Dreampepper

There is a perpetual, combative arithmetic involved in my daily life these days that I want very much to do away with. I am not terrific with math, in fact it's probably my War On Noun nemesis, so this irks me on more levels than it might somebody else. The problem is this - with no steady income, my life, kneed in the gut by the financial collapse, becomes dictated by To-Do-Later lists. Chores that I cannot address because I do not have the money to purchase the required materials to fix the issue, like the leaky faucet that has been steadily torturing my roommate and I that I'm fairly certain only needs a washer, a wrench, and a youtube instructional video. I appreciate To-Do lists with a near institutional fondness, but my preference is for immediate problem solving, so I loathe To-Do-Later lists. They are Not My Style. If something's wrong, if something needs to be addressed, now is always better than later. I'm well known for showing up at other people's houses and suddenly helping rearrange the furniture, because when they drop a comment akin to, "it's something I've been meaning to get around to for awhile", I'll jump up and suggest we tackle it right then and there. Yet my life has become a massive sinkhole of financially twisted procrastination, a stack of "when I get my first pay-cheque" balancing. Cold weather shirts versus my credit card bill versus better cat food versus winter weight curtains versus the utility bills versus a can of paint versus groceries versus the zipper on my boots versus a washer and a wrench. Never even mind my Irish passport. It has reached the point where once I do find regular, (lovely! beautiful!), ordinary employment, I suspect that my life will barely change, given that so much has piled up. So here's the thing, given that many of you are also involved in the poverty economy, how are you managing? How do you make breathing room?

Comic Book Resources has first-hand accounts of ordering a live miniature monkey in the early 1970's from a now classic back-of-a-comics-book book advertisement.

"It came in this little cardboard box. I mean, I’m saying small. It was probably the size of a shoebox, except it was higher. It had a little chicken wire screen window in it. There was a cut out. All you could see if you looked in there was his face. I brought it home, and I actually snuck it into the basement of the house.

...

No instructions [were included]. He had this waist belt on, a collar, if you will, on his waist, with an unattached leash inside the box. So I opened the box up inside the cage, the monkey jumped out, I withdrew the box and found the leash. I have no idea where it came from; I assumed it came from Florida. I figured, well, it’s probably near dehydration, so I opened up the cage to put some water in it. It leapt out of the cage when I opened it up the second time! I mean, it was eyeing the pipes that I was unaware of. As soon as I opened the cage, it leapt up and grabbed onto the plumbing up on the ceiling and started using them like monkey bars, and he was just shooting along in the basement, chirping pretty loud. It was heading towards the finished side of the basement, where there was a drop ceiling, and if it got into those channels, I never would have got it. It would have been days to get this thing out of there. I grabbed it by its tail, and it came down on, starting literally up by my shoulder, like a drill press it landed on my arm, and every bite was breaking flesh. It was literally like an unsewing machine. It was literally unsewing my arm coming down, and I was pouring blood. I grabbed it by its neck with both my wrists, threw it back in the cage. It’s screaming like a scalded cat. I’m pouring blood. My friend’s laughing uncontrollably, and my father finally comes in the basement door and goes, ‘Jeffery! What are you doing to that rabbit?’ And I go, ‘It’s not a rabbit, it’s a monkey, and it just bit the hell out of me.’ ‘A monkey? Bring it up here!’ I’m pouring, I wrapped a t-shirt around my arm to stave off the bleeding, carried the cage upstairs, and I don’t know why I bothered sneaking it in, because they fell in love with it, and it was like, there was no problem at all. They took me to the emergency room and I got 28 stitches on my arm. "

I remember traveling with my parents as a kid, looking through the back of the vintage comics, Conan, and Heavy Metal my dad bought for me, wishing with all my being that I might have an address someday so I could send away for my very own pet monkey. (Conan was my colouring book). This got so bad, especially after my parents took me to a market where some guy was actually selling them, that when they bought me a fluffy stuffed white monkey I promptly named it Monkmonk and carried with me absolutely everywhere. In fact, this desire was so powerful that I still have it, sitting on a shelf, much weathered, still wearing the flowered pink dress my step-sister Brianna wore back from the hospital when she was born.

Charity Larrison and Kieron Gillen's richly fantastic on-line graphic novel, Busted Wonder, is finally finished!
It's clever, and sweet, and just a teeny bit sad - as perfect as the last bite of a favourite dessert.


click here to start at page one
I've been following Busted Wonder since it started, (Charity is a sizzling sweetheart and a super fun read, you should add her), so I'm extra thrilled to finally read the story from front to back and to know, especially, finally, the why of the title. I have to admit, I'd been wondering.

santapau's put me in The Secret Knots!
I feel like the vision of a girl who writes personality, warped and made prettier in water-paint parentheses. The Secret Knots is one of my silver cocaine addictions. I check it every Monday, a wrought iron internet-princess hoping for snow and honey to bleed distraction from Vancouver's dirty tinsel sky. Of course, Spring has arrived, bringing with it art! weather! joy! and more Secret Knots!

As grateful thanks, I present: The Books.

Daily Dinosaur Comics, by Ryan North, is one of a quartet of comics known as Truth and Beauty Bombs, some of the best and most beautiful comics found on-line.

The other three are A Softer World, The Perry Bible Fellowship, and the collaborative Whispered Apologies.

If you don't have these bookmarked, your soul hates you.

I barely know me. I stand in doorways, unblinking, standing and speaking words of conflict. I collapse on the sidewalk in heavy rain and half an hour goes missing. I hold him warmly close to me with a smile in my mind. I put my head to the side and try not to cry. Inside of me, things are changing. I remember compromise. You say this wasn't your intention, I say that's okay. You say and I say then they stood up and had too many words to say. Remember, this is what a little bit of love looks like.

I don't like that I carry this so she won't have to.

Every part disparate. I'm still unbalanced, so much is broken. I'm tidying now, brushing the pieces into a pile for later sorting. Which loss caused this jagged edge, which loss caused that. This year was many. I could make t-shirts. Arrested, Fired, He Lied, They Died. My humour's the right sort. On the back would be a list like tour dates.

Which reminds me: support my Jesus Monkey Pants. I have this one. It makes me sexy like Snakes on a Plane would, which is something I meant to mention weeks ago. I have an excuse, I've been eating multitudes of candy bars. They're not very healthy, really, and they're making my thoughts shake. They popped into existence to fill the space left by the cessation of hallowe'en proceedings and they're cadbury tasty, which is to say, not as good as pumpkin pie. I miss my pies. I didn't carve a pumpkin this year, so I didn't bake. Ah well, the Lesson is Learned but the Damage is Irreversible. (Also an ancient thing, I know, but it fit. You want something new, go find out about the underground city in Briton that's now up for sale. Then buy it for me. I will send you nekkid pictures. Lolz. Now bugger off.)

I really should be in bed by now, but I'm waiting for dye to set in my hair. My hands are flecked with purple, a nice reminder of what the bathroom will look like in about twenty minutes. I'm being patient, though I don't feel like it right now. The bed's empty, it's all cold tumbled gold pillows and scarlet bands of silk and I feel like the faster I fall into it, the quicker I can pretend it's morning. Red shift myself into a different day, one where I might be sleeping next to someone. Alone is not terrific for me now, but I can deal with it. Alone without promise of company, however, is bad.

Nicholas will be here tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it. He and Esme are coming in from Victoria for a concert and dinner at Andrew's with me and Ray. He asked for Chris too, but I don't know if that's going to happen. I deked out of rehearsal today before I could ask. There were issues with my roommate James that needed sorting, and tonight was really the best time to get it done with.

p.s. world, send new Explosions In The Sky, Porcupine Tree and Bethurum. thank you.

"DRE: What'd you spend it on?

Jhonen Vasquez: Just whores. Whores over on Sunset Boulevard and Santa Monica. Whores and robots. Some of the whores were robots."


ZOMBIES ARE BACK. We have a venue this time. This attack will be a Hallowe'en Dance Party, Monday October 31st, at The Space. (440 West Hastings). Doors at seven, Sean of the Dead at 7:30. Pass on the word. Let it shamble wild and free. More information will become available as I get used to the idea of being a producer.