let’s make some fire beauty bombs

Lantern making at my place this evening for Illuminaires.

Bring paper, bring white craft glue, bring glitter and ribbon. Bring anything decorative you feel like. Cloth, candles, sticks especially. They’re the struts you bind everything too and hang your string and tassels from. If you’re not the sort of person who can build things or visualize shapes, I have you covered, I can make anything. Just try to bring materials.

It’s really one of the only events Vancouver has that’s worth going to, no matter what else you’ve planned.

I’m sorry for the short notice, but I haven’t exactly been on the ball lately, as most of you have likely noticed.

I haven’t been thrilled with the festival the last few years, since Public Dreams changed hands and it became a little too about business and less about performance and fire and delight, but this year I’m actually looking forward to Saturday, though it’s going to hurt. Jay Harmer called me last night, during the party, (that I was exhausted throughout for, which bothered me, because I wanted to talk with Amanda more), and it’s confirmed now that I’m working the fireworks. I’m to be at Trout Lake by nine a.m. with my pyrotechnics license to start setting up the mortars. I agreed to a BBQ in the afternoon/evening, and now I don’t know when I’m going to make it, not knowing any more of my schedule than that.

This is going to be the first Illuminares that I’m going to be paid for. Before, when I played with fire, I was doing it for free, for the joy and grinning beauty of it.

edit: we’re heading out for supplies, will be back around 7.

another day of making busy

Habit carries with it consistancy, a reliable fall back of behaviour traits, how like all my friends have begun using pet names without even considering it. Darling and Dear falling from lips in accordance to our norm but not the public. Honey, meaningless without the bee-sting of kisses. When such mouths touch, there should be pull from the centre of being. Should the habit. Black robes and white wimples, it’s a thought, an outward exclamation point of my personal state.

Andrew and Navi are making together a very sweet couple. I’m glad they’ve found each other in the myriad crowding of our friends. I wonder who’s next sometimes, as if my parties are the bouquet thrown by a bride. The upcoming omen of somebody getting laid a bit more regularly. Relationships are topical, a point form reference that I’m beginning to pay attention less to. Stop dominating the conversation. I want to remember that there’s a world out there. That as I sit at my desk, a million people are laughing.

London had another day of Pfft Terror. The best news quote yet has been, “It was a minor explosion but enough to blow open his rucksack. … The man who was holding the rucksack looked extremely dismayed.” Somehow that sums it up nicely. (Thank you smogo for finding that one).

In other news, the FDA has approved placing shock treatment implants into peoples brains to combat depression. A generator the size of a pocket watch is implanted into the chest. Wires snake up the neck to the vagus nerve, delivering tiny electric shocks through that nerve and into a region of the brain thought to play a role in mood. I particularly like the last bit, “Deaths have been reported among some epilepsy patients who have a VNS implant, but Schultz said there was no sign of increased deaths in the depression study.”