Every once and a while, I indulge myself and post a blurb about my dreams.
Well, this was one for the books...
I was in a big city (or what seemed to look like NYC) in a car with some friends. The sun was shining - noon light's trajectory from the hood of the car into our eyes, the tunes on. All the elements of a successful Sunday road-trip. From the bird's eye view over an open bridge, I watched in the distance as saturated black wads of smoke spewed into the sky. But there were no smoke stacks for miles, so it must mean one thing.
The hum of syllables intermingled with stray musical notes confused me as I tried to grasp the seriousness of what was happening. The driver, busy looking to his shotgun co-pilot, were laughing too hard to even notice the horizon quickly change colors.
Another plume of black squirted from the same spot ahead.
what the fuck?
Turning towards the back seat, the driver witnessed the transformation in the expression on my face. Silence. The music cut out abruptly, followed by a somber voice.
Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a terrorist attack on yet another building in the city.
Deeper silence.
Our breathing became louder than the idling engine...
**
I was working in some Wal-mart/Price Club huge chain buy in bulk kinda place. Walking into this airplane hangar warehouse, the geometric order and patters of perfectly placed product islands was quite overwhelming. It was my first day and I was late, or so I thought.
The back area - employees only, looked like the dressing room of a Broadway play: kaleidoscope costumes busting out of rolling racks, stage hands, makeup artists, actors running in every direction, between, past and into each other.
I walked up to a coat check counter: "this is my first day. Do I have to sign in?"
Some fat woman in a yellow and blue smock, barely covering her belly, shoved a plastic tag into my face, then dumped a pair of roller skates (more like roller shoes) into my chest.
The skates were yellow and blue, just like her smock, but had the Adidas signature side stripes on the side. I tied up the laces, tested my balance and began to skate around the chaos, into the hallway and out past the pyramid of Life cereal, to the center of the store.
Somehow I managed to find a back way, which led me down a long narrow cement walled corridor. Staff whisked by, occasionally bumping into me without saying a word. There were drilling sounds coming from the distance. Hardware section? The closer I got to what seemed to be an opening of sorts, the clearer the brays and moos became.
Men in hounds-tooth plaid hunting jackets crossed my path, some looking haggard, some of their faces splattered in blood. The dampness of hot blood seeped beneath my clothes. This was a slaughterhouse, right underneath the supermarket, and as if pulled by gravity, I was heading right towards it.
The wheels of my skates stopped rolling as they hit a pool of dried blood. Standing at the intersection of a busy hallway, I looked in all four directions. Behind me, my original point of entry - a serpentine cement maze where light disappeared into. Ahead of me - a small closed window 6 feet from the ground where the only rays of sunlight spilled through. To the left, the dark and noisy pit of the killing room, and then to the right, the mechanical chaos of organized supermarket industrialization.
My curiosity pulled me into the darkness - drawn to the bare bulb that faintly lit the rest of the obscure space. A man came out in a black rubber smock, hands filled with pieces of steaming pink flesh. The blood glowed against the slick surface of his waist.
You don't want to go in there.
His face was solemn. Years of killing had worn away the color of his face, yet there was a soft melancholy sadness to his eyes.
Trust me
he showed me a two-way door that flapped open and shut: one side, smeared in finger paint like streaks of blood, the other, pristine hospital white. Just as I walked through to the other side, behind me, the last helpless cry of a baby lamb as its throat was slit was drowned out by the gurgling sounds of a chainsaw blade through flesh.
***
I was sitting in my living room, in my old apartment near the market. The summer Sunday hum of shoppers and merchants was a welcome element. Bob and Denise sat on the couch, telling me about their plan to elope.
"but bob - for the longest time, you told everybody that you had committed suicide. How could you have lied to us? Lied to me?"
Silent, he looked at me over the rim of his glasses and stared. "He had to - nobody would have understood him otherwise". Denise caressed his cheek, forcing him to break his stare. They looked lovingly into each other's eyes.
But I was so sad for so long...
Bob seemed to understand, almost apologizing, lowering his head.
I got up to make some tea, when something in the sky began to change. The same thick woolen blackness that covered the city after the attack now slowly seeped into the corner of my view of the skyline.
not again...
Our neighbours had been notorious for throwing wild parties that dragged past the night into the morning, and the beginning twangs of electric guitars had the makings of another one. Looking out onto my back balcony, I saw about a dozen young men and women, dressed in black, paler than the living dead, dog collars, smoking cheap cigarettes, holding 40 ouncers of Jack and Johnny. But something was different this time.
With their backs to me, two guitarist began to play. The first few notes of Anarchy in the UK rumbled from the amps pointing in my direction. It was them: Johnny, Steve, Paul and Sid. On my neighbour's balcony! Even in my dreams, I'm still a photographer - running to my bedroom to pick up my camera to document this event!
Zoom in - over the shoulder to Sid. Strung out as usual, precariously perched on the metal railing, standing in front on Morticia Adams - marvelously morose, all in black.
Since when did the Adams family become my neighbours, and have parties on their balconies? With the Sex Pistols?!?
I was distracted by a heavy fabric of smoke, making its way over the city like a languid magic carpet, blotting out the spectacular ochre sunset that I had come to enjoy from my kitchen window.
but the sex pistols played on uninterrupted while the city behind them slowly burned...
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
sparkle
Okay, I lied. This is one of my favourite shots I've taken in a long time. A fleeting synchronous moment when all the elements coalese instantaneously and magic is created.
I snapped the shutter just as her flash was begining to fire.
This image could not be reproduced if we tried.
I think I'll stick with this photography thing for a while longer...
fine tuning
I'm finally getting through some shots that I took of Stephanie during our first night in Detroit.
She was actually composing a self-portrait and putting on the timer to take her shot
I think this is one of my favourite photos that I've taken in a long time...
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Konichiwa Detroit
The first night was so strange in fact, that Thelma and Louise went back to their hotel and made some photographic history themselves.
Little did they know that night two would be even more interesting than the first...
Little did they know that night two would be even more interesting than the first...
a night in detroit - part one of a number that I have'nt decided upon yet...
I'm going to tell you about my Detroit trip in bits and pieces. My stuffy head and post-nasal drip keep me from typing at an even keel, so this writer will do what she can with the amount of energy she has at the present moment to begin the story...
It was a total fluke that I got my pieces into Dirty Detroit.
Not just one photo, but two!
The news came a day after Bruce from SEAF called me. He loved my merchandise so much last year, that he "absolutely without a doubt wanted more items" for his store this year.
pleased as punch was I
Although I didn't get into SEAF 07, I wasn't too surprised or disappointed.
One less trip to Seattle
How odd that a year later, this stuff is just starting to sink in. The realization that my art is out there for people to see - and in the U.S of all places!
shunned by her fellow Canadians, erotic photographer turns her sights south of the border for exposure...
Almost a year to this day, my photo was being hung at the largest Erotic art festival in North America, and was also chosen to be showcased during auction night (and due to a administrative glitch, was supposed to receive the Jury Pick of the Auction , but didn't) - but just the mere fact that my shit was there still blows my mind.
In keeping with my title of Ms. Procrastination, I missed the Dirty Detroit deadline by a few days, but decided that I had nothing to lose with an apologetic email as to why I was late, with my bio, artistic blurb, and two pictures. Closed my eyes, clicked send and hoped for the best.
An email from the festival arrived the next day.
Oh, another 'thanks for sending your stuff but you're too late Chuck!" went through my mind, but it was in fact, an personal note from the organizer saying how much they loved my stuff and congrats! I was in the show!
Had you asked me a year ago if I ever thought I'd be hauling my ass out to Seattle last minute for a show, my response would have fallen along the lines of: "You gotta be kidding me? What's there to see in Seattle besides the Space Needle?" but there I was , 365 days later, on a plane to Washington state.
Experience has taught me to roll with the punches and hop on the planes of fate whenever they fly by, whichever direction they fly me to.
This year was motor city - Detroit
A little background to this story:
Stephanie and I had been flickr buddies for almost two years, admiring each other's work and building our own little network of "women who use photography/self-portraiture as healing". Trish was woman #3.
As with all my latest developments, I posted the news that my images (on flickr) were off to Detroit. The next day, another surprise email:
"if you could make it half-way, would a lift there and back sound like a plan to you?"
Detroit?
(and in my best Linda Richmond voice)
Bubbalah? Who knew?!
Steph was offering a ride down and split the cost of gas and Hotel. From where she lived, the trip was a mere 4 hours, and would give her the opportunity to take a much needed break from her work, the chance to see the show and the opportunity to meet Trish who's work we had come to admire.
"all passengers now boarding for Detroit - a trip/experience of a lifetime in the making..."
The next morning, I traded in my casual 9 t0 5 for panic/express mode:
#1 rush print images to lab
#2 find frames and mats
#3 cut mats and then assemble frames
#4 rush to UPS store 4 packing and shipping (I didn't have much time to prepare beforehand because I had to send it ''non rush' - 3-5 days. The $170+ for overnight service was the cost of my buss ticket!)
#5 and then make plans for trip.
My 35th birthday was a turning point for me in many ways, and one of the most important life lessons I learned was without a doubt - trusting my instincts.
You have to take a leap and know that a net will always appear
That now famous line which Samantha Jones shared with Carrie Bradshaw
Well, the results speak for themselves: Cuba, New York City expositions # 1 through 3, my runaway hit play -Sex and La Cité, Seattle, Madame X - my first solo exhibition in April in NYC.
...
...
Holy Crap! That's next month!!!!!
None of these things would have been possible had I not trusted life, and Detroit was no exception. Embracing all the possibilities of this trip, and that fate would take me on some interesting adventures, I surrendered to the universe, because most of the fun happens when you're least expecting it.
Well, this was the creme de la creme of adventures...
in a nutshell:
1) got to steph's after a grueling 8 hour buss ride (can somebody please toss me a grenade to swallow?)
2) slept well and got ready to roll early the following am
3) barreled through Windsor Ontario ( I'll take a side of broken glass with that grenade please...) and had an awkward time explaining to the border guard what we were there for
4) set up shop in some oddly angular hotel with a slanted elevator and hallucinogenic rainbow puke carpets.
Now comes the fun part...
The same day I got the news that my photos had been accepted into the show, curiosity led me to check out the list of visiting artists (the outa my league competition). Some names which looked familiar were photographers from last year's SEAF, and then completely at random, I clicked on the name James Graham , went to his site, was floored by his shit, and decided to email him on the odd chance that he'd be in Detroit for the show.
Well, he would be
Flash forward to Friday night. Arriving fashionably late to the fest, Steph and I began to scout the territory when I was stopped by a handsome gentlemen with great hair and piercing blue eyes waving an inquisitive index finger in my direction.
"I know you! Kathy, right?
(In a thick southern twang: "dear sir, you must be mistaken" , replied Scarlet O'hara ..)
But I wasn't as eloquent...
"Excuse me?"
Turns out it was James Graham - the man himself. Still frazzled from the flight, he was meeting up with some friends, and on his way to check out his latest works being featured on the noteworthy Tashchen wall of fame.
These two ladies from Canada were impressed.
Then we met Chip Willis
and were impressed again.
I can honestly speak on behalf of Steph when I say that we never thought our excursion to this art show would amount to anything more than looking at pretty pictures of naked people doing nasty things, and watching people looking at my work. But there we were - hanging out with two great guys/amazing photographers, in a warehouse full of erotica somewhere in Downtown Detroit.
Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.
It was a total fluke that I got my pieces into Dirty Detroit.
Not just one photo, but two!
The news came a day after Bruce from SEAF called me. He loved my merchandise so much last year, that he "absolutely without a doubt wanted more items" for his store this year.
pleased as punch was I
Although I didn't get into SEAF 07, I wasn't too surprised or disappointed.
One less trip to Seattle
How odd that a year later, this stuff is just starting to sink in. The realization that my art is out there for people to see - and in the U.S of all places!
shunned by her fellow Canadians, erotic photographer turns her sights south of the border for exposure...
Almost a year to this day, my photo was being hung at the largest Erotic art festival in North America, and was also chosen to be showcased during auction night (and due to a administrative glitch, was supposed to receive the Jury Pick of the Auction , but didn't) - but just the mere fact that my shit was there still blows my mind.
In keeping with my title of Ms. Procrastination, I missed the Dirty Detroit deadline by a few days, but decided that I had nothing to lose with an apologetic email as to why I was late, with my bio, artistic blurb, and two pictures. Closed my eyes, clicked send and hoped for the best.
An email from the festival arrived the next day.
Oh, another 'thanks for sending your stuff but you're too late Chuck!" went through my mind, but it was in fact, an personal note from the organizer saying how much they loved my stuff and congrats! I was in the show!
Had you asked me a year ago if I ever thought I'd be hauling my ass out to Seattle last minute for a show, my response would have fallen along the lines of: "You gotta be kidding me? What's there to see in Seattle besides the Space Needle?" but there I was , 365 days later, on a plane to Washington state.
Experience has taught me to roll with the punches and hop on the planes of fate whenever they fly by, whichever direction they fly me to.
This year was motor city - Detroit
A little background to this story:
Stephanie and I had been flickr buddies for almost two years, admiring each other's work and building our own little network of "women who use photography/self-portraiture as healing". Trish was woman #3.
As with all my latest developments, I posted the news that my images (on flickr) were off to Detroit. The next day, another surprise email:
"if you could make it half-way, would a lift there and back sound like a plan to you?"
Detroit?
(and in my best Linda Richmond voice)
Bubbalah? Who knew?!
Steph was offering a ride down and split the cost of gas and Hotel. From where she lived, the trip was a mere 4 hours, and would give her the opportunity to take a much needed break from her work, the chance to see the show and the opportunity to meet Trish who's work we had come to admire.
"all passengers now boarding for Detroit - a trip/experience of a lifetime in the making..."
The next morning, I traded in my casual 9 t0 5 for panic/express mode:
#1 rush print images to lab
#2 find frames and mats
#3 cut mats and then assemble frames
#4 rush to UPS store 4 packing and shipping (I didn't have much time to prepare beforehand because I had to send it ''non rush' - 3-5 days. The $170+ for overnight service was the cost of my buss ticket!)
#5 and then make plans for trip.
My 35th birthday was a turning point for me in many ways, and one of the most important life lessons I learned was without a doubt - trusting my instincts.
You have to take a leap and know that a net will always appear
That now famous line which Samantha Jones shared with Carrie Bradshaw
Well, the results speak for themselves: Cuba, New York City expositions # 1 through 3, my runaway hit play -Sex and La Cité, Seattle, Madame X - my first solo exhibition in April in NYC.
...
...
Holy Crap! That's next month!!!!!
None of these things would have been possible had I not trusted life, and Detroit was no exception. Embracing all the possibilities of this trip, and that fate would take me on some interesting adventures, I surrendered to the universe, because most of the fun happens when you're least expecting it.
Well, this was the creme de la creme of adventures...
in a nutshell:
1) got to steph's after a grueling 8 hour buss ride (can somebody please toss me a grenade to swallow?)
2) slept well and got ready to roll early the following am
3) barreled through Windsor Ontario ( I'll take a side of broken glass with that grenade please...) and had an awkward time explaining to the border guard what we were there for
4) set up shop in some oddly angular hotel with a slanted elevator and hallucinogenic rainbow puke carpets.
Now comes the fun part...
The same day I got the news that my photos had been accepted into the show, curiosity led me to check out the list of visiting artists (the outa my league competition). Some names which looked familiar were photographers from last year's SEAF, and then completely at random, I clicked on the name James Graham , went to his site, was floored by his shit, and decided to email him on the odd chance that he'd be in Detroit for the show.
Well, he would be
Flash forward to Friday night. Arriving fashionably late to the fest, Steph and I began to scout the territory when I was stopped by a handsome gentlemen with great hair and piercing blue eyes waving an inquisitive index finger in my direction.
"I know you! Kathy, right?
(In a thick southern twang: "dear sir, you must be mistaken" , replied Scarlet O'hara ..)
But I wasn't as eloquent...
"Excuse me?"
Turns out it was James Graham - the man himself. Still frazzled from the flight, he was meeting up with some friends, and on his way to check out his latest works being featured on the noteworthy Tashchen wall of fame.
These two ladies from Canada were impressed.
Then we met Chip Willis
and were impressed again.
I can honestly speak on behalf of Steph when I say that we never thought our excursion to this art show would amount to anything more than looking at pretty pictures of naked people doing nasty things, and watching people looking at my work. But there we were - hanging out with two great guys/amazing photographers, in a warehouse full of erotica somewhere in Downtown Detroit.
Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.
the pole jiggleos.
shit...
It was one of those rare instances (rare as of lately - too many things to start/finish/sort/find) when I was able to sit down and just write. Write like I used to. Back in the "sex and la cité" days. Way back when I began this silly blog.
I was on a roll
and then i had to venture out of my creative bubble to find it
and now that I can't find it, it's driving me nuts!
***
I was listening to some really old 80's new wave (that sounds so funny to actually say) when one song in particular yanked my old bones back 23 years.
Fire Woman by the Cult
and there I was with V, swinging like amazon babes from the pole - a good two feet above the heads of the other dancers, shaking our thangs, letting the hair down, showing lotsa leg...
The hottest club at the time had a pole in the center of the dance floor. But not an ordinary pole - one of those trapeze perch - type poles.
and we danced on it
Often.
And created many a sexy spectacle
and loved every minute of it
Fire woman was one of those most memorable songs.
The perfect "pole" song
All of our friends would refer to the strange apparatus as: 'the pole'
are you going to dance on 'the pole'?
did you see who was on the pole?
That dirty bitched knocked me off the pole and is gonna get her head kicked in by my Texas boot...
a thing of great mystery and wondrous power that pole was
So great in fact, that I composed an ode to the pole called, you guessed it - the pole jiggleos.
and now I can't find that paper anywhere in the house!
So here I am, stuck between a half churned story and a cold pot of almond tea. Will my evening will be spent on the hunt for this elusive piece of poetry - just because the story just wont be the same without it!?
wish me luck
and Sanj - there is a place in Marché Centrale that serves breakfast/brunch (right near the cineplex/roasters) and on the menu is "Creme Bruleé a la Grand Marnier" !!!!!
I've been too stuffed with cretons and les feves to try it, but when I do (or you beat me to the punch) you'll hear about it via email...
;-)
It was one of those rare instances (rare as of lately - too many things to start/finish/sort/find) when I was able to sit down and just write. Write like I used to. Back in the "sex and la cité" days. Way back when I began this silly blog.
I was on a roll
and then i had to venture out of my creative bubble to find it
and now that I can't find it, it's driving me nuts!
***
I was listening to some really old 80's new wave (that sounds so funny to actually say) when one song in particular yanked my old bones back 23 years.
Fire Woman by the Cult
and there I was with V, swinging like amazon babes from the pole - a good two feet above the heads of the other dancers, shaking our thangs, letting the hair down, showing lotsa leg...
The hottest club at the time had a pole in the center of the dance floor. But not an ordinary pole - one of those trapeze perch - type poles.
and we danced on it
Often.
And created many a sexy spectacle
and loved every minute of it
Fire woman was one of those most memorable songs.
The perfect "pole" song
All of our friends would refer to the strange apparatus as: 'the pole'
are you going to dance on 'the pole'?
did you see who was on the pole?
That dirty bitched knocked me off the pole and is gonna get her head kicked in by my Texas boot...
a thing of great mystery and wondrous power that pole was
So great in fact, that I composed an ode to the pole called, you guessed it - the pole jiggleos.
and now I can't find that paper anywhere in the house!
So here I am, stuck between a half churned story and a cold pot of almond tea. Will my evening will be spent on the hunt for this elusive piece of poetry - just because the story just wont be the same without it!?
wish me luck
and Sanj - there is a place in Marché Centrale that serves breakfast/brunch (right near the cineplex/roasters) and on the menu is "Creme Bruleé a la Grand Marnier" !!!!!
I've been too stuffed with cretons and les feves to try it, but when I do (or you beat me to the punch) you'll hear about it via email...
;-)
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
A reply to how artistis feel about posting images of themselves...
A reply from an artist as to how artists feel about posting images of themselves
It *does* make sense. It's one thing to show work that, though it may *feel* personal, can't feel that way to the audience (I did that last year). It's entirely another to show work that, whether it *feels* personal at not, can't help but feel that way to the audience -- and for that to be an audience who also see *you*.
We're the lucky ones, though: we already know that people like and respond to and respect our work, and that they respect us as a consequence. I think it's a pretty safe assumption that the same will be true of the people in our "real" lives, the ones who know us before/elsewhere -- even if they'll do a real double take at first.
What my question was to her...
Speaking of which - I'm taking a bold step by putting up three of my blue series images here at the university. There was this call for art entries - "social diversity and equity department" - the diversity of the university. Well, they liked what they saw and told me that my stuff was interesting enough to put in.
this is my blurb to attach to the images:
What you see here is real...
this is my blurb to attach to the images:
What you see here is real...
These are self-portraits taken in my bathroom - exploring the depths and darkness of despair, anxiety, fear and mania.
As an artist, it's become my mission to share my experiences as someone who lives with manic depression. For many years, it has been my demon, my poison, my worst nightmare come true, but over time, I have managed to find an outlet, a translation from that foreign language into visual poetry which is meant to both heal and inspire...
this art fest is about diversity : "By seeking ways to uncover the complexity of our unique community, we can gain a deeper appreciation of our many personal differences..."
I'm feeling a little vulnerable about posting these - in the hallway between two libraries. Lots of traffic - profs and students by the hundreds on a daily basis. Perhaps it's because it's on my home turf. Perhaps it's because I know that it will be seen as something 'out of the ordinary' - depression in all its faces.
As an artist, it's become my mission to share my experiences as someone who lives with manic depression. For many years, it has been my demon, my poison, my worst nightmare come true, but over time, I have managed to find an outlet, a translation from that foreign language into visual poetry which is meant to both heal and inspire...
this art fest is about diversity : "By seeking ways to uncover the complexity of our unique community, we can gain a deeper appreciation of our many personal differences..."
I'm feeling a little vulnerable about posting these - in the hallway between two libraries. Lots of traffic - profs and students by the hundreds on a daily basis. Perhaps it's because it's on my home turf. Perhaps it's because I know that it will be seen as something 'out of the ordinary' - depression in all its faces.
I don't know.
When it was on flickr - I was a name to many, but to a select few, an actual person behind the name. There is a safety zone between the viewer and myself - but here, there isn't really.
I guess it's about putting it all out there. We have all felt that and I guess, will continue to do so as long as we decide to show our art, show who we are through our art.
does that make sense?
Friday, February 16, 2007
Late Saturday night at the Leeland...
(Too lazy to write a new blurb, so this was taken from Flickr...)
Through a series of really strange series coincidences, I randomly followed a link from the Dirty Detroit Arts festival, picked a photographer who’s name sounded catchy - James Graham (an invited artist), met him Friday, and was then introduced to Chip Willis (another photog – both he and James have their pieces in the new upcoming Taschen Erotic art book) and the rest is history! I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun running around a hotel with three other photographers and a nude model at 4 in the morning!
This is just a teaser for the series which I think is some of my best “photojournalistic work” in a long time…
Through a series of really strange series coincidences, I randomly followed a link from the Dirty Detroit Arts festival, picked a photographer who’s name sounded catchy - James Graham (an invited artist), met him Friday, and was then introduced to Chip Willis (another photog – both he and James have their pieces in the new upcoming Taschen Erotic art book) and the rest is history! I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun running around a hotel with three other photographers and a nude model at 4 in the morning!
This is just a teaser for the series which I think is some of my best “photojournalistic work” in a long time…
AND ONE MORE THING!!!
delightful!!!
my photos are getting a lot of milage latley!
Just got the confirmation that this dueling duo is going over to another Dertoit show called Cpop and their Artists Showcase!
Alrighta
And I thought I was going to be able to take these babies to New York for Madame X!
Crazy ass shit.
Did I not say that I knew this was going to be a rock and roll year?
Must read back posts to see if I won my own bet...
Must read back posts to see if I won my own bet...
Dirty Detroit - the story begins...
I'm experiencing the ripple effect from this Dirty Detroit show - I linked on one person, met him and met another person, and so on, and so on...
And I'm loving this strange thing called kismet, synchronicity, life in motion.
Time to begin to document these strange goings on again...
And I'll do so, piece by piece. My inspiration stems from a few other photographers who manage to keep a successful day job and write on the side for pleasure (or is it just the allure of the purgative qualities of rambling to oneself?).
I used to be vigilant about my daily entries - time to start again.
Hip, bohemian - yes. Practical for the motor mouth/run on sentence kinda gal like me? Not really.
But watching me try to scribble my whole crazy Detroit Erotic Rock City escapades into one volume?
priceless.
So I'll post the images and top up with the comments later.
#1. "this is neither 'not an exit" or "not an exit" - discuss.
pretty funny me
Sometimes I find myself chuckling at my own sense of humour.
I think I'm pretty funny.
Well, I did write that Sex and La Cité play - it was quite brilliant.
Carrie's Manolo Blahnik - she calls them Manolo Blankies :
I can't go anywhere without my security blankies...
And oh how I laughed when I wrote that - and oh how I wished my eyes weren't so heavy and eyes burning so red from lack of sleep.
but it turned out well. Except for the sequel - the cheap "knockoff"
At least I'm a legend in my own living room
My yahoo emails end with this quote:
"To attract men I wear a perfume called 'new car interior.'"
--comedian Rita Rudner
And oh how I laughed when I read that - it was one of those funnies that stick in your head for hours, every once and a while, returning for a chuckle jolt. I'm convinced that homeless people who roam the streets laughing to themselves are the ones on the inside track of an obscure joke.
Pause...
I wonder if there is a perfume called 'New car interior", and if "mamma bravo's meatball spaghetti sauce" is available in eau du toilette (see Sex and la cité - act 6: Gino's basement apartment of his parents duplex in Chomedy, Laval)
other memorable little one liners I've culled from the email archives:
" Did I freak you out? I have a tendency to do that. Perhaps it's my way of testing people's 'durability' or "kathy-bility" "
"I really enjoy the good moods and feeling of creativity, but hate the feeling that I'm a car wreck waiting to happen. I'm trying to find the balance in between a balance that is precariously perched on the top of a capsule marked "eli lilly"..."
"It seems that when I open my mouth during these trying times, not only do i put my whole foot in it, I put the whole shoe store and all their franchises!"
"Please know I'm not trying to be a crotchety old horny coot - but those shots are truly inspirational..."
(said with a Bronx Italian accent)
Me, I, think I'm pretty funny me...
I think I'm pretty funny.
Well, I did write that Sex and La Cité play - it was quite brilliant.
Carrie's Manolo Blahnik - she calls them Manolo Blankies :
I can't go anywhere without my security blankies...
And oh how I laughed when I wrote that - and oh how I wished my eyes weren't so heavy and eyes burning so red from lack of sleep.
but it turned out well. Except for the sequel - the cheap "knockoff"
At least I'm a legend in my own living room
My yahoo emails end with this quote:
"To attract men I wear a perfume called 'new car interior.'"
--comedian Rita Rudner
And oh how I laughed when I read that - it was one of those funnies that stick in your head for hours, every once and a while, returning for a chuckle jolt. I'm convinced that homeless people who roam the streets laughing to themselves are the ones on the inside track of an obscure joke.
Pause...
I wonder if there is a perfume called 'New car interior", and if "mamma bravo's meatball spaghetti sauce" is available in eau du toilette (see Sex and la cité - act 6: Gino's basement apartment of his parents duplex in Chomedy, Laval)
other memorable little one liners I've culled from the email archives:
" Did I freak you out? I have a tendency to do that. Perhaps it's my way of testing people's 'durability' or "kathy-bility" "
"I really enjoy the good moods and feeling of creativity, but hate the feeling that I'm a car wreck waiting to happen. I'm trying to find the balance in between a balance that is precariously perched on the top of a capsule marked "eli lilly"..."
"It seems that when I open my mouth during these trying times, not only do i put my whole foot in it, I put the whole shoe store and all their franchises!"
"Please know I'm not trying to be a crotchety old horny coot - but those shots are truly inspirational..."
(said with a Bronx Italian accent)
Me, I, think I'm pretty funny me...
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Dirty, run down, crazy ass Detroit...
I am still trying to recoup the energy that was expended from the weekend.
And let me tell you - it ranks up there in intensity and freakyness with that first week in NYC.
what a memorable time it was...
I have so much to post - tried keeping a little journal filled with notes and antidotes which were scrawled down at 4am, after a night of photography and shuttling back and forth on the people mover.
Ahh - the people mover - that's a whole other story - along with more surreal and amusing stories I have to share.
Lu and I knew it was going to be an interesting ride when we saw the reaction of the custom's agent who became intrigued and puzzled as we tried to explain how my photos were in an art show called "Dirty Detroit".
It's an erotic art festival.
Neurotic arts festival?*
No - erotic.
So what kind of erotic photos do you take?
How do you explain this to a very large black man wearing an official blue uniform, who's holding your passport while sitting in a huge (and I mean gargantuan) indigo/black station wagon with tinted windows, next to the dead ringer for Patty Smith (except lu didn't smell...)
* neurotic? I guess in a way it was...
And let me tell you - it ranks up there in intensity and freakyness with that first week in NYC.
what a memorable time it was...
I have so much to post - tried keeping a little journal filled with notes and antidotes which were scrawled down at 4am, after a night of photography and shuttling back and forth on the people mover.
Ahh - the people mover - that's a whole other story - along with more surreal and amusing stories I have to share.
Lu and I knew it was going to be an interesting ride when we saw the reaction of the custom's agent who became intrigued and puzzled as we tried to explain how my photos were in an art show called "Dirty Detroit".
It's an erotic art festival.
Neurotic arts festival?*
No - erotic.
So what kind of erotic photos do you take?
How do you explain this to a very large black man wearing an official blue uniform, who's holding your passport while sitting in a huge (and I mean gargantuan) indigo/black station wagon with tinted windows, next to the dead ringer for Patty Smith (except lu didn't smell...)
* neurotic? I guess in a way it was...
moving people.
This is such a beautiful view from the People Mover.
Stephanie and I spent about 1/2 hour riding around on it through Detroit - that equals about 4 times around the city in total...
Stephanie and I spent about 1/2 hour riding around on it through Detroit - that equals about 4 times around the city in total...
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
charlies angels
Three women, two wigs in one hotel room.
The result was magic.
I made two very special friends that weekend, and my life was changed forever - and became blessed.
(more to come when I get back home)
The result was magic.
I made two very special friends that weekend, and my life was changed forever - and became blessed.
(more to come when I get back home)
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
getting ready
I really should be getting ready to head out on my road trip. But needless to say, and so true to my nature, I'm leaving everything till almost last minute. I've been feeling reeeallly crappy and trying to keep my head from exploding as he passing rumble of anxiety shake my brain soup.
I had to laugh - A told me that her pharmacist was giving her 'tude cause she needed a refill her meds.
"I thought I had an extra refill, and told her that I would get in touch with my doctor tomorrow, but she was being a real twat about it and said that she couldn't give it to me and had to wait for the doctor to call the pharmacy to renew the prescription. Now I'm bouncing off the walls and sliding down again cause I need those pills. Not a pretty sight."
this dude is so disorganized, he didn't even realize that he started me on 15mg, and then switched me to 10mg. No fucken wonder I was wired so tightly last week.
Ping! Poing!
Too much camera equipment and too many fancy shoes.
It all looks good and seem like things I'm gonna need.
I told Lu my sizes, just in case we are both a size 8 and need to swap clothes/shoes when we're down there. Not so lucky camera wise.
Nikon and Canon don't mix well...
I had to laugh - A told me that her pharmacist was giving her 'tude cause she needed a refill her meds.
"I thought I had an extra refill, and told her that I would get in touch with my doctor tomorrow, but she was being a real twat about it and said that she couldn't give it to me and had to wait for the doctor to call the pharmacy to renew the prescription. Now I'm bouncing off the walls and sliding down again cause I need those pills. Not a pretty sight."
this dude is so disorganized, he didn't even realize that he started me on 15mg, and then switched me to 10mg. No fucken wonder I was wired so tightly last week.
Ping! Poing!
Too much camera equipment and too many fancy shoes.
It all looks good and seem like things I'm gonna need.
I told Lu my sizes, just in case we are both a size 8 and need to swap clothes/shoes when we're down there. Not so lucky camera wise.
Nikon and Canon don't mix well...
oh, and as the medication turns...
Latest issue...
My withdrawl from Welbutrin is another test of my endurance for pain. I halved the dosage as suggested by my phd, to which the side effects (according to him) would be minimal, and have been in such incredible pain, I am actually thinking of going into the hospital to ask for some monster pain killers.
I mean pain - take a step, and feel every join in your body explode with pain, every muscle tearing with tension. Raw deep ugly pain. The whole weekend was spent lying in bed, crying. When I wasn't crying, I was sleeping off what seemed to be the worst flu I've had in decades.
then i went on the net
God bless the internet.
(and what troubled me, is the absence of his blue book - the bible of medications which all doctors have in their office - a piece of furniture, except his. That should have sent the warning sirens off.)
and there it was - in bold: severe flu like symptoms, body and muscle aches, fatigue, restlessness, nausea, diarrhea.
And there were all the symptoms that plagued me - phantom no more.
So I called him yesterday, explaining what was going on, almost pleading with him to go back to the dose I was before.
well, I don't think it's wise to put you back on a medication that made you manic
yes, I agree, but if you remember correctly, I told you that I was also pmsing - which makes any moment in my life a manic moment. That week is hell for me regardless!
regardless, that's not something I want to do.
well, I am leaving Montreal for a week, will be in Detroit and meeting people on buisness, I can't afford to be in pain 24 hours a day, and feel wiped out or like the walking dead. I knew that these withdrawl symptoms would be bad.
How about you wait a few days and call me back
I don't have a few days to play around with my system
I don't want to put you on something that made you manic
I KNOW MY BODY. I CAN BREATHE THROUGH A MANIC MOMENT. YOU WERE MY CBT DOCTOR - YOU GAVE ME THE TOOLS TO BE ABLE TO WORK OUT THOSE THINGS. I WOULD RATHER BE MANIC FOR A MOMENT THAN BE IN SO MUCH PAIN THAT EVERY STEP I TAKE MAKES ME WINCE AND TEAR UP.
...
well, why don't you call me on Wednesday and we'll see...
I almost broke the phone in half, but promptly called my previous doctor who actually had 20 years experience over this newly graduated doc ( I had my sources check this out) and beleived in listening to me and finding alternatives that were in my best interest.
So as I sit here typing this, my fingers are cramping and back is aching so much that I will have to lie down once again until the sharp stabbing pain that pulses through my muscles and joints pass.
fucken dolt.
My withdrawl from Welbutrin is another test of my endurance for pain. I halved the dosage as suggested by my phd, to which the side effects (according to him) would be minimal, and have been in such incredible pain, I am actually thinking of going into the hospital to ask for some monster pain killers.
I mean pain - take a step, and feel every join in your body explode with pain, every muscle tearing with tension. Raw deep ugly pain. The whole weekend was spent lying in bed, crying. When I wasn't crying, I was sleeping off what seemed to be the worst flu I've had in decades.
then i went on the net
God bless the internet.
(and what troubled me, is the absence of his blue book - the bible of medications which all doctors have in their office - a piece of furniture, except his. That should have sent the warning sirens off.)
and there it was - in bold: severe flu like symptoms, body and muscle aches, fatigue, restlessness, nausea, diarrhea.
And there were all the symptoms that plagued me - phantom no more.
So I called him yesterday, explaining what was going on, almost pleading with him to go back to the dose I was before.
well, I don't think it's wise to put you back on a medication that made you manic
yes, I agree, but if you remember correctly, I told you that I was also pmsing - which makes any moment in my life a manic moment. That week is hell for me regardless!
regardless, that's not something I want to do.
well, I am leaving Montreal for a week, will be in Detroit and meeting people on buisness, I can't afford to be in pain 24 hours a day, and feel wiped out or like the walking dead. I knew that these withdrawl symptoms would be bad.
How about you wait a few days and call me back
I don't have a few days to play around with my system
I don't want to put you on something that made you manic
I KNOW MY BODY. I CAN BREATHE THROUGH A MANIC MOMENT. YOU WERE MY CBT DOCTOR - YOU GAVE ME THE TOOLS TO BE ABLE TO WORK OUT THOSE THINGS. I WOULD RATHER BE MANIC FOR A MOMENT THAN BE IN SO MUCH PAIN THAT EVERY STEP I TAKE MAKES ME WINCE AND TEAR UP.
...
well, why don't you call me on Wednesday and we'll see...
I almost broke the phone in half, but promptly called my previous doctor who actually had 20 years experience over this newly graduated doc ( I had my sources check this out) and beleived in listening to me and finding alternatives that were in my best interest.
So as I sit here typing this, my fingers are cramping and back is aching so much that I will have to lie down once again until the sharp stabbing pain that pulses through my muscles and joints pass.
fucken dolt.
playwrights, dreamers, poets, and spiritual pioneers...
Not that I take this stuff seriously, not that I think that these things will come true; but I do get a kick out of the timing of these things - especially since I will be leaving for T.O on Thursday, then Detroit on Friday till Sunday, meeting with a whole new batch of flickr people at a huge art event which will bring together all kinds of crazy, off the wall, deviants and mystics under one roof...
Power of the Unseen Mars in your career zone is trying to create tangible and measurable results, but you may also find yourself pitted against forces that seem to be beyond your present control. Mercury, Venus, and Uranus all are in your twelfth and spiritual zone, which is going to bring events out of the blue.
You may find your dreams to be very vivid and that inspiration and revelation become your constant companions. It is also possible that you could be working out some karma in one way or another, and you will sense when this is happening. There is a lot of mystical energy that is working through you and encouraging you to think about who you are and where you are going.
Jupiter in Sagittarius is encouraging you to venture forth and learn more about yourself by traveling in consciousness as well as going on long journeys.
Expect to meet people who may have a very non-materialistic agenda, especially on Thursday when the Sun conjuncts Neptune in your social zone. You could hook up with artists, playwrights, dreamers, poets, and spiritual pioneers. Although you may not succeed in getting a lot of practical work done you will harvest some fabulous ideas.
Power of the Unseen Mars in your career zone is trying to create tangible and measurable results, but you may also find yourself pitted against forces that seem to be beyond your present control. Mercury, Venus, and Uranus all are in your twelfth and spiritual zone, which is going to bring events out of the blue.
You may find your dreams to be very vivid and that inspiration and revelation become your constant companions. It is also possible that you could be working out some karma in one way or another, and you will sense when this is happening. There is a lot of mystical energy that is working through you and encouraging you to think about who you are and where you are going.
Jupiter in Sagittarius is encouraging you to venture forth and learn more about yourself by traveling in consciousness as well as going on long journeys.
Expect to meet people who may have a very non-materialistic agenda, especially on Thursday when the Sun conjuncts Neptune in your social zone. You could hook up with artists, playwrights, dreamers, poets, and spiritual pioneers. Although you may not succeed in getting a lot of practical work done you will harvest some fabulous ideas.
Friday, February 02, 2007
uncontrollably hallelujah
Now some of this spam shit is just getting stupid, and why all of those references to the bible? Hello?!
I've been keeping the good ones and delting the bad - but some of these just stuck.
I don't know why Jane Powell's Daily meditations always go to spam - some of them are a bit bla bla bla, but I kept this one because it just fit.
And after I read it, I had an "uncontrollably hallelujah" moment.
I don't approve of any of my actions or any of the words that came out of my mouth
indoor minivan
Jane Powell
Your Daily Meditation - Why You're So Unique
uncontrollably hallelujah
I've been keeping the good ones and delting the bad - but some of these just stuck.
I don't know why Jane Powell's Daily meditations always go to spam - some of them are a bit bla bla bla, but I kept this one because it just fit.
And after I read it, I had an "uncontrollably hallelujah" moment.
I don't approve of any of my actions or any of the words that came out of my mouth
indoor minivan
Jane Powell
Your Daily Meditation - Why You're So Unique
uncontrollably hallelujah
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)