playing solitaire.

"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and — in spite of True Romance magazines — we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely — at least, not all the time — but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don’t see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness."

- Hunter S. Thompson

anthem.

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars
they will be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.
Ring the bells
that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.


- Leonard Cohen

there are many reasons why I love Steve Albini...

... this is just one of them:


"I think fashion is repulsive. The whole idea that someone else can make clothing that is supposed to be in style and make other people look good is ridiculous. It sickens me to think that there is an industry that plays to the low self-esteem of the general public. I would like the fashion industry to collapse. I think it plays to the most superficial, most insecure parts of human nature. I hope GQ as a magazine fails. I hope that all of these people who make a living by looking pretty are eventually made destitute or forced to do something of substance. At least pornography has a function."


For your aural pleasure:

i heart ny.

Hi everyone.

I am in Brooklyn, half asleep in a rental car on a road called I think "Wythe Road". Just saw Kid Congo Powers play an incredible set at a place called the Brooklyn Bowl, totally on a whim. What a great venue; best luck in the universe. I think I'm already in love with NYC. And I've only been here less than 5 hours.
Ian is passed out beside me. Poor guy. Long, beautiful, fun drive out here. Went to a really cool bar earlier called the Library. I think we're going back again before we leave.

I'm only writing this because I'm a night owl, even though I only got about 4 hours of sleep last night. Tattoo party at some point this weekend. Some parts of NY remind me of Hamilton, but I don't miss it... At least not yet.

Cheers, and here's to an amazing fucking weekend, for us and for you.

Your favourite jackass,
L.

him & others.

him and others

Thoughts. Silly. I'd rather
sink my teeth in your neck,
seriously, knock you down
on the floor - all for love.
You'll forget my lousy
poems but if I could just
mar you or something. Nothing
nice ever sticks but boy
a scar - If I could ever
really bruise you with
my feelings, them, so infinitely
forgettable & gone.


- Eileen Myles

three little pigs.

Once there were three little pigs who lived together in mutual respect and in harmony with their environment. Using materials that were indigenous to the area, they each built a beautiful house. One pig built a house of straw, one a house of sticks, and one a house of dung, clay, and creeper vines shaped into bricks and baked in a small kiln. When they were finished, the pigs were satisfied with their work and settled back to live in peace and self-determination.

But their idyll was soon shattered. One, day along came a big, bad wolf with expansionist ideas. He saw the pigs and grew very hungry, in both a physical and an ideological sense. When the pigs saw the wolf, they ran into the house of straw. The wolf ran up to the house and banged on the door, shouting, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

The pigs shouted back, "Your gunboat tactics hold no fear for pigs defending their homes and culture."

But the wolf wasn't to be denied what he thought was his manifest destiny. So he huffed and puffed and blew down the house of straw. The frightened pigs ran to the house of sticks, with the wolf in hot pursuit. Where the house of straw had stood, other wolves brought up the land and started a banana plantation.

At the house of sticks, the wolf again banged on the door and shouted, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

The pigs shouted back, "Go to hell, you carnivorous, imperialistic oppressor!"

At this, the wolf chuckled condescendingly. He thought to himself: "They are so childlike in their ways. It will be a shame to see them go, but progress cannot be stopped."

So the wolf huffed and puffed and blew down the house of sticks. The pigs ran to the house of bricks, with the wolf close at their heels. Where the house of sticks had stood, other wolves built a time-share condo resort complex for vacationing wolves, with each unit a fiberglass reconstruction of the house of sticks, as well as native curio shops, snorkeling, and dolphin shows.

At the house of bricks, the wolf again banged on the door and shouted, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

This time in response, the pigs sang songs of solidarity and wrote letters of protest to the United Nations.

By now the wolf was getting angry at the pigs' refusal to see the situation from the carnivore's point of view. So he huffed and puffed, and huffed and puffed, then grabbed his chest and fell over dead from a massive heart attack brought on from eating too many fatty foods.

The three little pigs rejoiced that justice had triumphed and did a little dance around the corpse of the wolf. Their next step was to liberate the homeland. They gathered together a band of other pigs who had been forced off their lands. This new brigade of porcinistas attacked the resort complex with machine guns and rocket launchers and slaughtered the cruel wolf oppressors, sending a clear signal to the rest of the hemisphere not to meddle in their internal affairs. Then the pigs set up a model socialist democracy with free education, universal health care, and affordable housing for everyone.

Please note: The wolf in this story was a metaphorical construct. No actual wolves were harmed in the writing of this story.

- Politically Correct Bedtime Stories: Modern Tales for Our Life & Times, James Finn Garner

just some things.

An Entomologist's Last Love Letter, by Jared Singer

so i have a new plan
i’m gonna leave you now
i’m gonna spend the rest of my life committing petty injustices
i hope you do the same
i will jay walk at every opportunity
i will steal things i could easily afford
i will be rude to strangers
i hope you do the same
i hope reincarnation is real
i hope our petty crimes are enough to cause us to be reborn as lesser creatures
i hope we are reborn as flies
so that we can love each other as hard as we were meant to.


***

"I think we ought to read only the kinds of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? We need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us."
- Franz Kafka

show us your rack!

Totally stoked to play this show! Gnarlie Murphy and Mutiny are brutal.

Last Saturday Rackula played in Brantford with two local Brantford bands Christpunchers and Hangman Pinata. What a fucking night. I learned that I'd much rather play in the middle of a pit of sweaty punks than on a stage. Brantford punks know how to have a good time. A fight broke out in the middle of our set and I almost got swept up in the action while I was playing, without even realizing it.

Upcoming Rackula dates:

Jul 17 - Circus Room, Kitchener ON

w/ Gnarlie Murphy, Loaded Dice, Mutiny

Aug 13 - Portugese Club, Sarnia ON

w/ The One-Eyed Muskrats, Black Cat Attack, One Hundred Proof

Sep 3 - Brunswick Tavern, St. Thomas ON

w/ Oxbaker, Busters, Beyond the Black

Sep 16 - This Ain't Hollywood, Hamilton ON

w/ Kill Matilda, The Alcohollys

Sep 24 - Bovine Sex Club, Toronto ON

w/ Red 5 Mass

Tunes! -

Christpunchers

Hangman Pinata

Gnarlie Murphy

my head really hurts

Black Flag at the now burnt-down Embassy Hotel in London, ON - from 1984:

why is live footage of rudimentary peni so rare???

what a pickle.

# In the state of Connecticut, in order for a pickle to officially be considered a pickle, it must bounce. Plus, you may not sell a pickle that will fall apart if dropped 12 inches.

# In Trenton, New Jersey, it is illegal to throw a bad pickle in the street.

# In Rhode Island, it is illegal to throw pickle juice on a trolley.

# In some parts of the south, it's illegal for women to eat pickles with their feet up on the porch railings!

# Pickles were mentioned at least twice in the Bible.

# The 57 on the Heinz ketchup bottle represents the number of varieties of pickles the company once had.

# Aristotle praised their healing effects.

# Julius Caesar made his army eat them, maybe because...

# Cleopatra's favorite food was pickles. She said they made her beautiful.

# John Lennon's first girlfriend was named Thelma Pickles.

# And the first American president George Washington loved pickles.

an offering.

I am the woman at the water’s edge,
offering you oranges for the peeling,
knife glistening in the sun.
This is the scent and taste
of my skin: citron and sweet.
Touch me and your life will unfold
before you, easily as this skirt
billows then sinks,
lapping against my legs, my toes
filtering through the river's silt.
Following the current out to sea,
I am the kind of woman
who will come back to haunt
your dreams, move through your
humid nights the way honey
swirls through a cup of hot tea.

Shara McCallum - An Offering

"leftovers/where do teeth go?"

"You are not supposed to wonder where your teeth go, only celebrate their departure. This habit of thought is so ingrained that even when I no longer believed [in the tooth fairy], I still didn't wonder where my teeth were going. Researching this point, I recently asked the tooth fairy where she had put my teeth. She sighed and said she threw them in the trash.

This seems like a sad end for something that used to be such an important part of my body. While they are in our mouths we know our teeth with such extraordinary intimacy that even a slight change, such as a chip, can be a constant distraction until the tongue gets used to it. And yet we say goodbye to them without a thought as to where they will end up: whether they are kept indefinitely, hoarded for awhile and then discarded, or immediately disposed of, tooth-fairy teeth, like most other teeth, probably end up in landfills or incinerators. In this respect, they are indeed trash - useless, excess to requirement, and a little bit disgusting, fit only to molder away with the rest of the stuff we no longer wish to think about."


"When we think of our first lost tooth, we remember again what such an absence felt like, how it began, strange and unnerving at first, a dangerous taste of blood on the tongue, and then later the thrill and promise of the gifts that might replace it. If baby teeth show us anything, it is that these gaps of nature and of history, which we make even as we fill them, must be filled in this way with only empty artifice, and hope, and forgetfulness."

- Helen Denise Polson, Cabinet, Issue 36

frantic gesturing.

"The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people's hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely.

During the Age of Silence, people communicated more, not less. Basic survival demanded that the hands were almost never still, and so it was only during sleep (and sometimes not even then) that people were not saying something or other. No distinction was made between the gestures of language and the gestures of life. The labor of building a house, say, or preparing a meal was no less an expression than making the sign for I love you or I feel serious. When a hand was used to shield one's face when frightened by a loud noise something was being said, and when fingers were used to pick up what someone else had dropped something was being said; and even when the hands were at rest, that, too, was saying something. Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have lifted to scratch a nose, and if casual eye contact was made with one's lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realize I was wrong to love you. These mistakes were heart-breaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn't go around with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they'd understood correctly. Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I've always been right to love you. Because of the frequency of these mistakes, over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say: Forgive me."

- Excerpt from "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss

view at full size.

pencil, india ink. 2010

let the ramones tear your face off.

Don't you just feel like going out now and getting in a fight?

we take death to reach a star.

"For my own part, I declare I know nothing whatever about it. But to look at the stars always makes me dream, as simply as I dream over the black dots of a map representing towns and villages. Why, I ask myself, should the shining dots of the sky not be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France? If we take the train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star. One thing undoubtedly true in this reasoning is this: that while we are alive we cannot get to a star, any more than when we are dead we can take the train."

- Vincent Van Gogh

fracture theory.

It's bizarre that for as long as I loved you, I have virtually no photographs of you.
Almost as if you were merely a figment of my imagination.

An incredibly amazing dream, so powerful my heart could burst. A dark, stormy nightmare; one that I just couldn't seem to wake up from.

You were no ghost.
Your eyes were like tentacles, reaching into me and spreading me open. Your presence in my life was a cataclysm of proportions you can't imagine.
Wiping ash on my face after the fire subsided. That's no way to say goodbye.
That's not the kind of life I dreamed of for us.

I lied, there is one picture that I clearly remember. You are pretending to sleep on a large rock.
You always hid your face.
There were more. My memory misled me. But they are lost somewhere. In a box? In a fire? In the wind?

Maybe you were a ghost. I could never quite catch you.
I tried so goddamn hard.
Fading in and out. I remember all of the static that surrounded us.

I spoke in short sentences around you. I didn't want to give too much away.
But you took everything, anyway.
Electricity is a fickle child. Jolted awake but burned. An open-heart orgasm is no match for your pavlovian tricks.

The only thing I have to remember you by, still, is the picture I drew of you.
It's fuzzy and grey. You aren't looking at me. You're looking somewhere off in the distance.
It's probably better off like that because it makes you seem further away.
I've got you just where I want you. Just where I need you to be.
Somewhere in the distance, crackling branches in the night, asleep on a bed of bones.
We keep our distance on purpose. We hide our scissors, we fold pages in the right places.

Maybe you are a ghost. I've got no more proof of you. Just my drawing.
Just my fear, and the way I stutter when I talk about you.
And the ashes on my cheek that never seem to wipe clean.

I guess this is the way I say goodbye.

(written in November 2009)

ol' slacksey's got himself a new pair o' slacks!

“While some people in Hoboken remember Frank Sinatra as a lonely child, one who spent many hours on the porch gazing into space, Sinatra was never a slum kid, never in jail, always well-dressed. He had so many pants that some people in Hoboken called him ‘Slacksey O’Brien.’”


I hope to someday own enough pairs of pants that I may be known as Slacksey O'Brien.
Or maybe Pantsy O'Toole, Trousers McSullivan, or Plenty O'Jeans.

What's he thinking about? Probably pants.

golden bruises.

"When the Japanese mend broken objects they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes beautiful."

long time gone.

I don't usually post sappy shit like this, but this really hit a nerve.

"You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—- that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp."

-Anne Lamott

suicide.

"To tell you the truth suicide doesn’t tempt me much. Of course I have thought about it over the years; and if I were to resort to it, here’s how I’d go about it: I’d hold a grenade right up against my heart and go out in a bright burst of joy. A little round grenade whose pin I’d delicately pluck out before I released the catch, smiling at the little metallic noise of the spring, the last sound I’d hear, aside from the heartbeat in my ears. And then at last, happiness, or in any case peace, as the shreds of my flesh slowly dripped off the walls.

Let the cleaning women scrub them off, that’s what they’re paid for, the poor girls. But as I said, suicide doesn’t tempt me."

- The Kindly Ones, Jonathan Littell

radio on

Cool Super 8 video someone made for my favourite Modern Lovers song, "Roadrunner."

Makes me wanna go on a road trip. Any takers?

babel.

Your Tower of Babel came tumbling down,
I turned my cheek and walked away.
Bite your tongue,
you've said enough,
I should have never come this way.

MC5 - Tonight

Can't sleep, might as well rock. It feels like an MC5 kind of day. The undisputed champs of COOL. How fucking charming is Rob?

real life comix.

real life comix.

my boyfriend's relationship with pants:

behind the black curtain @ the hollywood sessions

sexbeast | b/w

sexbeast | colour

ciudad sin sueño (sleepless city).

No duerme nadie por el cielo. Nadie, nadie.
No duerme nadie.
Las criaturas de la luna huelen y rondan sus cabañas.
Vendrán las iguanas vivas a morder a los hombres que no sueñan
y el que huye con el corazón roto encontrará por las esquinas
al increíble cocodrilo quieto bajo la tierna protesta de los astros.

In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the
street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the
stars.


--federico garcia lorca

/\/\/\/\/\/\

pencil, 2010

drawing of a richard kern photograph.

pencil, pencil crayon.

punk rock dingos.

Haven't updated this thing in awhile. Here is a bunch of awesome Australian punk, just because.


Fun Things - "Lipstick"





The Victims - "Television Addict"





The Saints - live at Paddington Hall '77.
3-song set featuring "This Perfect Day," "Run Down," and "Erotic Neurotic"

the devil's wife.

"But life, they said, means life. Dying inside.
The Devil was evil, mad, but I was the Devil's wife
which made me worse. I howled in my cell.
If the Devil was gone then how could this be hell?"

Carol Ann Duffy

life drawing.

pencil + ink.

attainable inhumanity.

"Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity. I belong to the earth!"

Tropic of Cancer ~ Henry Miller

penny flame//lesbian porn

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

rich kid

Glen Matlock signed the poster with the drawing of him that I did, for me. Rad times.

LOL WUT?

http://www.murdzplace.com/CNN.htm

wolf moon.

Tonight: Year's Biggest Full Moon, Mars Create Sky Show

The first Esbat of the year is called Wolf Moon.


It is also known as: Quiet Moon, Snow Moon, Cold Moon, Chaste Moon, Disting Moon, Moon of Little Winter

The colours that are central in this Esbat are brilliant white, blue-violet and black

Flowers that you can use during this esbat: snowdrop, crocus

Deities who are linked with this full moon are Freyja, Inanna, Sarasvati, Hera, Ch'ang-O.

This full moon is a good time to do protection spells and reversing spells.

A good time to learn about yourself and watch out for others. Don't let them using you for different reasons. If they want to hurt you, seek protection in yourself, in nature, seek for energy to protect yourself against bad feelings. It' s a good time to know yourself better and your friends.


Via Viki:
Amid the cold and deep snows of midwinter, the wolf packs howled hungrily outside Indian villages. Thus, the name for January's full Moon. Sometimes it was also referred to as the Old Moon, or the Moon After Yule. Some called it the Full Snow Moon, but most tribes applied that name to the next Moon.

crappy cell phones piktures

Rattail - 01.09.10

pony up.

pen + ink, computer colouring.

wilkommen, 2010!

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