Author: foxtongue

whatever tomorrow brings

German staging of Verdi’s A Masked Ball on 9/11 with naked cast in Mickey Mouse masks

Yesterday I rushed from the apartment from a kiss at the door like a teenager caught by parents for the very first time, sneaking out the back as if dashing out a window, Black Crowes slipping out of me as I cheerfully walked barefoot, grinning, she never mentions the word addiction, in certain company.. along the alleyway to meet my friends down the street. Strangers catching my eye and smiling back, lighter. It was a nice day, though it hadn’t started out that way.

I had a fever the night before last. My body, finally exhausted, broke down into a haze of heat and hallucination. I lay drenched in a pool of quiet pain, two cats huddled over me, whiskers in my face, a plastic bottle of juice luckily next to the bed. When I could finally stand, I’d missed a job interview, couldn’t find my voice, and had to lean on the walls to take a shower. The world was pulling at my nerves, searching for signs of anyone home, but I felt invisible, as if all my senses had detached some time in the night. I bumped into edges, forgot where I’d put things down, and generally felt as if I’d suffered brain damage. By the time I was stable enough to leave, it was almost noon. Not only had I missed a job interview, I was late for Lung’s celebratory Canada Council Grant dim-sum. Ten points for surviving alone, minus several hundred for sucking at life.

(Thankfully, sort of, he and Claire had been waiting on my call, and perfectly understood once they saw me. When I look pale, I look pale.)

Everything after that was roses, however, minus a persistent, nagging bit of headache. Dim sum was excellent, the company as fun as the food was delicious, I met up with a nice young man and we seem to be coming to some sort of relationship, dinner was amusing argument that wasn’t really, visiting friends was a treat, and someone ran to meet me, something I haven’t seen in years. For the life of me, I never would have thought it possible while lying in bed the night previous, cursed, huddled with the blankets like new best friends, certain any mirror I found would shatter upon the impact of my reflection, so much was the heat radiating off my face, wondering if there was even one person in my own city I could call if I needed rescue.

Reviewing life and the real world as if it were a massive multiplayer game.

shiny shiny shiny, who’s going and to which?

KRAZYTALK! A Speaker Series held in conjunction with KRAZY! The Delirious World of Anime + Comics + Video Games + Art, May 15th – June 4th.

May 15th, 7 pm
ART SPIEGELMAN, comic artist
Centre for Digital Media, Great Northern Way Campus, 577 Great Northern Way

A major figure in the underground comics movement of the 1960s and 70s, Spiegelman is best known for his Pulitzer Prize-winning comic memoir Maus, which retraces his parents story as Holocaust survivors. Formerly named one of the 100 Most Influential People of our times by Time Magazine, he continues to be a political activist and a public champion for innovative comic book work.

May 23rd, 7 pm
MICHAEL AMZALAG and MATHIAS AUGUSTYNIAK, M/M (Paris), art directors/graphic designers
Vancouver Art Gallery, 750 Hornby Street

Graphic designers Michael Amzalag and Mathias Augustyniak founded M/M Paris in 1992. Their work has been shown in art galleries and museums all over the world, most recently in the 2008 exhibition Vision Tenace at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. Their projects are created in partnership with such diverse designers and artists as Stella MacCartney, Yohji Yamamoto, Douglas Gordon and Bjork.

May 29the, 7 pm
TIM JOHNSON, animation film maker
Centre for Digital Media, Great Northern Way Campus, 577 Great Northern Way

DreamWorks Animation film director Tim Johnson directed the 2006 computer animated comedy Over the Hedge, starring the voices of Bruce Willis and Gary Shandling. His earlier projects include the animated action adventure Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas and DreamWorks first computer animated comedy, Antz, as well as the infamous segment Homer3D from The Simpsons Halloween special Treehouse of Horror VI.

June 4, 7 pm
WILL WRIGHT, god of computer game designers
Centre for Digital Media, Great Northern Way Campus, 577 Great Northern Way

Widely acknowledged as one of the most important innovators in gaming, technology and entertainment, Will Wright is the designer of the groundbreaking computer simulation games SimCity and The Sims, the bestselling computer game of all time. Wright has received two lifetime achievement awards from Game Developers Choice Awards and was inducted into the Academy of Interactive Arts and Sciences Hall of Fame in 2002.

TICKETS: 604.662.4717
SERIES OF FOUR PRESENTATIONS: $85, Members and seniors $68, students $34.
INDIVIDUAL PRESENTATIONS: $25, Members and seniors $20, students $10.

strike back by passing it on

Someone scraped the contents of Darren Di Lieto’s website and published it into a 350-page book being sold online for $100. via warren.

This book — which reprints without permission several dozen artist interviews which Darren had posted on the LCS blog — transcribes these interviews word-for-word, including the artwork, and was “published” under the title “Colorful Illustrations 93°C”. The book even includes a CD with all the illustrations from the book, all lifted off the site as well.

Publishers have faked their details, resellers refuse to pull the book. The ISBN they provide is also a fake. It being nigh impossible to track down the culprits, (they seem to be located in HK, a city world renowned for copyright infringement), the only real way to shut these people down and/or make sure no one works with them again is to spread the word, create an information backlash and rub their faces in the muck so hard they’ll never get clean.

First, please re-distribute this blog post or Darren’s original post. Repost the whole thing, or part of it, in your blog, with links and tags included.

Next, use whatever social networks and news sharing sites you use every day — Twitter, Flickr, Delicious, Magnolia, Digg, StumbleUpon, Facebook — to spread the word about this overpriced book full of plagiarized and stolen content. Feel free to quote us, and remember to also include the same keywords and tags in your posts.

There’s more information on Darren’s blog as well as a gallery of photos taken of every page.

eating practically nothing but chocolate and words, a debt

365 day one hundred & two: new tomorrow

From a letter I wrote to Juan, “I wish I could mail myself to you in a great cardboard box, foolishly mark myself a gift and sleep until you found me in your kitchen. Oh look, I would say, I’m real after all. See my problems? I will give them to you like ripened apples for you to chew. They will turn sweet in travel. I thought once that if my life refused to improve, I would just begin walking, not look back, and find my way to where you live. Life did improve, though. It feels alright now, like a place to live, at least until the next thing happens.”

Edward Lorenz, the founder of Chaos Theory, died Wednesday of cancer.

My eyes slip across the street, noting where sand collected in what used to be rain puddles. I think if this moment could be collected, I have friends who I would like to send it to, who might understand the feeling of weight my blood carries in my body. Everything is heavy, even while curled on a couch, resting my head on a pile of silk pillows, my dreams full of choreographed shouting, difficult and lonely. A sheathed short sword in my hand, taken from a shelf, held in my hand, jabbed in the air for emphasis. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it my way, thick with mythology, mired in darkness, as pregnant with promise that only mystery can be. The tip of the black bamboo case held at his throat, keeping him still, an implied threat. Any minute I could drop it, any second, I could put it down, and wait for his hands on me. A pass, forensic, you are healed, lightning coming down layer by layer, impressed upon the landscape like a gravestone rubbing, rain falling without regret, reminding the grass to be green.

Behind my eyes, I rewind, reposition him, the stairs, the way I might reposition a tea-cup for a photograph. I attempt to find a configuration that has nothing to do with frustration or anger. I rewind, reposition, I suggest lines to the scene as if to an actor. My body lies perfectly still, except for a frown, one tiny crease. Why can’t I be dreaming of cat strange eyes? I am sent to the river. Washed of glory, he walks down the stairs again. I again gesture, upset, incontrovertible. It is a loop, queerly criminal, taken out of time as if it were stolen. My footsteps are silent, but his are not. There is no wall where I want one.

Above all, I require grace. I said it out loud in the shower the next days, the words like soap bubbles, clean, beautiful, a renewed realization of what keeps me clear.

keep the engine running

1guyporphyre frontyard

photos, unsurprisingly, by lung liu

“This life turned out nothing like I’d planned.” “Why not?” “When I was younger, living in L.A., I only wanted to grow up to be a famous pro-skateboarder. Pretty good at it too, not one of the insane guys, but up there.” “So what happened?” “My father moved us back to San Francisco and I became a musician.”

Saying goodbye, listening to the taste of every word that’s falling from my mouth like a flower petal, pearls spilling on the floor, why doesn’t he hear them? I hope the waiter doesn’t slip. A fortune of curiosity rilling across the floor. Formica table, silver edged, I’ve written about this before. It seems to be a place I say farewell to lovers. Late night, wishing we had picked the music, juke box saviors, noise, funk, tanned in the red light. My taste buds are crying out for the flavour of his sentence structure, how I find myself pronouncing his the word friends. A wild-eyed longing for something new, for all the stories he has to give the world, suffering from never enough. We should have, his future, another time, my past, we could have, but we won’t. Rain check. I want to lick his eyes, tri-coloured, red in the middle like a demon, green edged, the colour of jealousy, getting to fly away and jump away from here, cramped maybe, but I can’t care about that. Amazing. Summertime. Warmth. I’ll see him then, same old city, secrets open, wide, blazing. Press passes. Another stage, another show. Performances on and off, back behind fences, over by a beach, tucked around the lake. Maybe I’ll catch him a rabbit, eight track ears, folding back the soft fur, the sunburned faces of the people in the front row. For once, I don’t mind that I crossed the river. At least he held my hand.

“When I was sixteen, I had a decision land in my lap which would have changed everything. He was very rich, very famous. I see the face of the girl who said yes on magazines.” “I think you made the right choice.” “I think so too, or at least, I like to think so. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but right now, all of it brought me to being here with you, and I’m okay with that. That feels alright by me.”

Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free

On the heels of my time in Seattle, then my time in Whistler, my lover came through town for a weekend. And broke up with me. But it was lovely. My blood is still gently humming contentment from the weekend with the same satisfaction found in tying a good knot. Mike and I had the nicest, kindest, most genial, and convivial split-up I have ever encountered, then spent all of Sunday on The Best Date We Never Had. Seriously. I feel all warm and fuzzy and completely and utterly loved, all the way from the roots of my multi-dyed hair to the very tips of my bare little toes.

Saturday started out badly, we had a worrisome phone-call notable only for the gulf of heart-bruising silence that ran underneath everything we said, but it brightened immeasurably as soon as we met at the club. There’s something baked into his smile which unfailingly cheers me up, like an open door with sunshine on the other side.

The gig was marvelous, everyone had a fantastic time. The albums don’t do him justice, they’re great music, but seeing him live.. it’s an extraordinary, inspiring experience. He twists, dances, and contorts around his instrument, setting a mad pace thick joyful exuberance. I’ve been to his concerts more than anyone else’s and yet I still don’t think I quite have the words to describe what it’s like. There was one boy dancing along at the front so enthusiastically a wind came off his limbs.

Thankfully, it was an early night, with another band playing after, so we got to pack up and go for dinner at a half-way reasonable hour, something which doesn’t happen very often. We went to the best Korean Tapas Fusion place, over on Robson, with James, Lung, Claire, her boyfriend, and my mother, Vicki. Delicious, nutritious, and tremendous fun. We toasted unlikely things, celebrated, and ate the perfect amount of far too much. On the ride back to my place, when it was just the two of us again, we went over the conversation we had neglected before, fitting our words together like the devout gears of a crystal mechanism, casual and insistent, gently examining our language to see where we’d gone and what would happen next. When we got to my place, it was somehow finally okay to go in and sleep alone.

Then all of Sunday, as if to make up for lost potential time, we spent on The Best Date We Never Had. He called when he woke up, drove straight over, graciously crammed into my windowsill with me so Lung could take our portrait, then brought me out to Pnohm Pehn, one of my favourite restaurants, for a few hours of religious experience late afternoon breakfast, then to La Casa Gelati, home to 208 flavours, for double-scoop ice-cream cones. When it was time to scoot over to the gig, we had elbow room enough to sit in the car and talk music before going in and facing set-up, and when it was time to vanish before the show, we settled into a coffee-shop with delicious tea to talk politics and the state of our worlds. (The Cold war, Rush, growing up believing in The Nuke, where we were when the Berlin Wall went down, the natural disasters created by man.)

I took video, That 1 Guy playing the Railway Club, April 5th & 6th: Forgotten Whales, How’s ‘Bout Those Holes in the Moon, Buttmachine, Somewhere Over the Rainbow (on the magic saw), Dig (on the magic boot), Solea (w. a bit of Iron man), The Moon is Disgusting (It’s Made of Cheese), Cameo’s Word Up finale, and one just for me, as I threw panties at the stage in Seattle.

After that we went for late night burger and shakes and the waiter thought we were so cute drinking two strawed from the milkshake that he took our picture. I even got a kiss goodnight at the door. It’s like we should break-up all the time, “I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN, where should we go for dinner?” So though I’m suddenly single, it was done with such grace that I feel completely undamaged. He figured out the magic combination, like how to kiss angels without being scalded.