singing back a week

If any one has any pictures, the license plate number or footage of the car attack at 1700 block robson that happened during Zombiewalk, please contact me. I need it for police and ICBC. Thank you.

It’s been a bloody long week. Today, walking from Act 1, I ran into a group dressed like a prison break. A block later there was a group dressed like American police. I was glad I slept last night. Earlier this week, there were twin midget strippers. Jet black hair and matching little white outfits, trendy as all hell. They swore a lot, asked me for directions, and wanted to know why I was dressed like a zombie.

Zombiewalk was a success, again, and the photographs just keep rolling in. My extra work was super good, I made all sorts of very odd contacts that I hope to keep up. The Organic Turkey Farmer who’s currently Choices spokesperson, for example, and his lovely wife. She told me my new favourite party joke. “Why do rabbits have so many babies?” “Their ears are too long to give head.” I’m going to have to write all about it, and the band tour of Vancouver Island, but I’ve been spending my evenings at a house with no internet, so my productivity has been shot like a caught revolutionary.

“On stage, I make love to 25,000 different people, then I go home alone” (Janis Joplin)

Paula snuggled into me, waking me up early. I was naked in the bedsheets, tugging on her braid with my teeth, wondering how I’d slept through when she arrived. This is Friday, other people are expected over, but I don’t know who as of yet. Modest Mouse is singing in my head about crashing into police cars, catchy, I’m standing up and groping blindly for my clothes. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and ask when Troll arrives, I’m told any minute. The bra goes on, the pants, and I find my way to the bathroom.

Walking later, some trick of the light and I’m sitting at home in front of my computer, trying to explain that I’m going to be away. My second date, the first one being Clinton. The van has been miraculously packed and has driven away. Barefeet in a park. The grass like velvet. It’s two weeks already and I haven’t slept once in my own bed. The bus I catch goes to Horseshoe Bay, left over habits from my childhood. Wrong. I get off, catch another one going the opposite direction. More than twice half-way across town and I’m not at the ferry terminal until three hours later.


On the ferry is a man named Gabe, organic cotton clothing and I don’t know him but he saw me ride by on my bicycle the day before on my way to the transgendered bee extravaganza. I smiled at him, he said, a big smile, right at him. He went into his friends house and declared that he would meet me again. Now, on the ferry, he offers me a ride into Victoria. We talk a little, but I’m not sure what to say. He has a sketchbook full of turtles and some photographs of a garden sculpture he made of hands above a window.

Downstairs he has a station wagon, an old thing, solid as the sixties. I love it. One window is broken, permanently open, there are action heroes tucked unobtrusively into the dash, and from the rear view mirror, among a cluster of obviously found feathers, hang buddhist hand chimes wrapped in string. He has a girl with him, they say they met a couple of weeks ago while visiting Robert Hugh ‘Standing Deer’ Wilson’s son. She’s into documentary, wants to tape native communities until they crack and spill forth ethical ways of sustainable living into everyone’s house.

In Victoria, we stop at the Backpacker’s hostel. It’s busy, filled with people I think I would like to sit down and talk with. I remember the one in Toronto, how the place was friendly but I felt excluded anyway. This was different, this was busier. I wasn’t full of glory. Gabe and his friend left, riding off to their sustainable sunset without me. I got change for the phone, called Esme long-distance on only a minute of time. Directions happened, then I sat outside.

flickering dead television skies

I didn’t join so much as I was assimilated

I’m front page at Sinister Bedfellows this week. buy my book.

Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

So very suddenly I find myself attached to a band. A band that is going on tour this weekend. I only found out yesterday, but the plans are well in place. I’m not sure how this happened, that I’m coming along, but it seems I am some sort of package deal. I’m going to Victoria this afternoon to hook up with Nikky for his gig, then I’m to meet a van-load of musicians at some random cross-roads disastrously early tomorrow morning to go to Gabriola for a concert at their wine festival. Sunday we’re back in Victoria and only returning to Vancouver for Monday night. I foresee a lot of not sleeping, really. Part of me is glad and part of me wants to know what the hell I think I’m doing. I’m not a musician, it rails, I’m barely even a writer!

Monkeyfluids is pretty good today, thanks to Michael for reminding me it exists.

Yesterday I went to a surreal educational puppet show about bees put on by DeeDee, a transgendered line-backer of a harpist from New York who drives a giant custom tricycle. It was in the park near my house and I know Vern, the fellow who made most of the bees. April was there. Strange days on paper, but alright in person. I’m still unemployed, though I’m crossing my fingers for a local PA job that looks like it would be utterly perfect for my odd myriad media skills. (I have a viral marketing gig for September lined up in case everything else falls through). Last night I got some recording done at my mother’s house, so there’s a mp3 polished ready to send out to the darling people who thought I was worth paying for. There will be more when I return. It’s been a stupidly busy and unexpected time lately, I’m sure you understand. See you after the cut.

Jesus Monkey Pants in Space has a new home on Warren‘s The Engine.

Van Island Vacation

Had a wonderful time away from this city. Arrived in Victoria on Sunday evening and wandered the roads. Tourists scurrying around us as we walked with our respective oddities. My purple hat causeing, not comment, but scorn and m’love with his guitar the same. Eventually we meandered to the theatre after a terrible dinner and sat in on the Grand Migration.

It was lovely. Inspiring. There’s so much of the world that I’ve never seen and perhaps never will. I want to visit all of it. Breathe the air on every continent. Meet the people and see thier worlds.

After the film, we walked in wonder. Too far along the water, then longer still along a road before we arrived at our temporary home. Our bags grew heavy, enough to cut. We were full of weary pain when we arrived, but having arrived, we felt better. My best friends bedroom, with her eternal bluerose comforter. I realized that a third of what was in there, was brought there by me. Presents from our decade apart and together.

We were idiots. We watched Howard the Duck. Don’t.

Sleeping in, rising late, our reasons for not seeing the dinosaurs. We bussed from Esquimalt into town, alighting at the swing bridge on the waterfront. Coffee, our first intention. After completing our mini quest, we set off, our caffiene choices in hand. We stopped in at a Bryans, and slithered me into a plum dress, then we left – our destination: The Iron Palace. Four floors of odd stuff. Basement shelves piled with occiloscopes and suits of armor, bouy bells, and typeset pieces. An interesting place. We took away sandals and a pattern for a duster coat.

Lunch was at a five dollar diner, with formica tabletops and all day breakfast.

From there we walked. Miles. Uphill. His grandmother pleased to see us. She brings to mind an old hyper cat. The type what has outlived thier flesh and is now left as too mych energy in a skinny little body. We looked at photos of thier family, and I took some. I suppose she’s my family too now, a granny-in-law. More film to be developed. A sweet woman, too bad I can’t recall her name.

We searched unsuccessfully for food, everything closes at five or six, and we attempted to feed ourselves at eight. Silly we, victoria is for kids! After a suitable amount of time went by to allow our stomach acids to eat at the lining, we sat and waited for friend Richie. For half an hour we sat, eyes peeled for a white van. When he arrived, it was a blessing. I’d never known what he looked like, and now I do.

We drove to Mishka’s place and packed our things into the van. A black tom tried doggedly to get locked into the house. I haven’t any idea what he came for, as he doesn’t belong to the house.

Dinner was at Alexsandros. The only big city restaraunt in the town. Wonderful food, and a trio playing bad 80’s as lounge music. Heavenly.

Here ends the first two day of vacation, from here, Victoria is left behind us. I am weary of staring at a screen, and so will leave the rest to tomorrow.