Beechwood Park: The Zombies

I just discovered this album, Odessey and Oracle by The Zombies. It's really incredible. Wanna kill the singer for having such a rich voice.

Beechwood Park
by The Zombies

Do you remember summer days
Just after summer rain
When all the air was damp and warm
In the green of country lanes?
And the breeze would touch your hair
Kiss your face and make you care
About your world
Your summer world
And we would count the evening stars
As the day grew dark
In Beechwood Park...

Do you remember golden days and golden summer sun
The sound of laughter in our ears
In the breeze as we would run?
And the breeze would touch your hair
Kiss your face and make you care
About your world
Your summer world
And we would count the evening stars
As the day grew dark
In Beechwood Park...

Oh roads in my mind
Take me back in my mind
And I can't forget you
Won't forget you
Won't forget those days
And Beechwood Park...

And the breeze would touch your hair
Kiss your face and make you care
About your world
Your summer world
And we would count the evening stars
As the day grew dark
In Beechwood Park...

Oh roads in my mind
Take me back in my mind
And I can't forget you
Won't forget you
Won't forget those days
And Beechwood Park...

Sky Saw: Brian Eno

Sky Saw
by Brian Eno
All the clouds turn to words
All the words float in sequence
No one knows what they mean
Everyone just ignores them

fly(fall

One can conceptualize vague or even specific conceptions pertaining to suicide without actually considering any sort of following through. If a doctor, or in my case, an imagined doctor, was to ask me, “Do you have suicidal thoughts?”, I might be forced to admit, “well, yes, I do, but they're thoughts, just thoughts-- details really-- most probably not my own.”

NoNithing sacred, and no curses, no jinxes in my worldview, boys. And so now I must wonder aloud with my wandering mind for picturing bridge-jumpers(fallers, better) that look like Howard Stern 'bout to land hard on their tail-bones(the paradox of landing on it seeming like such a sore place to land but not really if you think about it) or bus-jumpers coming out of dollar-stores (why were they shopping before they decided to end it all, why dollar-rama?).

My mind can fly(fall, better?). I must create and associate, but those thoughts are not necessarily always originating from a sense of loss or moroseness or explicit personalization; more often, even, they're merely delightful fits of many untamed observations; every cloud, every cloud's shadow, every shadow's contour, every contour's relation and contraster,-- but primed and re-primed ad infinitum.

Novel ideas like suicide or suicidal details, are just colours of impressions of shadows of contours of clouds ga nee no dollar stores are now: “Dollar Twenty-Five Stores” really and in my impatient opinion, they willingly and purposely distort many truths, thousands and thousands of them, mostly small and useless, too all citizens, even to the suicidally type folks (some surely leave complete with, Leather jackets. Wet-boots. A full pack of cigarettes. Invisibility. Worn Paper so soft in their pockets like cotton but forever.

my god! it's the next fucking day and I can't stop thinking about this movie.!!!

Enter

The 

Void 

Enter The Void : Movie Review

 

Strangers, accidental readers, ghosts and the souls of code, above is the poster for the latest film by Gaspar Noe, the director of "Irreversible".

Not sure I wanna put too much in the review about the actual movie because it's so essential you go into it without knowing too much. I guess I don't want to reveal too much about the plot and I suggest that you steer clear of summaries, reviews, conversation and spoilers-- just go to the nearest theater that's playing it and watch it. It's new, daring, frightening, provocative and extremely discomforting. It's the most creative piece of modern cinema I've seen in a while.

Oh and seeing it high on pot helps as there are numerous psychedelic experience scenes that are both artful and very accurate.

It's not completely abstract though; there is a story but it's paired with the "Tibetan Book of the Dead" and the characters first-person perspective of being influenced by psychedelic drugs and more.

I still feel a bit rattled. I think you guys should watch it. Minus those that wouldn't watch it.

10/10

P.S., the opening credits MUST be seen. Don't be epileptic.

P.S.S., see it in a theater for full effect-- also, the pirated version online is an old 'first-cut' from 2009 but most of all, this director deserves to be rewarded $$$

P.S.S.S., it's loooong.

of smoke: E1, On A Train

In this body, the life within this body, there exists the promise and the history of smoke.

E1, On a Train: We poured into the train and I felt rough, like I could sneer and spit and piss in the corner. I wasn't misery itself but the sorry seed of it. The clouds all aboard, the cement and the sand, rotting leaves like gum underfoot, spoiling all sense of in-fashion, that is to say, my sneakers, gunmetal and clayed for the wrong-aged eyes of youth. And hurry R., while you can think: Don't retouch the bars because the hands that touch the bars are made filthy by the hands that touched the bars.

Dirgeso (by redundancy and complaint)

 Dirgeso (by redundancy and complaint)

A message, dedicated to the heavy, throaty feelings, or more metaphorically of swallowing birdseed and quicksand, of eating too much dense bread. You know, black-holes, well no, but... a'hem, I had, “I  had” excuse me, “I had a pizza” or... something, after a night of underground dancing  downtown, under the ground, and instead of eating any of the pleasant inner, pizza-innards-- Ah, for imagine, I just forgot how to eat the wet-spinach, grease-sweating cheese and instead wound up eating the massive rim, Colosseum of yeast and 'The Dry Circumference' and then pair that with all the actual non-metaphorical pissing (not unlike the colour of perfume; of urine) and the swallowing of drained, dehydrated puddle-muck (chalky ribbons of wasted newspaper and cigarette-bendys, shiny corners of choco-bar wrappers, the spirits of shoe-prints, dried gobs of spit, living on as the gum-sized ruins of popped saliva-bubbles, fully inedible-- this dirgeso harmful, refusing digestion; this flotsam symptomology hung around until, well, even, OhHi//, even rightthis moment, and I have to sit up, unsure shadow practising on my right, and I try, gently propped, scuffling, leaning forward in bed, reversed gasping, t'burp all for naught-- as the heaviness in my esophageal top-thrd is like sand, and like dense breadx3, did I mention? like pizza-rim, garbage-town, etc... I have it in my throat possibly way-off diaphragm, damned-up and I would very much like to feel the familiar hollowness that usually goes with throatycones, that more correct conical anatomy, and until such a time I wonder if I tried to walk, if, if, trombone, I might tip over from all the impressing metal and weight in my esophagus and maybe I'm nearly top-heavy, is what I'm getting at. A most uncomfortable feeling-- a certain dyspepsia, the fatiguing type, as described above but not to re-reference. Can't regurgitate, when really, I can't even regurgitate.

quick thoughts on blindness

 

(pretend, pretend in pic above the female is blinded by darkness; lack of sensation, the absence of information. while the desirous male is blinded by the authority of his perception, the intrusion of unnecessary options, his confidence in all stimulation.)

we are blind now

what reasons?

i can think of two and the gradient between them is great and also not great.

firstly, and more well known: lights too dim, say, not enough light. too much darkness. that's ignorance, i'm near it.

then there's the second reason: lights too bright, say, too much luminescence. not enough darkness. that's extraneousness-- (the superfluous information). assurednesss, hubris, etc...

everything in between is still just some combination of two wrong views.

even this is wrong. and precisely.

Jacques Derrida On Love and Being

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dj1BuNmhjAY

Jacques Derrida addresses the differences between the qualities making-up an individual and the concept of the individual as a singular entity or being, and how this relates to the concept of love.

What exactly is it that's being loved?

nephew fast

tWell, you know I will send you messages big sisterdon't kill your dog at allrecentl;y aggressive/just because concernings  the baby! I hope. I hope not.

The message will vibrate here, online and somehow, because it's been written the potential meaning might find you. And the proud message below as well. The intention released.

For today my sis had her first child and I don't know if I can post his pic on the interweb without consent and without consent I can't, I won't. I won't ask, I mean, beacuse that would be silly. It would be assuming anything with a soul reads this ba-log besides me, and I'm pretty sure that doesn't happen but for what it's worth, whether is be reminiscing at a future date or just trying to figure out all and any details related to birthdays, er' birth dates, I will proclaim to every digit and pixel, I'll shout without CAPS that my newphew was born on this day and his nose was like my sissy-sis's and his face was like his pops. I'm glad to have met him! And so happy for everyone involved! (um 'specially the main players)

"If once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of robbing; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and from that to incivility and procrastination." 

-Thomas de Quincey

Four Strong Winds: cover version Bob Dylan and The Band

my fav version, sorry.

original by "Ian and Sylvia"

"You can explore the universe looking for somebody who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and you will not find that person anywhere." -Buddhist Quote

Alberta Terminals LTD. HDR, 1st try.

Went to Alberta Terminals LTD. / Cargill Grain Towers on St. Albert Trail and just north of Yellowhead. Took some pics. Processed'em later as HDR images. COmpositionally I don't think the images are that strong, and some of the saturated colours are overpowering or off but for the most part I enjoyed my intial foray into the world of HDR photography.

Strangers I (Authority)

Strangers I (Authority)

...only observations, such as:

Such as?

Well, for one thing her ear was purple, her left ear, I think so-- I think she'd been hit. It was purple, so some sort of impact.

Such as?

(quickly, excitedly) A fist? A kick? head-lock? Baseball game? (pausing, more seriously, slightly embarrassed) No, I don't know. Wrestling? I don't know. (looking around, long pause) Have?-- It hurts to be hit in the ear; I've been, it really burns, and you can feel the blood-- and it really burns.

Her ear?

Oh right, maybe she was hit on a cross walk. You could probably check that. Maybe a car came into the cross-walk, taking her legs out from under her, (gestures, flat left hand flying perpendicularly towards right hand) like pushing her feet away, but sideways-- and she was jumping (looking up, imagining) jumping up and the car caused her to rotate, caused her left ear to smash into the hood. It'd have to be a car though. And everyone around would have told her that she was so lucky, people say things like that. But maybe walking home she'd be remembering everything, her her slow-motion hood-banging and crashing and what they said, their advice, and maybe she'd come to the conclusion that she wasn't really lucky, being hit by a car. Her ear.

(unscrews cola bottle, takes a small sip, twists cap back on) Oh!

Yes?

Her face, her, it seemed like an ape's. Well, not like an ape's, more like one of those sculptures made by forensics-- sculptors. The dead hookers and the neanderthals. I know it's not a nice thing to say. But she seemed to be made of clay and pig's teeth. Her hair was dry and curly and twisted, twisty-- powdery, light brown. I think she wore a jacket with a suede collar. I think her jeans were regular, blue. Her ass, I couldn't see for sure, didn't look very good. Nothing against her, it's just, her jeans. I don't know. And her coat maybe too. It wasn't very attractive.

This was at the VIA rail depot, 11pm?

I think she was waiting for her honey.

Infant Innocence by A. E. Housman

Infant Innocence
by A. E. Housman

The Grizzly Bear is huge and wild;
He has devoured the infant child.
The infant child is not aware
It has been eaten by the bear.

Erich Fromm Interviews

Erich Fromm interviewed by Mike Wallace

Pt.1. Fromm on Man's relation to Work and Society:


Pt.2. Fromm on Love, Religion, Values, Freedom, Happiness and Democracy:


Pt.3. Fromm's defense of Socialism, praise of Marx, concerns for the future:

Little Shovel Pass, Jasper, w/ Kat!

The photos aren't great. See, I went on a hike with Kat (at her behest) to Little Shovel Pass, Jasper-- was amazing! amaaaaa...

The L.S. Pass is above the tree-line and I guess that's why the scenery is so impressive.

Whistling Marmots abounding up there, no good pics really, they scared me a bit-- b-b-b-bears, you see.

It is SO BY ME as going: Highly Recommended.

'Little Shovel Pass' is the 1st part of the Skyline Trail, which I really wanna do one day.

STILL IS

Upon upon, no, within within, came a pencil on the sill, the ledge of the tub.

The light was natural, your body, natural.

Left, the white ledge, your pencil rolled, correction: I threw it, correction: I lifted pencil up, I put pencil down. Into the water, under the water. You knew the water was getting cooler, the tepid zone between our asses-- 1 hour since. I think the water wasn't moving there, maybe our arms weren't flailing there, our hips weren't rocking there, and without the movement, the conjugation of warm waters into old waters never took place.

You sat up most of the time, between my knees, your legs folded impossibly close to your “chests”, or sort of lazily, reclining with our limbs free or layered.

The grey light filtering through the blinds, 30 degrees north then 200 degrees south, 'round the bend onto the left side of your face. You claimed to be able to make out colours in the low-light, the blue in my eyes. All I knew was grey, and darks and covered-whites, delicate hints and faltering hues of lips and areola.

Keeping kept, stretching my neck, up, peaking, straining briefly to see your breasts, as you leaned forward, differentiation or/and/of the trajectory of specific shapes.

I took the pencil out from the water, the graphite was wet and the wood was soft with water, pulp mill. I took the pencil, again, I took the pencil, and with you, I grabbed your shaded arm,
I wrote, “S T I L L  I S” vertically, perfectly, possibly crookedly, and the esses were my favourite shapes to draw.

That being surveyed slowly pulled back with a false effort but relenting you allowed a faint, silt-bleeding calligraphy, my response, a faded message about a pencil still working-- yes, mostly about the efficacy of sorry and soggy writing utensils but also a written acknowledgement of my own continued ability to drown and S T I L L feel bliss.

Lullaby by W.H. Auden

Lullaby
by W.H. Auden

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.

Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find your mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.