bringing me music that doesn’t require a computer would also be a bonus, thanks

Korean Movie Monday is being held tonight at my house.

Come one, come all, bring somebody interesting.

Drop me a line at six oh for, three to one, poem for directions. I’m two blocks up from the Waldorf and the window with the painted x-rays.

This week’s showing is to be of Oldboy, the second in Chan-wook Park’s incredibly sexy revenge trilogy.

Plus, the Celebration of Light begins this week.

2005 Dates: July 27, July 30, August 3, August 6.

Let’s plan for this people, let’s get ourselves a party.

oh for effing fecks

My computer is officially dead. The machine passed away sometime in the early morning hours of last night with not a whimper but an acrid smoky bang.

Most of my life remains trapped, screaming, on the C: drive, and I am sorry to say that to get at anything, it will have to be opened up and examined, as the power button no longer functions in any useful way. It is now decorative. As is the monitor.

I don’t know enough to slice it open for repair.

Are there any willing to help ease this pain?

sky question observe place fact

silo tall cherry lake
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

My sleep is crumbling, indifference mixing with a dying anticipation. I expect a signal interrupt. I wake on the hour, mental suitcase in my hand. That phone is going to ring. It makes me nervous, every sound carving the quiet of my room. My body is weary unto bones, aches and heart rate jouncing at the slightest provocation. I stretch and it feels like I’m under water, I have to push against air to move. At my desk is not so bad. I sit, I type.

Chris slept over twice this week to help me sleep, to offer what comfort he can. Exhaustion’s been claiming me in waves, foam flecked gravity sinking my head to the mattress, but I recoil from company now while at the same time require it. A body gives me an anchor, reminds me that unconsciousness is a gift, not only a tiresome chore. There’s no one else I can ask to stay. Chris is getting better. A fragility still underlies everything, but his heart has weathered what it needed to. It is a weight lifted and, underneath my fatigue collapse, I am glad for it. Part of me considers his fever broken.

I’m hoping for a teacher soon, a new skill to capture my attention away from myself and my silences. I’ve been catching myself crying, strange moments when I put my hand to my face and discover my cheek is wet. I want someone to talk to who has the background to understand, who can coax from me what I need to say. I think I may have found one but she’s far away. I’ve been left alone so long I’m not certain of words in person anymore. Alastair helps. We’ve closed our eyes, taken each others hands, and walked through the crusting scabs of break-up to a place where he can talk to me now. I miss him.

priorities suffering (this is a repeat)

I’m worn.

I lost a job today. One I needed for well being more than anything fiscal. They were kind there, and laughed. Instead I will be setting the sky on fire. Taking wires and powders and alchemy. One night crying with chemicals in the dark where no will see me but they’ll see what I make.. Part of me knows I’ll think of you when I press the silver button. I’ll blame it on your pictures and where you live. If I’m lucky, I won’t say your name. It’s been a hard year and I can’t forget your eyes. Every time someone puts their hand to mine, I remember yours, fresh in my mind. How the tips only just overlapped yours, how my fingers were slightly longer in relation to my palm. Then I remember kisses and I have to close my eyes. I tried to put together something for you tonight, I needed a distraction, something to bring myself out of how hurt I’m living, but weariness took over, and now I’m writing this letter instead.

I’m not sure why. I think it’s a survival reflex, hoping to break the silence.

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.”

partially for mckenzee

Copied from all kinds of people.

1. Copy and paste your friendslist behind a cut.
2. If you’ve friended multiple journals by the same person, delete all but the “main” one.
3. Bold the name of everyone you know or have met in “real life.”
4. Italicize the name of everyone you’ve spoken to on the phone.*
5. Underline the name of everyone you’ve chatted with online. (I’m assuming LJ doesn’t count, but anything else online does)
6. [Bracket] people you’ve known, online or off, for more than five years.
7. Turn family members red
8. Pass it on.


we are legion

I’ve changed the music in here from classical to classic rock in the absence of my boss. Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night It’s a strange shift, going from a porridge of uninteresting orchestral to being assaulted by middle-aged men singing about cars. I remember the first time I heard Marissa belting out her version of the lyrics in her kitchen, we were slicing cucumber for sandwiches, couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old. Wrapped up like a douche… When I turned to her and asked, “Mishka, do you know what you’re singing?” she turned to me with all the seriousness of a child and said, “Of course I do, it’s about cleaning up after sex.”

And lo, rock and roll took root.

This is the same girl who, a little bit later that summer, pulled me ecstatically into her livingroom to hear Peter Gabriel’s Sledgehammer on the radio. “Listen to this! It’s so dirty and it’s ON THE RADIO.”

I’m expecting people to begin showing up at my place for 7:30 onwards.

I’ve already had one person mistake for this for some “old friends” get together. It’s not. This is a Show Up Cause It’s Fun and maybe we get to meet someone new. Bring people, bring snacks, drinks, whatever you like. Andrew‘s bringing An Evening With Kevin Smith. Drugs & cigarettes will be asked to stay out on the porch.

Next Korean Movie Monday is going to be at my house.

because I forgot to say yesterday

The always brilliant tikiking has started a new arty comic blog called my_ugly_truth:

It’s really quite entertaining. As an aside, his stunningly adorable daughter has the same birthday as the my friend Larry does.

For those not in the know, Larry’s the brain behind Sinister Bedfellows:

Go give them both a one day belated happy birthday.

same week as the anniversary of the nuclear age

Cello… er not Viola
Originally uploaded by DantesFedora.

James Doohan, the man who played Scotty on Star Trek, died Wednesday.

It’s thirty-six years ago today that our species managed to touch booted foot to the moon. I remember framed newspaper articles on the walls of motels of that moment, the same picture of Armstrong next to the lander repeated in aged yellow in hundreds of small towns. I was never old enough to remember it, never could be, but that didn’t stop me from reading the words. “THIS DAY IS A MARKED DAY IN HUMAN HISTORY” Headlines all echoing each other, reverberating from dingy bar to dingy bar. One stool always patched with worn silver tape.

Let’s theme tonight’s party, shall we? People who arrive with tinfoil on their heads get extra style points.

Happy birthday Sarah. We love you.

the picture links to the SimNuke photopool.