foxtongue: (Default)
a good Booke

A good Booke
is the pretious lifeblood of a
mafter spirit, imbalm'd and treafur'd
up on purpofe to a life beyond life.
foxtongue: (see the sky)

I Believe I can Fly ( flight of the frenchies). Trailer from sebastien montaz-rosset.



The entire 40 minutes version will be available on 11.11.11 at 11 a.m for download at sebmontaz.com.
foxtongue: (Default)
500 people in 100 seconds.


And with that, I leave for the desert. Jordan's due here any minute and all of my things are packed. We're hoping to stop in Tacoma on the way down, so Andrew and I can finally meet, but as I haven't heard from him yet, it may be something we'll do on the way back. Our only other stop is Reno, to shoot some cards and try a slot machine, just because we can and never have. It feels strange to be going this alone, like I should be waiting for Tony to get home before taking off, but he left yesterday, it's only the echo of our past relationship that's reverberating through the walls. Nicholas stayed over last night, kidnapped from a party room at PAX, and said he's not sure he could do such a thing, sleep comfortably in a place he used to live with a partner. "Too many ghosts", he said. Maybe that's it. At any rate, I'm leaving, and I won't be on-line for awhile.

I love you all. I wish you all well. Be happy. Be safe. I'll try to see you soon.
foxtongue: (Default)
Tom Waits + Cookie Monster - God's Away On Business


I've been spending almost all my time in Seattle preparing Tony's things for Burning Man, packing while he's at work, sifting through the dusty gear and left over supplies tucked away into the storage closet from last year. Now that his stuff has been put in a van, it's time to look at my own things again.

Re-pack suitcase. Re-pack laptop bag. Double-check camping box. Double-check shelf-stable food box. Freezer-test fruit juice bottle-sicles. Charge all the things! (camera battery, cell-phone, ipod, laptop). Empty the camera card. Get a bag of ice, a hairbrush from the pet store, some bag clips, some terrible road snacks. Pretend I feel ready. Eat all the perishables out of the fridge. Eat some ice-cream for luck. Do all possible laundry. Pack extra batteries. Swap out the purse for the pocket-belt. Fill ipod with new music. Mend Tony's band jacket. Print out my Burner Map. Download and print Rockstar Librarian's 2011 Burning Man Music Guide v2.0.
foxtongue: (Default)
please hold me the forgotten way

Tony and I leave for New York tonight. Here is our itinerary so far. Please, if you're around, come join us! Make plans with us! Take over our question marks!

Aside from the shows and an overwhelming desire to eat at Shopsin's, (I Like Killing Flies), our itinerary is very open. We figure any unaccounted chunks of time can be filled with sillies from the ZoomDoggle Fun List NYC.


Friday

6 am - Arrival.
??
Noon - Lunch with Mordicai.
??
7 pm - Sleep No More. Punchdrunk, a British site-specific theater company, has taken over three abandoned warehouses and crafted them into an insanely detailed, art deco, film noir, one hundred room Hitchcockian hotel, for a haunting, immersive performance loosely shadowed on Macbeth. The level of detail sounds astounding, especially given the wide range of rooms, (everything from a sweets shop to a hospital room, and the witches have a rave). According to the NY Times review, "everyone who attends “Sleep No More” is required to wear (and keep on) a Venetian carnival-style mask. You are also asked not to utter a word during the two and a half hours you are given to follow the characters of your choice from room to room. But you are encouraged to poke around in corners and trunks and bookcases, and allowed to get as close as (in)decency permits to the lithe-bodied denizens of this chic spook house. (Just don’t touch them, though they may well reach out and touch you.)".
??

Saturday

??
?? - Walk along Highline park.
8 pm - Dances of Vice presents their 4th Anniversary bash, Enchantment Under The Sea, a Back To The Future-esque 50's themed junior/senior prom at Morningside Castle. A teaser from GeekChicDaily says, "... like Marty McFly's hand, tickets will vanish fast. Don't be a slacker. Get yours before the clocktower strikes the 11th hour. It's gonna be heavy."*
??

Sunday

??
?? - Visit CB I Hate Perfume.
5 pm - The COILHOUSE Black & White & Red All Over Fundraising Ball at the velvet drenched Red Lotus Room in Brooklyn, featuring music and spectacle galore from people like Kim Boekbinder, Brian Viglione of the Dresdon Dolls, Molly Crabapple, Jessica Joslin, Muffinhead, and the Purevile! Girls. "A Love Letter To Alternative Culture" come to life! This just might turn out to be the party of the year.*
7 pm - Fuerza Bruta, an extraordinary show, absurd, messy, and very, very fun. There's bright lights, loud music, dancing, confetti drop bombs, explosions, someone gets shot, it rains indoors, and a swimming pool comes down from the ceiling. It's kind of A Thing. I loved it when I saw it in May, (thanks to Duncan for telling me about it), and now Tony is determined that we go.
9 pm - Back to the Coilhouse Ball!
??

Monday

??
Noon - Lunch with Mordicai.
??
5 pm - Departure.





*There's a special $25 package deal available for general admission to both Enchantment Under The Sea and The Black & White & Red All Over Ball.
foxtongue: (geigerteller)
"The secret of happiness is freedom. The secret of freedom is courage." - Thucydides

I'm packing for Burning Man today. I feel unprepared because everything feels so last minute, even though I made sure to make an excellent reference of my suitcase last year and I've already collected and tested out the majority of my heavy camping gear. (Repaired the air mattress, rinsed out the water jugs, tested my tent in the park across the street). I only have days to be ready, instead of weeks. I leave for Seattle on Tuesday, then I don't get back from New York until the 23th, at which point I turn right around and go back South again, a flame headed pendulum, slicing not hours but days from the time I have to prepare. There's no margin for error. If I miss something, the only chance to get it will be on the way, which is likely to be scoured clean of supplies by other Burners.

I have to pack for my New York trip today, too, which, even though it's only a quick weekend trip, feels almost more overwhelming given that we're going to not one, but two fancy dress occasions. How do you pack for a costume ball when you don't know what to wear? My stress amuses me, though. I feel blessed to have #firstworldproblems.

I'm hacking my cycle today as well, kick starting my period two weeks early rather than having it hit me in the desert. (The first cup of tea was a wash, made by accident with rosehips in, but the second stinging cup has been okay, should be enough. Mint instead of raspberry, that's the key.) Odd that tinkering with my basic biology has been the least stressful part of the day, but there you go. Maybe I should pack my seriously silly-sized tutu. That and a corset. Too overdone? Hard to dance in. And red stockings. Do those exist in Vancouver? They must.

This on top of the 1500 photos I have to cut down to 50, print out, and assemble artfully into an erotic pillow book for a client. (I've already cut it down to under 500 and I've been staring at a perfect ass for so long I'm starting to think I'm at Addrianna's house.) Sleep? What's that?
foxtongue: (the welsh got you)
The New York whirlwind weekend seems to have sprouted wings! It just so happens that Dances Of Vice is throwing a party the Saturday we're there, Enchantment Under The Sea, a 50's prom themed gala at Morningside Castle, and then the Coilhouse crew has just scheduled their Black & White & Red All Over Fundraising Ball for the Sunday! Given that I planned this about as carefully as a drunken carpenter, this is brilliant luck. Apparently there couldn't be better timing!

Today's other good news: I've scored a ride to Burning Man with my friend Jordan.

conjunction

Aug. 4th, 2011 11:12 am
foxtongue: (Default)
just a trim
"Don’t tell me the sky is the limit when there are footprints on the moon." - Paul Brandt

As unlikely and unexpected as it might be, I have even more good news! Not only am I going to Burning Man, I'm going back to New York. Not as time-serious a trip as last time, but a weekend jaunt concocted just to see the PunchDrunk show, Sleep No More, an astoundingly intricate 100 room retelling of Macbeth.

Ridiculous, a bit, as it was playing while I was there, but I didn't find out until after my trip, when Mordicai attended then posted about it, so now I'm flying all the way back just to see it! It's wiping out my emergency savings and much of what I earned as the photographer at Mishka's wedding, but I figure that after three years of scraping, living in crazy poverty to pay back Heart of the World, it's about damned time I starve for a good reason, something that makes me happy instead of twisting me bitter. It also helps that I've been managing to move forward with surprising rapidity with Burning Man prep. Though I'll still probably be scrounging until the last minute, (still no ride, still nowhere set to camp, etc), I think it will all be okay. I don't think there's going to be any reason to panic.

In a lucky turn, Tony's going to come with me, which also makes my heart glad. I was willing to go alone, but I suspect it might have been a little bit of a tragedy, as Sleep No More is designed, down to the last bit of insane writing on the wall, to every minuscule atom of splendid performance, to be shared. Everyone that goes in walks a different path, discovers different scenes, finds different hidden treasures. Everyone gets a unique narrative, an incredible, very personal experience, so it's extra important to be able to share. (I would probably go twice if I could even remotely afford it). I'm also getting contact lenses for the first time, all proper like, just so I can wear the mask. I've only worn them once before, found the learning curve to be a little bit crazy, but this time, I can barely wait. I've been dancing everywhere, ever since we booked our tickets.

We fly out of Seattle late Thursday evening, and arrive first thing, the morning of Aug 19th. (We're staying in Greenwich and leaving Monday evening.) We have tickets to the Friday, 7 pm, Sleep No More show, and for the Sunday's Fuerza Bruta, (because Tony wanted to see it, after my rave reviews). Besides that, we have nothing planned.

Are you there, too? What are you up to that weekend? Let's visit!
foxtongue: (Default)
I've been offered a ticket to Burning Man.

Nowhere to camp, no ride, no gear.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
foxtongue: (misery)
dawn

Milwaukee at dawn.

They were unprepared for the squalling, sniffles, small screams, the bundled misery. (Parents didn't know she needed to pop her ears). I reached over, fixed the child, but still didn't sleep, mind furnished with too many crooked curiosities, matching floral sets of regrets limned in the light of painful neglect. I wrote out a letter before I left, but didn't receive even the barest politesse, an acknowledgment back. So self ethereal, my gestures made so pointless, so invisible to archaologists, history-less, the plane felt like a casket and myself a misfit, unwanted ghost, passing by the country at heights too rarified to survive. Landing was the last thing I thought about. Landing or getting to the other side.
foxtongue: (Default)
Talked to the Irish Embassy today. They're going to send me the appropriate affidavit tomorrow. Once that's filled out and the paper records have arrived from the Holmes clan, I can apply. The only drawback is that the current application process time is six months. This wouldn't cause concern except that it seems I also have to send them my passport as part of the Foreign Births Registration package, which would trap me in the country.

On the other hand, it turns out moving to Montreal could be significantly less risky than previously thought, as apparently there's a provincially subsidized language program which might pay me a small stipend to learn french, easing the transition as well as teaching me a useful new skill. Also, more locally, I may have hit upon some small crowd-sourced education funding, as long as the classes are super cheap, (in the couple of hundred dollar range), and apparently the unemployment office will now pay to upgrade my First Aid certification.
foxtongue: (Default)
I bought my father a death certificate search yesterday. It cost twenty-seven dollars. (This is not the strangest thing I've ever done, but I believe it to be the most unsettling credit card purchase I've ever made, and that's saying something, as I just sent someone a pewter-cast bat skull tie-pin as a birthday present.) Basically this means I have hired the Department of Vital Statistics to search through the death records of the city of my choice, in the three year period of my choice, to try and find out if my father has died. Course, a few hours after I did that, some very delicate social grape-vine contacts informed me that he's still alive. So, okay, wasted money, but at least it rescued me from my position of doubt and perplexity - the uncomfortable dilemma: what outcome I was hoping for?

Fun fact: Anyone may order and receive a death certificate for someone who died in British Columbia. Release of death certificates is not limited to immediate family.

Back east, my amazing uncle Francis unearthed all of my ancestral paperwork, like my grandfather's birth certificate, his marriage license to my grandmother, (which, amusingly, lists her birthplace as only "Russia" and her occupation as "spinster"), and my father's birth certificate, and e-mailed them to me as high quality scans. They are beautiful artifacts, history manifest. Now, according to the immigration requirements, it's a matter of either signing an affidavit that states my father is too dangerous to contact or having a family member far, far away request a copy of his current identification. Either way, it's very likely that this will wrap up much sooner than expected.

Fun Fact: According to my father's birth certificate, my grandfather was an embalmer.
foxtongue: (beseech)
I've begun pursuing a potentially dangerous course of action, something I've been putting off as long as I possibly could:

I've started the steps required to get my Irish citizenship.

My father's father was born in Cashel. Because of this, according to Irish Naturalization and Immigration Services, I'm eligible for Citizenship Through Descent. Naturally, you might be curious as to why this is a risky proposition, and why I haven't followed through with it before, especially as I've such a bee in my bonnet about getting the heck out of Canada. Well, here's the caveat: even though my family in Winnipeg already has copies of all the tricky, hard-to-find, turn-of-last-century, grandfather-related paperwork, the application also requires documents that relate to my unstable, schizophrenic, murderous father. Very particular documents, the sort that require permission to access, like his full civil birth certificate and copies of his current identity documents.

When I had set up to move to London a few years ago, my plan was to apply for all the paperwork from the safety of another continent, where there would be no possible way he would go so far as to show up at my door with a gun or a sharpened crowbar. My work visa would cover my UK residency until my citizenship was finalized, freeing me to finally wander the EU as I saw fit, but when that move didn't happen, stupidly superseded by the failed Heart of the World project, my citizenship application plans were put on the back burner, only to be considered as an utterly last resort.

Given that my 29th birthday has just come and gone, it seems to be well past time I dust those plans off again. Which raises some interesting questions, like "would contacting my father to get permission, as hazardous and a bad idea as that is, break the terms of the restraining order I have against him?" or "because I have a restraining order, and he has a proven history of extreme violence, is it possible that the government would let me circumvent him entirely?". I really have no idea, nor do I know who to contact to get those answers.

In the meantime, while I call endless office drones, attempting to find out what I need to know, (and to discover who, honestly, I should be calling), the family clan in Winnipeg are my angels, sifting through old boxes, looking for the relevant paperwork to scan and e-mail to me, so I don't have to apply directly to Ireland in the middle of a postal strike.

confluence

Jun. 5th, 2011 11:08 am
foxtongue: (Default)
Sweetness, sunlight, warm days and two wills held up like a slightly cracked mirror. I stayed up late, walked everywhere, and, for awhile there, I did not feel so fragile. On my second day, we went out on a lake in Central Park in a little rowboat like the owl and a pussycat singing handfuls of song, and posed for our very first photograph, magical, digital evidence of our parallel lives finally coming together. It had been shocking to see him at the airport, standing casually by the side of the baggage carousel as if he could have been just anyone, instead of my dearest friend. Two weeks later, drastic change, while on the surface, things are the same. I am back on the west coast, still reverberating from my trip.
foxtongue: (beseech)
morning

Happy Birthday to Me.


I went to Coney Island today and sang on the boardwalk and had my picture taken in a photobooth and saw the sideshow and went on a ferris wheel and battled with brenno at two rounds of disco bumpercars and remembered all of the lyrics to a thousand pop songs. Earlier this week I went rowing at central park, enjoyed a late night circus arts show, danced at an interactive media chiptunes concert, answered questions at a quizbowl, took self-portraits with cornell boxes, rode the staten island ferry, saw the statue of liberty, conquered half a sheep's head for dinner and kept the skull as my only souvenir, and had my very first art gallery showing. It wasn't all that I wanted to do, I haven't been dancing yet, haven't been to any all-night beauty bombs, but it has been enough that I feel alright closing today like a book and going to bed. Tomorrow, hopefully, my birthday, will be even better, as will the day after that, and the day after that. Every minute here has been a tiny miracle even when I've been unhappy, flowering, blossoming, treasured, better, and that, in itself, is truth.
foxtongue: (Default)
Rebecca nadia duncan
This past weekend was exhausting, the sort that feels alright to leave behind. Saturday was eaten up by David's sister's wedding, a strange affair out in Abbotsford at a family restaurant, small, informal, slightly terrifying, and Sunday was taken up with Slutwalk, a thousand person protest march against victim shaming that Katie N. helped put together. Oddly, out of the two, even though Slutwalk was four hours of being on my feet, running around and taking pictures, surviving the little wedding took more out of me. Something to do with social shock, maybe, or walmart-culture inspired depression. Either way, it's not something I would be willing to do again.

There was also a long, miserable walk home from Broadway on Sunday, broken and alone. It ended with John catching me in my room crying, so he went out and brought back two delicious cupcakes from the new place up the street, presenting them to me in a small paper box, "Here's some men-are-scum cupcakes." I sniffled and laughed, and said, "Men aren't scum." He replied, "Yes they are sweetie. Trust me, I am one. Eat your cupcake. It'll help make everything better." And he was right. It did.

(He also, tongue firmly planted in cheek, brought me a voodou doll when he arrived from New Orleans to "help" with my heartbreak. It's a grassy thing dressed in pink, with a burned plastic doll face and a magic lima bean tied to its waist with some leather. Creepy looking, yes, but with the effect somewhat ruined by the mass produced tag around its neck: FOR ATTRACTION.)

Today I'm processing pictures, doing laundry, and last minute packing for my trip to NY, making certain I have cords for things, trying to remember if I packed any stockings, triple checking that I've put aside pants that fit me, shirts for every weather, vitamins, hairpins, toothpaste, moonlight, music, the moose hat, and things with feathers on them. Really I've been more or less ready for a couple of days, I could have left yesterday, the only thing left is to find a missing bird skull earring, but there's something comforting about being extra sure.
foxtongue: (Default)
Now that I'm planning to be away for my birthday, friends have started fishing around, trying to figure out what magical thing would make a great present for before I fly away. This year, though, rather than adding to my collection of stuff, which I have been trying to significantly pare down anyway, I'd rather that people kick in a few bucks toward my trip. The gift of experience, of freedom, of escape and new places, (especially given my dire finances), is the best gift of all!

Thank you so much!






foxtongue: (Default)
David and I have had a house guest this week, Andrew, a nice stranger from Montreal, a friend of a friend who, when moving here, suddenly found himself without a place to live. He was going to be here two or three weeks, but he's already found an apartment, which means he moves out today. Serendipitous, as my uncle John arrives from New Orlean's tomorrow, so now we can offer him a place to stay, too. Only the couch for the first while, but then my room while I am away.

Strange to think that I'll be flying to New York in approximately ten days. I'm still utterly fuzzy on what I'm going to be doing there, besides visiting with Van Sise and Vitka and Mordecai. I have a few things solid, like visiting the Guggenhiem and MoMa, making sure to catch the Alexander McQueen exhibit there, and trying to score cheap tickets to Fuerza Bruta, but I'm still searching for suggestions.

So, beautiful people, I'm going to be in New York from May 21st to June 2nd. Where should I go?
foxtongue: (Default)
Rise Up Fallen Angel, an imaginary exploitation poster

Rise Up Fallen Angel, an imaginary exploitation film poster.


Yesterday was a good day. It started fraught with computer problems, the stupid sort that feel like steel wool endlessly scrubbing against the back of your eyes, but ended on a high note, with a visit to A. that left me feeling better than I have in weeks, to the point where I caught myself beaming at strangers all the way home, waving a broken stick of flowers I picked up off the ground. Oh dopamine, how I have missed you. It's left me feeling super productive and significantly less like I've been crushed by steel plates. Not quite myself again, but a step in the right direction. I got up at eight and have been working on neglected tasks ever since, answering e-mail, putting away laundry, calling people, making plans, and continuing to tackle the broken hard-drives of idiotic doom*.

*First I could see the hard-drive, but not interact with it, then after Joshua worked on it an hour, it was discovered that the case was too old to be supported by Win7. Then, after the case was swapped, the drive, ostensibly a terabyte, refused to show up as anything but 1Gb, while the SeaGate software specifically meant to fix such errors has refused to run. Kill it with fire.

There's been other good news, too. Tony's going to be in town this weekend, up for a visit with me and Tamea, and staying here on Friday, the better for dancing and Saturday breakfast together. Apparently I'm being paid for my gig with The Short Story Long this weekend and my antique bureau should be selling soon, too, (see all my listings), which should go a distance towards clearing away my credit card bill and getting me down to Seattle for my NYC trip.

Unemployment has left me financially devastated this past year, so it will be especially delicious to finally shoot down some debts. To wit: EI sends me monthly letters, asking me to pay them back over a grand. ICBC calls every three weeks, reminding me to pay off $100 in fare evasion tickets someone put in my name while I was in Montreal. My credit card's maxed out, a slow death that one, used up on groceries. I finally did all my taxes, dating back ten years, (minus 2010 and 2011), but through the magic of interest, late fees, and general tax evils, even after living below the poverty line for a decade, I still owe them $70. It seems like the worst part of being poor is that the system is set up to keep you there.

But back to the good stuff! David was just promoted to manager of the Yaletown Book Warehouse! Not only will he be finally making a living wage, soon he'll be able to start saving to go back to school to be a primatologist. Related to books, but more personally, I got to meet Zsuzsi Gartner, one of my favourite authors, at her book launch for Better Living Through Plastic Explosives. She's going to be doing a reading at the VPL main branch on May 11th that I've decided I cannot miss. Also, the Dusty Flowerpot Cabaret is hosting a pay-what-you-can, tickets-only-at-the-door show at the Roundhouse on Sunday, 2 pm. Would anyone like to come with?

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