There was a man at the bus-stop this morning with a pet speckled pigeon standing on his hat, tied to his shirt by a string. He was perfectly ordinary, apart from the pigeon, so I didn’t say anything, though I wondered if I should.
Author: foxtongue
Eeee! Paint me excited.
Mr. Glover will be presenting Crispin Hellion Glover’s Big Slide Show, an hour-long audiovisual performance-presentation in which he narrates images from his story book series. Following will be his debut feature film, What Is It?, a mind-blowing, taboo-obliterating phantasmagoria and psychodrama which he describes as “the adventures of a young man whose principal interests are snails, salt, a pipe and how to get home, as tormented by an hubristic inner psyche.”
Each evening concludes with a Q&A and book signing.
TICKETS: $20 — Advance tickets are on sale now, but are only available on-line at www.cinematheque.bc.ca.
Tickets will also be sold at the door. Box Office opens at 6:30pm nightly. Annual $3 Pacific Cinémathèque membership required. Restricted to 18+. NO PASSES will be accepted for this event.
unhappy staying in, wanting ice-cream
My apartment has finally begun to feel as if I live there after four years in the same place. I blame my godmothers things, taking up all the space. I blame her silver sun framed mirrors, her plants, her rows of carefully chosen objects that took decades to find. When I come home after work, my apartment smells like her, as if somehow she’d been visiting. Flour and myrrh and coconut and frankincense, thick swirls, flavours mixing with my own, the cats, candles, cardboard, and sunshine.
Every box is a new mystery, a penny worth of mystery, full of a mixed assortment of silver, food, tiny antiques, and tired moments of what is this, exactly? One very large box is entirely filled with spices, crushed leaves in tiny clear plastic bags, some with labels too faded to read, some in oddly shaped bottles that makes me think they weren’t purchased within my life-time. They hint at delicious meals, semi-exotic flavours, interesting combinations of taste. Where will I find room? I still don’t know. It was a feat enough collecting them together.
All I need is time, extra time, time tucked into crannies of minutes, the creases of hours meeting hours, needle thin threads of seconds adding up, secretive whispers of moments stolen from inattention, from bad decisions, from missing busses and losing keys, from distraction, procrastination, and the tips of fingernails, all added up. Enough time and it will all be done, the boxes will be unpacked, the things put away, the dust hoovered up, the disaster removed. My living environment will be cosy, friendly, cheerful and clean, the way I want it to be as soon as living possible.
David has gone out to meet with an old friend tonight, someone he hasn’t seen in a very long while. They might come back here after dinner, they might not. In either case, I am staying in, seeing what can go where, discarding as much as possible, skipping dinner, clearing space, creating a country, declaring sovereignty over the scattered boxes. I really wanted to go with him, painfully so, especially when he called, asking me to join them, but already I can see progress. There is more than only a path from one end to the other, there is space to walk, space to sit, space to wander around, room to better maneuver through the war.
When I can no longer stand it, when I stand in the kitchen, a dish in hand, seriously contemplating smashing it to save cleaning it, I go back and re-work my summary paragraph for Vitka’s dystopia novel, the one that’s going to go to the publishers as a Here, Buy This Book! It’s a nice distraction, something soothing in the middle of the dusty cardboard love song.
Ich lebe in einem Kasten.
With Silva’s departure has come The Great Mess.
I have no floor anymore. There is no floor, only boxes.
They have become my floor, my furnishings, my overwhelming purpose of being.
The boxes have become totality. They are all.
As Kyle shoots it out of the field with Neil frickin’ Gaiman!
artpost: busted wonder: now better than broken, it’s done
It’s clever, and sweet, and just a teeny bit sad – as perfect as the last bite of a favourite dessert.
I’ve been following Busted Wonder since it started, (Charity is a sizzling sweetheart and a super fun read, you should add her), so I’m extra thrilled to finally read the story from front to back and to know, especially, finally, the why of the title. I have to admit, I’d been wondering.
gosharoonie
If any of you are in Montreal, now you know where you need to be tonight.
looking at the dishes, I almost cried like a silly boy
Steamroller used to make french wood-block prints.
I’ve been planning this past weekend for weeks. It was going to be my super funtastic weekend, full of dancing, (finally), music, and awesome sauce, but I didn’t make it to anything. The Jazz Fest, FUSE, Stephanie’s birthday, the Workless Party party.. nada. Instead I was at home, feeling stuck, financially doomed, and not just a little agoraphobic. I’m terrifically lucky David was around. I hate to imagine what my weekend would have hypothetically been like without him.
As part of Silva’s move, I’ve been inheriting a lot of her things. Things that don’t necessarily have an easy place in my home, so I’ve been moving furniture and tearing apart the kitchen, moving more furniture, tearing apart my room, unpacking boxes all over the place, and generally being overwhelmed. My house, on Friday, looked as if it had been looted, raped, burned, then looted again. It was driving me utterly crazy, (very likely the sole reason I’ve felt so awful lately), so instead of going the the KRAZY FUSE which I’d been looking forward to for months, I spent the entirety of Friday night cleaning and organizing and tidying until the sun seared the sky into Saturday morning. When I woke up, it was passable, but I was exhausted, utterly burned out, too drained for my plans. (Especially as it’s still not done!)
Today I’m hoping to spend a bit of time with Silva, who leaves on Tuesday, and maybe drag myself down to Yaletown for the tail end of some of the free Jazz Fest shows. I’ve had Pink Martini playing all day. It’s helping.
“…raccoon carcasses have also been found in the west-end park and were deliberately posed.”
also, stop using corn for fuel, you cocks
via Brian Wood
artpost: Happy Belated Birthday Mer. May you be swoopily grumptious the whole year through!
Frog Can Fly, by Mila Kalnitskaya & Micha Maslennikov.
Using plastic, metal, and live frogs “because they are small and light.”
Two of the frogs involved, Siberian Postman and Fly of Destiny are now pets of the artists.
wanted: people to move boxes
Can you help? Silva‘s departure date is right around the corner. An essential part of moving, however, involves loading a truck and her and her wife, though they are fierce, brightly shining people, are still two little older ladies, and they can’t do it alone.
“We’re loading a truck with heavy boxes and a very few pieces of furniture on Thursday morning at 10 am. If this kind of activity appeals to you, and if you want to help, and if you *can* help FOR SURE,and can be here from 9:30ish until noon please let me know. I have to run off to a dentist appointment at 12:30 so it HAS TO be finished by then. There will be non-alcoholic cold beverages and cookies and much gratitude.”
I’m going to try and take the morning off to help, but I might not be able to and it’s very important that people show up.