Monthly Archives: April 2005

a desk and a room for it to play in

when i grow up i will own only two significant things
a desk and a room for it to play in
and the desk will wear a brown leather blotter
and i will write only on onion skin paper
and the ink will be dark, dark brown
and i will make sepia postcards of all the places i’ve been…
wish you were here!
and pin them to parchment maps papering our walls
and my letter will sit
on the blotter
with the window open
and there was a coffee mug there to keep a letter there
…now it’s not
but the ring it left is still wet
and beneath the ring lies the leather blotter
still brown

  • listen to what random stuff sounds like in an empty grain silo in Montreal >>
  • watch chinese cable TV via p2p (noooooo…i’m sure it’s PERFECTLY legal) >>
  • click on the VOOZ menu, click Animation, then watch some of the Pucca clips, don’t be afraid little spider monkey, there is no knowledge of Korean required >>
  • amazing Rube Goldberg made entirely of Honda car parts >>
  • Shuttered

    Cold In The SunThe Red Eyed LegendsMutual Insignificance

    This song is a motor scooter ride through the back streets of El Borne in Barcelona. The light is bright when it cracks through the narrow buildings above you on either side. You find yourself almost unable to watch, giddy in the rush and excitement, and you try to surf this feeling, tease it into a full-blown euphoria. The sort of abandonment into dangerous activity, with complete and utter faith in the ability of your pilot to keep you safe, that you haven’t had since you were a child in your father’s hands. It’s much harder now, but that makes the accomplishment so much richer, faceted by every other experience life has thrown you since then. The rush is prismed like the inside of diamond as you speed beneath the drying laundry past basket shops and shuttered tapas bars.

    bravado

    Hello? Is This Thing On?!!!Louden Up Now

    This song is dancing alone at 2am with five thousand other people. Which is much more comfortable than dancing alone with, say, five other people, but at its core the experience is still the same. And anyone who says that it’s fun to dance alone, you can perhaps at certain times or psychological makeups in your past find that display of bravado to be admirable or at least worthy of some small measure of sympathy, but really it’s not something you have any fucking patience for with who you are just right now at this moment. So you dance, you dance as hard as you can, perhaps you look like some kind of whirling dervish, or a scarecrow having some sort of epileptic fit. Well fuck it. You’re just trying to feel it, get some sort of blissful experience out of this without resorting to chemicals. But it’s hard to get lost in this…maybe it’s because you’re tired, maybe it’s because you’re reconciling expectations to reality and now you’re thinking that any adventure has its limits for shifting your perceptions on life and all it has to offer.

    Except you weren’t thinking that then, but you’re thinking it now…watching a drum circle in _ _ _ Park and wondering if you could find, like, the perfect drink for cold and gray afternoons like this one. Something hot and sweet and bitter and smoooooth, chocolate tea. That’s exactly what you want, why doesn’t anyone make chocolate tea..?