Very LAZY

I'm sorry, but I've been fielding job after job after job after job. that's it. 1,2,3,4! WOW! i'm bragging

Filipino Film Art

i found this tiddy on ourtube today while foraging. mr. deocampo is quite a scenester, having toured international cool circles with his work and lectures. he's a legend in the philippines, as you will witness in this extract from his piece "Oliver". this is the first part of a trilogy reflecting hard times during Marcos' dictatorship in the 80s. its loosely based on the gender politic and how we weave our own dramas (or dramacracy?!) as spiders caught in our own web.

filipino cinema is an industry with over 70 years worth of work!!! most of what's known about filipino cinema leans toward the filipino exploitation films of the 70s and 80s... mad gun fights!

always with the proportionate amount of vengence, these heroes come out a blazing amidst the trauma and handicaps.

not without a sense of humor, these guys!

LARPing my ass off

i'm totally running home from school. i've got the chips on pour, sour cream dip doled out, cereal on soak - snacks, check. rubbing the salt and oil onto my kilt, i handle my Magic™ cards with the utmost care. i'm constructing my deck for battles to come. did i really do all this while i was, um, younger? did my brothers and i really fight for booster packs, enchanments and creatures? sneak into each others rooms to "trade"? kick fight on the couch for the choice spot for battles? (higher ground) ... sigh ...

the laughs, the tears... where is this passion now? these days, all i hear about is the economy and careers, money and having it, not having it. fall shopping and trips. ugh. when did we all turn into turds? wannabe suits, falling off the racks in our once bountiful stores of dreams. where's the goddam poetry?

so true. so true! the Realm (capital R) is crumbling and who will lead us when the banners of big business fall? Me? You? Vlayhus, son of Zenin?
the future is trying - imagining itself into being, but it can't do it without our help...

it resonates universally. even in the german.

it's when we willfully stop, saying that we "can't" or "i don't know" or "it doesn't matter", like that bastard bastion did, should we really be scared and worried. our wills are capable of reasoning and using rational, irrational excuses and concepts to prevent us from living in imagination. why? why would we do this? modern psychology has many years to catch up on the constructed natures of our egoist delusions. i say this because we are still caught up inside of our own behavior and reactions to society that we leave no room to explore the cosmic ramifications of our actions that presume we actually are responsible for and connected to everything we see and imagine. every little thing, every decision we decide to make, every word/thought we use. we are responsible and each cause has it's effect. that's pretty fucking shitty, right. but that's all we'll see. this is probably why our egos gear up, as a universal truth supposes that the power isn't just in our hands but is shared with everyone/thing else. and so the ego builds it's fortess of solitude: an icicle palace of power, and wills our inherent nature to connect to our imagination - that is capable of seeing beyond ourselves - into a kind of million-dollar sleeper move. Ted DiBiase

but LO!

as we all know, virgil was once the bodyguard to the million dollar man, ted dibiase. tired of being humiliated and dibased, we see him transform during one fateful summerslam.

once a slave, we too can rise above the passions of material wealth, greed and superficiality. duck it's clothespin and suffocate it into submission. let's use that insider tip from colin smith and bet our million dollar dream winnings on a game of quidditch!



and so it is out there. at vasser and on the kitchen tables (not layton's canadian kitchen tables cause all they do on it is bills and political gimmicking) but after-school snacking tables where all the Magic™ happens.

old world

i welcome my age with the hospitality given to a new guest. you are welcome to everything that i offer you, but please, don't steal anything. i want to keep my glowing skin, luxe hair and limberness. i don't want you take it away from me. but if you do, i will visit lori at her new job and promptly book a restylane injection - it's not botulism - and maybe some light pixel therapy.

however, if age teefs more than i can afford to replace, having good buds like these would be gold, the kind found in vintage costume jewlery: a friend who is fabulous in their being fragile, who may be passed as cheap but whose worth is in their unique existence of having survived so much. i could continue to prattle on about my worthlessly wonderful pals, but i'll not. instead, this ode to age:

thanks dee!

employment woes

i want to be recruited, asked to belong, welcomed with open arms, showered with money and praise. leggo my ego.

my friend brad abrahams made this. he's good at making people feel good about their good.
oh good

short story alert!

haaaaaey!

this is my pal JEREMY RELPH kicking a bit of word fiction into your minds. zelda the link and get hearted with some "chick-lit for dicks".
it's called

gettin wheezy

i've just arrived back from myspace - my abandoned summer home, in disrepair. Grey Gardens. we had some good times, good parties, good stories. old timey. that was 3 years ago -- are we in some kind of chip race of memory compression where small amounts of time yield so many files of fun. is this youth? no ... it's being alive.........(wait for it)
time to get really serious though, gays ... remember each other through our kind voices cause if we don't use em enough, we may find that they become obsolete zip disks: square and blue. and when you can't recall the amazing wonders of each day, then you are dead.

i have been dead for almost one full year now...i have a couple of weeks.

so unwilling to resurrect the grail, i ignored my holy triumphs, tender moments and fuck-ups all the while blaming mississauga, like it had the power to do anything but be awesome. i'm blaming the dog for being so cute and licky with her unconditional love, blaming the boyfriend for being not-so-cute with not being licky with his supposed unconditional love (which i imagined was just love with conditions). i'm incorrect. so i'll be blaming the naming cause that's what got us in trouble in the first place.

i will name me Cunt Crust: a mysterious depression so overgrown with layers of hardened neglect that i just end up picking and picking till it bleeds.

i'm sorry. i don't mean to hurt you so bad when i do.