cosmic crimes

markus worm storm is short and fat. whatever that means.

2011-07-20T08:13:00.002-04:00

Major fucking hard-on material:

✝ DIE ANTWOORD ✝ Fish Paste ✝

✝ DIE ANTWOORD ✝ Wat Pomp ✝

get out of the void, sonic warrior.

2011-06-29T04:04:00.091-04:00

Bonne journée, all you beautiful losers and cosmic criminals!

Sorta been neglecting this thing lately... I've got a few updates that I'll get around to posting in the next few days I think, but for now... Today, music has been heavy on my mind. "Well, duh. What else is new, ladydude?" Alright, not just music. But the spirit and magnetic energy of music fans. Audiences. Crowds. Music LOVERS. Where o' where... did all the passion go?

I'm going to start this long-winded entry with a live performance by my favourite band, just to jumpstart my brain a little. And hopefully yours too.

Fuck yah! Was it as good for you as it was for me? Alright, now that we're nice and boner'd-up, let's get started, hey?

Allow me to share with you a short rant that came from an email exchange I had today with a man-friend of mine... it should give you the sweet n' low down on where this blog entry is going:

"... I get bummed out because it's so rare for punk shows (or any shows, it seems) to really have that sort of spirit and wild abandon any more. The last time I went to a show that was even close to being that sort of experience was when I saw Cursed play at this shitty little bar in ****** probably 3 or 4 years ago, and there were like a gazillion kids crammed in there just going fucking insane... I was photographing the show, so I was right up front to the left, getting my intestines impacted from having ten tonnes of sweaty boy mass pressing up against me as I was steadying myself on a speaker, and I loved every goddamn second of it. Some young kid was gushing blood out of his face and everyone was soaking wet, losing their shirts, flying onto the stage and off and up in the air and back down... man. THAT is why I photograph shows. I want to capture that energy, because that is the feeling that I grew up on, those experiences were my livelihood as a teenager, going to hardcore and punk shows at S**** ***** and the T****** ***** hall... But it's so hard to find anymore. Totally depressing. Music has become such a flailing, interchangeable commodity for most people these days. I don't know where the passion of music lovers went."

*Locations omitted because, well, the internet is fucking creepy, dude.

Not ten years ago (which would have seen me entering my 18th year as a fully-developed zygote), almost every single show I went to, no matter if it was a punk/metal/electro/hip hop/whatever show... almost every single show was enhanced at least 75% by the crowd. Doing what real music-loving crowds do (well... did). Screaming along. Banging into one another. Getting soaked with each others' sweat. Bleeding and puking and falling and moshing and dancing and swaying erratically and headbanging and jumping up and down and hugging/high-fiving strangers (okay so I've never actually seen anyone give a genuine high-five at a show... a girl can dream. Has Bill and/or Ted's superb influence really waned that much, people? I can't get just one sweet, enthusiastic high-five?), whipping their hair around in sweet hair-icopters and waving their hands in the air like they just didn't fucking care and stomping and running around in a big circle and climbing over one another to get within inches of the bands' faces. Letting their love of the music (which is the only thing that really matters in the music industry... at least in my idyllic version of how I think it SHOULD be... I'd make a terrible manager or record exec) free them. And before you ask, nope, not a hippie.

Now what do we have? Self-conscious, self-obsessed, hyper self-aware zombies who are too cool to dance, too cool to have a genuinely good time. Looking each other up and down slyly to see who's hotter or who is wearing a cooler band shirt instead of watching the bands. Watching the entire show through a tiny, pixelated 2x2" SCREEN on their fucking iPhones, removed from the action by way of glowing, ominous, cheap plastic filter. Haphazardly tapping their feet when they remember to, hands in pockets and heads perfectly cocked and predatory lips desperately pursed and hair tediously coiffed. Going to a show barely has anything to do with the music anymore. There has always been a social parade type of angle to going to a show, but it seems that that is literally ALL it is anymore. Just a fashion parade of living, breathing, eye-rolling advertisements unfortunate enough to have been born into or brainwashed by the Generation Web.0 era. I would love to take a bucket full of punk kid sweat, mosh-pit blood, stinky ass socks from the time we braved the torrential downpours at many an outdoor show not giving a fuck about looking like a drowned opossum and your mascara has made its way down to your collarbone and your clothes have become akin to cling wrap but you just didn't give a damn because you were too busy screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs and thrashing your head so hard that you were practically praying to Satan for a massive case of whiplash... I would love to take that bucket and dump it all over the frustratingly bleak collective consciousness (or should I say lack thereof?) of these pseudo-hip, sheepish, bored dumb brain-dead spoon-fed stooges (not the good Stooges, either).

Everything good about what music used to be, from rock n' roll's toddler years up until probably the mid-late 90s (I'm sure that's debatable depending on your frame of reference) has been packaged up in a shiny, stylish box and sold to impressionable, lazy youth who think mp3 files and shows streamed live through a wire connected to a million hard plastic boxes of varying sizes count as some sort of true, collective human experience... sold to them, for the low, low price (which, according to Apple, is at least $300) of, oh... you know, hundreds and hundreds of real moments. Moments of losing control, moments of being slammed up against and sharing a knowing smile with a cute girl with braces and a green mohawk during a particularily high-energy song, moments you spend pouring over album art and lyrics and thank-you notes, moments where you temporarily drift out of reality because your favourite band is playing your favourite song and you just let your body and your feet and your voice take over any other cognitive abilities, all for the sake of the music, for the love of the way it makes you feel.

Music used to be a powerful, key factor in socio-political movements and revolutions (an obvious but very good example would be modern folk music, which was literally born from young people opening their eyes to what was really happening; waking up in a tense, hostile new phase of Western culture and using music to speak out against the things which they had started to criticize and analyze and RESIST). The idea of music as a soundtrack to one's life actually meant something. Now, for the most part, it is just background noise. Roll credits. The message has been watered down and listener apathy has taken over, with those shadow-lurking Agents Of The New Cool infiltrating and controlling the media more than ever before (even in much of what is supposed to be considered "underground" media, they still feed us indie versions of pop stars...) and telling us what we want to hear because it is what they told us we wanted to hear. Oh, there is a quiet revolution - well, resistance is more like it - that's been burning for years, but it's drowned out (but not diminished to those who give a damn) by the cog-churning roar of keyboard clacks, the sterilized hospital-glow of ipod screens, and the enticing virtual reality created by camera phones the size of your palm.

Technology isn't to blame. Because that technology - the painfully-hip gadgets, the 800 versions of the same damn thing, the hot, new and utterly useless grown-up toys - is sold to us by the same industry - or at the very least its close cousin - that is trying, successfully, to pander to our desire for what a very, very Smart Person (if you are one, you know exactly what I mean by that) whom I know theorized brilliantly as "cool capital," and also to our de-evolutionized attention spans.

Don't get me wrong here, peeps: I am the once-very-reluctant owner a 160 gig iPod Classic that I got from a very thoughtful ex-boyfriend two x-mases ago. I can fit almost my entire music collection on that thing. It is a convenience that I would rather not live without after tasting its sweet, sweet nectar. After all, a milk crate full of records weighs what, like, 30 lbs? Ha! Try lugging that around with you everywhere. Now try lugging 20-30 of them. I can fit all of that onto one stupid little machine. It's fucking amazing, to be honest, especially for someone like me, and you, with the obsessive, possessive penchant we have toward music. Technology kinda rules. BUT! I feel like it's blind-siding kids who didn't have the pleasure of growing up putting the needle down in juuuust the right spot to get to that song that you've been dancing to in your head all day long at school; laboriously making mix tapes for each other, each time trying to top the last one; carrying a backpack bursting with cds to their best friend's house. Modern technology is depriving kids of that rite of passage you go through when you have to hide your prized albums with "questionable content" from your parents, or the buzzing anticipation of getting home from the record store and very ritualistically unwrapping your new prize - your prize that you had to WAIT for after hearing the single for months, not having the convenience of instant gratification, - listening to the entire thing front to back at least three times, reading along with every single strategically placed lyric. It's a real fucking shame. I am so grateful that I was born when I was.

Everything now comes in a non-format. A virtually invisible blip of information on a motherboard that gets bounced around from here to there and back again, decreasing in quality and losing the magic. I feel like all music-loving kids born after say, 1990 need to pay their dues. "Paying their dues" isn't even the right term. It's not a chore! Tangible music is wonderful. Why wouldn't you want to have something you can hold onto and grow old with instead of something you can't even see apart from what a computer screen is telling you, let alone hold in your arms and cherish. How can they form a meaningful, long-lasting, life-changing relationship with something that they can't even fucking touch?
Ask any vinylhead and they'll tell that you nothing compares to the warm, crackling, nostalgic, blood sweat and tears sound that a piece of wax emits. I am inclined to agree. Even cds were of far superior sound quality. These kids are legitimately losing out on what makes music so, well, magical, to quote a beardy wizard in a sparkly forest somewhere. They're losing out on the heart & soul of it all, and that bums me out, hard.

/end crotchety old man-style rant about "kids today..."

He'll beat your spoiled ass with that cane if you so much as mutter a single unfavourable word about Jimmy Buffet

***Now back to your regularly scheduled programming... Tonight on "The Real Issue"...***

The questions that have been plaguing my mind today are: Where is the passion? Where is the love? Where are all of the music geeks? The REAL music "fans", in the truest sense of the word... the ones that get it. The ones that want to experience music in the truest sense of the word. The ones who know why their own kind feel exactly the way we do. The ones with real stories of real good times and real people and real battle wounds. WHERE DID YOU GO? Come back! I miss you all. I know you're out there. I know you're just like me. I'm not sure what lame, hyper-veiled version of today's cultural reality we're being forced to live amongst (or more appropriately, live pushing against) these days, but I don't like it one. fucking. bit.

And before you say something hare-brained like "Maybe the problem is that bands aren't exciting anymore, nothing is new, maybe the fans are bored, it was better the first time around, etc."

BULLSHIT. Congratulations, you just graduated from Moron University (honours in dumb-assery?).

i) If you aren't excited by music, by your OWN MUSICAL TASTES that you CHOOSE to listen to (or do you...? I'll rant snarkily about that in a bit)... you aren't fucking listening hard enough, asshole. You aren't DIGGING hard enough. You're lazy and you don't deserve the original first pressing copy of Black Flag's Slip It In that your genuinely awesome-as-fuck older cousin gave you for your birthday because he noticed you wearing a Black Flag pin on your brand new $350 brushed leather jacket from Urban Outfitters at the last family gathering. So, you should probably just give it to me. I will give it a good home. Not that you care.You heartless bastard.

ii-a) The entirety of the music scene (underground and corporate) these days may be eerily reminiscent of a big melting pot simmering in a broth of borrowed sounds and seasoned with re-re-sampled samples (runaway analogy alert), but that doesn't mean there is "nothing new." The newness... the creamy, delicious core of discovering the potential that music truly has... that comes from new generations of music fans experiencing that wonderment of discovering something that is new to THEM. It is entirely an individual experience. There is a veritable treasure chest of music out there spanning hundreds of years, even. You could never get through it all if you lived to be 200. I don't care if you're a 65 year old who lived and breathed Beatlemania in the early 1960s, or a highschool sophomore who just found out who The Clash were last week... as long as your music means something to you, as long as it is new to you, everyone else be damned (I'm talking about you, selected snobby elders, who scoff at the idea of that very 16 year old kid getting into punk rock in an era where you'd observe that "Punk is Dead" - sorry but you'd be wrong, and I hope that kid kicks you in the nuts with his steel-toed boot of anti-facist, fuck-the-establishment fury! Haha, alright alright...). That is the true beauty of music. It will always be there for you, unfettered by a mortal coil. It is the only thing that is truly immortal. It stays with you, like a living creature. It lives on with you, you carry it around with you for life, it soaks up memories and first loves and angry fights and steamy summer nights and self-destructive periods, it IS memories, and it always, always gives back.

***And now for something we hope you'll REALLY like...***

A very important short* story to give you some background on where I'm coming from with all of this :

Rock n' roll flash cards?

My dad is one of those rad older dudes (and when I say dudes, I am always being inclusive of my fellow ladydudes), you know the ones... The ones that have seen every amazing show and line-up of bands before your time that you would give your left tit to be able to travel back in time to witness live for yourself; the ones that are a human encyclopedia of music, effortlessly and unselfishly sharing with you their hard-earned street cred and knowledge on everything from Johnny Thunders' real name, to how old Captain Beefheart was when he met Frank Zappa. I've always been a music-obsessed nerd even before I got my first period, all because of my dad.

As we all do, I went through my awkward phases (Kris Kross, Paula Abdul, The Party - anyone remember them?, Korn). Who didn't? It's basically a rite of passage for a typical North American kid. Around age 11, my dad began taking me along to concerts he went to. The first real one I went to (I can't bring myself to count seeing NKOTB with my grandma when I was 7) was Veruca Salt opening for PJ Harvey (and that shitty band Live, but we'll ignore them for the purpose of this blog, and for the purpose of blocking out lame memories). This was right around the time American Thighs came out. Seeing Veruca Salt get up there with their football helmets and their rip-roaring guitars, their "cool older sister who's already been getting head from boys in the back of their first car for 2 years" appeal, and their combination of sugary sweet taunts and screaming like hormonal, 20-something banshees, it changed something in me. I asked (more like pleaded with) my mom for a guitar for my 12th birthday and I haven't looked back (except to grab my beer off of my amp between songs). Witnessing firsthand that performance was my first itchy, enticing taste of what music could really be (that and L7's Hungry For Stink, since I can't overlook the influence that record also had on my "spiritual awakening" ha!). Of the power it wielded. Of the passion it inspired, on both ends of the proverbial stick.

(if you're over the age of 25, and didn't live under a euro-dance infested rock in the 90s, you know this song. Probably quite well.)

At 13, my dad started taking me (and my little brother) to an alt-rock festival every summer here in Canada called "Edgefest". (Nothing to do with straight edge, by the way.) It became an annual tradition for the next 6 years or so, among the three of us plus my dad's hetero lifemate, Pete, who was equally as kick ass as my dad. Actually, Pete was even more of a punk than my dad was - he used to make me these amazing mix tapes crammed to the very last millimeter of tape with all kinds of new-to-me punk bands like The Buzzcocks, D.O.A., UK Subs, Sham 69, The Clash, The Vibrators, you get the picture...though I didn't really give the tapes as much of a chance at that point as I did after the pivotal moment I'm about to describe in the next couple of paragraphs - so he had a substantial influence on me during those years as well. Anyway, after that very first Edgefest we went to (which was probably only the third or fourth live concert event I had been to at that point), and experiencing that infectious feeling of being part of a community that were in it together for the sheer love of it all, my now-growing obsession with music, especially LIVE music, was more than just a curiosity. I was hooked. Music became almost like a drug for me. The good kind, not the sketchy, gross kind.

After the VS concert, after that first Edgefest, after developing this new insatiable appetite for MORE MORE MORE of that same feeling, I started really listening to what my dad was listening to... and he was ALWAYS listening to something, something fucking good, whether it be in the car, at the cottage, at a concert that he brought my brother and I along to, street festivals, on a shitty boombox in the backyard while we bbq-ed, when he had his cool friends over who were all just like him and who I looked up to immensely (funny enough, for the past 7 or 8 years of my life I've developed a tendency to gravitate toward befriending men 10-25 years my senior, who are as nerdy about music as my dad and his friends, and, subsequently, as I am now), hanging out at home just playing cards or whatever... there was ALWAYS music. Good music. REAL music. Music that had meaning, power, that satisfaction factor (but at the same time creating an even bigger appetite to be sated). History. Politics (the kind of politics that I could relate to, as a budding young member of the lower-middle class, non-white-washed, angry struggle). Social awareness. Being young and smart and aware but doing stupid things and trying to figure out just what the fuck the point of teenage/young adult life was supposed to be. Rawness. Music that meant something to people. I could tell just by the feeling I got from it. Pops and I started going to flea markets together on Sundays and scouring the record and cd sections for hours, always going home with at least one sparkling gem each. I would just buy random cds sometimes, just because I was curious to see what I would find and what I would feel if I just listened with an open mind. Other peoples' trash became my badges of honour that I collected more proudly than anything else I had ever done anything in my entire life.

Then came the life-altering crux.

One September afternoon many, many moons ago (ha), my dad played The Dictators' Blood Brothers (1978) for me. I remember every single thing about that afternoon. The smell of the air, the weather outside, the clothes I was wearing, where we were going, the feeling of the sparks in my brain that were popping as I listened deeper and deeper... We were driving around in his old, ugly, brown ocean liner masquerading as a wood-panelled station wagon that had probably the worst speakers on earth (but at least they were LOUD), and I couldn't have been a day over my sweet 16. I had been getting mildly interested in more and more of his type of stuff - stuff which I would later became completely enthralled by and obsessed with... 70s punk rock, proto-punk, old rock n' roll, blues, guitar-driven noise - but barely paid much mind to it at the time since I was 15/16 years old, still in the process of figuring out which music spoke to me the most. And so, I remember him saying "Alright kid, I'm going to put on some Dictators for you. I bet you'll really like this. Ready?"

Out of the shitty-but-loud Jurassic-aged speakers ... a muffled but deliberate war cry, "1, 2, 3, 4!"... a steady, heart-hammering drum beat that sounded something like a machine gun gone berserk, and then... a schizophrenic metallic guitar riff going off in spurts like a roman candle fight. It was rebellious, bratty, defiant, unpredictable, discordant... and most importantly, Dear diary, the most pleasing sound that I had ever fucking heard in my until then pathetic, maggoty, pointless existence!!! Fifteen seconds later, the song just exploded into one frantic, snarling, deliciously messy firecracker, but also seemed to crash into itself and come together (I was discovering for the first time that punk rock sure was a world of crazy sonic paradoxes) and didn't let go of the bear-trap hold it had on my proverbial balls until almost 3 minutes later after a fake-out ending. Handsome Dick Manitoba had burst in with lyrics that, depending on your take, were either sarcastically blasting hot-headed, pink-bellied over-coddled rock stars; or, alternately, asserting his intentions to rip the NYC scene a new asshole from a snotty first person perspective. (As I write this, I'm realizing the connection between this song and the subjects I'm touching on here. That's some juicy personal evolution salad on this here table, folks. Just kidding, I've got way juicier stuff than that. That was actually more like a 2 out of 10 on the International Juicy Scale.) Those 3 minutes were my first true musical orgasm (even down to the last little spurt of rock!), but *cue dramatic voice-over* it wouldn't be my last.

From the opening assault of "Faster and Louder," it was like the rock n' roll gods dropped the A-bomb on my head. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. These guys were FOR REAL. My eyes must have been as wide as a 12". I'm not sure I blinked once throughout the whole song. Or the next song. Or the next. That was the day I sold my soul to rock and roll, took the spade the Devil handed me, and started digging deeper and deeper down my own musical path, wondering what other hedonistic explosions of sound lay waiting for me in some dusty, forsaken milk crate or cardboard box.
And I hope that if I ever have a kid (not very likely, but hey, shit happens), we'll share the same type of incredible bond that my dad and I shared for most of my young life, all in the name of rock and roll.

As an endnote to that story, my dad ended up giving me a metric shit-tonne of super duper old vinyl when I was about 18 or so, and the glorious goodies contained within were each like flat, shiny, grooved smiles from one thousand of the happiest, rocking-est unicorns that you can even imagine. The highlight of which is my almost complete (minus I think two albums), mostly first-pressing Judas Priest discography. I love you Dad.

(*Okay so that wasn't such a "short story" after all. S my D.)

ii-b) Yeah, there are a lot of bands blatantly just ripping off the Velvet Underground/The Stooges/Gang of Four/(insert any awesome-seminal-band-from-any-previous-decade-and-any-previous-scene here)/any combination of multiple big players and gaining a 15-minutes-of-fame token to put on the shelf of their studio apartment, but guess what, man? There are tons of bands/acts out there who are super fresh, super inspiring, super inspired, and super GOOD. You just have to get off your fucking ass and find the stuff that makes your dick stand up straight and go from zero to raging hard-on in the time it takes to strum three chords; the stuff that speaks to you on the most intimate, personal, raw level; whether you want something to cushion your feelings of depression, help you exorcise pent-up anger, make you feel happy and glowing in the most human way possible, or challenge you to question authority and give you the guts to stand up for your rights and stick up for the little guys; the stuff that makes you immerse yourself so whole-heartedly in what is being blasted into your ears that for half an hour/45 minutes of your life, nothing else even exists but you and the relationship you've created with this projection of your own desires and feelings. Or, plain and simple, just rips your fucking face off in the most violent, brain-banging way. Go to the closest indie record store you know of and pour over the boxes and boxes of vinyl and cds. Go, now! Forget about the rest of this blog post; it's a pissed-off smattered mess anyway. More important things you have to do, young Jedi. Buy records you've never heard of, because you like the name of the band, or the cover art, or just out of sheer perversity and curiosity. Buy records by bands that are associated with other bands you love. Buy records that the hopefully non-douchey clerk recommends based on what type of shit you're into. TRADE records. With friends, your sister, your brother, your fucking DAD. Just dig. Learn to love music based on what you figure out for yourself through trial and error and keeping an open mind, not based on what magazines, charts, music channels, the motherfucking conglomerate radio stations, beat over your head like a boring-ass broken Supertramp record.

I couldn't find a picture that properly conveyed the sentiment I reserve for Supertramp, so here is a two-headed donkey.

It always makes me laugh when I read about how "the young people are the ones dictating what's 'cool'/what's on trend/what's popular." Just as pretentious gay men with absolutely no idea what actually looks good on regular women, or who insist on using dangerously underweight models to display their clothing on like wire coat hangers definitely don't control the direction and overall warped influence of the fashion industry on the minds of impressionable, insecure women young and old... middle-aged, conservative, bourgeois white male capitalist tycoons definitely don't feed and sustain the popular music industry with their dollars and nonsense, and they most certainly are NOT using corporate ninja techniques to delude young people into thinking they are the ones blazing some sort of (continuously diluted and deluded) cultural trail.
Oh okay then.

Errrm, I guess the moral of this story (although I do have questionable morals) is... maybe the reason I'm so fucking disappointed and frustrated by the audiences at most shows these days, the zombie drones with their camera phones and disposable tastes, the perpetually bored, toe-tapping mannequins whose ability to feel any emotion beyond feigned interest, insecurity-laden false superiority complexes or the subconsciously programmed desire to devour n' move on-to-the-next-thing, I am pretty skeptical of... Maybe the reason for all of it, is because this generation has been unfairly deprived of that tangible connection with the music they're constantly consuming and spitting out, ON TOP OF being bombarded more heavily than ever by a virtual tennis ball machine, shooting the new shit (and I do mean shit, literally; as if I even had to say it...) straight at the bulls-eyes on their foreheads in a constant stream of, essentially, ADHD-inducing projectile vomit. Having to wade further and further through the dark, murky, soul-sucking waters of the corporate and mass media strong-hold just to get to the light on the other side of the trenches is no match for how dully these kids have already been ground-down by that very same enemy... Make 'em weak and lazy, make 'em stop caring, and then we strike! Headed fang-first for every worthless penny in their brand-new pockets.

It's like a bloated, rotten, layered cake of shit upon shit upon even runnier, more disgusting, painful, piss-out-your-ass shit. Where there was once - and for so long - a common, passionate connection, community and intimate bond between music and music fan, there is now a dull, yet gnawing, ever-growing void. No wonder 95% of kids at any given show on any given night are barely interacting in any sort of real way with their surroundings. For all they care, they might as well be at home listening to the same music through a tv set. People thought the 90s were the apathetic years, but it was padded with a hefty dose of cynicism. Now things are even more dire... there's just a thinly cultivated ironic sense of humour about it all. Cynicism is healthier. It teaches you to be critical. Irony just throws a bright yellow gem sweater over the problem.

Far be it from me to forget to point at least a pinky finger at the guilty bands, too. Apathy and disconnect and just going through the motions breeds apathetic, disconnected culture-killing dickheads who are just going through the motions. Speaking as a musician, but moreso as a FAN... I wish more bands were still in it for the right reasons. The relationship between creator and consumer doesn't have to be capitalistic, so severely unbalanced or tainted by hierarchy. It should be give and take, a beautiful, shared moment in time as we drift through this horrible phase of civilization. Or slide in, pull out, repeat until... ahhhh, satisfaction.

RANTING ASIDE...
To the golden 5%: You are my torch-receiving heroes. Don't let the fucking zombies win. And don't let the zombie-makers win. Feel your passion for music as deeply and as powerfully as you need to, and in any way that you want to, in whatever way, shape or form is meaningful to you, as long as you feel it with conviction.
If there is one piece of advice that I feel is my wisest and truest lesson to impart - and which has made me into a person who I can safely say has an ample amount of self-respect, years of critical self-reflection and social cynicism under her belt, and is truly a finely-tuned product of her own experiences for being a humble 27 years old - it's very simple, very true, and it's this: never give a fuck what anyone else thinks. You'll be a better person for it (in fact, I'm sure you already are).

Here is some eye and ear candy for you, since I love you so much.

Even if you disagree with what I've said here, I hope my crusty, insomnia-induced rant was at least entertaining in some way.

And hey, if you're one of these hipster culture zombies whose eyes I'm trying to smack the lifeless, glazed-over look out of, at least you'll appreciate the thick, creamy irony of me writing these words in a blog instead of a zine or a some other such prehistoric form of fan-dom. Now shut the fuck up and seriously, go listen to everything ever recorded by MC5 non-stop for a month. That oughta set your head straight, you smarmy little prick.

Stay dirty, stay true, stay raw.
LC

Rockin' the party since '83.

***
This post is dedicated to the late, inimitable, irreplaceable Imants Krumins, the biggest, sweetest, realest, most enthusiastic and down-to-earth punk rock fanatic I've ever met, that's for goddamn sure;
And also, of course, to my dad who is still totally my hero in so many ways, and who is the reason that literally my entire life revolves around my involvement with and undying love for music. ♥
***

where are you now my dum dum boys, are you alive or dead?

2011-06-14T14:58:00.000-04:00

Amazing, slow-burning boner of a song.

In case you didn't know, The Idiot was the soundtrack to Ian Curtis' death.

"Unlike the uncertainties that surround the deaths of other rock legends like Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and the disappearance of Manic Street Preachers lead singer Richey Edwards, the pieces of Curtis’ suicide seem to be thoughtfully considered and placed. Before hanging himself in the kitchen, he watched a a favorite film, Werner Herzog’s 'Stroszek,' and listened to Iggy Pop’s album “The Idiot,” which was still spinning on the turntable when he was found."

- Playtonic Dialogues

vaginas + guitars = love 4 evar

2011-06-12T20:43:00.005-04:00

(It's a video day today. Deal, yo. If you read this blog, you like music.)

Lately I'm feeling empowered and dripping with hot, sweaty, oozing estrogen, in my own sort of lady-dude kind of way. Me and all my coyote-girls have been shredding our fingers on fresh guitar strings, slut-walking all over the world, pushing ahead, pushing through, keeping our heads above water, and raising fucking hell. This post is dedicated to all of them.

My tits are swollen, my pussy's roarin', my eyelashes will cut your throat and my lips are shouting for more more MORE, and sooooo:

✝ girlschool ✝ (motorhead's bffs <3)

✝ the cramps ✝
poison ivy has to be the biggest dreamboat on the planet. that sneer! that smarmy charm! that gum-smacking mouth! that couldn't-give-a-fuck way she plays!... I could write an entire entry about her. perhaps I will.

✝ jucifer ✝
One of the most brutal live bands i have ever seen in my life. I dare you not to wear earplugs to one of their gigs.

✝ x-ray spex ✝
rip poly, you rad fucking bitch.

✝ no joy ✝

✝ mares of thrace ✝

///FUCK beauty, KILL mediocrity, RISE to the occasion and always bare yr TEETH///

- LC ♃

flies of success.

2011-06-12T20:22:00.002-04:00

✝ saccharine trust - success and failure ✝

counting backwards into darkness from infinity.

2011-06-12T11:38:00.004-04:00

This song never, ever gets old. Oh boy oh boy.

✝ deadboy & the Elephantment - Misadventures of Dope ✝

- LC

slutwalk.

2011-06-09T05:09:00.000-04:00

legions of little green men.

2011-06-01T01:35:00.000-04:00

"Two of my favorite things are sitting on my front porch smoking a pipe of sweet hemp, and playing my Hohner harmonica." - Abraham Lincoln (from a letter written by Lincoln during his presidency to the head of the Hohner Harmonica Company in Germany)

"Hemp is of first necessity to the wealth & protection of the country."
- Thomas Jefferson, U.S. President

"Make the most you can of the Indian Hemp seed and sow it everywhere."
- George Washington, U.S. President

"We shall, by and by, want a world of hemp more for our own consumption."
- John Adams, U.S. President

"Penalties against possession of a drug should not be more damaging to an individual than the use of the drug itself; and where they are, they should be changed. Nowhere is this more clear than in the laws against possession of marihuana in private for personal use... Therefore, I support legislation amending Federal law to eliminate all Federal criminal penalties for the possession of up to one ounce of marihuana." - Jimmy Carter, U.S. President

"I inhaled frequently. That was the point." - Barack Obama, U.S. President

"The war on drugs has been an utter failure. We need to rethink and decriminalize our nation's marijuana laws." -Barack Obama, January 2004

"The illegality of cannabis is outrageous, an impediment to full utilization of a drug which helps produce the serenity and insight, sensitivity and fellowship so desperately needed in this increasingly mad and dangerous world." - Carl Sagan, renown scientist, astronomer, astrochemist, author and TV host

"Why use up the forests which were centuries in the making and the mines which required ages to lay down, if we can get the equivalent of forest and mineral products in the annual growth of the hemp fields?" - Henry Ford, whose first Model-T was constructed from hemp fibers and built to run on hemp gasoline

"Prohibition... goes beyond the bound of reason in that it attempts to control a man's appetite by legislation and makes a crime out of things that are not crimes. A prohibition law strikes a blow at the very principles upon which our government was founded" -Abraham Lincoln

"The prestige of government has undoubtedly been lowered considerably by the prohibition law. For nothing is more destructive of respect for the government and the law of the land than passing laws which cannot be enforced. It is an open secret that the dangerous increase of crime in this country is closely connected with this." - Albert Einstein quote on Hemp

"That is not a drug. It's a leaf." - Arnold Schwarzenegger, Governor of California

"If the words "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" don't include the right to experiment with your own consciousness, then the Declaration of Independence isn't worth the hemp it was written on."
- Terence McKenna

the amount of dirty words i used in this post is misleading.

2011-05-21T19:21:00.000-04:00

Hello. I haven't written a real blog entry in awhile. This one won't be very interesting, funny, poignant or articulate on account of not having slept last night, but if you're in the market to waste 2 minutes of your Rapture Day morning, I'm your girl.

So during my balcony-sitting last night/this morning, I did not see anything floating up into the air. Fireworks, blow-up dolls OR bodies. I was pretty disappointed. Especially with the lack of fireworks. At 7am I decided to go wandering off to find somewhere to buy vacuum bags, hair dye and moisturizer. I was an hour and a half early when I tried Rexall in Jackson Square (what drugstore opens at 9am? Don't old people who get up at 5am need their medicines and whatnot? Dicks.) After a totally failed bus experiment, I decided to stop being such a lazy fucking asshole and I continued with the rest of my mission on foot in search of a drugstore, which ended up being about as easy as spotting a product placement for condoms on any episode of "Teen Mom". The Jehovah's Witnesses were out in full force, probably counting down the hours until the end of the day before they say "fuck it, I give up" and take on a much more enjoyable, hedonistic lifestyle. Come to the dark side: we have titty bars, 150 proof elixirs and kinky sex.

Something cool I discovered is that I live way closer to Victoria Park than I realized. AND, apparently there is a secret mini-park/oasis in my building's backyard that I never knew about. (I have a thing for parks. Not just because of the abundance of dogs to play with.) Turns out I live in a really rad neighbourhood and I didn't even realize it (except of course for The Casbah being two blocks away [Brodie paid me $20 to say that] [Kidding!]). Oh god that last sequence of punctuation is stressing me out... Holly help me out here.

In conclusion, Hamilton rules, organized religion is idiotic*, and I need a nap.

His UFO is big enough for all of us to escape the wrath of Jesus freaks.

*Except for the Church of Dan Aykroyd, for which I am currently accepting applications.

photos from Rackula videoshoot.

2011-05-15T05:01:00.000-04:00

%%%%%

2011-04-07T11:11:00.000-04:00

india ink, pencil crayon, computer colouring

india ink

muddy.

2011-04-05T11:16:00.000-04:00

pencil + india ink.

the day the bosoms died.

2011-02-05T03:56:00.000-05:00

Celebrity deaths are sad, yes. (Death is sad in general, obviously.) But I'm not normally one to make a big deal out of every last one of them. I don't know these people in person, their death has no direct effect on my own life. Once in awhile, someone I really admired passes on, I mourn and celebrate their life in my own way, and life goes on, as does more death.

However, there are a small handful of famous folks whose influence played a major role in my life. One of those people is/was Tura Satana.

Most who know of Tura Satana know her for her role as Varla in Russ Meyer's "Faster Pussycat, Kill, KILL!!!" This too, was how I was introduced to her. I remember watching the film at midnight on CityTV when I was 16, and seeing this brazen, black-haired, fiery woman clad in a bosom-busting top, kicking ass with her bare hands, her sexuality at once provocative and absolutely dangerous, and something in me was born. Varla changed my life, provoking me into thinking about femininity and my own sexuality in a whole new way. She looked unique, sexy as hell, but had a pair of balls made of titanium.

This may sound cheesy, but I would not be the woman I am today if not for Tura Satana's Varla. No one else could have played that character the way she did; no one could have brought her to life the way she did, made her as powerful, balanced power with sultriness in such a genuine, honest way... and no one could have been as much of a ball-busting sex kitten.

I even copped my look from her. A lot of people have made the Bettie Page comments to me over the last ten years, and I say "Bettie's got nothing on Tura!" My hair, my look, my sexuality, my attitude towards sex and power and men... all of those things were hatched and nurtured by Varla, and Tura. She became my hero, and is an archetype that I keep in my mind always. I didn't want to be a Marilyn, an Audrey, a Britney... I was inspired to be a woman in control of her sexuality in a way that made no apologies, a woman with balls but who retained her femininity, a woman who wouldn't put up with shit from anyone, especially men.

Tura reflected this attitude in her own life as well, and I admire her endlessly.

She died yesterday, February 4th 2011, in Reno, NV, reportedly of heart failure.

Thank you Tura Satana, for showing me how fucking awesome women can be, and for being one of the best role models a girl could ask for.

"Faster Pussycat, Kill, KILL!!!" is still my favourite movie of all time, because of you.

R.I.P.

A montage of Varla clips from FPKK:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcuLxFpuzVY

playing solitaire.

2010-10-26T03:52:00.000-04:00

"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.

2010-10-23T03:50:00.000-04:00

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...

2010-10-11T03:46:00.000-04:00

... 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.

2010-09-18T03:43:00.000-04:00

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.

2010-08-29T03:42:00.000-04:00

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.

2010-07-26T03:36:00.000-04:00

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.

2010-07-22T10:34:00.000-04:00

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!

2010-07-14T17:13:00.000-04:00

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

2010-07-14T17:11:00.000-04:00

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

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

2010-07-14T17:10:00.000-04:00

selling sex in new zealand.

2010-07-11T02:06:00.000-04:00

From: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7927461.stm

In terms of attitudes towards prostitution, New Zealand and Europe are almost as diametrically opposed as they are in geography. Kiwis have opted for wholesale liberalisation of the sex trade, while Europeans are increasingly restricting it.

Does the New Zealand liberal approach provide a model or a warning? Henri Astier looks at its prostitution industry six years after decriminalisation, in the first of two articles.

Billboard in favour of decriminalisation of prostitution, Wellington, May 2003. Courtesy of the Dominion Post newspaper.

When "Sophie", a medical worker from Christchurch, fell behind on her mortgage payments last year, she found that her job was not paying enough. Her only option was a temporary career change: she became a prostitute. "I needed money fast so I didn't lose my house," she explains.

A soft-spoken 30-something with a shy smile, Sophie does not look like the stereotypical scarlet woman, even in the low-cut dress she wears at work. She does not feel like one either. "I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't do drugs. I'm a vegetarian," she says, adding that she had qualms about her new job.
But the city centre parlour she joined - basically a pub with a sitting area at the front and bedrooms at the back - was not the drug-fuelled dive she had imagined. "All the women here are lovely," she says. "We spend a lot of time sitting and talking. I'll stick it out a bit longer."

Good money

Some might question the morality of Sophie's choice, but legally it cannot be faulted. Since the Prostitution Reform Act of 2003, brothels have been allowed to operate more or less freely. Sex workers have the same rights as everyone else. In the eyes of New Zealand's law, the oldest profession is just like any other. This policy stands in marked contrast to Europe. In 1999 Sweden criminalised the purchase of sex services, and several countries are introducing similar laws in an attempt to combat trafficking.

Ask New Zealand sex workers what they think of Swedish-style strictures, and the response is overwhelmingly negative. "Whether you're prosecuting the men or the girls, you're still prosecuting the business," says "Lucy", 23, from Wellington.

Lucy works in Bon Ton, an exclusive establishment in the capital where an hour-long session costs NZ$400 (£140; $200). She says the reform has given her the opportunity to work for a legitimate business in a safe environment.
"I make twice what I was earning in retail. I am appreciated by customers and my boss. I can work whenever I want to - it's by far the most gratifying work I've ever had," she says.

Legal rights

Bon Ton caters to gentlemen who want to be "pampered in every way"

Lucy's manager, Sarah, also believes criminalising clients would be a disaster for the industry and put the girls at risk. "This would scare away the quality customers," she says. "We would be left with the dangerous sort. The nasty men won't go away."

Bon Ton - which thrives on "quality customers" like lawyers and civil servants - certainly looks like an ideal showcase for New Zealand-style liberalisation. The bedrooms look like luxury suites, the upstairs office looks like - well... an office, and the workers say they are treated with respect. Sarah insists she has zero tolerance for abuse and will back the girls even if they refuse a client. "I can't force a woman to have sex," she says.

As she speaks another girl appears at the door, draped in a towel. "Myah" looks at the work ahead, and realises that a client who often insists on having oral sex without a condom wants to see her. "I don't want him," Myah says. "No problem," Sarah replies. "I'll tell him you're not available."

Myah is not afraid to turn down work. Her health is at stake, and the law requires a condom for any commercial sex act. "It is my legal right to make that demand," she says. But are the benefits from legalisation confined to high-end businesses like Bon Ton?

According to Catherine Healy of the New Zealand Prostitutes Collective (NZPC), better and safer working practices are now the norm. Across the industry, she says, women are now aware of their rights and exploitative brothel owners are becoming marginalised as a result of the reform. "Sex workers say: I can work across town," she says. "The dynamic has altered."

Anna Reed, who was a sex worker in Christchurch for 23 years and is now NZPC's local spokesperson, agrees that exploitative practices have become rare. "Owners used to demand huge fines for being late. They used to hire and fire workers without reason." But now, she says, "girls feel more able to stand up for themselves".

Limited change

Another key benefit of decriminalisation, according to Ms Healy, is a sea change in relations with the police: "If you're the one committing a crime, you won't ask the police for help."

Advocate Catherine Healy says the law has empowered sex workers

Now, Ms Healy says, the girls find law enforcement officials are on their side.

This idea was borne out by a parliamentary report last year, which gave a positive assessment of the reform. It said prostitutes were more likely to report violence to police, and officers were treating their complaints seriously. Some brothel operators, however, are not so sure the reform has made a big difference. Bon Ton owner Jennifer - who got into the sex business after decriminalisation - says some old-style establishments are still exploiting people. "This is still an industry in transition," she says.

Monique, who ran brothels before 2003 and now owns Capri, a "Gentleman's club and garden bar" in Christchurch, also plays down the impact of the reform - but for the opposite reason. She says relations with police were good even when bordellos operated illegally. And then, as now, exploitation of girls was never widespread, Monique adds. "We now have a fat, legal agreement with the workers but they are treated the same."

Suspicions

A sure sign that New Zealand's sex trade has not been entirely revolutionised is that society still frowns on it. Last year a teacher was sacked when it was learnt that she occasionally - and perfectly legally - moonlighted as a prostitute. Many sex workers keep a regular part-time job to avoid leaving suspicious gaps on their CVs. They tell only trusted friends about their main activity. None of the working prostitutes and madams interviewed for this report was ready to give their real names.

Brothels may be legal but most New Zealanders prefer not to live next to one. Bon Ton never mentions an address in its adverts - only a phone number. In Christchurch operators had to fight a proposed zoning law that would have kept them out of most areas. But the overwhelming majority in the business feels huge progress was made when the industry emerged from the shadow.

Anna Reed says she loved working as a prostitute - "I had sex, money and men!" - and resents enduring cliches about a job no-one in her right mind could willingly embrace. "We get so pissed off when politicians portray us as victims," she says. "It's important to blow down the stereotypes about sex workers - particularly that of the poor girl who is coerced into doing it."

NZ PROSTITUTION REFORM ACT
Brothels allowed to operate
Up to four prostitutes can set up collective as equal partners
Advertising sale of sex legalised
Brothels require certificate and registration by court
Sex work subject to normal employment and health and safety standards

what a pickle.

2010-07-08T18:31:00.000-04:00

# 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.

2010-07-03T01:32:00.000-04:00

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?"

2010-06-26T03:28:00.000-04:00

"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.

2010-06-21T03:26:00.000-04:00

"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.

2010-06-17T11:21:00.000-04:00

pencil, india ink. 2010

let the ramones tear your face off.

2010-06-13T22:32:00.001-04:00

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

we take death to reach a star.

2010-06-11T03:21:00.000-04:00

"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.

2010-06-09T13:49:00.001-04:00

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!

2010-06-09T02:42:00.000-04:00

“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.

2010-06-06T03:20:00.000-04:00

"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.

2010-05-17T03:18:00.000-04:00

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.

2010-05-13T03:16:00.000-04:00

"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

2010-05-03T17:12:00.001-04:00

radio on

2010-05-03T17:01:00.000-04:00

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

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

babel.

2010-04-29T16:12:00.000-04:00

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

2010-04-23T07:25:00.000-04:00

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.

2010-04-15T18:00:00.001-04:00

real life comix.

2010-04-15T17:59:00.000-04:00

my boyfriend's relationship with pants:

2010-04-15T03:44:00.000-04:00

behind the black curtain @ the hollywood sessions

2010-04-14T05:12:00.001-04:00

sexbeast | b/w

2010-04-14T05:03:00.000-04:00

sexbeast | colour

2010-04-14T05:00:00.001-04:00

ciudad sin sueño (sleepless city).

2010-04-01T03:10:00.000-04:00

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

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

2010-03-31T11:19:00.000-04:00

pencil, 2010

drawing of a richard kern photograph.

2010-03-31T11:17:00.000-04:00

pencil, pencil crayon.

punk rock dingos.

2010-03-22T16:23:00.001-04:00

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.

2010-03-19T03:08:00.000-04:00

"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.

2010-02-24T11:36:00.001-05:00

pencil + ink.

attainable inhumanity.

2010-02-15T03:03:00.000-05:00

"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

2010-02-11T05:16:00.000-05:00

This is one of the sexiest, most beautiful, hottest lesbian sex scenes I have ever seen:

http://www.tube8.com/lesbian/penny-flame-lesbian/216677/

For one thing, Penny Flame is like the hottest/best fucking porn star on earth. Or should I say "was"? :(
Anyway. I love this video. I'm not big on lesbian porn because usually it's so lame and contrived and the girls look like they'd rather be putting earwigs in their eye sockets than licking pussy, and they always look more concerned with making sure their makeup doesn't get smudged than with the hot woman in front of them that they have full access to. It drives me crazy! It's videos like this that reassure me that there are good girl-on-girl videos out there for women who really do love women. Real orgasms, that's the best part.

Anyway, if you're at all interested, trust me, it's a hot video.

rich kid

2010-02-08T04:24:00.000-05:00

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

LOL WUT?

2010-02-08T04:23:00.000-05:00

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

wolf moon.

2010-01-30T03:02:00.000-05:00

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

2010-01-15T19:48:00.000-05:00

Rattail - 01.09.10

2010-01-12T03:10:00.000-05:00

pony up.

2010-01-06T11:33:00.000-05:00

pen + ink, computer colouring.

wilkommen, 2010!

2010-01-03T06:47:00.000-05:00

RIP Rowland S. Howard

2009-12-30T16:45:00.000-05:00

Kaada Patton "Aubade"

2009-12-30T14:55:00.000-05:00

One of my favourite songs at the moment. From the Kaada/Patton collobaration "Romances" that came out a few years ago. This clip is from a live DVD they put out. The cinematography is just breath-taking.

holidaze oh nine.

2009-12-30T03:23:00.000-05:00

dec 19 birthday face

2009-12-30T03:22:00.000-05:00

my top ten albums of oh nine.

2009-12-30T02:53:00.001-05:00

10. Sleepy Sun - Embrace

09. Heartless Bastards - The Mountain

08. Kylesa - Static Tensions

07. Dan Auerback - Keep It Hid

06. AA Bondy - When The Devil's Loose

05. Jay Reatard - Watch Me Fall

04. Lovvers - OCD GO GO GIRLS!

03. Fever Ray - Fever Ray

02. Wavves - Wavves

01. Dead Weather - Horehound (by a long shot)

Honourable mentions go to: Baroness "Blue album," Asteroids Galaxy Tour "Fruit," Beach House "Devotion," Future of the Left "Travels With Myself and Another," Municipal Waste "Massive Aggression," Crocodiles "Summer of Hate," The Sadies "Country Club," Neon Indian "Psychic Chasms," and Doomriders "Darkness Come Alive".

snow white masochist

2009-12-22T21:20:00.000-05:00

This might be one of the most beautiful, amazing porn videos I've ever seen in my life:

http://www.tnaflix.com/view_video.php?viewkey=486be71b957e17dd996d

I actually got a bit emotional watching it.
Everything about that video is so heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Her realness, her desperation, her wonderful secret solo masochism ritual. It touched me* on a very profound, personal level that kind of gutted me a little bit.

I wish I knew more about this girl.
I saw myself in her.
She just made my night.

one of the best bands of all-fucking-time, Dead Moon.

2009-12-22T15:08:00.000-05:00

no sissies.

2009-12-22T13:38:00.000-05:00

my spirit animal.

2009-12-22T02:58:00.000-05:00

"Another manifestation of the trickster is the coyote, an animal viewed with both fascination and disdain depending on the tribe. The Hopi tribe viewed the coyote as a thief who stole their sheep under the cover of darkness. They resolved to rid their land of his presence and eventually succeeded in chasing him out of Hopi territory.

The legend says that Coyote fled to Navajo territory, where he was captured and burned by a resourceful shepherd. The Navajo, however, see the coyote figure as responsible for the emergence of mankind. The Miwok of California also saw the coyote as an essential force in the creation of the earth.

In their mythos, Coyote dried the ancient seas by shaking his blanket over them and this resulted in the creation of land. In this mythos he is viewed as a creator, but the Chinook tribe sees Coyote as responsible for bringing death to the human world. When the world was young and death was a factor only in the lives of animals, Coyote and Eagle travelled to the world of the dead to retrieve their wives. Coyote gathered the dead in a box and started to return to his world. Along the way, wishing to see his wife, Coyote opened the box and released the spirits of the dead, as well as the concept of death itself."

for my fan club

2009-12-13T03:35:00.000-05:00

God how I love the Damned.

gun club: jack on fire

2009-12-12T02:44:00.000-05:00

Yeah baby. Give it to me.

seriously, FUCK twinkly vampires.

2009-12-11T05:55:00.000-05:00

the future is here - VIRGIN GALACTIC

2009-12-10T19:17:00.000-05:00

Best news I have heard all day: (click)

Only $200,000 a ticket. Psssh, that's pocket change!
Hey, it's worth it to go to space. My friend Jason said something great today, "I would rather die saying I've been to space than I owned a house. " Amen, bro.

Richard Branson is my new favourite person ever.

santa/satan

2009-12-10T19:10:00.000-05:00

In honour of the season:

Me , on Santa's lap. Santa looks like I just asked him for a scythe for xmas.

I hope my future children also love satan.

labia biceptus?

2009-12-10T02:35:00.000-05:00

I like a nice vagina as much as the next person, but this is intense.

UFO over Norway??

2009-12-09T17:10:00.000-05:00

Mystery as spiral blue light display hovers above Norway

A mysterious light display appearing over Norway last night has left thousands of residents in the north of the country baffled.

Witnesses from Trøndelag to Finnmark compared the amazing sight to anything from a Russian rocket to a meteor or a shock wave - although no one appears to have mentioned UFOs yet.

The phenomenon began when what appeared to be a blue light seemed to soar up from behind a mountain. It stopped mid-air, then began to circulate. Within seconds a giant spiral had covered the entire sky. Then a green-blue beam of light shot out from its centre - lasting for ten to twelve minutes before disappearing completely.

The Norwegian Meteorological Institute was flooded with telephone calls after the light storm - which astronomers have said did not appear to have been connected to the aurora, or Northern Lights, so common in that area of the world.

The mystery deepened tonight as Russia denied it had been conducting missile tests in the area.
Fred Hansen, from Bø in Vesterålen, described the sight as 'like a big fireball that went around, with a great light around it again.'

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1234430/Mystery-spiral-blue-light-display-hovers-Norway.html#ixzz0ZETQtvU4

A Moscow news outlet tonight quoted the Russian Navy as denying any rocket launches from the White Sea area.
Norway should be informed of such launches under international agreements, it was stressed. The Russian Defence Ministry was unavailable for comment last night.

intergalatic revelry

2009-12-08T06:57:00.000-05:00

Today's stellar sight from the Hubble Space Telescope advent calendar is a close-up of Omega Centauri cluster, which is located in the constellation Centaurus. There are over ten million stars in the entire cluster - pictured here are only about two million of them.

This photograph took my breath away. My obsession with space and all of its glorious contents makes my eyes glitter with amazement all the time, but I thought this photo was particularly captivating - it resembles an ethereal snowfall, which seemed appropriate, due to the fact that my city received its first snow of the season today. It wasn't much, and it was wet, but it was a small glimpse of what's in store for the next few months, and I couldn't help but be filled with the same feelings an 8-year-old might feel in the same situation.

Bring on the snowfall, and let the stars take my heart.

glamour in the hammer.

2009-12-08T06:46:00.000-05:00

I attended the Hamilton Music Awards ceremony this past Sunday with my lovely friend Lasha. It was my first time, and I was honoured to attend. Kinda felt like I was showing a little representation for the bar I work at, who by the way, won Best Live Venue at the industry awards the day before. Go Team Hollywood!

Lasha's husband's band, The Vapids, won a long-overdue award for "Best Punk Recording," for their 45" "The Point Remains The Same." She went up and accepted the award for them, stating that "The Vapids couldn't be here tonight - they're on tour in Japan" (they weren't) and went on to thank herself and drummer Scotty's girlfriend Lisa for being "the best band wives." That girl is a hoot. Congrats to The Vapids, and also to Monster Truck, who took home the award for "Best Loud/Metal Recording," and who were also hilariously awkward onstage in their flannel and beards.

Anyway, I'd recap the highlights of the evening, but they include less awards show hob-nobbing and more post-awards beer and cigarettes at a friend's house. Not a late night - to a lot of us girls, the most long-awaited part of a fun evening out is just getting home and prying off those fucking heels.

the least gayest guys I know.

2009-12-05T20:59:00.001-05:00

old. blood oranges.

2009-12-02T20:57:00.000-05:00

nos. 4 + 5 in "la petit mort" series

2009-11-30T16:44:00.001-05:00

deadboy & the Elephantmen

2009-11-27T04:59:00.001-05:00

One of my favourite songs of all time:

His voice does very intense, evil things to me.

Here they are again on the Henry Rollins show. This song is also fucking fantastic:

the gift

2009-11-26T15:20:00.001-05:00

VU in Prague

Devo-lution

2009-11-25T16:45:00.000-05:00

Went to see Devo last night at The Phoenix in Toronto. They played the entire Freedom of Choice record, plus "Be Stiff," and "Beautiful World." It definitely did NOT disappointed. I danced my ass off and had a great time, had a perfect view of the Mothersbaugh brothers the whole time, and the lighting onstage was fantastic. Devo haven't played Toronto since something like 1981? Sounded like they never went away - what a show.

Here's a review of the show from Canoe.ca: (click)

For your enjoyment:

protein shake, anyone?

2009-11-23T15:51:00.001-05:00

Somebody buy me this for Xmas:

http://www.lulu.com/content/4956212

"Semen is inexpensive to produce and is commonly available in many, if not most, homes and restaurants."

DELICIOUS AND NUTRITIOUS!

on a big misfits kick lately.

2009-11-23T15:31:00.001-05:00

christopher walken is always good for something.

2009-11-21T14:23:00.000-05:00

wild fire

2009-11-21T03:04:00.001-05:00

Today is a good day.
Today is a good day.
Today is a good day.
Today is a good day.
Today is a good day.
Today is a great day.

blurry vision.

2009-11-21T03:02:00.000-05:00

marc emery

2009-11-19T16:54:00.000-05:00

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/takeaction/719520134

1:12pm, the 19th of November - Thursday

2009-11-19T16:40:00.000-05:00

I'm so bored.
I'm the Chairman of the Bored.
My hair has kinks in it from the night before.
It's grey outside. I can see two bikes from my vantage point.
I just stood by my bedroom door and peered in for a bit to watch my cat sleep.
Other things I can see from where I sit:
three lighters
three lights
one glass of water
four cameras
chapstick
an empty plate of food
dirty eyeglasses
two boxes of white christmas lights
a keyboard
six altar candles
four guitars
paperwork (only half filled-out)
a metal beer stein
cigarette butts in a sea of ash
The song I'm listening to just started skipping.
Maybe it has some backwards satanic message.
Maybe I should listen to what it's telling me.
Oh, it's just a recipe for shortbread cookies.
The meteor shower ended this morning.
I didn't see a single star.
An old band from my youth just came over the speakers
and I had flashbacks of teenagers and zines and crowded halls.
As I was saying, I didn't see a single star.
Let alone a meteor.
Most days I curse living in a booming metropolitan area
because all I really want in life is to be able to see the stars.

I'm still looking for some meaning in the day-to-day.
And every night I look to the moon.

a little love song.

2009-11-19T02:54:00.001-05:00

"Stars Fell On Alabama" - Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

We lived our little drama
We kissed in a field of white
And stars fell on Alabama
Last night

I can't forget the glamour
Your eyes held a tender light
And stars fell on Alabama
Last night

I never planned in my imagination
A situation - so heavenly
A fairy land where no one else could enter
And in the center - just you and me

My heart beat just like a hammer
My arms wound around you tight
And stars fell on Alabama
Last night

""Stars Fell on Alabama" was based on the 1833 Leonid meteor shower. Some people believed Judgment Day was at hand. Many profane people were frightened to their knees. Dust-covered Bibles were opened and dice and cards were thrown to the flames. The meteor storm of 1833 was of truly superlative strength. It was marked by the Native Americans, slaves and owners, and many others. That same 1833 shower, near Independence, Missouri, was taken as a sign to push the growing Mormon community out of the area."

albums of the day: nov 17 09

2009-11-17T16:14:00.000-05:00

Black Mountain's "In The Future"

My favourite jams being "Wucan," "Queens Will Play," and "Stormy High."
Perfect album for a smoked out afternoon just like the one I'm rockin' today. It has just the right amount of ambient transcendence, juxtaposed by bone-crushingly slow riffs.

Perfect listening for: a satanic orgy, getting stoned in the forest, playing a videogame about extraterrestrials.

Air's "Premiers Symptomes"

Some say that Air have perfected "la musique de chambre," and I can't bring myself to disagree. Lulls you into the sweetest limbo between lustful and the most relaxed state you've ever tasted.

The best tracks: "Brakes On" for its hip-hop meet early Chemical Brothers sensibility, and "J'ai dormi sous l'eau," which is like a sailboat ride on a rainbow superhighway, traveling in slow-motion and hyperspeed all at once, twisting throughout the cosmic curves of the Milky Way.

war of the Titans

2009-11-17T16:05:00.000-05:00

One of my favourite subjects to read about, among my love of all things intergalactic planetary, is Titan, Saturn's largest moon.

Reason being, because Titan resembles Earth more than any other body in the entire Solar System. Astronomers keep discovering more and more similarities between Titan and pre-life Earth every day.
If you feel like doing some really interesting reading, check out the magnitude of Titan articles on the Universe Today site.

"Titan Shaping Up to Look a Lot like Pre-Life Earth"

Other articles about Titan

paul westerberg "alex chilton"

2009-11-16T15:42:00.001-05:00

the damned, live in finland 1981

2009-11-16T15:05:00.001-05:00

"sorbet nuit"

2009-11-10T04:59:00.000-05:00

no. 2 in "la petit mort" series

by Lindsay Campbell 2009
All rights reserved

***best viewed at large size***

"corpus ecstatica"

2009-11-09T07:06:00.000-05:00

no. 1 in "la petit mort" series

by Lindsay Campbell
All rights reserved

***best viewed at large size***

sin circus

2009-11-07T06:17:00.001-05:00