Thursday, September 30, 2004

Did I mention?

Hydrogen Jukebox: music by Philip Glass; libretto by Allen Ginsberg.

Tonight, the debate between AmeriKan A-Team leader and AmeriKan B-Team leader will underline their similarities and 50% of the AmeriKan voting population will tune out, disenfranchised, disemboweled and not one will call for an uprising or a recount.

What do I think they should do? 150 million AmeriKans should drink gasoline and flame. Think how quiet the world would become; the dodo would come back from extinction and write a new Jivatu Sutra.

have a nice day

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Wednesday, September 29, 2004

I saw a black dog drag a queen into a soup

what if ET didn't get his phonecall home? these days ET would be considered a terrorist seeking to undermine our western way of life. ET would be examined, taught to wear human clothes, taught to adopt human mannerisms. Without access to a deathbeam or communicator ET would languish until the humans had discovered the location of ET's home planet. Then with the means to attract (trap) more ETs the original would have it's horn (nose) lopped off and sold to the highest bidder.

humans can always use a new source of cheap food and once the ETs have been genetically modified they'll be meatier and tastier. ET deluxe burger with fingers (freedom fries).

Even tastier if we can't communicate with them. Have a nice day!

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Tuesday, September 28, 2004

I wonder if Murray Dobbin has a blog?

Unscrambling the free trade omelette

Cuba's example in stormy times

and now something local: Why Are We in the Money?

This is interesting: The Dominion Daily Weblog to which Murray Dobbin is a contributor.

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Thursday, September 23, 2004


I was alone in the kitchen with the cake
The aroma told me it was fresh baked

saliva floods the teeth
memory dammed by my skull
porcelain headache vomit aftermath.

I waved my hand back and forth over the top
Wafted chocolate molecules an olfactory crop.

memory smashes my nose
blood unstopped pools downhill
fills the grouted lines between close tiles.

the knife cut through my resistance
in the bathroom I was all circumstance.

I hid in the bathroom with my cake
I fell in the bathroom with my cake

I woke in the dark, later without cake
surrounded by strangers shining lights in my face
shouting to someone in another room that it was fine
they'd found the cake-thief.

I was thrown down more stairs,
into more dark,
with only the scent of cake to guide me.

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Haiti, Haiti, Haiti

Canada in the Haitian Coup

Rolling Haiti Back to Colonialism

Haiti Floods

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Tuesday, September 21, 2004

New link to another blog

I found this link, The Millions (A blog about books) when I was checking out pynchonoid.

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I hope you don't believe that you live in a democracy

When 40% of voters don't vote and likely have no connection to any of the people who govern us how can you say we live in a democracy, hmm? eh? huh? shut up!

Independent election observer team arrives in U.S.

Government abandoned voters, not vice versa

To Catch a Thief

Al Qaeda's Voting for Bush

The Bush Regime's economic blueprint for Cuba

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Saturday, September 18, 2004

cloudy morning constitutional coffee aroma paper trail

The Untold Story of Aristide's Departure from Haiti

The Most Important Terrorism Is 'Ours'

Premiers promote lifestyle, policies create misery

Weather politics: climate change and class

Big Cats

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Thursday, September 16, 2004

what else is in the archive?

songs from the past 15 years, some of which I've been playing again, in order to prepare them for the recording process, which is ill-defined and lackadaisical, yet, fun as watching asteroids colliding with Jupiter.

over time I will post more of them...over time.

Harumph snog poodle blum ble blum.

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something from the archives: Skull

I bought a skull to talk to and this is what I said:
My love is a frozen prison,
An icicle since the Pleistocene,
a terse lullaby creased-pants again.

And the skull listened some more:
forged in a mummer's prism,
an inch of fallen snow cremates,
a guiled terpsichore pants: feigned innocence.

A skull's interest never falters:
Revealed with a handmaid's candle,
an asp yields to no ones mise-en-scene,
hacks save time, monkeys type lines.

And the skull fell silent,
scooped up by the long refrain,
dashed pieces left fallen.

Into the night they listened,
into the night the bones gleamed with knowledge:

Slaves wage life one day in, one day out.
Pine is a missing lover.
spruce-topped mandolins unite oceans.
ignite prose inches,
absent scorned harlequin,
kneeling sad clown.
and then the skull explained it all to me.

I fell... ... silent.

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Monday, September 13, 2004

clearly my review ended

Listening to the final Guided By Voices CD Half Smiles of the Decomposed. Though GBV will be gone, Robert Pollard will continue to write and release solo albums. That's what it says on their website.

Been listening to them since I first heard Kicker of Elves. My personal favourite is Awful Bliss. This final album has many fine selections, the one which stands out now is, Window of my World.

...and now the closets of henry....

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Saturday, September 11, 2004


beacon from the east where last night I saw Venus
clouds obscure part of your offering.
rain falls where I am standing
with no defence no umbrella no body-wrapping
condom or condominium to ward off the sky,
where messages await me from the future.

I have seen the scorched plains of Canada,
the ravaged land weeps in my eyes.
I have seen the diminished perimeter of continents,
as seas rise and bodycounts fall.
I have heard the shrieking of mothers, as storms, mudslides and floods
collect the young and old.

I smell the sea, she surrounds me, taunted by land,
she rises to engulf me.
My phantom-body tingles at the memory of a future
crushed by freezing torrential ice-balls.

now the message I must speak comes to me clearly,
unwrapped from cloud, unencumbered by darkness,
these words I must speak to you all:

you have no recourse, there is no fallback scheme,
alarms have been raised and disregarded as fairytale meanderings,
so, unaware, unprotected, you go forward into what i have seen.

some of you will say that nothing matters, that in the end we all die,
that the only future written that will pass is certain death.

post-apocalypse is where I stand in the present.
post-apocalypse surrounds me.
post-apocalypse denial is your sentence.
visions of a ravaged land have no currency,
no commodity market,
no one taking bets on the outcome of our civilization.

beacon from the east where last night I saw Venus
be strong, burn away sensation, burn away our fear,
burn away the visions of the future, burn away our tears.

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where was I three years ago?

I was in a plane on the tarmac of Pearson International airport waiting to take-off, wondering why we were delayed. Then we disembarked to the onslaught of afterimages of those two towers that fell in New York. One friend remarked, "See what your friends will do to keep you in Toronto?"

It wasn't too soon, I laughed. Then I turned off the television.

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Friday, September 10, 2004

Another cloudy day

Child Labour Day is every day, in Dickensian B.C.

The End Of Water

We Need Honesty on Economy

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Thursday, September 09, 2004

Canadian Bullets and so on....

Canadian Bullets, Dead Iraqis



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Wednesday, September 08, 2004

156 Tuesdays later

156 Tuesdays later

The Warlords of America

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Monday, September 06, 2004

Happy Labour Day!

Happy Labour Day!

Labour Day in Canada

The Grinch That Stole Labor Day From Veterans hopefully this won't happen in Canada.

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Friday, September 03, 2004

What's going on?


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Thursday, September 02, 2004

Merciless Cummerbunds

merciless cummerbunds, my transvestite friend
the electric light burns through me now
my veins have grown eccentric
purple staircase laundry room arrayed
in rows of senses
lunchboxes eat carcasses and minstrels
smoke misfortune
out of the room, that's what I was told to buy
glass in my hand, holding more glass in my hand.

the electric light burns my hand
out of the laundry room
glass in my veins senses me now
purple laundry friend
smoke minstrel misfortune my transvestite friend
smoke, that's what I was told to buy.
smoke and glass in my hand
my veins burn through me now.

electric lunchbox arrayed in veins of laundry,
room to buy my handout of senses,
misfortune, that's what I was told to buy,
arrayed in veins of glass, smoke burns my hand.

merciless electric room, buy what I was told.
misfortune senses me now.
purple laundry transvestite, eat minstrels,
eat eccentric rows of senses.

my veins have purple staircase light
the room was told to buy glass
laundry friend senses me now
glass smoke cummerbund burns me now

glass burns smoke
room senses hand
eccentric veins smoke

smoke hand burns.

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Electric Masada

Electric Masada arrived today from Tzadik in New York. I saw this band in March of 2003 here in Vancouver and it was one of the best shows I have seen. This live recording was recorded as part of Zorn's 5oth birthday celebration, a month of events at Tonic in New York on September 23, 2003. This recording is exciting, energetic and I've only heard part of the first track, so far. It's also a side of Marc Ribot's guitar playing I haven't heard before. Jump up! Jump up! Outside of the themes, which Zorn has taken from traditional Jewish music, I'm reminded of the Miles Davis band circa Jack Johnson and Bitches Brew.

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