting to run your fingers through that hair, to brush it from her face before kissing her. It was going to be a deep kiss too, and now it’s The Kiss. Your entire relationship shifting to center on the Kiss That Never Was, because she never came home. Lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, you imagine her sometimes still on the train, going around and around. One day you’ll step on a car to find her there, sitting, waiting for you.

The world is my giant huggable friend. Dominique came and spent time today, when I got to Sukkot it was winding down, but still interesting, Silva gave me a bicycle that was made by someone brilliant, and I rode home with green grapes and nectarines to   in my in-box cracking me up. Plus, it seems that I still have a little candy left from Ian. I’ve got Death Cab for Cutie on mixed with the Pixies and Pulp, and I think I’m going to be able to sleep before 3 am. Riding a bicycle after an almost three year hiatus was slightly exhausting like I feel my lungs are about to cease to work any minute now but perhaps my heart will burst before that, leaving me to wonder if this is such a good idea after all and holy hell I’m finding out that the back brake isn’t as tight as the front just as I’m hitting this incredibly tall hill. Oh look – I can see the other side of downtown from here and that? That is a drunk driver. Too late. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee. Fluttering past, sitting upright in a tailcoat and a tophat, I wonder what I must have looked like. I know I almost died hauling it up the stairs, light as a stick as it is. Apparently I’m still recovering. I think I can do better than I can, but I don’t care. I’m mobile now, Beware. I forget that a truck is a rather large object to be hit by. Still, it’s going to be three years come January. My settlement mediation is in November. I’ll finally be able to pay back all of you who’ve been too kind.

edit: another happy – my player finally supports .ogg. I finally get to hear William’s drunken choked up thank you. How beautifully surreal. I want all your voices now.

With who and what am I doing Monday?

Oh dear god. The worst has happened. I have crossed the line from geek to nerd. I not only answered someone’s saying “Groo?” with “No cheesedip”, I also didn’t blink when they then told me they meant it as an onomatopoeic. This while carrying on a conversation in another window entirely in archaic language.

I think it’s the cheesedip what damns me. Next thing I’ll be dressing up like Linsners Dawn and swanning around conventions with people dressed as stormtroopers in lingerie. The thought gives me the Fear. Maybe I’ll be lucky and only catch the edges of postmodern sleaze. Cross fingers, knock on wood. I am more than satisfied with pictures of such events. I’m sure they’re fun, but as I don’t drink, there would be nothing to take the edge off my awareness. I think I would need that.

I think….. Actually…. I think it’s the kids today. They’re far worse than usual. Two of the girls have discovered that saying they’re bleeding all over thier keyboards from cutting gets them attention from the boys thought of as “cute” in the chatroom. (The deciding logic of who wants to date who escapes me). Particularly annoying to me is that the head “cute” boy is a severe fundie. So chat runs mainly today between the cutters and the fundies interspersed with the usual mind scraping talk about teen celebraties, pokemon, and in-chat dating. I’m tongue tied. If I say even one of the things that occurs to me in such a situation, I’m sure I’ll lose my job.

Bring me gelati before I die.

There are words made of letters unwritten and letters made of the most transparent words. Some of them are praiseworthy, but most of them are only amusing to ourselves. The architecture of communication. Spires and arches, darlings, spires and arches.

Today is Sukkot. After work I go to Silva’s to celebrate. She’s all that ties me to religion. It must be comforting to believe in something. Somehow I think I have a lack, following nothing. There must be something missing. Then my humour pops in saying “yes, brainwashing”.I respect Silva so very much that I respect her beliefs, though somehow not the beliefs themselves. My disconnection doesn’t stop me from loving the singing, from learning the prayers for their beauty. Sukkot is what is left of an old harvest festival dedicated to the Goddess. About an hour ago, the celebrations began. By the time I get there, the sukkah will have been built, (a harvest hut, made of branches and flowers and produce), on the back porch, and the kitchen door will have been taken entirely off so that the kitchen is the sukkah extension. Candles will have been lit, and I might miss the potluck. I’m allowed. If I was slightly more organized, there would be a pie in the oven as I write this, but alas, I have nothing yet to bring but my voice. I should put music on to sing along to, so my voice is warm when I get there. It would be nice to read the book in richer tones than I’m used to. We pass it around and tell stories. We’re all educated in various ways, we all know of Lillith.

How heavy are angels, I wonder. What is the weight of divinity?

Morning people. I woke to discover that Mckenzee‘s posted up asking if anyone can help him. It would be appreciated if you could toss him some coin or even pass on this request. He’s very worth your time. Thanks.

 We are suffering a severe cash flow problem. I am not legally eligible to work in Paris and my telecommuting gig has been dead for months.

No, I’m not going to post a Paypal button here.

Instead, I make the following requests.

 Like my photos?
Buy something here. I take requests if there is a recent photo you would like on a T-shirt. Unfortunately, most of them are low-rez, so they wouldn’t look that good.

Like my comic?
Buy something from Sinister Merchandise. Personally, I like the coffee cup. I get a dollar or two for each thing bought. Send Sinister Christmas presents!

Like my writing?
Check this out and join Wired Fiction . I’ll get a cut once the site starts showing a profit.

I take requests.
Want an icon, short story, Sinister Comic created from your photo? Any other suggestions?

Oh my……. That’s really all I have in my thoughts right now. Again into the theatre, I’ve been hired again. Knew I would be if I hung around, it was a risk I was willing to take. Reno and Tracey. What a fantabulous pair. Actors with actors can be a good thing or it can be horrid. In this case it’s so very fun that I think I got a contact high. Alistaire came along as well, and after dropping Robin off on a bus, we helped with teardown afterward. He left when the socializing started boiling down to family. Gary & Linda, Reno & Tracey. I hope he found his friends.

oh I can taste the smoke

It’s been so long since I’ve been to the Firehall. Terrible memories. The Firehall is where I first realized that Bill was shutting me out of His Show. Bull in a China Shop, reviled be thy name. More important than family, than a dead child, than a We, an Us, a Me. That’s how long it’s been. Right after the Towers fell. Tonight was sweet though. I’m giddy with it. Closing night show, a slow start, but building into something powerfully amusing. A woman slips from her wedding to drive randomly, collapsing finally in Alaska. A slight premise and one that would only work elsewhere as movie of the week. Flawless.

there’s something about it

Once the applause died, I had to continually bite back the urge to set everything right. Stage Manager to the fray. Twice I told myself out loud, “This is not my show. What am I doing?” Fashioning authority from air. Too good for my own good, again. Black dressed young men assuming I know what I’m doing. Fools. I can haul things again, though I can feel that I shouldn’t quite. My shoulders not as up to par as I would want. I’m still broken from the accident. It’s a very small hell, one that burns self love to cinders that simmer painfully. Tender words heal all though. Re-connecting with Reno and Tracey is golden. They’re brilliant and insane. I’m low key, but I match a little. I fit enough to be happy in their company. Reno dove out of the theatre into the hall at me. “I heard you laughing” Exuberance, her hair has changed. It’s been forever and a day since I’ve seen her. I was so surprised she recognized me right off, but pleased. I’m not lost. I’m not left behind anymore. Tracey launching in immediately about how I saved our show eons ago. The Kevin Conway disaster. Putting things into the dressing room box, I felt like kissing them both. Outside, when everything had been put into the vans and we all sat with drinks on the veranda, I felt somehow home again. In Vancouver, only the theater folk smoke. I mentioned to Gary how strange it seemed to be in such company without Bill and he told me it was certainly quieter. The Chu’s haven’t seen him since sometime in the summer. I told them I miss him, and Linda assured me that he’ll come around eventually, but in spite of it, I snicked in place without my missing piece. I’m my own person again and recognized for it.

it makes my mouth water

Such a small city I live in, such a small world. I will always love this. Sitting with actors who are gloriously ON, being the sole audience of a two person show. Back and forth, sparks and my attention given equally between. Endless parade of spectre and emotion. To know I can do this, that I’m not longer a shadow, is to no longer assume the lesser part of the equation. I’m even, I’m aware. Wry smiles at my self realizations, because I never thought to be remembered for my work. Theater back when it was a dayjob, a nightjob. What We Did. Back when I was sleeping in theaters. That people miss me back, I never would have guessed. It’s life again. To stand up to the praise and take it square, knowing that I will hold it up, because I will. I swear I can, because I will learn how, because of this. I never thought of myself as one of Us. Under this is a hard solid place to stand.

kiss me with this on your tongue

This has been certainly a day of interesting beginnings. Deeper into truth.
Push it past me, push it more.
Give me more, world.
Please?

and you’ll keep me forever right that moment

I just found out that Richard Avadon died last Saturday.

Moment of silence to maybe catch the echo of the final click of his shutter.