where was john cusack when i needed him today?

now i sleep on the floor.
i guess it was a matter of time.
there is no one to blame.
weird that my last few words to you are:
"here's the two bolts that keep the frame together. take care."

motivate

dear GM:
how come you are looking for bailout money so late?
didn't you foresee this dangerous situation long ago?
don't the best CFO's and financial advisors work for General Motors?
don't you need a better application for bailout money then using it to "weather the storm"?
i am terrified at the idea of the auto sector in southern ontario taking a crash but seriously, i don't want to fund something that isn't fixed. it's going to happen again and again.
it's based off poor foresight.
how come all of us without business degrees have known this was going to happen for so many years?
desperate times call for desperate measures but i think in this situation, the desperate measures should be creative reactions, and necessary change, not a band-aid.

i am dressing as a real cute boy for halloween...

http://colinmedley.com/

my field recording project blog:

http://explorerssound.wordpress.com/

by morning it sunk in and was all around me

i was given space and time.
i was allowed so many hours a day to let my mind wander.
i wanted to think back of my brothers and i in dark blue blazers gliding across united church steps in the frost.
i wanted to think back of us chasing each other through birch stands.
instead i looked forward.
thoughts forward.
all of these things revealed themselves.
the fog lifted.
there are still days when the fog seems right. when i want it shrouding my head like a crown. fog in my beard.
but who can sleep with a crown on their head?

full moon

there are plenty of fish in the sea.













i am challenging myself to overcome this smoothly.
to wake up and be okay.
to get healthy.
to move on.
to channel all of it into the next 2 months.
to lean on everyone else.
to wake up and be okay.

mail

broke into a post office and stole all of their stamps, roughly 5000, all to be stuck to letters, brown envelopes, and sent one by one to you until they are gone. 10 page letters in every envelope. mostly maps. sealed with wax. written by candle in another language. strings.
bicycle on wet tarmac.
brown canvas bag, worn.
hat with ear flaps.
your breath.
cigarette.
no, no cigarette.
mint gum.
licorice.
camera.
warm handshake.
scarf.
tweed.
maps.

space invaders 2008

a thought:

1. how much free stuff can you buy with $100?

as well

if you haven't seen my video installation yet please do soon. it comes down on October 6th. i'd love to hear what you think.

it is located above the spill coffee bar at 414 george st. n. and is viewable from dusk till dawn.

best,
jb

frost on the roof of my car

amazing that year after year when fall rolls around i get more and more nostalgic and sentimental. nostalgia is a real welcome feeling for me, one of my favorites and i don't really get it. is it my connection to autumn's past? the anticipation of the oncoming winter? is it merely the change? aside from the obvious twee reasons to love fall like leaves changing, sweater weather, cool clear nights what makes it my favorite? and how come i don't need to think of any of those things when i confidently say that fall is my favorite season, based strictly on the feel outside? it's back to school for some, hockey season starts, parks close, the weather is better for working outside.... i don't really understand. but i'm excited to walk to work this morning with one more layer then i had on a week ago.

and no fall is complete without a trip to the wonderful Tyrone Mill in Tyrone, Ontario. a few minutes west of where i grew up, the Tyrone Mill offers the most delectable little treats on cool autumn days. cinnamon donuts made fresh right before your eyes, candy sticks, coffee, preserves and of course, apple cider that is amazing. you get to watch them make it. the entire building is almost still totally authentic, sans the Bunn coffee maker. the upstairs still left how it was 100 years ago? saws and sanders and tons of manual woodworking tools. plus the views from upstairs out onto the mill pond are amazing. do explore this free piece of Ontario history. and eat some donuts while you're there. they are so greasy they soak through the bag and are so good.

space invaders

ARTIST STATEMENT

My project is multiple video installations in different locations downtown Peterborough. These projections will be of silhouettes of myself working (painting, writing, playing/recording) projected on to scrim installed against window panes. These videos will play on loops throughout the evening. The idea is to draw attention to the disappearance of affordable artist studio space in the downtown area. One of the locations I'm projecting from is my old studio space above the Spill. Artists are not allowed to use the spaces anymore because of fire codes. My next studio I was recently kicked out of so they could convert it to office space. I'm currently studio-less. The second installation will be in the window at Showplace. This location was offered to me later in the project but I like the idea of having a projector setup there showing an artist actualizing their project. The purpose of this project is to draw attention to an important part of the art’s community in Peterborough; the artist’s studio/space. By re-creating these spaces via video projections, I hope to inform people about the deterioration of a very important part of what makes Peterborough an active artistic community, as well as open and encourage discussion about the cultural planning and urban development of the downtown environments and the importance of maintaining affordable working spaces for artists to work in.

As well I think it's important for people to know that there is a strong subculture of artists/musicians working in this town in artist spaces that are rarely seen. I find that comforting to know.

------

This was just a quick shot off my Blackberry. I will document both setups once they are up and running tonite with both photos and video. This project is part of Artsweek 2008: http://www.artsweekpeterborough.com/

food for thought

imagine this:
i go to the mall and i buy food from a restaurant, we'll call it John John's. as i'm walking back to work, a man sees my food container, branded with the John John's logo and instantly thinks of his ex-girlfriend, who had wrote a food review for John John's in the local student paper. instantly he is transported back to memories of his ex and his afternoon is ruined.

i never thought about this before but we all walk around each day acting as catalysts for bad afternoons and great days and we don't ever recognize that.

time to get healthy

but then i'd never get to float through the town.
my mornings are like wearing those moon boot things that came out later in my life when i was too big to use them.

things that i'm excited about:

and
Trafic by Jacques Tati
and
winter travels
and
Season 3 of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
and
skateboarding in this cooler weather
and
hearing stories about Iceland from the girls.

breath deep.
touch twice.
trudge forth.

Sarah Gibeault

Recent Works on Paper

Artist's reception:
Friday Sept. 5th 6pm
@ Christensen Fine Art (432 George St. N. Peterborough, ON)

Post-it

Currently installing at Artspace:
Immony Men (montreal)

port hope

film by taylor kirk
music by evening hymns

moving architecture #2

new releases for the late summer picnic season:

sleeveless "matrix" top

double-layered "folklore" skirt

MA has a new fall line almost ready to launch (be made/designed).
Sorry we didn't design any rain slickers this year.

Stay tuned....

i am the proprietor of the Penguin Cafe

"In 1972 I was in the south of France. I had eaten some bad fish and was in consequence rather ill. As I lay in bed I had a strange recurring vision, there, before me, was a concrete building like a hotel or council block. I could see into the rooms, each of which was continually scanned by an electronic eye. In the rooms were people, everyone of them preoccupied. In one room a person was looking into a mirror and in another a couple were making love but lovelessly, in a third a composer was listening to music through earphones. Around him there were banks of electronic equipment. But all was silence. Like everyone in his place he had been neutralized, made gray and anonymous. The scene was for me one of ordered desolation. It was as if I were looking into a place which had no heart. Next day when I felt better, I went to the beach. As I sat there a poem came to me. It began ‘I am the proprietor of the Penguin Cafe. I will tell you things at random.’

Perhaps I should observe that I don't write poems. These words which came to me were somehow accidental, unconscious. The proprietor went on to explain his cafe. He said that the random, chance element in life is terribly vital. If through fear we allow the repression of spontaneous and unpredictable actions and events in order to make life "safer", the creativity that arises naturally from the hurly-burly of human life could be destroyed and lost. He kept saying" Come to the Penguin Cafe where things just aren't like that". A short time later I went to Japan. Perhaps it was a culture shock of finding myself in a new world that prompted me to think again about the Penguin Cafe. I started writing about it describing the things that went on there. It was very surreal. Tape recorders had the same validity as human beings. Beethoven was there, as well as ordinary people.

I started writing the kind of music played in the cafe. What sort of music is it? Ideally I suppose it's the sort of music you want to hear, music that will lift your spirit. It's the sort of music played by imagined wild, free, mountain people creating sounds of a subtle dreamlike quality. It is cafe music, but café in the sense of a place where people's spirits communicate and mingle, a place where music is played that often touches the heart of the listener.

Originally I created the Penguin Cafe Orchestra to make such music. I wrote for violin, cello, guitar and piano but I use whatever instruments I have..."

pure heaviosity

my grandmother passed away on friday morning...
i was a pallbearer with my brother and 4 cousins.
spent the weekend surrounded by religion and death talks.
this morning i proposed to my mother the following:

if there was a god and i was sent to hell then wouldn't satan be on my side? wouldn't he be like "high five you non-believer"?

nonetheless it was heavy weekend.
got to eat lots of egg salad triangle sandwiches though.
i wish i could've recorded her before she passed away.
i chose this picture because she was an amazing pianist and a very faithful member of the Catholic church.
r.i.p. grandma.

3 days till holidays.
mountains.
music.

today, and then tomorrow

saw some weird things on my lunch walk.

-a girl eating hot dogs out of a ziploc bag. just walking around, totally normal, eating raw hot dogs from a bag.

-a little boy on a leash. this is the second kid this week i've seen with a leash on. is this new? it's terribly confusing to me.

then i ate chili with a cheese bun and walked around town listening to an old playlist i made for a friend. it was sentimentally nice. three songs in a row were perfect and although i'd heard them many times before they were still heavy. anyways, it's nice to be comfortable in these feelings.

now i'm thinking about how cool it would be to be a young composer travelling the world and performing in large theatres. i would wear fancy suits and probably have messy hair.

more trumpets!!!!

reprise

rent reprise by joachim trier.
great movie.

americans:
have a great long weekend.

drink water everyone.

my life is now built upon wheels which means i'm always moving on.

i started skating again.
it feels really good right now.
i'm sure i'll break my wrist soon.
have mostly been doing parking lot rips but had a really good skate at the university earlier this week.
no security to speak of.
seems strange to be 27 and looking over your shoulder for security guards, that are probably a few years younger then me too.
seems strange to be skating at 27.
seems good.

really excited about this:






http://free103point9.org/aboutwavefarm/


and also going to get out my old pentax because of this:
http://www.ryanmcginley.com/
ryan works with sigur ros on their new video which is perfect.
combination of two amazing artists.

formatting?
god no...

on a new note

i got one of these yesterday:



her name is judy.
she is the first lady of moving architecture.
i'd like to thank taylor for introducing me to her.

all i want

is a state of hope.

some talk.

a bunch of laughing.

a time machine.

a shield.

plants that i can chew that will clear my head.

a kanga sauna.

sun in an empty room.

the abililty to write a legitimate apology letter.

potential good jobs

• letterpress operator
• traveller
• used bookstore owner
• lumberjack
• composer (piano)
• author (fiction)
• piano tuner
• painter
• archaeologist
• fashion designer
  
• filmmaker
• researcher (romantic science)
• carpenter
  
• potter
• bed and breakfast operator
• resort reviewer for high-end travel magazine
  

it sunned, then it rained, then it sunned again...

where am i? what am i doing? what did i do?

saying that everything "happens for a reason" is a total cop out.

when i walked up behind her...

she had no idea it was coming.. i grabbed the back of her sweater and tore it over her perfect shoulder blades and up over the top of her real head until her eyes were covered with the wool. she panicked and spun around and gasped for breath even though i wasn't covering her mouth. she fell down in the dirt and covered her knees and somehow got a bunch of dirt on her face and looked like a kid with chocolate cake smeared on her cheeks... her stomach was a cavern. the contracting muscles echoed down deep in her guts. pulsing back and forth. her eyes were locked on bright colours. she was dancing and screaming out loud on a country road and her jeep was out of gas and she called her father and he brought her some gas and fixed things up a little and he was a real father figure for her that night.

moving architecture

this skirt is the triangle skirt.
it looks like the fabric is being all bunched up because of the red triangles but really it's fine.
i just have to finish the waist and it's complete.
the next skirt is going to be very nice.

inside my stomach there is a banjo playing

we do go crazy in winter.
we go crazy in the spring.
we are crazy in the summer.
pull the reins and be older and hang on but enjoy it.

i've been writing this song for a friend, and myself, and now everyone... i can only think that it is aimed at some people more then others.

i am trying to fine tune things.
think a lot more about thinking a lot less.
read more.
not so much to read more but just so i know i'm tuning out all the static that stops me from reading more.
i have sat-tues off all summer and that is pretty much the greatest thing going.
two days at the cottage with friends and family and then two days by myself.
finish a record.
a stack of books.
all of the wine.
in the entire world.


(untitled) song for friends.

i'm going to pull this string.
going to pull it tight from both ends.
going to hear it sing.
it's going to sing everything is going to be alright, tonite.

when the moon comes up.
you and your lover you will cheer up.
don't worry, your worries will become light.
so the two of you, hang in, hold hands and breathe light.

i'm going to watch you bend.
going to watch you fold yourself in two.
then i'm going to send out friends.
they are going to bring you back they're going to save you, tonite.

when the moon comes up.
you and your lover you will cheer up.
don't worry, your worries will become light.
so the two of you, hang in, hold hands and breathe light.

breathe light friends.

oh jennifer jason leigh

today my bicycle was freed from the shackles of winter. it danced down the back alley upon flat tires but was ambitious nonetheless. spent the afternoon walking in the park by the river. shooting super 8. getting to pretend it was twenty years ago. hooked up my record player again. spent time with Thanksgiving. mixed John's jazz band. caught up on some much needed cleaning. changed my clothes three times today. had cream soup. watched some films. the Beachhouse windows were all wide open. recorded the church bells for the third sunday in a row. forgot how easy it is to be content stopping everything when the sun is shining on me. off to bed. sleep and then the bright lights of the television studio.
if i make it through april then the summer is here and we can all just forget about how crazy we get in the winter.
now let us pray.

haunt me, haunt me, do it again.

and again....
and again.....


don't forget to write.


there is time and distance.

being at the centre of the world

sometimes i am the luckiest guy.
sometimes i think that i am not, but when i think that i'm pretty sure that i still am and just not thinking properly.

there is magic out there.
come close and find it.

i am in kentucky.
i'm getting trying my best.
home...

go, go, go... no wait... no go... go...

no...
wait... go...

arghhhh

through the forest

it seemed yesterday i was living in a jaan kaplinski poem. when the whole town was down about the snow i decided to take advantage of it. i had the entire wood to myself. the crystal snow still falling and covering my tracks. it was perfect. i laughed a little. i think it's best to laugh by yourself.
i'm so glad i found this sport. i could take a few more months of winter now. yesterday was my first day out by myself and i was listening to music and it was this super engaging thing, to be elsewhere, moving through the woods. hard to be pressed by anything...

once you start you can't stop, once you stop you can't start

sometimes you can just get out of bed and pretend you are not dying.
you get up and have a shower and brush your teeth and then put on some pants and a shirt and you head out the door and the air is fresh and you engage with the city by leaping puddles and bolting through the people with slushy feet and wind blown cheeks and you sit down with your coffee and your breakfast comes and you die again.

my piano and your pencils.

they could sit side by side.
i would have an ashtray on top of the piano that you would sometimes bicker about but sometimes we would drink wine and you would stub out the occasional cigarette yourself and i'd never call you out.
maybe we'd have breakfast, certainly coffee, in the mornings and then i'd be off to work and you would have hours alone to draw yourself out of this town, enough that you'd be okay sticking around. i'd get home and you'd be out.
i'd make dinner.
i would play piano and think. i would read my book that i've been reading for years. you would've watered the plants and finally they'd be coming back to life. i've never been good with plants. your key would hit the lock. the tibetan elephants would jangle to life. the switch on the kettle would be flipped and water would be boiled for tea.
you would tell me where you'd spent the morning, i'd tell you where i'd spent the night. they would accompany each other nicely.
my hand would drift asleep atop your belly.
my heating bill would go down.
the bristles of your toothbrush would sleep quietly next to mine.

busy bee

i need to:

• finish the zine
• rehearse 4 times
• eat/grocery shop
• laundry
• finish the bass parts
• fix my amp
• work
• play on the 29th
• open a show on the 7th
• dj the night of the 7th
• play the 8th
• drive to texas on the 9th
• blow my mind for 8 days and fly home
• sleep
• be a friend/son/brother
• eat some vegetables
• make money
• finish a record
• build a little volcano
• x-country ski
• see contemporary dance
• have cigarettes
• settle down
  

take it easy to the max

tonite i:
-saw the emily carr dance thing-a-ma-jig with veda hille at market hall.
-the cam malcolm militia and jon mackiel band at the moho.
-matthew barber at the red dog.

i was going to stay home and sleep but instead did a bunch of things.

going to see my first ever dance show was the best thing i did. i was super impressed. will pay attention to all things that happen in this town now in contemporary dance. veda sounded amazing and the dancers were rad. i'm going to try and see them tomorrow night again. very rarely something comes to town that i'd like to see twice, unless it's food.

the cam malcolm militia was great. so good to see/hear cam play again. and with his brother. so sweet... one of those musicians that i really try and pay attention to.

the second band, from halifax, the jon mackiel band, were great as well. i planned on finishing my beer and leaving but got caught up on listening to them. stayed for the whole set...

...

p.s. the moon was totally gnar last night. wasn't excited till the shit got red. mike and i use to sit out on chairs at my cottage on the winter ice and chant "celestial events! celestial events!" and then would cheer when we'd see a shooting star or some other space phenomenon. last night we got to watch it from home pretty much.
thanks world.

p.p.s. i'm on hardly any sleep and have a big night planned for tomorrow. sleep tight you white janitors.

jwpb

i have renewed faith

in: -what i am doing -who i am -who we all are -the magic of jam -sigur ros -the power of cleaning -winter -perspective and identity -my dad.

On your back with your racks as the stacks as your load

i totally janked my neck this morning.
was shutting my alarm clock off.
tweaked it.
it almost made me puke.
i'm working it out now.

it's stiff.
i ran.
i swam.
i hottubbed.

it needs more coffee i think.

also, i have joined the masses of cross country skiing.
it is amazing.
i just need boots now.
the ones i borrowed were too small.
i got skis.
and 2 different size poles.
i will be in jeans ripping the trails if you're looking for me.

ontario

so a friend said she read my blog and said i'm still a country boy and my roots are still there.

...

this is where my head sleeps.

...

i cannot argue.

a taste of complete perspective

a drawing by eric shaw.

sometimes i feel like i'm at my best, or happiest, when i'm out of my element. no i'm not talking about my car. i can do well in it as well, grant you today mike got it stuck in the back rhubarb cause my snow tires are embarassing, or non-existent. the dudes at crappy tire shake their heads when i tell them i'm driving to winnipeg on curling shoes. ramble ramble ramble...

you should see me run a triathalon on an empty stomach in skateboard shoes, with a hangover. spur of the moment.

... the bike this old dude lent me broke and then i took a left when i should've taken a right and still was able to come back and pass this old dude. shitty thing about it was, as i approached this old dude, this was at the running part of the race, i was all psyched. i was like "okay i'm going to burn by this guy, not say anything, just pass him and carry on to the end." i didn't want it to be awkward for him. and i was like "perfect, keep your head down". so as i pull up beside him, and i was a mess... felt like i was going to die, fading away...psycho babble at 11... he turns to me, and he goes "the name's jim smith (name changed). we gonna finish this thing together or what?" and i was like "yeah, jim, yeah". i had to. he was too nice and wanted companionship down the final stretch of loss. and we did... but as i was approaching the finish line, and there's the people cheering us on (sidenote: i'm a total loser who didn't get laid at the awards ceremony afterparty obviously) i had this great epiphany. when someone checks the score of an event or tournament, they always check the first place and last place person, i've found. i was in a 3-on-3 basketball tournament when i was in grade 6 and i remember going into the last game, playing for the D-championship ( the last place game) and thinking that "hey we should throw the game and get last place that way at least people will see our names." unfortunately we won and were lost amid the pile of amateur sports losers, never to be seen. as if we could've thrown the game. it was a battle. anyways, as we crossed the line i was proud. i'd come last. my name would be seen and people would say "that guy, altough he isn't an athlete, sure has heart" it was noble to slow down and cross the line together.

i ate some orange slices and drank some water.

i walked over to the window that the times were posted on and...

i was second last.

i was hungover, dehydrated, my feet hurt and i was second last... not even good at losing.

the grass is always greener, and/or, get up, get up , get dancin' dancin', get up and move that body.

for some strange reason i've felt the overwhelming urge to pick up and take off in the night. pack my bags and disappear. when i surface again i want to end up in this little village. maybe i will farm sheep.

really though, i would probably lose my mind out there. i'm not ready to settle down, as much as i wish i was. i want to want to read books in that brown cabin with the red roof. i want to want to farm sheep. i want to want to be isolated in the dark. this is a feeling i always have and i think it's representative of an overall unhappiness. it doesn't bottom me out to think of it as that because it's something that i recognize and realize i can change. i want to be able to enjoy my envisioned ideal life now, yes, but i feel like i'm getting closer to that then ever and once i can actually exist in this mellow/neutral state then i will really be happy. at the same time, what i see as my perfect place now will no doubt change by the time i get to the point of actually enjoying it or even experiencing it and knowing this takes the edge off. i'm sure that certain aspects of what i want now will remain in my final place but not all of them.

the thought that one is happier elsewhere always. the unhappy are always happy somewhere else.

i want to smile in detroit, and then i want to visit gjogv.

i'm also pretty happy where i am.

the three feet around me.

nostalgia is a good place to live if you don't pay rent

...

...

and with that he grabbed his branch with its little kerchief tied to the end and sauntered his worn out boots through the gravel and the dust and headed off down the old dirt road behind his parents cottage, a copy of leaves of grass tucked away in his satchel.

when he awoke he was covered in sawdust and snow and the top button of his plaid coat was undone. his cellphone was ringing and it was the utilities company.

"i thought i was allowed to be here. i'm not sure why you are so upset with me."

the other end of the line crackled and hissed and then dissapeared.

the tick of his wrist watch came back to life, as did the mild pulsing pain in his side and the thought that in two more days he had a car payment to make.

in came swelling strings and pictures of the pacific northwest.

howling wind and truncated cbc radio weather reports.

his father telling hunting stories in the shack.

oh, get me away from here i'm dying...

the incredible whiteness of seeing

more on the way...
i feel like a little boy.
i want to go skiing.
or gt'ing.
or anything.
computers are for adults.

Support article for my blog last week on interpretation

here is a perfect example of what i was talking about. doesn't this record sound amazing before you even hear it?

and thanks to emily for the tip.

Bon Iver,

it wasn't planned. The goal was to hibernate.

Justin Vernon moved to a remote cabin in the woods of Northwestern Wisconsin at the onset of winter. Tailing from the swirling breakup of his long time band, he escaped to the property and surrounded himself with simple work, quiet, and space. He lived there alone for three months, filling his days with wood splitting and other chores around the land. This special time slowly began feeding a bold, uninhibited new musical focus.

This slowly evolved into days filled with twelve-hour recording blocks, breaking only for trips on the tractor into the pines to saw and haul firewood, or for frozen sunrises high up a deer stand. All of his personal trouble, lack of perspective, heartache, longing, love, loss and guilt that had been stock piled over the course of the past six years, was suddenly purged into the form of song. The end result is, For Emma, Forever Ago, a nine-song album comprised of what's been dubbed a striking debut by critics and fans alike.

Bon Iver (pronounced: bohn eevair; French for "good winter" and spelled wrong on purpose) is a greeting, a celebration and a sentiment. It is a new statement of an artist moving on and establishing the groundwork for a lasting career. For Emma, Forever Ago is the debut of this lineage of songs. As a whole, the record is entirely cohesive throughout and remains centered around a particular aesthetic, prompted by the time and place for which it was recorded. Vernon seems to have tested his boundaries to the utmost, and in doing so has managed to break free form any pre-cursing or finished forms.

For Emma's tracks consist of thick layers draped in lush choral walls, with rarely more than an ancient acoustic guitar or the occasional bass drum providing structure. Vernon sings the majority of the record in falsetto, which painfully expresses the meanings behind its overt, yet strangely entangled words. This newfound vocal path acts as each song's main character and source of melody.

Despite its complexity, the record was created entirely by Vernon with nothing more than a few microphones and some aged recording equipment. This homemade aspect shows itself in sections as creaks and accidentals are exposed in the folds of the songs, but is hidden well by the highly impressive and almost orchestral sound that Vernon managed to produce by his lonesome, within the creaky skeleton of his father's cabin.

explain me this:

friend test-2008

i'm always unsure who my real friends are.

this morning i realized that if i'm willing to take off my headphones to say hello or to chat then i consider that person a friend.

i was thinking about it because on my walk into work i ran into my friend malissa who also had headphones on and i popped my headphones off to walk and talk with her and she pointed out how sometimes you just don't want to run into people because you are listening to a good song and just want to exist in that bubble for as long as possible. i agree. it's a nice place to be sometimes but i'd rather walk and have a nice talk and get called a "nancy boy".

children of mother nature

i am a child of mother nature.
who needs a radical sabbatical.
before he gets tortured in the orchard.

sincere words by Malibu, Trevor Davis, etc.

fuck you michael stipe

why do i blow everything out of proportion?
how come everything comes down to being the biggest deal in the world to me?
do i really just thrive in all the drama and intensity cause i'll tell you right now blog readers... i hate it!
how come every decision seems like a doozy?
is it the end of the world as we know it?
i'm so upset that i'm going to throw my beer in my pool.

p.s.

i'm not really too concerned with fine tuning my blogging skills as you can see.
more or less a space to spit out junk.
it is not my blog, it is my spitoon.
godspeed you white janitors.

it is all interpretation

i constantly struggle with interpretation. i write this while reading a music blog this morning, and looking at the accompanying photos. hazy, double exposures, with blurry lines and a photo of the artist, sitting cross-legged in the photo, in the woods. instantly this tells me a lot. i can kind of know what to expect, or i think i can. reverby, folkish, mellow songs. i feel i know something about them. they are tea-drinkers, book readers, volvo drivers, or better yet, bicycle riders. they like the autumn more then any other season. want to live up north...blah blah blah... is any of that true?

do they live in new york.

this is something that strongly affects my interpretation of music/art/lit. etc. how i approach something creates this preconceived way of absorbing that i think is very important to enjoying things for me. i've thought about this alot lately because of the samamidon record, which i love. i heard this record and thought it sounded beautiful. then when i tried to research the guy i found all this vague info on him... his videos were weird, he has this strange history of traditional music. he just has this weird persona, one that, for me, is based strictly from the internet. but it's important for me in listening to his record. it was recorded in iceland. that affects my listening. all these little things make me approach listening to this record so much differently then as if i just heard it without the back story. alone it stands as a really beautiful record, simple. with the image i have in my head it is a magical record that is whispered like a secret into my ears. i know that most likely sam amidon is just some dude in brooklyn (true) that goes out for beers with his buddies and cracks fart jokes.

i've just lately backed away from a lot of music that i listen to and said "does this stand up without the back story?"

i find the same things with books. my favorite poet is Jaan Kaplinski, an estonian writer. his poetry is beautiful and puts me in a good place. at my cottage, in the winter, with the furnace humming away and the ice cracking out the window. it is helped along with the image of Kaplinski at his cottage outside of talinn, writing away and being isolated, in estonia, in the winter, waiting for the spring... so much of what he writes (and so many others) is helped along with the image i create in my head of him before i even open a book of his.
how overwhelming (or underwhelming) would it be for me to experience what he is writing in real-time? would i be dissapointed? would i even give it a chance if he was from scarborough?

is it right to create different personas inorder to make your art more effective?

does it matter?

if i was writing this blog from a shack in greenland, with only a candle to light my desk, would this be anymore interesting (boring)?

"the wind, eating away at the inner piece"

i do not:
sail
fly kites (as much i wish i could)
own a windmill
research aerodynamics

tell me what use i have for this horrible wind?

i want to be a wizard.

i want to be alone, up north:
skinning dear
making soup (potions)
chopping wood
learning piano
writing
eating pancakes (flapjacks)
cross-country skiing
reading
star-gazing (this is natural)
reflecting (looking forward)
slowing down
shooting cans
taking the kids skating

how to blow a pop stand:

1.) find a pop stand.
2.) hang/relax around it.
3.) when no one is looking, leave quickly/indiscreetly. once you are around the back of the school/restaurant/bus shelter you should:
a) shoot your gun fingers in the air.
b) put on shades, leathers, denim.
c) smoke.
d) hopefully all of the above.
4.) understand that blowing a pop stand is how you keep your cool.