With Gusto

2004-01-03T02:27:00.000-08:00

My blog has moved. I am now over at http://www.negativespace.com
and my new address is--:::: http://negativespace.net/gusto

it's better over there. I've been. It's greener, and it snows on XXXmas.

2004-01-01T11:58:00.000-08:00

Tragedy is For Those Who Wish to Inseminate the Past

I just made reservations for Milestone's at 12:45pm. Joy, Ben, Michael, Mysterious Person A, and I are going to have Belini's over lunch, and I'm thinking of dressing for the occaision.

Wow, last night was pfun. Joy got the Bottle Rocket DVD from Ben and we watched a Romance. I noticed a lot more about the relationship between Inez and Anthony than Dignan's antics. Although it was good to see Owen Wilson in one of his starting roles now that I've seen more of his recent films. Also a good writer. We also watched that Queer Eye show, of which I think I'm rapidly getting tired of, but am still entertained by. I like the food section. Makes me want to eat fish. Then we watched Wonder Boys. It's American film, so it's sexist, but a good film. Really good detail, and we got to watch the Special Features! I thought I got all of the color schemes and mise en scene metaphors, but apparantly because the film was shot in Pittsburgh, the filmmakers made use of the many bridges there, and put photos of bridges and used the bridges themselves at key moments in the protagonists journey. So that was neat. There was also a historical guide map that informed us about the many great things about Pittsburgh. Then Joy and I had sex. The End.

A prediction of what's to come via discourse with my sister on New Year's Day

Matt says: I'm going to Milestones soon to drink Belinis.

Kristinia says: what is a belini

Matt says: A belini is this ice drink, kinda like a snow cone, but with tequila

Kristina says: oh sounds good

Matt says: mmmmm

Kristina says: my kinda drink

Matt says: mine too, today.

_________

Okay. So. . .

2003-12-31T10:25:00.000-08:00

A new poem

Woke up at sunrise, a cloud on fire
smoke in my eyes
from last night’s scotch

2003-12-30T10:59:00.000-08:00

Last night I got to play on my new drums. Almost new, anyways. Got new skins for the tom-toms, snare, bass and I even picked up a new cymbal and cymbal stand. Pretty cool. The drum skins are semi-transparent, semi-irridescent blue. Ooh. We're also moving into our new jamspace today. I'll go from having to pay a total of 80 dollars a month for two jamspaces, to 15 dollars a month for one jamspace. And I won't have to parade through the Roseberry house at 3am rustling drum accessories and apologizing to the girls who live there. I hate apologizing. Also discovered that the second band I'm drumming for, Semi-Louise, is a good band when we're all sober. Maybe it's better to trail out in the luxurious jamspace with a bunch of stoners. We'll see. It could all be in my head.

Queer Eye For the Straight Guy is an instant classic. I'm now much more concerned about my hair and have learned a lot about how to style it. I want them to come to our house and have a ball. Erm. I mean -- a home decorating bonanza.

I aim to complete my short story for Thursday. I figure I'm about half-way there, plus a little rewriting. If I don't, I will be a failed artist. Joy has made the switch over to Negative Space. I want to write more poetry. But I'm on a fiction crusade.

2003-12-27T11:29:00.000-08:00

"Let's Break out the booze and have -- a spanking." Pancake Leigh

Christmas was fun
and funny.

Went to the Mint last night for Ryan and Aya's going away party. I like that place. I ate a spicy soup with tofu and udon noodles. Tasty McMaesty. Jon was trying to chase a Japanese bird, but she seemed a little loopy and insincere. We'll see. Joy was the only white girl there. Crazy Mika opened a present from Aya, which consisted of one pink rabbit bootee with one erect ear. Crazy M. was pretty happy about it. The G&T was cheap and felt pretty good to drink. The Mint is a classy ordeal. I think it's run with mob money, as I saw two men dressed in black surreptiously enter through the back door. One of the lads had a headset and wanted to talk to the manager. Two minutes later they left with a large black garbage bag filled with _______. Nobody seemed to notice them except me. So who knows, I could have invented the whole ordeal.
Got home, drank some more Gin with Joy and watched South Park. Joy got all tired and we went to bed for a good, long, sleep.

C. is over here right now recovering from Morphine. "The internet said nothing about morphine making me puke!" he refuted.

2003-12-22T16:46:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I'm off to Comox for three days. Joy, Ryan, Jon, Aya and I are going up in the same car. Should be fun.

DAMNIT! I forgot to pick up some booze. Joy wanted to drink tonight, but now I'm unsure if I want to. I don't think I do.

I finished up my Xmas shopping today, and that's it. I'm not really into Christmas these days. I'm into spending the time with friends and family, taking it easy, playing pool in pubs on lazy afternoons. But I don't like it when the suburban hordes take over downtown with their SUVs. Nor do I like how crazy the new money gets when they're finally allowed to spend it. Moneylust. Blerugh.

It's 4:44. My favourite time. It's a good looking time. I had two slices of Greek veggie pizza at the Brickyard today, with a jar of cranberry juice.

2003-12-20T14:39:00.000-08:00

Had a gig last night, and an exam before that. Little bit of stress floating around, but now it's all over. But first, last night. What a night. Just fun, I guess. Playing music in a bar, getting paid for it, getting free beer for it. Driving around 10 minutes before the show looking for gange with Jay and Chris Mackenzie, finding some at the base of a giant flag pole, lit up with Sihk emblems. Chris talking about the Maxim model who wanted his number, and the porn director he befriended. Joy was there, so was Pete and Morgan, loads of others. After the show we went to Logan's (Joy exempt. . . tired and too cute) to see Dave Chenery's CD release party. What a haven for scenesters that place is, and I was far too drunk and high to really communicate with any of them. I don't really know how to relate to them in the first place especially at the pub, when they've all collected into the scene. Most people are older than me, so who knows, that probably has something to do with it. Feels like high school, in some ways. An incestuous little scene. Chelsea, Dave's new bird, was there, too.
Chenery rocked the stage with his sloppy death-folk approach. I got a free CD as well. Sounds pretty good.
At one point, I threw a bedframe into the middle of the street, and some dude who lived above where it landed got really excited in a mean sort of way. "This isn't Logan's Playground!" he shouted out of his small window. "Sorry man, the bedframe was in my way..." and so on. I think he shut the window after I left him. Pete said, "He looked quite angry." I said, "Well look where he lives..." and so on. He reacted as if he lived in the neighborhood where you don't dump stuff in the streets. Dump whatever you want on the the sidewalks, but the roads, those are for cars, and nothing else.

Had the last Cup of Joe today. Sigh. Had a veggie hash to celebrate. Joy and I are going to see Matrix 3 and Lost in Translation tonight with Ryan and Aya. We're also getting a free ride with them up to Comox. So nice. I hate paying for long boring bus rides when I can hitchhike for free and (usually) get to Comox faster.
So, good gig, school's finished, next week I don't have to work, only sit, read, and write next to a fireplace and drive around Comox with Joy. Should be fun. Calm.

2003-12-19T00:46:00.000-08:00

I was just feeling guilty over a coat I bought over a year ago. Maybe a little less than a year ago. The important thing is that I was feeling guilty. You know: White Priviledge. Or maybe not. But I was feeling guility over that coat, because of the price. It was a deal, don't get me wrong. Only forty dollars for a one-hundred dollar coat. Not so bad. But I was so poor at the time. I only had $10 dollars a week for fun money, and we all know where that went. I bought the coat regardless.
Then about one year later, as I felt guilty, I thought: Don't feel guilty. Only the extremely incapable are unable to rustle up forty dollars. When you think about it, it's true. If you can't afford a 40 dollar coat, then what are you? Can't you rustle up forty bucks? With all of this money in the world ANYone can rip forty dollars from anywhere -- including the ass.
It's a heavy coat, and it keeps me warm. After all, I'm still poor, I can still make rent. But I have a warm coat.

2003-12-11T12:19:00.000-08:00

Family History: the beginning

This is and will be a laborious process, but every book needs a preface. And so it began, on July 15th, 1437, that my family name, Romnivat, came to be in the growing town of Workenhire in a country that no longer exists. It was a name adopted amongst serfs, mostly. Newcomers to the area who needed a new name, and work. It was decided that perchance the newly arrived named themselves after the nearby Romnivus Manor, they would be able to find work there easily. This in fact did work, but not to their expected levels. Most were offered jobs as dishwashers. Those who wished not to wash dishes took themselves to the nearby fields to herd cattle or try to till the land or work on a farm.

My ancestor, Grintop Romnivat, was neither dishwasher nor cattle herder, nor did he dally his time on the farm. He was a moss collector. Workenhire was an area that was prone to long stretches of rainfall and then long stretches of sun. These weather conditions which accosted the local forests equated to one thing: prime land for the growing of moss.
Romnivat had no particular interest in medicines. He would often say to the villagers, “I don’t know if I chose the moss, or the moss chose me.” He then claimed to have invented this phrase, but it was in fact his wife, Kimberlee Romnivat, who coined this term. Under law, he was allowed to take ownership, although most people thought it rude for him to take such a catchy proclamation under his wing.

_____________________________

2003-12-11T10:17:00.000-08:00

Happy 30th Darren

2003-12-10T23:51:00.000-08:00

Christmas time. . . most people change, for the worse. The feel in the mall is mawkish.
I want out. I like spending the time with those who matter. MATTer.

2003-12-09T13:32:00.000-08:00

Today I have to go and measure my drum kit, then I have to go to World Academy and get money, then I have to work. My day should end at around 7 pm. Wrote a little today. I have to think of a name for the rhythm section for one of the bands I'm in. We have Semi-Louise, and Jay Dunphy and the __________.
Ben Harper has the Innocent Criminals. Dylan has The Band. Nick Cave has the Bad Seeds. Jay Dunphy wants the Nicoteens, but that's not going to happen. Should Ryan and I be "The Magnificent Bastards"? Some say yes, most say no.
What about "Jay Dunphy with White Noise". Is "White Noise" taken?

* Jay Dunphy and the Responsible Individuals

* Jay Dunphy with the Pumphrey Dandiors

* Jay Dunphy and the Hookas

* Jay Dunphy with Citizen FRAM! (pronounced "furrr-RAM!")

* Jay Dunphy with Bhudda's Feast

* Jay Dunphy and the Giant Leech

* Jay Dunphy and the Cinematographers

* Jay Dunphy with The Smithsonians

* Jay Dunphy with White Cause

* Jay Dunphy and the Revellers

* Jay Dunphy with Poop Stick

* Jay Dunphy and the Witch Penises

* Jay Dunphy and the Mathematics

* Jay Dunphy with Chaser

2003-12-08T11:47:00.000-08:00

And just like that I have nothing to fuss about. Funny how school works that way. So I see no reason why I shouldn't sit back and relax for a good while today. Play guitar, hopefully write. That distant dream we complain about every day. Listen to some Breeders, my new favourite band. Junk Rock has its appeals, apathetic ones.
I need to plan a lesson for ESL today. I'm going to be less conversation based now that I've gone through my in-class what-have-yous. Talking to 12-year-olds at end can get extremely boring as well. Which means I'll have to put more work into my work. I had a nice thing going though. I have enough time right now to put that extra amount of work into my lessons though. No reason why I shouldn't.
But there's a teacher floating around the Victoria Public Schools who's a crack-head. He stays up late, smoking crack, then goes and teaches Chemistry to grade 11s. He probably has access to a lot of chemicals. Highschool teachers get jack for money.

2003-12-06T20:15:00.000-08:00

I had French Toast with whipcream, strawberries, blueberries, almonds and raisins for breakfast. Couldn't finish the entire thing. Then went and shot a movie with Joy. We were both extremely tired and mildly stressed out because of everything. So we watched a coupla movies. "My Own Private Idaho" and "American Movie". We actually didn't finish "American Movie" as it was boring. "Private Idaho" was also a little boring. Drugged out Americans. Keanu Reeves was cool. I think he finally won me over.

I bought Udon noodles today.

2003-12-05T19:30:00.000-08:00

Well, after a close call I managed to hand in my rewrite. After that I was supposed to go to the Academy and pick up some money, but they closed before six o'clock. So I went for a beer and a piece of pizza at the Brickyard instead.

Now my thoughts. I think humanity is being trained into some alien slave race, and Republicans are responsible. When you think about it, we're being trained to eat with our fingers. Hamburgers, fries, straws. All of these things require no tact, which is exactly what they want. We're also living with these machines that do the work. All we have to do is buy some frozen food, pop it in, and enjoy with our fingers. Education is also being fucked. Product placements in schools, and all of this other evidence that basically transforms us into recognizing visuals, symbols. Even W. Bush is a symbol. A picture of W. Bush is American Sentiment.
The food we've been eating is also low-end meat and greasesticks. Enough to keep you going, but not much else. Makes us dumb, accepting, like pets. Owning a cat is much the same thing. Give it some low end food, and a place to live, and it'll find ways to be happy. Games to play, even if down inside the cat is totally depressed, it'll still get up everyday and eat, and know what it can't and can do. A pet is the perfect example of the trickle down effect. We're in the middle. The Trickle and the Tricklee.
Then on one day, the Republicans and selection of prime Chinese will get into one spaceship with the Grays, and the rest of the world will be put into another spaceship and sent off to IO to build pyramids made of ice. Humans will know what they are allowed not to do. There will be feeding times, and we'll all get excited and give praise for something as banal as eating.

____________________

2003-12-05T13:23:00.000-08:00

The re-write for that CNF article is due today, and I haven't touched it up at all. This is the end of the semester, and it's time to lay down and perish.

My original idea was to incorporate two seperate family events: Christmas and the time I hiked through the Juan de Fuca Trail. Then compare the two and say something along the lines of, "family gets along better when were feeling obliged, like at Christmas, when everybody gets hammered and squeals on each other behind backs" compared to "wandering around the bush with family is better". Dr. Prof felt like her intelligence was being insulted, and in a way it was. But that doesn't sound like something I should have to deal with.
Now my idea is to scrap Christmas, and keep the Juan de Fuca Trail, which is owned by a logging company, and maybe it's the same company that clear cuts massive amounts of trees in the Northern Interior. Haida Nation is located in the Northern Interior, and there's a group of people called "Haida Warrior Something Or Other" who go around and block Wayerhauser from cutting Cedar forests that they deem to be useful to Haida Nation. My friend is Haida and is part of this team. Then I can compare the incident where I felt like a native on the Juan de Fuca Trail to the actual fact that while I'm wandering through bush as recreation, there are other people who are wandering through the bush actually doing something with their time, and they happen to be Indian.

Is any of this making sense? If not, what will Dr. Prof think? Not much, probably.

The FA 305 film screening happened last night. Kinda disappointing, as there were about 22 films, five of them good. The bad films bogged down the good films, and after watching 15 movies, the viewer tends to wander off, or care less about what's being presented, as they've already seem more movies in an hour and half than they would in a month or two. Give or take.
But "You Are Here", our latest film, went over well. I think people were a little confused, and we should've done something more with the ending, like putting Johnny Cash quoting the book of revelations with a lot of reverb or something.

2003-12-05T10:49:00.000-08:00

If the book of Revelations means anything, or has any relevence to today, this is how I interpret it.

Republicans suck the world dry. Capitalism being the various straws plugging into our resources. Then they build a spaceship where all of the slimey greaseballs with business suits and thinning, parted to the side grey hair get on and take off to Mars. Then were all left on Earth to bathe in radiation, floods, and fire. And virgins.

2003-12-03T21:19:00.000-08:00

"I wish mother nature would give up and realize she's fighting a man's war"
- A bumpersticker I would like to invent.

edit: "I don't think you should fuck around with Mother Nature. Even in writing, it isn't good."
-J Waller

Creative Non-Fiction is gone for good. I dislike writing it. There's been that moment, where I sneak up on myself and say, "Stop lying to yourself: you're far too fashionable for this line of work."
But I'm glad. Because writing it was always such a chore, and if something isn't fun, I'd sure as hell hate to do it as a career. I'm going to look into learning the computers and see if I can graduate with a Professional Writing Minor but in the editing/online publishing arena. Seems more fun. I hate researching and interviewing people in stores for something that won't be good. Fuck You CNF! I'm tired of learning with other go-getters, too eager to shoot themselves off like arrows on fire, hoping to land on a wig or a roof and expose what's underneath. The arrow dies. Burns in the process.

Finally finished the movie with Joy. I think it's good. Can never tell with these things. I mean, I know it's genius, but will other people? The non-geniuses? We did mananage to film "a bunch of broken down Indians". (their quote, not mine). Joy managed to get Morgan beside one named Slash and he told his story about how he used to always slash his wrists, and now he spends most of his time travelling around the provinces, trying to get off the streets.

I'm working on a new fiction story. I have a goal: a character, an arch, a complete story, with a setting and an object/event that relates to the character's situation. I'm reading a Margaret Atwood short sotry collection, and I'm also reading that Roman Tales book. I'm studying how each author uses setting etc to relate it to conflict and most importantly: change. I'll also hit Ben up for a couple of loans. I want to read a book littered with happy endings. Peppered with delight. Sun-lemons dried on the beach in November, then peeled, sliced and used as icecubes over rum. Those kinds of stories.

2003-11-29T18:20:00.000-08:00

"Tomorrow, the birds will sing!"
- Charlie Chaplin

Dinner with the parents tonight. I wonder if I stress about these things.

Whew. . . being in two bands and four writing courses is fun. Despite the constant business. But good thing we have things like coffee. It's also strange how disinterested I can become in school subjects when we're finishing the semester. Right now I couldn't give a hoot about Creative Non-Fiction. There's something entirely boring about it. At any rate, I wonder what will happen tonight. I'd like to go to Japanese Village, but that's expensive. I wonder where we'll go. I like good food.
Oh gosh. Oh jeez. HOLY GOOD DARN!

Where are the characters?

More characters next time.

2003-11-28T12:53:00.000-08:00

"I figure rock music is like a teenage girl. She's a great time at first, but you tire of her quickly. Jazz, on the other hand, is more like a girl your own age who you can actually have a good time with and she's smart and cool enough that you can be with her for a long time and not get bored."
-Mr. Fehrman

400 words into it. And I'm going to make this bitch work. Going to be rough, but I mean, journalists seem to be a scabby bunch. A class filled with scabs. I'm not talking the kinds that walk through picket lines. Wounds healing. The kind you can eat.

2003-11-27T19:06:00.000-08:00

"All around the world/ everywhere I go/ no one understands me/ no one knows what I'm trying to say/ Even in my hometown they get me to write it down
but you
ain't speaking my language."

Rather demanding epigraph from the reader, I'll admit. But it's true.

No it isn't. There is ONE person who'd NOT understand that, and it is only because you don't know what a Beat Poet is. The name is Jaquie. I think.

I started in on the wine at about 11 am today in poetry workshop. We had a substitute, and he was alright. Had a rather academic approach to things, but I learned nonetheless.

After poetry we went to Felicita's for the usual mid-afternoon drunkenness. Realising the difference between people in their early 20s compared to people in their mid-to-late 20s. It's easier to be a jackass amongst the younger crew, which is good.

Tonight. The Plan. Get funky. Get real funky. Then go to Logan's Pub for a reading, then I walk up some stairs and rehearse for a couple hours, then get funky and write a 1500 word Creative Non-Fiction article. I bet the people who read this wonder how I can talk about assignments for so long without ever doing them. If you don't understand, see above quote. It will explain nothing.

Coffee coffee coffee, you are my friend. I'm a poet, and I'm against every one else.

2003-11-25T10:20:00.000-08:00

It's Tuesday! That is all.

I've started an art project. And nobody else is doing it. I take photographs, get them developed at London Drugs, and when they are developed I receive a pen in the shape of a triangle, a little larger than the size of my palm. At the end of every corner is a different colored felt. Silver, gold, black. I then take this pen, and draw over photographs.
That is my project. Silly, no? The effect, I think, is rather nice. And the good thing about it, is that I can't screw up, because nobody else is doing this. Richard Linklater who? It's really fun to cheat. I'm basically bringing out what I want to be brought out in the photograph. Entire bushes and smaller houses get eaten up by the pen, and defined into nothingness, while the power cables -- oh the power cables! get the attention they finally deserve.

At any rate, I find myself coloring a lot of urban landscapes, but not popular ones. The UNPOPULAR ones! Like the confectionery, and the house of destiny, and a pedestrian ramp. Those unpopular whores.

The project is mainly an excuse to procrastinate against writing this Creative Non-Fiction piece. And I think I'm going to change my subject. Yes. Change it, research it, and then KABOOM! Get a good grade. It has to mean something sentimental, but not written sentimentally. That way, I'll figure something out.

Going to make some eggs, toast a bagel, and hope that that corpse smell is gone out of my house. The house has been reeking of corpse of late, and Joy and I (mainly Joy) threw everything away and I think that took care of the problem.

Went to our writing serenade last night at Ben's. BWUH! Good times. Despite what that noise means. That noise was a noise of subtle frustration, because I didn't write. I just scrawled over photographs. We're going to start a workshop, rather than a writing session. I believe this is what we're doing. That way, we'll have something to bring, rather than come out of the writing session with possibly nothing.

Eggs. Hard, hard eggs. Hard.

2003-11-22T01:43:00.000-08:00

Saw Spike and Mike's Twisted Animation Festival tonight. I'm guessing that they used "Twisted" liberally, because I think they meant "boring". What a waste of 8 bucks. I thought it would've been dumb, but when we got the 3-D glasses with the ticket, my hopes well. . . soared. But then the whole ordeal was wrong. And the 3-D goggles were only necessary for about 7 seconds. Hardly lucky at all. The 3-D goggles would've been clever if all of the animations weren't horrible. Granted they did show some Happy Tree Friends, but that didn't make up for things. By far. And the projectionist didn't give a damn. The image was projected onto a surface area larger than the movie screen, and instead of fixing it, the projectionist kept on moving the image up and down, rather than making the image smaller. I threw my 3-D goggles at the screen when it was all over.

The company, however, was good. Joy was with me, and Jay and Pippa came. Been awhile. Pippa got trashed, and Jay made evil comments. (Sleeping with a drunk girl is kinda like sleeping with someone with down syndrome). Well. . . maybe he's right? I don't know. I've never noticed myself, but then, maybe I don't notice much.

There was a great moment at the screening. Joy and I were having a cigarette outside the Roxy, and three fat 10 year olds walked past us and stumbled into each other. I asked if they watched a lot of teleivsion. Then I saw some people smoking weed. I wedged into their circle, and they begrudgingly let me have a toke, and as I inhaled, a truck pulled up and someone inside started calling my name. Perfect timing, as far as I'm concerned.

Which leads me to my next question. Today I found a poem I wrote about me being in Mongolia, and watching the native giant squids eating the cattle, and me being disappointed because I expected the cattle to be bigger, and the squid a little more gentle. It ends with a squad of Mongolians watching me, as if I were a spectacle. Not a question at all, really.

Well, after the movie, we came back here, and we all made plans to make a claymation tomorrow afternoon. A rather impulsive decision on my part. I'm not sure if I want to anymore. They all seemed rather lenient in the decision, but agreed none-the-less. We'll see if it goes off like an orgasm, as planned.

So who's with me on this one: Rye is the best drink evah?

__
Went' out for coffee with Joy today, and we wrote for a while and drank beer. Funfunfun.

2003-11-20T05:04:00.000-08:00

What! My assignment isn't due until NEXT week? What the hell was I on?
Well, since I asked, right now I'm fucked off caffeine. 4:53 a.m. and I've spent most of the morning listening to one man's beliefs on the Samarians. What he believes to be the first civilisation. He also has this theory that modern man was a woman who was spliced with 20% human genes and 80% alien genes, which is why humans are so much better than the rest of the animal kingdom. Then the aliens had to nuke everything, including themselves, which set things back a little. But humans moved on.

And did you know that The Theorists have found modern man tracks preserved next to dinosaur tracks. And that there are some stones owned by this one tribe (does it really matter which one? To you, probably not.) that depicts humans riding dinosaurs. The stones were dated to be about 1 million years old. Then I passed out in the middle of a discussion about pyramids, and when I awoke, I pondered.

I pondered this: should I be investigating UFOs, the pyramids, and other crazy structures? Am I wasting my life? Then I moved on. Decided: certainly not. Fuck the pyramids. They may have existed yesterday, but today I no longer believe in those mythical structures.

Then the man on the radio went into discussion about this French Anthropologist who hung out with an African tribe and after 16 years, the tribe leaders disclosed the tribe's secrets. First the elders talked about Fish-Men. Half fish, half man. Well. . . okay. Then the elders talked about constellations, and depth and mathematical calcualations about the stars that would require telescopes -- technology totally foreign to the tribe.

This post is dedicated to Coast to Coast AM radio. The best thing about America.

2003-11-19T12:51:00.000-08:00

Today's goal: write 2000 words about myself.
Tomorrow's goal: get drunk.
Friday's goal: Do something new.
Saturday's goal: Walk on a bridge
Sunday's goal: steal a tank.
Monday's goal: burn a bridge
Tuesday's goal: Phone the police.

I'm assigning the days of the week to do my bidding. Hope it works.

__________________

2003-11-18T20:59:00.000-08:00

For fuck sakes. Not only do restaurants NEVER have the item that I've selected from their menus, there is NEVER enough hot water for a fucking bath. All day long, I've wanted a bath, and when I get home -- nada. No hot water. Fuck fuck fuck. I spent most of yesterday and today soaked from the rain, and all I wanted was a bath. Two nights ago, same thing. The day before that, same thing. Two nights before that, same thing.

Fuck.
it.

__________________

2003-11-18T05:21:00.000-08:00

Jam tonight went well. We have this thing where we jam out a looped rythym for a good half-hour. Sometimes a little pointless to play for that long, but really it opens up a lot of opportunities to play some fucked up beats. I'm trying to get away from trippy drumming, and sticking to more basic patterns and simpler, more thoughtful fills.

Now I'm wrapping up the story. Not sure if I like where it's going, but who cares. There's a lot of weird shit going on. Rhonda and Phil are going to end up having sex with food, and Phil is going to leave the situation forever changed. There's no rape, thankfully. No children being pierced, like in another one of the stories that will be workshopped tomorrow. It's 5:20 am, and I'm thinking, "how long can I go?" or is more "howlongcanIgo?"

If I could be somebody else, I'd choose you, Pikachu.

2003-11-17T20:54:00.000-08:00

There's nothing in the way of my love for you. Ani D

S'okay. I need to write this damn story. At least I got some layers to explore, and a six-pack of beer and more than enough coffee for a couple of horny eunuchs on strike. Hoo-haw!

S'okay. I also have to write a 2000 word Creative Non-Fiction piece for another class for Thursday. I need to do some research, phone some police officers, get some stats, toss around some ideas so as to not get myself arrested. I did afterall, break into an apartment, but to no avail! There was no bike in there!
I did - teehee - get the bike back. All in the good ol' fashion manner of dealing drugs. Mainly to shut-up that coke-head's confused expression. The fact that I was there with my key when he came trailing up to his apartment.

yako'S. I'm rehearsing tonight with the rock band. So I have to write until they pick me up, rehearse for four hours, come back home, then write the story. I'm finding it difficult to go anywhere with it. But that's because. . . I know what it is. And the second I reveal it, I'll be fucked. The idea just won't work. By the way. I hate the word "just". Now don't get me wrong, it has its time and place. But so did the Jews. Whoah! Maybe I should JUST slag the media companies who tell me to say things like this. I got the ghost of Izzie Asper following me around, beating me with a rolled-up Monday Magazine.

Oh yeah: Fuck you Oak Bay! All you old ladies who wear the white gloves and stupid hats with flowers: You're a dying breed!

___________________

2003-11-17T01:51:00.000-08:00

Just got back from seeing Rae Spoon, a country band. Really good songs. Bought the CD, am listening to it now and mentally discussing how this fiction re-write is going to go. At any rate, it's almost two a.m. and I'm feeling a little inspired. Joy was supposed to come out tonight, but finances decreed otherwise, but she would've enjoyed the feminist performances. But I met up with Raquel and her suitors, Dave and Alexey. Nice enough dudes, although Dave bored me with stories about his car and his thoughts about indie music.

Throw some dirt on me.

2003-11-16T19:14:00.000-08:00

I'm soooooo in the mood for time to move a lot faster than it is right now. Theoretically impossible! But that's what I want.

____________________

2003-11-16T12:09:00.000-08:00

It's official. My life needs a soundtrack. One that always plays, without the aid of my mp3 player. The walls need to sing my soundtrack, the air and passers by, too.

Sunday Morning... Drinking a coffee right now, then I'll probably think about doing a lot of homework for a long time, then I'll go to the bar tonight to see a tranny hill-billy band at Logan's with Joy and some of the kids from workshop. Should be fun.

_____________________

2003-11-15T22:10:00.000-08:00

I was hoping to get some writing done tonight, and I bought enough beer for it, but man am I tired. Just watched FUBAR with Joy and had a few laughs. Happy times. And today marks the day where I realised that things don't have to be genius for them to be good. I'm a prime example. I always forget to LOWER my expectations. That's the key, people. Nobody's a genius, so that leaves it up to people like me, and maybe you. France, most defintely. But there are a lot of people who don't make the list.

Sometimes I wish I was a Romantic poet, which would give me the excuse to end all of my statements using hyphens and exclamation marks -- oh, the benefits! It would also allow me to engage flowers and beaches in very meaningful ways. Ok, so, on a final note, this is what I suddenly want: an electricity pool. Just think about it.

____________________

2003-11-15T13:49:00.000-08:00

a dream I had on Remembrance Day.
Joy is driving this car, I'm riding shotgun, and Trev, our dead friend, is in the back, and I'm glad he's there, but I'm a little suspicious. Now, I don't like what's going on in the car. First off, Joy does not have her license, Secondly: Trev is dead, and he's in a bad mood in the back of the car. Now, as Joy is driving, we have to go through a checkpoint. Somehow, Joy manages to get us through, but as she drives through the checkpoint, a cop car pulls up on our right, lights flashing. Nevertheless, I feel totally horrible, and trapped. I got illegal driver beside me, flashing cop car on my right, dead person in the back. I wake up, and I'm covered in sweat. So much sweat I thought I'd pissed myself. Thankfully I hadn't, but I wondered why the dream affected me so. I think the cop car was trying to signal that we had something going on in the back, and that my brain wanted to remember Trev on Remembrance Day. I don't usually take the time to remember much on Remembrance Day (sorry Ola), but maybe my brain was telling me to smarten up. Who knows. Why was Joy driving? And although I didn't make much of it in the dream, I think Trev was dead in the dream, because I felt a very negative presence from him in the back seat, and I really didn't want to look at him, or speak to him. So that's enough of that.

____________________

2003-11-15T13:37:00.000-08:00

Got back from Cup of Joe about a half-hour ago, with a six-pack of Propellor Ale and three tallies of some random German beer. Amounts to nine friends to keep my writing company tonight. Aya talked a lot about her Grandfather's funeral, and how Ryan had to pick out the grandfather's bones out of the crematorium -- with chopsticks.

Last night I jammed with Jay and Ryan. Proving to be quite different from the other band. We only jam for an hour, hour-and-a-half, and then it's off to other things, while with Marsha Prompt, the other band, we go for three, four hours at a time. I'm picking up a tape of our jam from Mike today. Looking forwards to hearing it.

After jamming last night, Joy and I went and say Pirates of the Caribbean. Not a bad flick. Well, it was a HORRIBLE movie, but that's what I was expecting. But it's difficult to lose myself in what amounts to as distraction when I don't believe in the gender types, characters, they way the Imperial Army wins and the Pirates sail back into the Margins. Sort of like slumming it on a bar crawl. See the horrible people that look funny, and then it's off to Hunter's for cocktails and cleavage-gazing. At any rate, Johnny Depp was cool, and he made me want to become a pirate. But piracy today is so technology based. I'd need a fast boat, a couple of well-trained Mexicans, grenades and automatic weapons. I'd also, most likely, be running drugs, and would have no time for cool facial hair striped shirts. There wouldn't be enough time. Although piracy would be a good excuse for me to get a cell phone.
All in all, the movie was, horribly okay.

During the week, I binge on coffee and become all extroverted and talk lots to people I don't really know. Then on weekends I usually buy a baggy and become introverted and analyze my caffeinated eccentricities and get down on myself for everything I've said and done. It's a terrible, terrible process. I also realized that I've become somewhat of a kiss-ass to the profs without realizing it. So it's time I shut-up. That way I'll leave less of myself out of everything so I don't critique myself into depression.

On another note, I've invented something. I call it Problem Salve. It's free, most of the time, and you rub it in and it takes care of all your problems. Did I mention that it comes in Lube form? Well it does. Although is it possible to have something be a "lube" and a "salve"?
Well it is now.

____________________

2003-11-12T10:31:00.000-08:00

I had a weird dream last night. Moving on.
Coffee, the patio, and Joy in the morning. Is there a better way to wake up? If there is, don't tell me.

Have you ever stuck your head under the sheets? If so, why? I did this this morning and I've been thinking "why!" since. There was no real reason. I wasn't looking for anything. Maybe it had something to do with that dream.

Second question: How does it feel to be a genius? It should feel good. You're a genius, I'm a genius. Let's get over it and do something.

A haiku

After Breakfast

I beat off
into toilet with
door open

Thank you, and good morning.

2003-11-11T23:21:00.000-08:00

Ugh. I just watched some American hoaky piece of shit propaganda about Ms. Lynch and her exploits across Iraq. I can't believe the similarities between how uneducated the people are in America and how uneducated the people probably are in Iraq. America may as well be a country of Muslim terrorists with the amount of shit. . . Fifth freedom. Manifest Destiny. MINEMINEMINE. Anyways. . . Ms. Lynch, I admire your will, but stop being a stupid American. All of you Americans, stop being so stupid. It's driving me nuts. Put away your cameras for a minute and learn to read and ask a question or two. Anyways, the show will probably boost Mr. Bush's ratings, or at least draw some sort of sympathy towards his presidential campaign. My favourite part of the show was when Ms. Lynch was concluding the show with a recorded speech, and I could hear the papers on her manuscript turning. Also, the way the interview was editing was shoddy. It would cut in mid-sentence to another shot, which means it's cutting to another part of the conversation. The music industry operates in much the same manner.

I was supposed to re-write a story, but didn't. I wonder why. I'm still deliberating if I should brew a pot of coffee, induce that insomnia and type until my fingers bleed. At least I got some new fresh ideas, but we'll see how long it'll take before I sit down and use them. Fucking fiction. Such a hassle. Better than what I just wasted my time with: American TV. The worst TV on the planet. Mainstream TV, anyways. Moving on. Keeping strong.

I decided that I'm entirely willing to put on my blinders to a lot of things. America being the first step. Bye bye piece of crap country. You are all poor, even though you think you are not. You are. Try saying it a couple times before raising those socially-controlled defense mechanisms.

2003-11-11T16:39:00.000-08:00

I want to frame shots the way Woody Allen frames shots. The man who works at the Beer and Wine kissed me on the cheek the other day in the bar. I asked him about it today, when I was buying Joy and I beer, and he said that his brother feels other people's testicles when drunk.

2003-11-11T16:01:00.000-08:00

Well. I guess I'm a poet. I write poetry, and read poetry. But I don't feel like a poet. On the plus side, I've managed to convince my fellow writing students that I'm alcoholic. And yes, I am proud. What it means is that they believe my stories, even though I don't.

On the other side of things, I'm going to totally rework a story that was more than mildly exploitative of my relationship. That'll learn me to smoke a quarter-ounce of weed in a week. At any rate, I'm onto coffee now. And coffeecoffeecoffeecoffee should put things back to where they belong. Although I'm sweating more these days, because of coffee. Does this make sense? Even if it doesn't, I don't care. All I know is that I won't hesitate to use my sweat for something, providing SOMETHING comes up.

Last night I jammed for FOUR hours in a jamspace above Logan's Pub with Mike Rheault (pronounced "Ro") his wife Devon, and Petey. Stoner rock with out the drugs. And I'm working on some Lovin' Spoonful rip-offs, and the band seems to be excited about me bringing some songs in. I'll be on drums for their songs, and then there'll be three guitars and a bass for my songs. Really looking foreward to voicing these ditties. We also have loads of free recording time in a studio in Vancouver if we want it.
And we do.
yesyesyes.

With my main gig, the band with Jay and Ryan, we have a couple of shows scheduled in December: the B.C. Schizophrenic Society's Christmas dinner, and an opening spot for Victoria locals Crash the Net. The B.C.S.S show will be oh so fun. We've done the past two years, and we don't see any reason to stop. It's a crazy good time. I won't bother the internet with details of the nostalgia. Jay, Ryan and I have also made plans to record a new album, and this time, the power will be in OUR hands, rather than some producer who doesn't really know how to tackle things. Which is fine, better, really, in the long run. I put out an album and I feel like I fell flat on my face, which is the best thing that can happen to an artist (yes, this does make sense). And now it's out of the way. If it happens again, I'll quit. No I won't. Fuckin' music. But the power will be in OUR hands. We're going to bring in soloists: trumpeteers, accoridan players, pianists, and we have visceral connections to a local tuba player. An opportunity not to be passed up, kinda like mescaline, or absinthe. Or a trip to Macedonia.

One horrible thing about poetry is that I find myself spending hours on what I consider genius, only to have the poem slap my ass and tell me that I suck. We'll see what workshop has to say. I've been reading mad amounts of poetry lately. Two or three books this weekend, at least. I find myself confused as to where I should take poetry. I don't want to write about THE BEACH, or CHRYSANTHEMUMS. So where does that leave me? I'm not sure. Right now I'm writing an ode to MUSIC and ROTARY BLADES, and making KAZOO noises in giant cement tunnels. I hope people will be able to read the HEART in them. Maybe I should get my poet friend BEN to TAKE CARE OF SOME ISSUES.