lvnarlodge

2011-05-05T00:16:00.001-04:00

2008-03-26T17:40:00.002-04:00

Back in college, there was this film class I took to get easy credits. Aside from watching some pretty boring Italian movies, we ended up learning some interesting things, philosophical things, things that I’m surprised I still remember, things that will never serve any practical purpose. For example, movies are like flipbooks. They run in a projector, which shines light through the filmstrip at 24 frames per second, magnifying it onscreen. But a different image 24 times per second isn’t actually fast enough to trick your brain into thinking that the picture is moving. So, there is a spinning shutter that blocks the light in the middle of every frame. Really, every frame flicks on screen twice. There are actually 48 bursts of light per second. But in between – for the rest of the time – there is nothing, there is blackness. We spent half our semester in pitch-blackness. Maybe we spend half our lives in that same blackness. And if movies appear onscreen at a specific frequency, maybe we are manifesting ourselves in real life at a specific frequency. Where do we go in the formless black spaces in between? I like to think it’s in those in between black spaces that we transform, become better, become anything.

Zach's Back

2007-11-19T22:49:00.000-05:00

August 6th, 1985.
I turned 7 yesterday. My name’s Bruce. Mom and auntie Pauline had a party for me and all my friends came and we ate lots of cake and we played musical chairs and we went in the backyard and ran through the sprinkler a few times because it was hot. I like being 7 now. It was pretty fun but I didn’t get all the presents I wanted. I wanted a Gobot but I didn’t get one. My Dad couldn’t come because he was in Fort McMurray. Dad makes oil Mom said. He goes up there for three weeks and comes home for one week and it’s hard. Last time he came home they yelled for a while but then they were happy again and we had pizza for supper and heated it up in the microwave for lunch the day after. I really like pizza. Dad sent me a present though. Mom said it’s a rubik’s cube and that they’re rad because all the people have them. You have to make all the sides the same colour and it’s mega-hard. I tried yesterday for a while but then I put it down on the table and Darren (that’s my brother) threw it really hard at the back of Zach’s (that’s my best friend) head and it cracked open and blood came all down the back of Zach’s shirt and Mom yelled because Mom thought he might have to go to the hospital but then he didn’t. His Mom came and picked him up and she was mad and yelled for a while and cried. But Zach was better and said bye and Mom gave him a goody bag and hugged Zach’s Mom for a while.

The Little Red Wax Heart

2007-06-24T20:02:00.000-04:00

I have a very serious confession. A short time ago, on a visit to Ottawa, I decided to go to the Canadian museum of civilization – a quite horrid place indeed, but interesting, on a kind of kitschy level. It’s rather like the sweeping over-generalization of every ethnicity and region of Canada, under one surreal rooftop. I went more for the architecture, the maze-like, Ikea-on-acid-induced layout, and not least, to get out of the blazing afternoon sun. The place was crawling with school-aged children, and this was beginning to get trying, as I desperately wanted some isolation. To me, part of the magic of museums is that luxurious feeling of being alone in such a vast, expansive, labyrinthine structure. It’s much like wandering the unbounded corridors of one’s own mind. And the degree of bizarreness of this museum in particular was like traveling through the twisted cultural memory of this country, which I love so very dearly.
Finally, inside the Saskatchewan exhibit, I found myself alone, and could hear only the vague, undecipherable sounds of children’s voices echoing from a distance. They must have been at least two rooms away, and so I settled down inside this cool, light brown chamber. In it, there is a life-sized recreation of the ground floor of an ‘old’ grain elevator – something that many people have likely never seen. But being from Alberta – and my grandfather, a farmer, later working for the Alberta Crop and Hail Insurance Company – meant that I was well acquainted with the innards of this particular building. I felt at home there, with the (real) old truck’s box tilted, allowing the (fake) grain to pour down into the chute below. I walked around slowly; enjoying my solitude, and the reverberations of children’s voices which, thankfully, were now getting further away. I was truly alone.
I walked behind the truck to soak in the three-dimensionality of the exhibit, and there, sitting on a glass display case, like a gleaming jewel, was a letter. It seemed to be written by a child, with scribbled green script, and a heart melted in red wax, sealing the backside. The inscription read: “Joanne and Janice, Love Jamie”. Was this part of the exhibit? Certainly not, that I could ascertain. My paranoid mind asked: “Was it bait”? No, of course not. This was obviously a legitimate document, with an intended recipient – and it was written and placed there with a very specific purpose. My heart surged with excitement. Finally, a real cultural artifact in this ‘wax museum’ of social stereotype. Perhaps impishly, I was presented with a moral dilemma: I could choose to simply leave the letter there; or I could snatch it up as a genuine archaeological souvenir. You can’t buy this in the gift shop. I looked around again. No one.
My heart raced even faster. I weighed the odds. Likelihood of the letter reaching it’s target: slim; likelihood of it reaching the trash by some custodial services technician: probable; likelihood of getting caught in the act: none; value of letter: priceless. Like a Marcel Duchamp piece, the epistle – and decision – was read-made. I whirled around, and whisked it into my bag. Waves of exhilaration flowed over me, with the sheer joy of finding something so authentic in a museum, as well as the thrill of being a bit of a shoplifter. “It wasn’t exactly stealing”: I told myself. It was more like, at worst, communicative hijacking.
Immediately, I began planning the immanent future of this letter. I would open it at some significant occasion. Yes. I would tell my friends about it, and make it an event. We could have dinner, drink wine, postulate, and at the witching hour, crack the red wax seal. My mind ran the gamut with questions. Who was Jamie anyway, and what did he have to say to Janice and Joanne? (For that matter, who named their daughters ‘Joanne’ and ‘Janice’ these days – aren’t girls of that age named ‘Brianna’ and ‘Madison’?) What was so special about them that possessed young Jamie to write this puppy-love letter, and leave it so precariously on a glass display case in the Saskatchewan exhibit of the museum of civilization?
After leaving the museum, I walked home, with the bliss of secret contraband possession. But slowly, I began feeling the old pangs of guilt. Jamie had put such effort into writing that letter, and placed his hopes so high that the girls would surely come across it. What ecstasy they would feel having found it; how they would undoubtedly love him eternally having read the thoughtful and romantic and poignant prose contained therein. How could I have been so callous and selfish to have taken that most noteworthy piece of someone’s life, and put it carelessly in my bag, alongside the pamphlets and Polaroids and gum-wrappers and water bottles of my travels?
Before long, I had drastically altered my plans. My friends shall never hear of this letter. No. There shall be no dinner party, no anticipatory unveiling of the famed and much-mythologized ‘Jamie-scrolls’. I was determined to help this letter find its rightful heiresses. I have since put the letter in a very safe location, unopened, and there it shall remain.
So, in hopes of absolution, if you believe that your child is Joanne or Janice or Jamie, please contact me for prompt delivery of the aforementioned document, and a most sincere (and decidedly not red wax-hearted) apology.

2007-06-20T16:54:00.000-04:00

now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now now

Dream Last Night

2007-06-11T16:28:00.001-04:00

It was the last episode of the Sopranos, but I wasn't watching it, I was there, I was inside it. It was many years into the future, and Tony was an old man. Carmela was long gone, having left T. years before. A slowly hobbling Tony was giving me a walking tour of his endlessly sprawling mansion, which was kind of like a cross between Xanadu from 'Citizen Kane', and the end of '2001'. He was old and haggard, a three-day five o'clock shadow sprouting from his pale and wrinkled face. But he was still adorned in that white bathrobe, tassels flaying off to the side as he walked slowly ahead of me. As he led me from room to room in silence, I saw all of the relics of his
life - A.J.'s childhood drawings tacked to a cork board in one room, Meadow's bronzed baby shoes hanging from a bookshelf in another. He never spoke to me, rather, nodded his head in the direction which he wanted me to look. Although all was silent, I could hear his thoughts saying: "don't waste your life, kid, don't waste a second of it. Look at me". Everything was gone, every person from his past was gone. He had had many of the finest experiences that a man could have, but he was about to die alone. I could feel that death was following us around every corner of the mansion. He could feel it too. I looked into his sad eyes, and I could see a longing that would never be fulfilled.

then I woke up. There was a hole in the wall next to my bed, which I
must have made somehow during this dream, though I have no
recollection of how or when it happened.

2007-06-07T20:51:00.001-04:00

fuck it. had enough.

2007-06-07T20:24:00.000-04:00

I work in an unmarked office. It’s a high-end sweatshop that produces nothing of any use. My cubicle is surrounded on three sides with gray sound-absorbing barriers – presumably to muffle the existential screams of co-workers when they eventually come to grips with their utter redundancy. Sometimes, when I sit at my workstation, I wonder if there is something more to life, perhaps something profound and enjoyable. I wonder whether there are others like me – worker bees who slave for the advancement of the hive, and for a queen that we will never even get close to, much less know on a human level. More than that, I often wonder how chaos got so mutated that it led to jobs like this, situations and environments like this. Tomorrow, I think I might hang myself from the fresh-air ventilator that hums to itself, embedded in particleboard squares just above my head. But then I think of that song by Pearl Jam, and how all of my office mates would laugh ironically at a guy hanging in his office from the tie around his neck. But I think it would be poetic. Tragic and poetic. Maybe I’ll just call in sick instead.

2007-06-06T18:50:00.000-04:00

By chanting the names of the Lord, you'll be free. The Lord is awaiting on you all to awaken and see.
- George Harrison, 1971.

BOOM, FOR REAL

2007-06-05T19:55:00.000-04:00

PASSION: noun [pash-uhn]

The transference or 'passing of ions' between one body and another like body, esp. in states of, or under conditions of, extreme and unabashed human emotion.
2: Archaic. the sufferings of a martyr.

2007-06-04T14:33:00.000-04:00

The good news is that I found a job. The bad news is that it's beating the planet with a baseball bat.

2007-06-02T13:59:00.000-04:00

2007-05-23T19:26:00.000-04:00

He who does everything right, still dies, alone.

2007-05-23T12:04:00.001-04:00

Woke up from nightmares in different languages.
Teeth are torn.
Sunny pyramid pavilion.
Skating endless hallways.
We found ourselves hanging upside down from twisted branches.
And ate lunch under the stars.
Those wonderful stars.

2007-04-28T11:57:00.000-04:00

the worst horror movie of all

2007-03-14T02:36:00.000-04:00

give me upward social mobility or give me death

how to disappear completely

2007-03-09T10:26:00.000-05:00

"Everything is to be discovered, everything to be obliterated."

interstice (photo by Yoke-Sum Wong)

2007-01-27T02:49:00.000-05:00

the infinite spaces between things baffle and confound and deceive, like the toothpaste tube that defiantly refuses to be empty. what a fool I was to have ever thought that there ever would - or ever could - be an end to this crazy thing...

Viva la revolución!

2007-01-20T23:35:00.000-05:00

Rasgue abajo las viejas maneras e injusticia del imperialismo. La nación del capitalismo es controlada por una dictadura. Protéjase con conocimiento. Amigos, un mundo mejor es posible

Everything Everything

2006-11-30T10:45:00.000-05:00

"Everything Everything!" she cried. "What, Jesus?" I asked, startled, scared that she had lapsed into a moment of psychosis. "Just look at Everything around" she insisted, "Everything is glowing holy fuck." And sure enough I looked around and Everything was glowing and meteors began falling from the sky, landing on the hoods of cars, setting off alarms. And little did we know at the time that what we were hearing were the alarms of the end of Everything.

asphalpheric menace skyscraper

2006-11-25T21:15:00.000-05:00

You are here, dreaming of machines which will take you away for once and for all from the terror of being on the fourth floor of an apartment building of your own making.

And I rejoiced

2006-11-24T19:54:00.000-05:00

In the morning sun on the day of the coming of the Lord, I saw angels that numbered three arrive from the Heavens and bring song to the Earth. Opened was the flesh of the first angel. And in her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the Earth. And the second was bearing tooth with aims to make man fear her. For she was the lost middle child of Mary and Joseph, scorned by the heat of the desert’s brow. And upon the tunic of the third was marked a golden cross, and upon her face, a broad and emboldened smile. For she was the bringer of salvation to the souls of the damned. And I rejoiced in the song of the angels that filled the morning air. And the last of the sins of the material world were wiped clean from the surface of the Earth, creating a great cloud of dust which obscured forever the Heavenly sky.

another syllogism debunked: words of advice III

2006-11-22T08:43:00.000-05:00

That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But that doesn’t mean you should go out looking for things that almost kill you.

and all the

2006-11-22T08:37:00.000-05:00

and all the poets and all the musicians and all the Freudians and all the soldiers and all the computer analysts and all the Caravaggisti and all the punk rockers and all the gossip columnists and all the closet Communists and all the lovers and all the sinners and all those who would do it again if only they had the chance and all the post modernists and all the poster post modernists and all the heroin addicts and all the stand up kind of guys and all the engineers and all the great architects and all those doomed to hell and all those with a reservation about the future and all those who are condemned to repeat the past and all those who wish they had some more and all the writers and all the confessors and all the mothers of all the hungry ghosts and all the drunks at 4 in the morning and all the dying and all the hotheaded brash young upstarts and all the mavericks and all the fallen angels and all the weaklings and all the people who said yes and all the people who were lied to and all the easily led and all the strong willed and all the foster fathers and all the ringleaders and all the nonchalant glib trailblazers and all the ones who refused to lay down and all those who were just following orders and all the ones who were burned at the stake and all those who raised them and all those who dreaded tomorrow and all those who said goodbye on the long docks at sunset and all those who turned away before their time had come and all those who lived and died have all come before and never again.

Wrecking Ball Kisses

2006-11-13T11:01:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I saw the wrecking ball kisses of history tear down winking lights from the street side manors and the tall majestic apartment buildings licking the sky under clouds of percolating white and blue. We all want to be free on this ground which was sold from beneath our unborn feet.

Words of advice II

2006-10-31T22:14:00.000-05:00

Gently brush teeth twice a day with a soft nylon brush with rounded ends on the bristles. Avoid hard back-and-forth scrubbing. Use small circular motions and short back-and-forth motions. Gently brush your tongue, which can trap germs and cause halitosis. Use toothpaste to protect teeth from decay. Along with your new smile comes the promise of a new life.

2006-09-11T02:42:00.000-04:00

And oh God don’t tell me how it all turns out and back on itself in the way that only this miracle of God's work can. And oh God don’t say ‘Brechtian’ and don’t whip out those last remaining footnotes from the bibliography of dusty eternity which sheds light on nothing but the dusty corners of the room which has been empty ever since Judas and his pals got away with murder. And oh God don’t lament the loss of whatever we never had and could barely ever quite grasp in our length, and in our pathetic need for strength. And oh God don’t ask me to smile for the camera which will snap immortalizing us forever in this passive unabashed secret moment of glimpsing for all to see. And oh God don’t make me bear witness to one more atrocity of the spirit which lusts for blood and feeds on the fears and the tears of children hiding in closets, or under the bed at night. And oh God don’t look at me that way when you ask if I love you ‘cause you know that I do, and that I always have and that I always will, you foolish fool.

refrigerator poem #1

2006-08-11T23:11:00.000-04:00

To fill the space where you used to be

2006-07-27T12:11:00.000-04:00

I went shopping to fill the space where you used to be. I spent thousands of dollars on things of all kinds: CD's and DVD's, stationary, magazines, pens and new books which are now stacked neatly; for the house, clothes, furniture, kitchenware, bathware. A big television, and the latest in all forms of disposable technology. An exercise bike, a new fridge. And still, there was an empty space. So I went back to all the stores, looking for more things. Always more and more things. But even consuming just isn't any fun without you.

one nation, under summer yellow carpet blanket...

2006-07-10T01:11:00.000-04:00

Driving parallel to canola, receiving the national transmission, clouds percolating, wind in face. Yellow carpet blanket with soundtrack of music informed by that spirit - that native spirit. Our nationhood wasn't based upon any sort of militarism - like our televised brethren. No. Our nationhood was based upon some other form of experience altogether. It was a passive, strategic, deliberate, assertive maneuver, embedded and set to detonate any day now...

yeah, but what does it taste like?

2006-06-24T20:33:00.000-04:00

Welcome to this virtual space, whoever, wherever you are. It's getting too sweet - like a pink iPod. Did anyone stop to think about what all these sweets would do to the nauseous body? Starbucks organic-brand coffee washing down vegan brownies: they're made by conscientious, smart-car-driving hippies. The beauty, the dread, the ambivalence? Has that interior dome-light burned out already? And can we escape that nausea? Still...

oversight

2006-06-21T16:17:00.000-04:00

God should have made you a little less beautiful if (s)he didn't want me to fall in love with you.

sad cow

2006-05-29T16:14:00.000-04:00

You think the mad cow disease is bad, just wait 'till you get the sad cow. It's much worse than the bad cow, (which is usually passed down from the dad cow). But you'll be glad you had the mad cow when you see that sad cow.

contracts:

2006-05-29T00:22:00.000-04:00

I honorably swear to be the theory behind your practice. You are the wealth of agency to my wealth of experience (or is it vice versa? Either way...) If one of us should endure the front of the east, and it should be me, I proudly bear the bruises. However, in return, I wish only to be in communion with your ability to realize - in object form - the fruits of said academic research. A state of coexistence, in every sense is my humble, my only valiant proposition.

on vulnerability

2006-05-24T21:24:00.000-04:00

Is it such a difficult thing to be seen as vulnerable? Not knowing what is to be done is sometimes the best first step toward finding out. Like the punching clowns we abused as children - the ones that had weighted bottoms and would pop back upright when assaulted - vulnerability is a position which, once achieved, is simple from which to recover.

words of advice...

2006-05-21T16:17:00.000-04:00

If you try to pull a knot through, it may end up tighter and tighter. It's better to gently loosen it first.
Figure out the best way to do things; even the most menial of tasks.
Take a tape recorder into the bathtub with you everyday.
Learn to make croutons.
Align forces with firm but gentle parties.
Educate yourself. The status-quo is banking upon your not.
Don't leave your pies upon the windowsil.