Titles Suck

Blogging really is a cruel passtime, not entirely sure why I do it, besides the obvious inflated ego. I mean really, when its dry its dry - nothing to report on, zilch of interest, just ho hum. Then a ton of things happen and you’re too busy to write about them and feel hopelessly overwhelmed when finally you decide to put fingers to keyboard. Aye. Well, such this is being of the latter. How’s that for craptastic English?

First things first. The move is on. I have to say a big fucking merciful thanks to the ditz who manages my building for letting me move in a week early. What a fucking Godsend. With memories of stuffing my car to absolute capacity for the drive across country its a relief to only jam a managable number of boxes into its every orifice for a multitude of short trips to deck the place out. I’ve done two loads and I think I have two more, the second just because I have no Internet set up there yet so I’m going to leave this humming strumming machine on this desk until the last possible moment, otherwise I lose all of you wonderful people. Yeah fuck whatever.

Its big, its empty, it echoes like a motherfucker. I need furniture and appliances like nobody’s business. But I’m a cheapskate so aside from a bed I intend to pay little to nothing for all my new stuff. That’s what the curb is for. The dumpster diving ban is officially lifted and I can’t pretend I’m not thrilled. I already scored a corner planter thingy that sort of fits the steampunk aesthetic I think I’m going to go for. Next trip is to the wealthy Anglo neighbourhood of Westmount. Oh yeah…

Next off is last Thursday night at the Pound. Good times. Jan wasn’t there but the other German was with his Belgian friend in tow. I love how Montreal is kind of a default Europe where I get to meet all sorts of ex-pats and visiting Euros on their way through the crass joke that is America. Why travel when the people come to you? Of course Alex and Dave were there as well, along with Jacob and the usual Pound “staff.” Everyone got invites to my house warming, Maud got two because I was so baked by the end of the night I couldn’t really remember what was going on. We played soccer in the back during one of the sets. That’s what I love about the Pound, its just freewheeling. There was a dog too, no idea…

I ended up sleeping in a nest of coats at the new apartment since its a shorter walk there than it is to the place on Fullum. It may sound uncomfortable, but when you have a dozen coats for every possible ocassion from cyber-punk invasion to Siberian death marches you’re talking about a lot of padding.

So I worked though a hangover Friday afternoon dreading my later night obligations. See I’d agreed to help volunteer at an event Friday night for a woman off of Tribe, mostly out of curiosity as to what her events looked and felt like. What I really wanted though was a chance to sleep, not minding the door from 11pm until 2am. Well truth be told it was one of the best things I did because it was like wandering into a dome tent at Burning Man around Destiny and 8:30. The vibe was amazing. Definitely on the hippy end of the spectrum, but after the punk DIY sense of the Pound it was the perfect pendulum swing. I got a rhythmic massage (which finally seems to have solved that kink I’ve had ever since a wave in the Dominican took me and thrust me headfirst into the beach like a reluctantly terrified ostrich), then had some wonderfully open and honest dialogue with some truly beautiful people, danced a bit and… oh hell. Got to oogle four of the sexiest young women I’ve seen in a long, long time.

Unfortunately I got stuck there until almost three thirty, my damn volunteer gene kicking in and making me stay to help clean up even though I had to be up to work today. But it was all for the best, with no kink in my back and still wafting throught he scent of that wonderful vibe I had a great day at work, at once focussed and calm, fully able to express myself and have fun.

So now I’m packing the last of my things to load into the car tomorrow morning and bring to the loft on my way to work. Everything is proceeding beautifully. Life is good. Montreal is good. Things will only get better. Wheeeee!

Wire Art?

I’ve been thinking about building some kind of wireframe art for a while along the lines of this piece by artist Benedict Radcliffe though going with something a bit smaller… maybe. Anyways in my research to find out exactly what kind of wire coat hangars are made of (an ideal mix of strength and malleability) I found something, well, cool. Behold, coat hangars work just as good as high priced audio cables! Well shit. That’s fucking awesome. Instead of going out and buying expensive cable for the Living Room Cinematheque’s audio setup I think I’ll just rig up some kind of horribly complex steampunk contraption instead. A complicated wire sculpture winding around the ceiling and walls might be just what the doctor ordered, and why stop there? Why not add homemade variable resistors and other techniquities along the way?

While the rest of the world tries its best to go completely wireless I’m going to embrace the most primitive wiring I can imagine and turn it into installation art. All the better if there’s a shock hazard (sadly I can’t find the article on art designed to nearly injure spectators, but think Survival Research Laboratories and you’ll understand my muse a bit better). What better way to keep houseguests on their toes?

Its in the dictionary

Merriam Webster to be precice. Pynchonesque. Its a word. The English police said so.

Oddly enough though there are films, sentimental personal effects, a beautiful old projector and other rare and valuable things coming to me soon in an old chest, the thing I think I’ll be most excited to break out is my copy of Gravity’s Rainbow. Pynchon you son of a bitch - its been far too long.

I’ve just read two reviews of the author’s newest book, one from the New York Times claimed it felt more like a homage to Pynchon by a wannabe than a great work of art. The other review from some obscure UK publication painted a picture in all of Pynchon’s proper colour and forms. Pynchon’s books aren’t literature as we know it. They’re something else. Forced to classify I’d almost rate them as psychotropics and anyone who’s a true conniseur of drugs knows that you need to go into the trip with the right intention and mindset.

I think digging my oculars into a Pynchonian tome is just what my mushy little mellon needs about now, after being shrink wrapped, freeze dried and custom cut for the corporate world I’ve been inhabiting for the past few months. Its causing the death of me. I feel like I’ve been eating mental cardboard. Here I’m trying to be creative and witty and this is all I can produce. Laughable. But still…

I was inspired by skimming the contents of an inferior book, if you can call things that dont’ really inhabit the same genus superior or inferior to each other. Anyhow after reading a few pages of tripe and imagining better ways to write the same thing I realised I needed some literary sniffing salts. So I looked up Pynchon on the web.

But let’s break from all that to something not altogether unrelated. Burning Man. Speaking of disconnected narratives, the human menagerie, drugs, sex and alternate scientific possibilities for the soul - Burning Man. Has Pynchon ever gone? Considered it? Bah! Useless to ask. Just go on with the story. Okay.

I’ve noticed that when I dream of Black Rock City (and this happened only last night) that nowadays there is a pervasive impending threat. Out there by the trash fence, at the edge, where there and here meet. What do I see? Condos. No word of a lie. Legoland condo developments with their legoland inhabitants - you know, the ones with the switchable hair/hats? Yeah. Fucking condos man. They steal UE and they’re threatening to steal Black Rock.

Its interesting that for me the condo is the embodiment of all things banal, conformist and evil. Mass produced huksterism with nary a thought for the actual future or quality thereof. Am I a throwback or what? And to think I almost bought one. Holy Shit! That’s a great art project!

This terror can’t be mine alone! What about a giant billboard at the trash fence advertizing the pre-sale of Black Rock codominiums! Oh motherfucker what brilliance! Eris send me horrors that I may make them into art!

Further proof that ANYTHING can be reframed.

Good night.

Eureka!

One of the difficulties plaguing Burners from outside of the United States is the difficulty with bringing things across the border without arousing suspicion. As if distance weren’t problem enough many an ambitious art project was rejected for fears that the Gestapo at the 49th parallel would confiscate, arrest or otherwise block passage of the industrious art or artists. The challenge then is to figure out things which can be easily and unobtrusively transported, or put together after crossing the American frontier. Call it working within the limitations of the form.

Well I think I just came up with one. Its based on some art I recently saw on the Internet, right about… here!

A nice thing about the playa and Burning Man in general is that from a distance it looks pretty similar year to year. I mean really, big blue sky with a few wisps of cloud up there, mountains, some crazy structures and domes waaaay off in the distance, then down to cracked and parched desert sand. Pretty standard. Which means… perspective camouflage is actually pretty easy to do. My first thought was to simply print off a costume using some photographs of the playa in previous years, but then I thought, what about body paint? Sure the application of such a detailed work would be pretty time intensive, but the effect for people seeing it from the right vantage point would be pretty trippy.

Another idea borrows from my friend Amira who painted a gorgeous Burning Man scene on a discarded billboard. What about a time warp? Somewhere out on the playa put a giant picture of the playa at night so that during the day you can see what it looks like 12 hours opposite? Likewise have a sheet that’s the playa during the day illuminated at night to create a portal into the daytime. Neither would be too difficult to set up, aside from begging for the wind to pick them up and toss them into the nearest trash fence.

Hmmmm.

Just some stuff

There are many things I could write about tonight, so the question becomes, where is my passion right now? What is burning to get out? What needs to be released, or lost, aflutter on the breeze or buried in the long term memory banks, not to be seen or heard from again until some night as an old man a thousand miles from here? What indeed.

I suppose the quickest and easiest thing to do, if not necessarily the most insightful is just to make note, tick off the items that I’ve accomplished lately. How about that? That’s a reasonable start at least.

• My application to Concordia University is ready to go. A bit of a revelation behind that. Its due tomorrow. I finished it today. See what I’ve discovered about myself, or rather accepted is that I work best under stress. That’s a positive way of saying that I procrastinate. And why not be positive about it? I mean if that’s the way I am, why be any other way? Planning, preparing, taking your time and being careful - that shit’s for chumps. Give me a three alarm deadline in half an hour - that’s when I shine. Ask for the impossible and you’ll get it. Ask for the possible and I’ll probably sleep in.
• I bought a Macbook Pro. Now this is kind of a counter to the prior point because I planned the hell out of this one. Extensive research into Apple’s product rollouts told me that something was going to happen at the end of February, so I waited, and fastidiously kept track of the pricing on my particular model of choice. Sure enough when I looked today I found rumours circulating that Apple was upgrading its Macbooks to a new processor and a push was on to get rid of the old. When I looked at my model there it was… $650 cheaper. Bang! Sold! Should arrive sometime next week. Did I mention I hate Macs?
• Carmella asked me to go to Cuba with her. She found a great deal and she’s going stir crazy and needs to get off this big glob of dirt we call North America. Fair enough. Trick is she wants to go SOON. How the heck am I going to get the time off? How the heck am I going to pay for it? Sure I just saved $650, but does that entitle me to blow it on a week in Cuba? Then again, she has a good point - once Castro’s gone things will start to change down there very quickly. Tempting…

Nuit Blanche is Saturday night. Best English translation is all night city wide art party. I have no idea where to go or what to do, but hell, its going to be fun. Chriz might even drop in for the night. Tomorrow night is the more pressing concern. Which of two or three parties to go to? I wussed out on the Pound tonight since I’ve got to deliver my application before work tomorrow and see if I can get an April 1 takeover for one of the St. Henri lofts. I still wussed out. Whatever. There’ll be plenty of time to boogey. I need to get some things done first.

Wow. What an efficient blog post. Not entirely profound or entertaining, but it gets the job done. Perhaps a 20/20 travelogue in hindsight for Chriz and I’s little Dominican adventure next. Why not?

Treble and Bass

Montreal is certainly better for attracting musical acts than Calgary was. I’ve been out to see Buck 65 (if only the last bit of his set) and missed Gogol Bordello, DJ Shadow plus a good dozen other shows that would’ve been a blast to go see. Now the SAT has just announced a “small” concert by none other than Moby. Well shit. Should I go? $32 with all the taxes and fees, plus all that obligatory booze or other intoxicants. Hmmm. Well, if any of you out there are keen let me know. I’m more likely to do it if I’ve got a posse in tow than by my lonesome.

I’d love to ask him about the tropical artist’s resort idea that he’s reputedly working on with Charlie Rose…

Artsy

One of the implicit resolutions I made this year was to be more artistic, knowing that pushing my mind to do creative things would result it in producing more creative things on its own. Not only that but all those firing neurons and floating chemicals would make me feel good, and feeling good is fabtacular!

So today I completed some scissor and glue projects. Collage and mail art. Simple yet fun and engaging art forms that really have a lot of potential. So I hereby declare that I will do something creative and artistic every week and complete it. Nothing big or complex, unless that’s my urge. But something simple like this, an hour or two of work and virtually free in terms of supplies is still enough to keep the ‘ol noggin limber and the spirit free.

Promise

“That’s three times you promised.”

- Tyler Durden, Fight Club

I just realised in the shower this morning that Edward Norton’s character “Jack” (if that is his real name) in Fight Club never breaks his promise to Tyler not to talk to Marla about Tyler. Why did I realise this in the shower? This is rather inane isn’t it? No. Not entirely.

Fight Club is, among other things about masculinity. One important part of masculinity is steadfastness, trustworthiness, dedication. When a man gives his word, swears to do something or gives a handshake its supposed to mean something. It means, “I will do (or not do) to the absolute best of my ability this thing that I have said, no matter the personal consequences.” This is when a man is a rock, solid, permanent and unmovable. I thought of this in the shower when I was thinking about expressing to someone my stance on something and asking myself whether in this particular instance an oath was really called for.

In Fight Club “Jack” promises Tyler that he won’t discuss Tyler with Marla. Eventually it becomes very important for “Jack” to know just what the relationship between Tyler and Marla is, but instead of asking her about Tyler, he asks her about the relationship between Marla and himself.

“Jack” finds a workaround and keeps his honour intact. A minor detail given all that’s going on, but I think, an important one.

dérive

I’ve been ordered to stop surfing and go to bed. Which is good advice considering I have to leave for work in… 5.5 hours, including a good twenty minutes of shovelling snow - it just doesn’t stop! But before I do I have to show you what I’ve found. But first how I found it. That’s always amusing. How the Internet entertains.

So I want to start a group, create a movement, find something, a word, a symbol to gather around. Something to encompass metro parties, snow sculptures, urban treasure hunts, guerilla street art and the like. At first I was trying to find a nice French synonym for cacophony, to honor and propegate the tradition of the cacophony society, but that would be so… phony. I mean look at it, phony is part of their name. Who wants to emulate that? Phonies, that’s who. Are those people who wear headphones all the time? Anyways…

I was thinking about cacophony, Frenchness, situationists, Debord… Enter wikipedia.

Voila! What better word to gather around then Psychogeography? Hmmm. Well perhaps something a bit more… punchy and a little less undergraduate textbooky. I mean nobody wants to be reminded of their crappy GPAs and Kraft Dinner when they’re in the midst of an artistic revolution to sweep up the urban masses. Dérive is better, though still, not quite that punch. Still, we’re getting somewhere.

More reading, writing, research and dreaming to do. But this is looking good. Feeling good. Even tastes okay if you put some hot sauce on it. Red Rooster is my preference.

Good night.

Faster! Faster!

So much. I feel like life has accelerated so much since I’ve moved here. Hard to believe its been over three months. In a couple more months I’ll be handing in my university applications and hoping for acceptance into Concordia or Ryerson for Film Production or New Media studies. The possibilities in this city are endless and I’m really just getting started. I need to make some bold opening moves.

Well I’ll start by registering the car, getting a license and a Quebec health card. These are probably going to be some of the toughest, most painful things I have to do here. Bureaucracy is a nightmare that I don’t want to entangle myself in, but that’s how they do it here so I’m going to have to shut up and take it. So, tomorrow is phone calls, email enquiries and the like. Fun.

Next? Reality hacking. Culture jamming. Situationist happenings. Whatever. I’ve always wanted to do them, and Montreal has a climate that’s friendly rather than hostile and oppressive.  The only question is the best way to get started and organize. Word of mouth? The Pound? The Burners? facebook? Some combination?

Here’s the first action: The Cutlery Symphony. Pretty simple concept really. Everyone goes to a particular restaurant or cafe one afternoon and at the first clink of a spoon after the designated time everyone else joins in creating an improvised symphony of clack and clatter. Then a minute or two later, as inexplicably as it started - it stops. Short, simple and sweet. Nobody getting arrested, no fancy costumes or props, no reason it can’t work.

And it goes from there.