31 May 2005


i would also like to make a quick public announcement that some guy let me ride his electric scooter tonight and i rode it for three blocks and it was Forty Thousand Shades of Bliss and i WANT ONE.
in the shameless rich westerner capitalist way that we...rich shameless westerners are, i WANT ONE.
my birthday is october 1st, and they are $500 second hand. take note potential sugar daddies.

the all-night supermarket in the midst of a nervous breakdown.

i went to the all night supermarket to buy milk for tomorrow morning's tea and the guy in front of me had bought the night-shift cashier flowers. that's all. he just gave 'em to her and left. she said he had been in earlier in the day buying flowers for himself (!!!) and she had commented on how nice flowers are. so he just came back and bought her flowers.
i nearly wept shamelessly in my post TPM fundraiser drunkeness.

well good citizens of the internet, i have forty thousand thoughts on my weekend at TCAF but right now my eyeballs are bleeding and my brain is exploding with this Bloody illustration deal, so i shall leave you hanging 'til either the 6th of June, or 'til i just CANNOT handle a stef-less life any longer, and give in to the veritable plethora of stray philosophical preponderances the weekend filled me with.
we'll see.
so there.
stay tuned.

26 May 2005

to listen with an understanding ear.

ah, the difference between hearing and listening.
hearing is a selective, egotistical activity.
we hear what we want to hear, but so frequently this just doesn't entail listening.
last night i approached a close friend to apologize for some assumptions i had made. as the infamous and familiar amorphous disagreements came up, i tried to call on my oft ill-tuned listening skills (or did my very best to, anyhow), instead of being carried away by my own screaming attempts to be understood. i think it's 'coz i finally felt like i would be clear enough to be understood, and so there was nothing to panic about.
and i think, dear reader(s) that i succeeded. just a little. in listening, that is. not just hearing. and in the calm dialogue that ensued, i feel like i reached some new platform of rational peace that was really very edifying. perhaps not self-serving in any significant way, but soooo satisfying.
two sides make sense when the picture is bigger than just one person's. the whole picture. whoosh. it doesn't make disagreements any easier. but somehow peace seems more viable when you realize the person with whom you are disagreeing is having as taxing a time as you are, trying to do the best thing all 'round.

"an honest day's living", Barker coined it today. indeed.

i biked home thinking about bigger disagreements, you know, the cosmic universal stuff. the problem is strictly one of not seeing the picture beyond onesself. and accepting it.

today i thought about this notion relative to writing. storytellers should remember this: that we take in not what is told to us, but what we wish to hear. it takes the pressure off, somehow. and gives a small sense of universalness to the task of writers. if a whole bunch of people are hearing the same thing you are saying, than you have struck a chord, but if no one is hearing you, perhaps you need to question the importance of saying it.
that was a dangerous statement; what i mean is, there is a bigger picture at play in the world. some details are too small to be of significance.

25 May 2005

today's stale cookie and a pitiable fortune.

anger is the thorny bush in the meadow of love.
yes, i guess that would be me.

24 May 2005

what was Not a waste of my time AT ALL...

was Volcano's production of Hedda Gabler, which i saw in preview the other night. Buddies in Bad Times. it was Bloody Fantastic. Yay! Yanna McIntosh (sp?) Yay! Ross Manson! Yay! John Patrick Robichaud! Yay! Nigel Shawn Williams! YAAYYYY! okay...let's do this properly...YAY ENTIRE CAST AND CREW!
the production also prompted much rumination on mopey disillusioned European 20th century authors and their corresponding female leads, and also on modern renditions of classics, but all that for tomorrow i think. my ovaries are screeching in a manner far too distracting for fruitful pondering. sigh.

those kids...

when i was in middle/high school i used to hate (didn't we all?) the clubhouses and the in-kids and the special passwords, none of which, of course, i was ever privvy too. yes, dear reader(s), i was one of those kids.
nowadays, with me being all grown up and everything, i assume that is the stuff of the past, a slight nostalgic chortle over tea and the wisdom of age.
then, every so often, i find myself at an event by accident and realize that i had it all wrong being bitter; the passwords were of course to keep the other kids out, but this is in fact an unwitting Favour, for we would find nothing of interest as non-card carrying members.
and if i think about it for a second, it kind of makes sense. community close-knitedness comes as a result of creating a set of like-minded interests/preoccupations that are not for the common populus.
i guess, anyhow.
would i want someone interested in cookbooks showing up to talk about souffle and the volatile nature of aspargus at my comic/graphic novel tea outings? probably not.
the key is specificity.
unfortunately, events marketing is not always specific.
sometimes events marketing wastes my Time.
and that is Very Frustrating Indeed.

23 May 2005

the geography of googling.

ok. i have to say that my fixation with blogpatrol numbers ended a few weeks back (surprisingly [to me] a few days after i found the ruddy code)
BUT. my interest in what people are googling and getting here from has not. what follows are some of the more interesting ones:

disorder bikes (Google)

rub tug toronto ossington (Google)


disorder bike (Google)

again? and at a different time no less!

sex Doll demonstration (Google)

glad i took that quick time movie down. giving away all my secrets...

sex with vacuum cleaners (Google)
you've GOT to be KIDDING.

synapse cognitive (Google)

hair elastics (Google)

of course...

true story of running away to circus (Google)

this one is my VERY favourite and just makes me Very Very happy. Imagine. imagine the person sitting there at 10.47 on a tuesday morning, googling this. what was s/he planning/searching for? sigh.

what to sad in a interview (Google)

synapse handlebars (Google)

this one was a few weeks ago. someone obviously taking the piss at my new found addiction.

now, since my most devoted fan(s) (me) will be aware that nowhere in my blog do i have anything about hair elastics or having sex with vacuum cleaners, this serves as some evidence of just what shortcomings still exist in google technology. just like God, all hail the proverbial grain of salt.

however. in case you think my worship of google has lessened (since my worship of God as a recovering catholic most Definitely has), i have two (only recently discovered!) words. GOOGLE-MAPPING. WOWWWW. SATTELLLITTTEE even!

21 May 2005

wisdom quoted mercilessly from Shannon Gerard.

this is from the blog of the Awesomely awesome Shannon Gerard and i love it. heheh. i am a shameless groupy this weekend of Shannon Gerard and Willow Dawson. everyone needs superheroines, dear reader(s), and these girls wrote the book (i'm going to add an appendix too, as well as a short bonus story entitled "the Adventures of stef lenk's astonishing trousers" where cool people i meet get to borrow my amazing pants and take them on trips and take photos of them in Russia and such to send back and make stories about)

ladies and gentlemen of blog-land, we give you the Girls miss-Guided, our new femalian comic artists' collective. complete with little blue dresses and like-minded socks and badges to be.

as for the below, i plagarized without asking. i promise to take it down if need be...

7. The disintegration of a fantasy may be the worst kind of loss, since you can't articulate a loss which produces no tangible absence. When you can't point to anything actually missing, it starts to get complicated.

i LOVE this.

ok. blog blog blog. enough. must drink tea and do things.


alas, as of this morning, Spleen has not yet left my side. but i've locked him in the bathroom and left him clamouring so i can actually get some work done today. for the love of Gods let's hope he doesn't befoul the bathtowels.

a small demon called Spleen.

OED: Spleen n. (second meaning) this as the supposed seat of the passions; moroseness, irritability, spite...

i was, alas, filled with hideous venom and what i can only refer to as Spleen during the latter half of yesterday, and i think a public apology should go out to anyone and everyone i may have/did encounter.

it was that Gross directionless Spleen that very likely comes from sleep deprivation and complete anxiety, and tempered with a lovely side order of despair and melancholy that was beyond excessive.

Spleen. ah yes. that ruddy little demon that surfaces and takes over and is worse than a gremlin in your toilet that comes up to bite your bum on a tuesday. i tried to leave Spleen at home, but it eked its way out the door as i was locking up and jumped on my back beyond my reach.

as i biked to work i veered crazily through traffic at break-neck speeds trying to dislodge it, but it just cackled gleefully, shouting YEEHAA!, frog-legs flying asunder as drivers everywhere shook their fists and hoped for the end of cyclists everywhere.

i feel fairly sure that Spleen arrived at Coach House before me (while i was locking up my bike no doubt), and installed itself in the cd drive of the computer i was using and made it do the kinds of things that make one wish for a jackhammer and a job at mcdonalds.

the momentary death-defying leap of a squirrel to the sill (?) of my window almost distracted it and took it on its merry way, but alas, Spleen found the weekly Now and figured the squirrel wasn't nearly as enticing.


i tried to coax Spleen into my digestive tract with some malai kofta (ghandi roti for the uninitiated, or "ten shades of gustatory bliss", as i know it). i knew my stomach juices could give it a go, given half the chance. but alas, Spleen decided it had already eaten, and just sat and waited 'til i was finished to accompany to my next destination. i tried lieing in the park for a spell of sunshine and peace, but Spleen was wearing impermeable sunscreen.

i tried at some point to sit Spleen down and reason with it, or at least get itself to behave around my friends until such a moment as i could deal with it in private. i won the debate (so i thought) and made it sit in the corner of my brain with a dunce hat, but then it folded the paper cone into an airplane and started banging it against the walls of my cranium.
i had planned to fill downtime of the evening with work on a deadline of Impending Doom, but since it seemed i was intended to babysit Spleen instead, i mired away the time (i didn't have a book, a sign of Something Gravely Wrong) google-mapping, reading memepool, and googling every single person i know, including myself.

well, lest i end this posting on a foul note, i did find this unexpected little parting in the thunderclouds in rm vaughan's national post reviews blog archive with this tiny little reference about Hysteria last year: "...and the Edward Gorey-esque oddities of painter Stef Lenk..."
yes that's all, but to anyone who understands that i'm easily pleased as well as a religious fanatic of Edward Gorey and all of his ilk, well, it was a Moment.

20 May 2005

Shannon Gerard, We're Your NUMBER 1 FANS.

i'm breakin' every rule in my bloggin' book tonight. you know when you clickity click and you see those blogs that are just photos of complete strangers sitting around in each others' rec rooms drinking beer and such, and you think, who are these people and why are they on my computer screen, and why DO i waste my time clicking that top right blogger button, and what about the masters degree i was gonna go complete someday, or that novel i was gonna write?
well, TONIGHT, ladies and gentlemen, i'm breakin' all the rules. i am not only wandering over to that dark side of blogging, i'm hitching up my skirts and sidling over with a couple of WICKED ladies in tow.
and All for Shannon Gerard.
Shannon Gerard (this is Shannon Gerard here)
(this is it, this is my first divergence into "photos of strangers for all you strange readers out there. so far so good)
is one of the Coolest chicks on earth, and tonight was the launch of her comic book "Hung" (volume 1), and it was at Clinton's, complete with Totally Jedi hand stamps, the Ludes, door prizes, and star wars trivia. i should say that door prizes included HAND SCREENPRINTED (oh yes, by Shannon herself) star wars t-shirts, and banana flavoured condoms, and a novel of some description, and writing utensils in case you wanted to write something down, and two "bitter" t-shirts that she GAVE away, along with the story that she made them for some guy's band, and then he said he'd "Call Her".
ah, yes, the "i'll Call You" tactic.
yes girls, we've all been there, but i ask you, CAN WE ALL SAY THAT WE MADE THE T-SHIRT?
Shannon has raised the idea of beginning a "Crappy exes" trading card collection with Willow and I as her first contributors, as our first compendium project. AWESOME.

(photo courtesy of Tyrone McCarthy)
this is the three of us. and we are So Fucking Cool.
how bloggerly of me. what FUN.
happy Book launch Shannon, you are the Best "Hung" comic book artist EVER.

15 May 2005

eorge-Gay u-bl-ewe-dWay ush-Bay.

after a long discerning conversation, Rebecca and i decided that i should write a scathing review of the politician this post is titled after (disguised in pig latin so the fascist armerican customs officers won't peg my blog and forbid me from crossing their precious border).
since no doubt the man googles himself daily (what the hell else could he be doing of Any merit to us at all?), perhaps he will contest my criticisms and i could debate him on it with precision and alacrity, and the forum would at last come down to the people that matter, and we could finally see an End to this cretin and regain some harmony in the world!

(sigh.) one small step for bloggers, one Great Justice for people-kind.

14 May 2005

Guest Bytch

i almost forgot! i'm the "Guest Bytch" on Shebytches.ca for the next two weeks! there's a spread of selected artwork from my last two series "Gravely Disturbed" and "Inside Sylvia Plath's Oven" on this site, which is a Fantastic and voluminous e-zine to do with a new kindda feminism run by some of the most Supportive fellow writers/artists i've encountered in a while. This will be followed (on shebytches) by a couple of articles/rant type things that are culled from this very blog, so check it out if you feel so inclined.
Also, Shebytches will have a table at Toronto's Small Press Book Fair on 21st May, which promises to be a Very Awesome event as well, so come one, come all!

Ladies and Gentlemen, a Symphony of Accolades for Lucinda and Pages Bookstore.

the other day, friday to be exact, (before my fortuitous hot chocolate and encounter with Willow at Moonbean), i decided that i would attempt to cure my desperate melancholy with a trip to Pages.
now there are FEW places on earth that fill me with COMPLETE GLEE AND EXTRAVAGANCE as does Pages (bookstore, to the uninitiated, located at Queen and John, SW side).
sigh. the worst thing about my expenditures there is there is no way to Not justify the purchase. no amount of "i'm a rich capitalist westerner in need of Nothing" will keep me from proffering my pitiable pay cheque to the Good people of Pages for some ripe extravagant book purchase on a melancholy Friday.

anyhow. I was in search of an Oulipo Compendium, a Reader about this strange movement in literature that Rebecca only lately made me privy to. google revealed that "OULIPO is the Ouvroir de Littérature Potentielle, or Workshop of Potential Literature, a group of writers and mathematicians". Members include Raymond Queneau, François Le Lionnais, Claude Berge, Georges Perec, and Italo Calvino. though the movement is not that recent, "More thorough-going researches are currently being carried out in an obscure and semi-derelict laboratory, the Mappery of Abductive Poetics, in South London."

any movement that tries to integrate writing with science (or maths, in this case), to create new structures or patterns for writers is already enticing to me. then i find out that one Georges Perec constructed an entire novel, entitled la Disparition without using a single letter E. followed by the discovery that Italo Calvino was/is a member of this movement Capped it. Calvino's If on a Winter's Night a Traveller... has one of my FAVOURITE prologues of All Time:

" You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a Winter's Night a Traveller. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, "No, I don't want to watch TV!" Raise your voice-they won't hear you otherwise-"I'm reading! I don't want to be disturbed!" Maybe they haven't heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: I'm beginning to read Italo Calvino's new novel!" Or if you prefer, don't say anything; just hope they'll leave you alone..."
and so on.

but where was i.
alas, Pages did not have this Oulipo Compendium in stock, but Lucinda, a salesperson there, NOT ONLY looked up other titles for me and checked their availability, she took a special order for both the compendium and another book, an Oulipo Primer. I confessed to being a little wary of special ordering the Primer; it wasn't the original book that had been recommended to me and i was nervous that i wouldn't want it and everyone's time and money would be wasted. but she said she would investigate both books. THEN Lucinda Called me later that day to let me know that although the Compendium was out of print, she had found some more information about the Primer, (the listing when i was there had been scant) listed the authors and their relevance to the movement, and said that it seemed a fantastic volume and ordering it would be no problem, etc etc. though i could choose to take it if i wish.

This is a Genuine heartfelt and Public thank you to Lucinda, to Pages Bookstore, and to bibliophiles everywhere who understand people's special book-order needs, and what a trying time the special order process can be.


PAGES BOOKSTORE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. PLEASE MAKE ALL EFFORTS TO BUY BOOKS THERE.("This Ain't the Rosedale Library" and "Women's College Bookstore" AS WELL!). you will NEVER get this kind of attention at Chapters. NEVER.

further cognitive activity on the topic of A Perfect Fake

this morning i awoke to an unexpected email (WHO KNEW?!?!) from the director (who i am not personally acquainted with) of A Perfect Fake, the documentary i saw a few weeks ago that prompted some serious querying on my part. i am awaiting permission from him to publish the email, but wanted to publish my response in case my stance had seemed unclear or disciminatory to my reader(s) in any way.
just got permission; here's the initial email, followed by my response.
hey there
someone sent me your posting on my film A Perfect Fake...
so that was you, asking the 'woman question'? I am sorry if i sounded dismissive. its a complicated question, and its clear i didn't successfully address your concerns.
i am a bit baffled though, as to why you insisted (twice) in your posting on identifying Kathleen Pirrie Adams as a 'lesbian'--in italics yet!
However true this might be, your insistent identification of her sexual orientation seems to be aimed at somehow discrediting what she is saying....as if to say, sure, there's a woman in the film--but she's a lesbian, folks (wink wink)...I fail to see what relevance this has to anything....
Would you point out that someone is black, or Asian, or fat?
On the other hand, you also neglected to mention that in the same response, I also said that 'my producer was a woman'. As far as 'involvement' in making a film goes, you don't get much more 'involved' than a producer...they are the reason the film happens, full stop. They are 'involved' every step of the way. Clearly, this fact didn't suit you.

Anyway, let me just say this: I set out to make a film which had a particular tone-- a tone of non-judgement.

I am not interested in finger pointy indignation, or easy targets. I like work that forces the viewer to think, rather than joining them in fits of unearned moral outrage at how 'appalling' men are. I don't like smug holier than thou films. I don't like films that mock their characters....

this accounts in part, for the 'uncritical' presentation of the characters in my film. there are other things as well, but i suppose that's enough for now.

take care,
Marc de Guerre


This is an unexpected email, and i totally appreciate you taking the time to respond to my posting, (as well as somewhat fascinated at just how far-reaching my tiny blog seems to be.)
I do agree the "woman" question with regards to "A Perfect Fake" must have been a complicated one, and Definitely one that would exceed the time limit of the very short Q and A that Hot Docs was able to provide.
It seems however, that I need to elaborate on a few things that my posting might not have made clear.

I must assure you first off that Kathleen Pirrie Adams was An Utter Merit to the film. Not once in my thoughts has it been my intention to discredit her, and if she too has read my posting and is in doubt about this, please forward this to her, offer her both my sincere apologies for lack of clarity and my contact details if necessary. I am very happy to speak with her myself. In fact, I put the same sincere question out to you and to her that I did at the screening: I really would like to know what she (and the other women involved) thought about the film, off-camera, and the experience of making it.

I do maintain that gender orientation in this instance is of relevance. NOT in a "wink wink" kind of a way, as you intone, but in a Straight-Up "we are addressing issues of sex, and men's sexual relations with "women" (albeit false ones). I feel that heterosexual women DO have attitudes on this topic, and these attitudes are both Relevant and Highly Important. Ms. Adams' comments were spot-on, and intellectually astute, but what was lacking in the film (for me, anyway) were comments by heterosexual women, for whom this issue can be much more contentious. I feel that to ignore both genders' views of this issue; that is, the concerns of those men addicted, (which I felt were very well addressed, to your credit) and the concerns of the people (particularly female) that love/care/are close to them, is Dangerous.

I do also need to point out that I am one humble viewer; my blog is a personal endeavour with a small audience. I am recording my opinions of things I experience, and they are perhaps less researched or objective than a review that the daily Toronto papers or NOW weekly might proffer. I am still trying to negotiate my way through the understanding that a blog is a public platform, and some people reading (including yourself) may not be aware of my personal Antipathy towards discrimination of any sort. This is unfortunate, and hopefully I can make that clear in retrospect with this email.
As with my blog, your film was a personal project, and you have the Utter right to approach it with whatever perspective you may have. But opinions of any sort and medium, when put into a public forum are going to find dissenters.
This is out of your control and (in the case of my blog) mine.
I do feel that your film was non-judgemental, and I appreciate that must have been very difficult to achieve, and commend you on it. It was a difficult film to watch, and I confess that I knew it would be so before walking in. I'm not a moralist, (as further reading of my blog might attest to), nor am I interested in "holier than thou" endeavours to discredit fetishists or those with (how shall we phrase it?) alternative sexual leanings. Not at All.
But I am interested in addressing some of the more ethereal (perhaps traditionally feminine) issues in how the cyber-age is affecting our sexual relations with each other; the perspective in your film seemed unbalanced.
The truth of the matter is that you are male, and bring that to the table as a filmmaker. I am female, and bring that to the table as one of the film's audience members. If I continued to feel that righteous about what was missing in the film, I could go off and make my own film about the same subject. This is not something I am planning. I did, nonetheless, voice my opinion, however subjective, in the forum that I choose to record these things.
It is possible with a more selective screening venue that you could avoid getting reviews such as mine about your work, but would that be as productive? Your film was thought-provoking enough to have elicited a fairly loaded response on my part (as well as others who I spoke with about the film), so I would count that as a successful venture on your part regardless.

With your permission, I would love to post your concerns on my blog, as well as my response; perhaps it would be helpful to get some outside perspective from anyone else who might care to read it...

Cheers, and once again thank you for your email,

Life before Dread.

found this photo in a shoe box of nostalgia the other day. i had almost forgotten life before Dreads. which, as you can see, seems just as mopey and melancholic as my life DDE (during Dread era).

strangely, the other night i had a dream that all my dreads had broken off at exactly the same place just below the nape of my neck, and i was carrying the dread-dritus around in a pile, looking for a way/person/place to sew them back on.

13 May 2005

Life is HELL.

i've decided that life is Hell Hell Hell. and the only respite from this hell on a Friday (the 13th, i might add) is an unexpected encounter with Willow Dawson at the Blessed Blessed Moonbean Café. All Hail dear friends, momentary respite from the chaos, and hot chocolate!

09 May 2005

do you know what i Love right now?

of course you don't, that's why you are still reading.
i LOVE the fact that most of my life right now takes place in historical Toronto buildings. Brick, Coach House, Passe Muraille...even my yoga classes are in a historical building, complete with one of those creaky cranky elevator cages. all these Old buildings. i LOVE that. i feel it very apt to be surrounded by wooden doors and fireplaces and William Morris-esque wallpaper and inlaid bookshelves and decrepit stairwells and stain glass windows.

in Toronto, no less!?! who knew?!?!

somehow it makes my recent strayings from dead authors in favour of (shiver) contemporary ones more palatable.

although i do vaguely question the meretricity (sic sic sic) of the "historical" new lamp fixture at the bottom of the George Brown stairwell.

Chekov's Heartache.

yes yes yes yes YES. Dear Reader(s) Get thee hence and see this FANTASTIC play. Factory theatre (Toronto, of course). til the 28th May, i think...
Theatre Smith Gilmour and their co-conspirators are Masters of story-telling. MASTERS, i tell you. and this next chapter in the Chekov cycle is Stupendously enjoyable. they do SO much with nothing. SO much. by nothing i mean the Barest of stages, the most minimal of props, and the most Optimum of talent. and for such lush stories, the script is so bare. not one moment of the audience's time is wasted. there's Nothing extraneous, not one uttered word misplaced, No words that don't further your knowledge of the story,or the characters inside it, or what's to happen... Yay Yay YAY. Four performers play, what, 8, 12, 16 characters? and Real characters, exaggerated in an aesthetic sense, but with Real relations with each other. and all with the mere change of a hat, tying of a scarf, spin off the stage. complete suspension of disbelief, with nary a crutch of theatre trickery or duplicity. MAGIC.
(sigh) i have a weakness for what i see to be these exotic reminiscences of the eastern european world of Bruno Schulz and Kafka. for me there's some edgy dark of torment at the mere mention of Moscow or Poland, and i Love it.

Yay! all hail the modern creative brainchilds of communist suffering!

08 May 2005

the perfect rejection letter.

a Great deal of unsolicited submissions i have read are memoirs. many many (sigh...Many!) people see their lives as memorable enough to expound on at great length and send to strangers.

as do i, right here and right now, in fact!. and you poor dear things who have happened upon this blog might well have to linger on these words (gods pray you have high speed!) until your anxious clickity click redirects you to more fruitful and informative webpages.

theoretically, i like this pretension; that so many aspiring writers are So thrilled with their own personal narratives and history, with the little things in life,that they feel it worthy of pen and paper (so to speak) and public consumption.
but still. the task of selecting for publication is an inevitable one. not everyone is gonna make it between the dustcovers.

how Wonderful it would be to be able to come up with the Perfect words to describe a submission as worthy, but not appropriate for publication.

i am hereby making it my new goal to come up with the perfect rejection letter!

this sounds, perhaps, immensely nihilistic and downright rude. but think of it; think of how progressive we would be in communicating with each other if we could make it apparent that all things/people are Important, and Loved, and Significant, whilst at the same time saying that their correct place is "some other publication"?
HOW HOW HOW? i think towards the small compassion debate a few postings down; that compassion involves ferocity, and i feel sometimes that that is true.

perhaps people need a distinct sense of what belongs in the world at large and what belongs in their heads and only in their heads. for the good of the World instead of their Egos.

the next consistent submission topic, the one which makes me feel weighty and ponderous, is the people who have lost a loved one. so many people who have lost loved ones turn to writing to attempt to understand their grief, come to terms with their grief, understand how it has affected their lives. if i ever needed any more proof of the Magic that is the craft of writing, it is reading peoples' submissions about their lost partner, parent, or loved one to cancer or myriad other mortal ailments.

the same worry occurs, how to make people realize how Truly Truly important their stories are, whose publication would be the most obvious way of acknowledging that worth.

but this is what worries me, dear reader(s). is this some strange plague? that the only outlet for so many peoples' grief is putting it to paper and sending it to strangers? or, as is fast definitely becoming a plague (at least in my synapses) posting some blog somewhere in cyberspace in the hopes that someone will read and sympathize?

what exactly is the therapeutic aspect of having someone share your grief? there is one, i have NO doubt in my mind, i know for a Fact. and i believe that it is Grossly underestimated in the world, and not condoned or encouraged in the way it should be. but what is it? what does it accomplish, sharing the darker sides of one's psyche with others? and when is it "no longer suitable for publication"?

06 May 2005

the inadvertency of googling.

i think i'm going to have to make a concerted effort to quell my latent perversion, and stop peppering my blog with thoughts on erotic sculpture and sex doll documentaries. before people were googling "Jeunet and bicycle" (nostalgic sigh) and arriving at my cyberstep. now people are getting here via "human and humiliation pics" YIKES.

(for the record, and any stray newcomers, you will not find ANY postings here on humans being humiliated. get help and get lost.)

of course, i suppose when you put reeses pieces at your doorstep, you have to expect small brown shivelly aliens to come calling. likewise with all the saucy language.

numbered survey tallys and erotic sculpture.

was working on a survey tally yesterday, thinking how inscrutable numbers are.
the question was: rate your interests from one to five in the following areas: you know, medicine, current events, book reviews, erotic sculpture...
and some poor individual was obviously having a very difficult time with the erotic sculpture option. there was an Assertive circling of 5, crossed out and replaced by a circling of 2, and 4 had obviously been addressed as well and then scribbled over; the rest of the survey was unblemished, but this one question had caused quite the struggle. heheh.

04 May 2005

public service announcement and entreaty too...

so, dear reader(s), at long last, after all this humming and ha'ing, i have given notice on my fair apartment. i will finally be leaving the east end for fairer pastures come July. sigh. where? i don't know. how? bless it i don't know either, and somehow i doubt all my books will fit in that crumpled up satchel at the end of my travelling stick that i moved in here with.
but there you have it. times change. if anyone is looking, or knows anyone who is looking, to move for the month of July, click, click, click. i've Geekily put a few pictures up of said place, along with the necessary skinny. it's really a pretty decent abode, and my neighbours are choice, although some warning should be made about the dilapidated state of the actual building. i call it "urban flavour".
but we all knew i'd turn into a little-less-urban-building kind of gal, didn't we?
wow. that was quick. it's tomorrow, and it's spoken for. by more than one person, even! guess that decides things rather irrevocably, doesn't it?

Gleeful Shiver.

dear friends.
haagen daaz cookie dough dynamo.
need i say more?

03 May 2005

hysteria and the perfect fake.

you know, i am Not a feminist, by strict definition. i have better things to rant about (or i would hope i do) than to pull out my tiny soapbox and tell the world how i've been wronged by virtue of my gender.
that said...

1. hysteria.

dear reader(s), i was involved in a multi-media arts show at Buddies last year entitled "Hysteria". Fantastic experience. perhaps a bit more female-centric than i'm used to, which is a limitation i usually find a little worrisome, since i think a balance of estrogen and testosterone is necessary in most endeavours to bring about perspective and quality.
this was the first time i gave the word hysteria a moment of real attention.
now the following is a definition of hysteria from the glorious knowledge bank of Wikipedia (bear with me, here...):

Hysteria is a diagnostic label applied to a state of mind, one of unmanageable fear or emotional excesses. The fear is often centered on a body part, most often on an imagined problem with that body part ... People who are "hysterical" often lose self-control due to the overwhelming fear.
The term originates with the Greek medical term, hysterikos. This referred to a supposed medical condition, peculiar to women, caused by disturbances of the uterus, hystera in Greek. The term hysteria was coined by Hippocrates, who thought that the cause of hysteria was irregular movement of blood from the uterus to the brain.
The same general definition came into widespread use in the late 1800s to describe what is today generally considered to be sexual dissatisfaction. "Treatment" typically consisted of the use of vibrators or water sprays to cause orgasm. By the early 1900s the practice, and usage of the term, had fallen from use, until it was again popularised when the writings of Sigmund Freud became known and influential in Britain and the USA in the 1920s. The Freudian psychoanalytic school of psychology uses its own, somewhat controversial, ways to treat hysteria.


2. the Perfect Fake.

i'm not sure what it is in me that gets myself into these situations: i often do strange research or have odd conversations under the guise of "stretching the boundaries of my knowledge and/or experience". i will chase after things that disturb me or i find threatening, precisely to find out why i am affected as such. truth be told, there is no time to date that i have significantly changed my attitude towards certain things, and more often than not i end up just feeling nauseated by some of the world's more atrocious leanings — one would think i would leave well enough alone — but alas, i don't.
which brings us to Friday.
a documentary entitled "the perfect fake". i was the one who proposed seeing it, despite caveats from Barker that we would very probably both leave feeling offended, anxious, or just plain Unusual. surprising absolutely noone, i didn't listen.

the documentary, in case it isn't obvious, is about sex dolls and cyber-porn. (yes. sex-dolls and cyber porn.)

the documentary was (Very Cleverly) coupled with "Life-Like", a piece on taxidermy. (yes, Taxidermy. moose heads in basements and stuffed dead house pets.)

characters included:
(in "life-like"): a woman with a recently deceased pet dog that she was determined to have immortalized through an effective freeze drying.

(in "perfect fake") a 40 year old anonymous executive who runs around wearing a wedding ring, whilst he keeps a separate apartment for his 40 odd sex dolls. the number is, of course, ever rising. he fucks each new one as they arrive, and has solitary little orgies with his numerous moppets of debauchery.

a man who has one of these life-like vixens for his partner, takes her on trips and photographs her in parks with the daisies blowing in the distance. "when she doesn't want me to take her photograph," he says, " i can be agressive and take her photograph anyway"
of course, you can, dearheart, of course you can.
(note the use of the pronoun she. not it, but she.)

another man spends his time constructing blow job machines. he describes them as reminiscent of vacuum cleaners. (vacuum cleaners)"lots of people like to fuck vacuum cleaners" he says, just before giving viewers a (clothed) demonstration of how his high-tech machinery works. "it feels like Really having sex" REAL sex, ladies and gentlemen.

i would at this juncture like to pose a question about the "male" as he was presented here, catering to what were repeatedly asserted to be his natural born desires. WHAT ON FUCKING EARTH IS NATURAL ABOUT A HUMAN BEING SHACKING UP WITH A RUBBER DOLL, SPREAD EAGLED IN A SCHOOL KILT, POPPING HER HEAD OFF AND STUFFING HER IN A BAG TO TAKE HER PLACES WITH HIM?


i would like, for a moment, to refer you once again to the outset of this posting, with the defining tenets of "hysteria": Hysteria is a diagnostic label applied to a state of mind, one of unmanageable fear or emotional excesses. The fear is often centered on a body part, most often on an imagined problem with that body part
yes. and is this the same "sexual dissatisfaction" of the 1800's that doctors "treated" women for with vibrators and the like?

have we put so much estrogen in our dairy products that men are taking over the roles once reserved for us?

the filmmaker was present for the q and a afterwards, and explained his impetus for making the documentary was an article he read on some spanish company determined to make a hard core porn film that was/is all CGI. the filmmaker found himself contemplating how it would change the experience of watching porn.
i asked if any women were involved making the film. he seemed baffled by my question. there was, after all, the lesbian sociologist in the commentary part near the beginning. he had no answer to what any women involved thought of the film. and then this dodge: "this film is about men" the ENTIRE film is about the manufacturing of "women", and it is considered to be ONLY about men.

now it is true. this film is largely Not about men who've been rejected by women; it is about men who want nothing to do with women in the first place. "Woman" (as most of us define the term) is no longer the ideal here. and, as one doll creator said, with a teddy bear on his lap during the interview: "once you've created that world for yourself you become resistant to change."

there was, to me, this irreducible irony of watching a bunch of men sit around and discuss themselves, like their relationships to females (or fake ones) could be understandable simply by virtue of an all-male debate. (sorry, and one lesbian, of course.)

now, to attempt another perspective on this, there are probably alot of guys out there who should be shacking up with dolls. many don't know how to communicate, and much importantly don't want to communicate, and i'm sure many assume that their actions as a result have no repercussion on anyone around them, and cause a Great Deal of Harm to those they're involved with .

i would like to propose that many of us aren't taught to live well in this age of toys and excess. what was it... "without God, everything is permitted." well, just 'coz there may not be a "God", Just because everything is permitted, doesn't mean that nothing is sacred. we're so busy going about creating toys to replace what we are lacking, because we no longer even try to define sacred these days, much less search for it.

all hail a new age of sacredness, i propose it in the forms of Respect, Etiquette (tempered and modernized of course) and chivalry. i Swear it. if we were all better behaved in our general daily considerations of each other we might begin to find it easier to find other people sacred again.

since i'm aware that my views are not necessarily those held by my reader(s), someone in the audience did ask the price difference between getting a doll made and getting an animal stuffed. one of the taxidermists was present and when given the microphone said "well, the stuffed animals are cheaper, if that's any help."

if that's any help.

01 May 2005

did i say i was taking a hiatus?

i lied.
i ran into an old friend the other day and was, as is my wont, Very excited. i hadn't seen him in ages and he is a dear and wonderful person. unfortunately, my good humour waned somewhat when, in the course of our four minute conversation, he successfully managed to steer the topic away from what his own life at least three times. he asked about my activities and seemed to assume i was content to go on about them self-absorbedly with nary an interest in his own diversions.
in fact, he seemed Hellbent on keeping me at arms length in every way. the vibe was Weird, dear reader(s), and i didn't get it. but it made me feel distant,disappointed, and just plain shunned.
then when he left, i felt guilty and invasive for asking about his life, like i had stumbled on some nasty little secret of a man, which i know for a fact is not true. he's happily partnered, a respectible citizen, engaged in legal pursuits, always was. (heheh, famous last words)
then i wondered for a moment (Conjecture, of course) if he was feeling defensive 'coz we were once involved for a short while and he thought i was lavishing him with inappropriate attentions by showing an interest.
this is not the first time or the first person this has happened with.
so, Just in Case this is the reason...
i am effusive with/about MANY people, male and female, and with a willful disregard for their status in my life (be it acquaintance, friend, lover) if i like you, you're Stuck with my Effusiveness. DEAL WITH IT.

and Rest Assured that just because i am effusive does NOT mean i'm imagining you without any pants on.