pompondahlias

Strive strive; when to stop no one knows. A temporary relief of feeling. On a journey. A collective abundance of wet dreams and interruptions brings me here. I'm optimistic about what I like. Bite the bullet, y'know.

Maybe, or they are staying inside; keeping their communication to a minimum and excluding other types. I sit and watch the life, the promised moments, the joy, the triumph; places which hold all and more of these things. The ants are crawling on the rocks, the flies dip into the surface of the water, as if to tease the hungry fish underneath. What does this represent I'm too late for the sun, unless the clouds show more than they are.
An alarm, voices like they are calling, birds like they ask, like it is out of a majestically proven novel it is a multi colored spool of thread waiting to be knit into the lives of great tailors. Am I proud? How can I truthfully reply when the echo's are so deafening? Diligence pays off when it comes to ecology. NO DISTRACTION. Nothing that takes over its time, covers its eyes or gags it everyday. Choking, I realize there is too much distraction in my life. Focus is key. This lone tree atop a mountain, think and weak, disproportioned, excluded... Is all the opposite for living in such an environment. Maybe I'm not too late.

Windows shattered, Vancouver sighs and the rain is relentless. Homeless wanderings shout loud on the bus; pacing and pacing. It was too cold. Instigating cities wonder why there is such discomfort and strong rebellion. Mumbling beyond recognition at a volume too loud to hear; the tones of neon are left behind. Vancouver sighs.
Shattering attitude at every lighted posture, fake yet sold to reality. Nothing can be that is. Simply for the best steak and rib villa. Passing moments and cheap cologne, too much beer and it shows through your eyes. She tries again, is passed by and wonders about her life. Blames everyone but herself.

Trails of thought stream from people on the bus, mixing together at the end, slowly waving and parting. On the lights, shadows, shiny emotions on the buildings. Who reflects what? More than you thought. Flash and McDonalds Jeep on 1701 service to the flag. Keep it up.

INTERLOCKING INTEGRITY, KNIT LIKE MITTENS. LONG STREET THIN LIGHTS. THE BUS IS PEACEFUL. NOBODY WALKS MONDAYS. ONLY SOMBRE NORMALITY, ACCEPTED AS DUTY. UNSURE STOMACH. TODAY WE EAT.

Stephen Grabow for THE STRUCTURIST: 45/46

"According to Marcuse, the emphasis on appearance in aesthetic judgment dates from the beginning of the industrial revolution. In Eros and Civilization (1955) and An Essay on Liberation (1969), he explains how the content and the validity of the aesthetic imagination were whittled down by the emerging performance principle of nineteenth century utilitarian rationalism. He traces the moment to a change in the philosophical meaning of the word "aesthetic" from an all embracing mediating concept between goodness, truth and beauty – in which he quotes Nietzsche’s "aesthetic ethos" as having the biological value of that which is useful, beneficial, and life-enhancing—to just an analysis of beauty in works of art."

pp.49

Delirious New York. What a good summer muse. The book is fucking rich with fertile associations. The opening article on Coney Island is fantastic because it is hard to believe any of the recent history happened given its context today and it's really out there. Who did moon-themed spaces in 1903? Even now its a bit far off.

Hi Amy,
I was musing that we had had sex the other night, NOT! But your dreams tell me that you want to.

New ways of packaging authenticity:
There were several forecasts I read online that foretold of a pushback against the overly opulent lifestyle we have seen come-back with our neo 'organic 80’s fusion high life mentality. I don’t think people were ready to leave the 80’s and dive into a recession so all this 80’s BS is just cocaine nostalgia and escapism. The reality is and always will be that there are problems humanity need address and no amount of personal drug use is going to change that, whatever your ‘drug’.
degredation of the intellectual landscape: from Ad-men stealing art to the purchasing of authenticity.
dance dance disco boy - french boy disco edit.

On process and respect to natural context and intelligent resourcefulness: About the korea project: You went to all this trouble to float the hotel rooms in case of flooding and such...Vito, why didn't you just dam up the river?
I love it when architects or designers pretend like its a natural human thing to want to be in a concrete box 110 stories above a crowded street. Ideally I would drop this house thing and do that, but y'know, box living is expensive, prada bags?

I almost made a noose out of left over trace paper...
I was, as i always am, on the 5th floor of the table, in the Ed studio.
So, unfortunately there are these people who are younger and somehow got into OCAD in my program because of this phenomenon called the double cohort. The double cohort is simply when ocad let a lot of stupid people into the school without asking them why they wanted to be there, or even if they knew how to spell their first names.
back to my rendition: I'm in the studio and I hear someone crying. not anything new unfortunately. There is this one really stupid cohort that always cries because she's too lazy and doesn't have any work to hand in. This cohort in particular also applies a simulated tanning cream to her face and arms. Her tears were a fleshy orange colour and they left a white white streak on her cheeks. She cries real liquid skin...amazing! It was really annoying to listen to.

On a more positive note, I have elected to adopt Vito Acconci as my new godfather.

The encapsulated self-loathing machine offset by personal aggregate and marginal query can be re-codified in miniature srata which mimics the latent energy of post war capitalist sprawl, gucci belts.

human after all, i know when i find an album i love because it is never loud enough.

I woke up at 9 this morning wanting to go to the sunday market. I have a new silver necklace and i require powerful charms which i can use to call upon in my darkest hours. When I got there at 1:30 I met the most wonderful woman and a table of silver necklace charms, each was $5. I tried each object I saw with my fingers in my head. Do I want to wear a stirling gavel, the monopoly shoe, florida, jesus, a heart, taurus with rhinestones? I settled for an apple, a 19th century dueling pistol and an anchor.
I think I could have fallen in love with this woman selling the sterling trinkets. Like harold and maude. She made me think of what she would look like with my bathroom light on behind her naked body, if I really tried could I get over myself and do this? could i have this relationship? She had a little dark hair above her lip and a spontaneous brow shape which made her so titillating I almost bought her out and took her off to lunch. I had noticed her sandals and loose fitting dress shirt, I imagined she had a fanny pouch under her shirt over an elastic waist and the tops of her hosiery. She was very bright, fierce almost in her delivery and tact. Was I sure she was not being just a saleswoman? She lost interest when I stopped being so obviously intrigued by the objects she was pointing out. I couldn't understand it. I was on a mission to harvest small omnipotent and capable icons for my new silver chain. She saw me as a passive consumer who would be pleased with the likes of an enameled map of the sunshine state or a----cross------or "do you like golf" DO I LOOK LIKE I GOLF? I was suddenly aware that if this was to continue the psychological power of my charms would be lost in absurdity. I had to quickly buy the ones I felt were the strongest and leave. Where was she? Why couldn't she understand the importance of what I was trying to do? I'm lucky I got away with the ones I did. I tried over and over by suggesting objects that were plain and neutral, their powers intact, but she failed to see. She wasn't even listening.
I thought what my life could be like with the desire to be with a woman like she was when she was my age.

don't do anything, because nothing will happen.

Disorder | Rating
Paranoid: Low
Schizoid: Low
Schizotypal: Moderate
Antisocial: Moderate
Borderline: Low
Histrionic: High
Narcissistic: High
Avoidant: Moderate
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Moderate

I am sitting here at the petit dejeuner watching the creation of a short film. I am at the back of a long narrow restaurant, where the chef is normally perched, typing away as i watch them run around. There are about 20 people here, I am afraid to count in fear they will catch on that I am writing about them. There are lights and filters and cameras, both film and SLR, actors, gunshots, guns, bright lights, director personalities, makeup artists, costumes, university students, hungry stomachs. I am very hungry. Most leading members in this party are stressssed about finishing on time. I am as well. it is very bright in here and i am feeling exposed, not able to hide in the dark anymore. this stool is getting more and more uncomfortable. i am thinking about how incongruous it would be for me to ask to eat lunch with them because i am too cheap to buy my own. i have been avoiding contact.

the landing is rough and dark. the plane stops and it has pulled all the way up to the front of a small terminal, like a taxi. the large metal staircase seems a bit formal for our arrival. the first thing i notice is the aroma, steamed cedar and perfume from sweet flowers and moist earth. It had been raining.
The plants outside of the terminal are sparkling green and wet.
It is dark, so I am bound to what is close.
Inside the building the lights flicker and moths flit around my sweating head.
My entire body feels sticky like the residue from an anxious palm.
I have been awake for 42 hours.
We are driving. I roll down my window to relieve the tension in the car. The cool air breathes life into my brain. Small, vital conversations ensue and i can't wait to shower and sleep. The hotel is quiet and clean.
A cockroach scuttles across the floor hurriedly apologizing for being in our room. I am paranoid. I check under the bed and in the bed and on the bed and above the bed...
I wake up every so often fearing something is crawling on me.
Walking around moshi after breakfast. the roads are paved uneven, they are pieced together with dirt and bricks and footpaths. Some people stare, some don't. I feel like i am imposing.
It is sunday and the local population is flooding to the church. It is located just north of mid town and the grounds are beautiful and expansive. Little girls with shaved heads and bright frilly dresses. little boys in dress shirts and chunky black shoes. religion is enormous here.
we get back to the hotel after a few sales pitches and a few new friends. I fall asleep...now i can't wake up. i realize how tired i am. it is considerably warmer now, like still energy.

All of the urinals in schiphol airport have little flies drawn into the porcelain. My conclusion was that they must scare away other insects, kind of like the owl to the pigeon.
We are just now over the Sahara. It is so enormously vast and rippled. Sand curves and plateaus. The formations look like a skin disease from up here. The clouds are pink because the sun is setting.
I wish so badly we were on the ground. We could just park over there in the sand for a few minutes. I'd eat it, run around and roll in it.
KLM runs this really great map of statistics about the flight. Ground speed, altitude, air temperature, local time underneath the plane, local time at our destination. I wish they would stop playing movies so i could see the map.
Over Egypt, mid flight path, 35,000 ft, 1038 km/hr, -50, western desert.
Now the formations look like swimming jellyfish.
These tiny dishes and spoons and dancing dutch cows make me feel like a doll.
We are traveling alongside the Red Sea over Luxor and Port Sudan.
The sun is full force at the tip of the wing. The entire spectrum has been pinched into a few inches between the horizon and the blue sky.
3 hours left. People are restless, they glare and squirm, or stand silently praying for the flight to touch down early. The Spectrum is expanding inch by inch. Red to orange to green. The wing is now a dark silhouette out of my window. The sun is brilliant.
>>We land in Kilimanjaro.

just a short stream of thought i may have to just write and not read or spell check and send so that i do not take away from this feeling. I was thinking of moving on, mooving away, a departure from what i won't say or from whom rather. not a physical departure in the good-bye sense, but a mental or fuck a personal removal from that space. why is it so hard for me sometimes to just get it out. there is something happening between these repetitive beats ii have been blood thurstily craving lately and the drama drama drama in in in in my my my my my my my head head head head head head. i could fall asleep like a tiny kitten listening to emmerson full volume.
my tea is cold, my roommate is depressed, my back hurts, i am broke again, i have to go out tomorrow night, i miss myself, i have no time left, i want to be perpetually walking my dog in the bush in late afternoon sun. the cracks in my ceiling are going to swallow me while i sleep. i guess that is why i am still up writing.
i want to turn inside out and run my fingers over the smooth bloody fat and then tangle them in veins and organs.
Dedier

And so it happens; I decide to use AND to start a sentence.
Right now I am seated on a 76 inch blue exercise ball with little hard massaging nipples pookin-oot everywhere. This is the result of a day of pant shopping with mum and cait. Yes, I am in barrie, the densely commercial yet mysteriously beautiful wasteland of bowling alleys and green pastures. Past pleasures don't seem as...pleasurable. However, I do enjoy the wildlife here.
My house seems irritated, and trimmed. Like the back of your neck just after a haircut. The light here is intense and energizing. In the house, sunlight looses its warm life, it feels filtered and strained. Blue and white, instead of yellow and pink.
I want to exercise; i need to run or walk or swim. my blood is bored.
I am looking forward, immensely, to my trip in a couple of weeks.
movies:
Normal | 5 star movie, wonderful, real, feel good.
yet to watch
Safety of Objects and City of Ghosts
All barrie is good for is...BANDITO VIDEO

I have decided that because our judgment of past and future is based in linear, horizontal thinking, we are bound to the construct of time.

The festering ooze bag shop a-holic online dater needy sacs of duck liver with mommys love and kisses. Dink a donk yuppie wuppies, inbread laughing all the way. They all come out on Sunday. Clawing out of their doorframes, splintering wood, leaving a scratching trail behind them. Flopping dewy eyed trollupers driving down the streets, into thier silly stores and eating thier goofy eggs all the while thinking of 'now i put the fork in my mouth'. I have to watch them, they make me. They hold my angry sweating face against the window. feed me, feed me.
I want to beat their smiling faces with a splay of wet babysbreath and ornamental fern leaves.

So, my proverbial head filled with love and compassion for the great Madonna Cicconi has fallen off. It was not two days ago, as I may recall. I was sitting by myself, enjoying the ride, when my head tore off of my body. It started as a small tear around my throat. The tear was then a rip and then a gaping hole. Very little blood was spilled, I almost didn't notice. Tiny fibers and streams of emotional attachment keep this body functioning. However, the legs are giving way to fatigue and the arms are beginning to turn to lead. I think the most reasonable catalyst for the initial tear was the song 'ray of light'. Madonna has super ego, we know this. Why else would she make the public move to things like yoga and kaballah? Ego is the great objective eyeball which provides her critical self awareness. In my best estimation, traditional power relationships between male business execs and the performative female energy surrounding Madonna had collided in a rift of backward yet foreword thinking. Let me explore this a bit further as pure opinion. Women were publicly waking up in social arenas in the 60's and 70's. The 80's brought big business, increased spending and women in the work place. Madonna comes along to typify this empowered woman who works for herself and knows what she wants. Dropping in and out of relationships with both boyfriend and producer according to her own free will. The men in business realize that 'Emm', as her friends call her, is the perfect icon for this new generational movement. They fall all over her with money and PR and endorsement and advertising. I point to the Pepsi and Madonna relationship; the first handshake between pop icon and pop soft drink. However, Emm is still functioning in a house with ceilings, the house of capital. She was limited not in what she could do, but in why she could do it. She wanted to be famous. But the reason for it was money. Moreover, capital does not accommodate gender. Which is to the advantage to most people who have woken up from this notion that: gender is just the way it is, and it is valid, and it exists as a solid medium that you can go out and buy and eat and wear and fuck.

Madonna is a great entertainer/performer and a wonderful case study.