Knitting Ferocious Spiders

This man was making me dizzy at Woody's last night. I'm aware of who he is. And so is he. Everything he's done, written especially, has made that abundantly clear. His material for his entire artistic career, far as I can tell, has been himself, his life, and his obsessions. This is not a criticism. I mean, I write this site. My issue is separate. His interest was too blatant to be shy. You can't go whipping around the bar: around: around, at such a frantic pace, staring, and wait for the object of your affection to do all the work for you. Even if all that walking made you tired. I'm familiar with his work. For a long time I didn't care for it. Now, I find it funny. And I wasn't interested anyway.

About two months ago, when I was two months in, two months through this stretch of inactivity, woeful neglect, I vowed that it was over. I had reigned it in, I thought to myself, called the dogs of sloth to heel. That was, perhaps, optimistic. I think I've been mildly depressed these past few months without registering it. Or, if not depressed, tired. I realized this when Paris died. With Paris cancelled, my bone weary, leaden posit of self into the divan of the sofa -- the lump of my rump -- spoke to me of something more than simple disappointment. There was more going on. Oh, yes. And whatever it was, it had been going on for a while. I've had trouble sleeping, then rising; it's been a travesty to make plans; a disaster (waiting to happen) to construct goals. I've been waiting, and half-expecting, for it all to bottom out. It, of course, being all my hopes and my plans. For no good reason, I might add. At least, I've been feeling like there wasn't. There was....

I found a roll of film in the bottom of a bag. I didn't know from whence this film had come, but it was 35mm 100, so I assumed that I had shot it using an SLR some time ago. I haven't owned an SLR in over six years. So I sent it off to be developed to see what kind of mystery photos I would get back. I picked them up today. Apparently, you really don't have to refrigerate film to keep it from degrading. 11 years ago I left home to escape the farm, and a very real threat to my personal safety. The first stop on my path from the Ottawa Valley to (eventually) here, was Bracebridge , ostensibly to finish high school. What it really was, was out . I left home and family. I started what I could really consider to be my life . The pictures are from there. From that time. I feel like I've been beaten unconscious with a feather. Not only that, there are some lovely shots. I would post them here if I had the means. Besides a really dorky picture of myself at 17 (which is somethin...

With this having taken over the city presently, a little bit of mayhem has been working its way through the city streets and my place of employ. Curiously absent from my immediate vicinity are any real celebrities to speak of... or speak to... or trip on their way down a flight of stairs. I've never been star-struck, but I think that I could enjoy seeing a star strike off some surface or object in a painful, yet funny, way. Just like in the movies, only real. Mind you, nothing that would do any permanent damage; I'm not a monster, after all. "Be careful what you say," A.I. might remind me, "our celebrity overlords are always listening." Our masters who rule from the Hollywood hills. Bah. However, the Festival has managed to deliver me a very entertaining sexual escapade, and were I the networking kind I'm sure I would be up to my elbows in business cards by now. I have noticed that all about the city, unrolled like lapping tongues to streams of traffic,...

There are some things which need to be addressed. First off, work (no matter what the venue, type or style) is still work. No matter what associations you might have with a paticular industry, the fact remains that if you intend to make a living, a certian amount of professionalism will most likely benifit you. Ergo, everyone is not on drugs ; so please stop looking me in the eye, welling up with concern, and telling me that you're worried about my safety and my health. I'm fine. Thank you. ... Second is the not having internet access at home thing. Whoa, boy; sucking beyond measure, let me tell you. Last week I spent a good hour slaving over what was shaping up to be a fairly witty, tongue in cheek sort of post about a recent adventure, when the computer at the internet cafe suddenly logged me out by its own volition... and sent my post into the ether. Every pixel sucked dry. No ones to punctuate the zeros. I was not happy. So apologies all round for not posting in over a whil...