That will be all.

Fuck with my friends,
and I'll grate off your face.

Fuck you.

I don't even know you, but you're a waste of breath.

Fuck. You.

Thought you should know,

Tim.

You ask me to extinguish myself, to stop. My thoughts, words and feelings put aside to please and edify you — and you, and maybe him. And yet I recover, as always, springing back to who I am. The one thing I’ve no doubt that I understand. Oh, and life is not a balance sheet.

My head spins with ideas, or more appropriately with other people’s ideas. I tend to like those better. My imagination is a crafting hand: Refining, building, editing, finishing. Sometimes its frustrating to be cut-off from the wellspring, but it affords me a pretty unique perspective on things. Now to find the outlet.

Crazy by Gnarls Barkley (aka Cee-Lo and Dangermouse)

I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind: There was something so pleasant about that place Even your emotions had an echo In so much space And when you're out there Without care, Yeah, I was out of touch But it wasn't because I didn't know enough, I just knew too much Does that make me crazy? Does that make me crazy? Does that make me crazy? Possibly And I hope that you are having the time of your life But think twice, that's my only advice

Come on now, who do you, who do you, who do you, who do you think you are? Ha ha ha, bless your soul You really think you're in control? Well, I think you're crazy I think you're crazy I think you're crazy Just like me My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on a limb And all I remember is thinking, I want to be like them Ever since I was little, Ever since I was little it looked like fun And it's no coincidence I've come And I can die when I'm done Maybe I'm crazy Maybe you're crazy Maybe we're crazy Probably

The world is beginning to deconstruct —- to polarize. Meaning and purpose migrate closer together, leaving a lot more nothing in between. Pockets of minimalist intensity becoming more common.
I thrive in the gaps, moving from one piece of reality to the next; a unified perspective of a disconnected entity.

It’s easy to hate a lot of what’s out there if one pays it any mind. To crusade against stupidity. To feel responsible for the choices you make and the thoughts you have. I think about it every day.
Hope may spring eternal, but it’s hard to find, hard to maintain, and often almost impossible to manifest.

I smiled tonight when you told me who you really were. It may have seemed patronizing, gentle, uncomfortable. The word is sagely. Truth bottled up behind insufficient words and incalculable intensity. A pressurized being in a vacuum.
A world-eater, a stone-burner — an exponential person, with more inside than most could ever dream of.

Endless. Mythic. Tragic. Proud.

Currently Listening To: Morcheeba - Live In Brixton (DVD)
Currently Drinking: Sho Chiku Bai

The Conundrum

• Does it taste like this?

From flickr, uploaded by Essjay_NZ.

• Or does it — in fact — taste like this?

From flickr, uploaded by CathyBentbacktulips.

Truly, I am at a loss. But the raving lunatic who came up with the idea to make Gin in Scotland, and infuse it with Rose and Cucumber, deserves to win The Nobel Prize for Awesome.

Good night.

PS: I am making nachos at 11pm on a Friday evening. This is a good thing. Come visit me.
(None of you will)

It’s what I do. Dragging the disconnected and incongruous bits of the world together, kicking and screaming, in a vain attempt to create a whole.

Like an existential Katamari.

Go see Beautiful Thing at UBC (it runs until the 30th) and if you're me, you'll understand.

I shouldn't need to explain.

I’m also just drunk enough that my passive agressive, nostalgic, possessive, and superstitious reflexes are all hightened a bit too far. This has culminated in me discovering a rather huge pet peeve: Just because someone doesn’t own something they are currently in possession/making use of, doesn’t make it cute or OK to take and run off with it. Especially when that person thus swiped from is as neurotic as me.

Related anecdote: I made it all the way through a production period on a play for the first time (since the age of 15) without chain-smoking. In fact, I smoked only a single clove cigarrette on the biggest, scariest, most stressful night. And it was mostly due to a pretentious little hat.

Grr. Not Cool. >/mildly incoherent<

It struck me again that Shambhala is proof to the theory of music being my existence. And every year, I get to enter into the Garden of Eden. It's like a near death experience: once you go there, you never want to be anywhere else.

Just look at the fucking SCHEDULE

--Navi's B-Day--
Mike Relm (best turntablist in the world bar none)
Secret Special Guest (due to be MASSSIVE)
The Freestylers (lords of Breakbeat)

--Chris/Erin's B-Day--
Audio Architect (Phat Local Sound)
Michelle Bass (A new favourite)
Bassnectar (The god of the hippies)
Hive (Inventor of Tech-step, I believe you've heard of him)

--Sunday--
LATEEF the Truthspeaker
Bassnectar (ENCORE)
The Freestylers (ENCORE)
Mike Relm (motherfuckin' ENCORE)
David Starfire (immense)
Amanda Rude (SPEEEDGARAGE!!!)

and that's just a few of them.

Currently Listening To: Michelle Bass - Ethereal SLUT (beautiful big-funky-electro-acid-glitch-nu-breaks)