+ After years of switching around my personal to-do system every few months, I’ve discovered that HabitRPG actually motivates me to do things.
+ Travel! God I fucking love travel adventures. Big, small, close, far, for work, for a vacation, to eat pizza, whatever. Anywhere. Let’s do it. Recent adventures include Vegas, Gananoque, Detroit, North Bay, Montreal, DC, and more (plus Seoul last fall)! On the docket for later this year: NYC, Windsor, Baltimore, Montreal, Manila, Chicago, Prague, Ottawa, Geneva, Portland, João Pessoa, and more. Holy shit you guys.
+ Spending so much amazing time with Audra, and with Natalie, and with Natalie and Audra, and with Audra and Natalie and Chris. I am seriously lucky to have their love and friendship. A+++ WOULD LOVE/FRIEND AGAIN
+ Inky and Clyde, rescue cats. I can’t even handle these guys.
+ I just started mindfulness-based cognitive therapy. It’s a kind of meditation training, I guess? More importantly it’s SCIENCE, and even though it is a lot harder than it has any right to be, I think it’s gonna be good.
+ I moved! I loved my old place but my landlord was literally insane (probably she will read this because she is literally insane), and so it came to pass that I needed to GTFO. Josh and I got a crazy deal on a place that is so nice it is actually kind of comical. And now we live there.
+ My new place sounds great! Literally. The other big problem with my last place is that my room had the worst acoustics in the universe. Everything sounded like garbage and making music in it was frustrating to the point of FUCK IT I’M OUT. My new room sounds like a band of angels hold watch in every corner to exorcise all early reflections and standing waves. Much nicer.
+ There have for sure been (and continue to be) Serious Challenges lately, but every single one of them is looking up.
+ One last
+ for a rare all-positive status update.
Playing Bloodborne isn’t all I’ve been doing, but it’s a lot of what I’ve been doing.
…one of the handful of art designers of the game, Masanori Waragai, tells how he brought a design for the game’s undead dragon to Miyazaki. Looking at the sketch of a disgusting beast, swarming with maggots, Miyazaki chastised Waragai for relying on gross-out imagery: “Can’t you instead try to convey the deep sorrow of a magnificent beast doomed to a slow and possibly endless descent into ruin?”
Dreams are impossible, intimate things. Ephemeralia that come to us and leave unremembered. Thick structures of ironglass and desire that are built upon, night after night.
It would be completely insane if it wasn’t completely normal. What, you mean that you just lie down for eight hours and you can’t move? And the whole time you’re experiencing and thinking things that you have no control over? And then you just get up and have a shower and go to work?
A lot of the things we call dreams aren’t dreams in the same sense. ‘Dream’ is just the coathook we hang our wishes on. Dream house, dream boy, dream life.
In any place that there are dreams, I dream of tattoos. I dream of deep swirls of scarification, magick woven deeply into the flesh and bound tight with scar. I dream of the perfect geometries of elementary particles, smashed together again and again so we can learn by tearing them apart.
I got my first tattoo fifteen years ago. It was at once aspirational and prescriptive, a way to both guide and bind my future self to the things I was worried about losing.
I have a new tattoo now, to guide and bind me. I travelled over 15,000 kilometres for it.
I’ll always be able to find my way home now.
Now that we’ve gotten our POSITIVE EMOTIONS out of the way it is probably time to write a post about how I’m quietly having a secret meltdown.
There is so much going on right now that I don’t have the means, resources, or support system to deal with. I don’t have people I can talk to about it. So much of it is so deeply personal and complicated that I worry even posting this vague update is going to bring down new stresses around my head, even if it’s just trying to explain to hurt friends that I don’t think I can talk to them about it.
I’m also feeling more pressure and demands on my time than I ever have before. I’m working a seriously unsustainable amount of hours right now, and while I’m making Big Changes to bring that down to something more reasonable, I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel yet.
With the (very important!) exception of being able to pay my rent and afford food, I don’t think there’s a single aspect of my life that isn’t fraught right now. Everything has sharp edges or a part moving sideways when it needs to go straight.
I’m hoping to get a lot of this shit settled by the end of August. But even then, that’s three and a half weeks of walking through glass doors and hoping I don’t cut anything too vital.
And then it’ll be September.
When do I get summer?
OH WOE AND ALAS
I’m trying this thing where I write about emotions but don’t publish those entries to Facebook. It’s LiveJournal or bust around these parts. So here are some things with an emotion in them.
EMOTIONAL SENTIMENT 01:
I talk a lot about how amazing Audra Williams is in person but I don’t do enough of it online. She is a perfect partner and is loving and supportive in ways I didn’t even know possible.
She’s a crazy amazing writer and also better at social media than possibly anyone else in the world and I’m kind of not joking there.
She’s my champion when things are great and she sings to me when things are tough. She is part of my heart walking around outside my body.
I love you, Audra.
EMOTIONAL SENTIMENT 02:
It seems totally impossible that it has been less than a month since my friendship with the incredible Natalie Zed became something else, that it happened a week before she moved to Montreal, and that it is somehow still possible for us to have a thing.
I can’t believe how much fun and light and love she brings to every conversation, every hangout, every Facebook thread about whatever weirdo Scottish art-horror movie we just watched.
I also can’t believe just how supportive Audra is with the both of us, and how absurdly reasonable and loving she is to us while we figure out what this is going to look like.
EMOTIONAL CLOSING STATEMENT:
There are still tough things going on, and sad things, and stressful things, and other things. But even while all that is happening, I wake up every day feeling lucky for how amazing the people in my life are.
Audra, Natalie, and everyone else bringing love and trust into my life: Thank you.
It is a time of transitions.
- I still miss Mothra terribly.
- Blinky has gotten super clingy since he has never been alone in a house before.
+ So I am fostering kittens from the Annex Cat Rescue that are waiting to be adopted.
- Blinky finds this to be of questionable utility.
+ I’m making big changes to the work that I do, so that I can do more work that is awesome, and less work that is not.
± Audra and I are starting to get more requests for awesome work than we can take on.
+ Audra and I are super in love and working to make our relationship better all the time.
+ I’m in a new relationship with a gal named Natalie and I am super excited about it.
- Anna and I have ended our romantic relationship and I am super bummed about it.
- I agonized over which one of those last two lines to put first so that no one felt dissed by it and eventually had to flip a coin.
± I used a PRNG instead of a real coin.
+ I made a pilgrimage to Bill Watterson’s hometown, Chagrin Falls, which I’ve wanted to do for fifteen years.
+ I got to see amazing original Calvin and Hobbes art at a rare exhibition taking place at the Ohio State University Cartoon Library and Museum.
+ I’m getting a tattoo by the artist that I think is straight-up the best working tattoo artist in the world.
! Restraint turns fifteen years old next month.
I know my last update really harshed everyone’s mellow. But now pay heed, friends, for this is a joyous day. For I have made delicious deep dish pizza and I am going to tell you how I did it!
I’m having one of those days where my heart hurts and I can’t find anything to help. Sad and anxious. Lonely and I don’t want to be around people. Hungry and I don’t want anything to eat. Tired and I don’t want to sleep.
In Mothra’s last few minutes, I held her and walked the length of my kitchen over and over again. The vet had given her a sedative, and soon she’d be relaxed enough that he’d be able to run an IV and give her the rest of the meds to end it all. And I had this crazy panicked moment where I nearly said you know what, let’s call this whole thing off — you can go back to your office, I’ll stay here with my cat, the sedative will wear eventually off, and she’ll still be alive and everything will be fine!
I didn’t say it. It wouldn’t have been fine. It would have been stupid and cruel and selfish. But it was what I wanted more than anything else in the world at that moment.
Instead I told her I loved her, and when I put her down and let go of her for the last time, I made sure she could see me every moment until it was over. If she was aware enough to know something was happening around her, I wanted her to know I was there.
My heart breaks all over again every day when I come home and she’s not here, and I see how totally attention-starved Blinky is. She’s never been alone in a house before and it’s freaking her out. I’m nowhere near ready for another cat, but it’s not fair of me to keep Blinky lonely and unhappy because browsing Petfinder.com makes me sad. So I’ll get another cat. And hopefully they’ll get along and hopefully it’s not as hard as I think it’s going to be. It’s hard enough already.
Also, we are playing tomorrow at Aftermath, AKA Fake Kinetik. It’ll be nice to play a big festival show and then sleep in my own bed.
Also, It is my birthday. Happy birthday, me!
I am thirty-five years old. Only thirty years away from that sweet, sweet movie theatre senior discount card.
There might be a new meteor shower tomorrow night. I’m going to try to catch it after my gig. Hop in a car, drive as far as I can before it starts, and watch the sky.
I don’t even know where to start.
Under my skin is broken glass and exposed wire.
My home has never felt so empty. I go to sleep expecting her to jump up on me at any moment, and I wake up thinking I’ll see her in the kitchen when I go upstairs.
I have lost my beloved little Mothra and there isn’t anything to be done about it.
There is so much happening that it’s tough to figure out how I feel about anything. A lot of it I can’t write about, because it’s not my story to tell. But it’s there, and it hurts.
I’ve had a lot of work lately, which is good. I’ve been taking more photos lately, which is also good. I went to Chicago last month, which was fun. I got a free Camaro for the weekend last weekend (Thanks, Chevy!), which was ridiculous. Spent the weekend driving to Unionville and Niagra Falls and St. Jacobs and Collingwood and wherever else seemed like a good idea at the time.
I also pulled the trigger on kitchen gear I’ve wanted to pick up for a while; Toronto doesn’t know how to make pizza so I’m gonna have to learn to do it myself.
All of these good and fun things happening make it harder to talk about how upset I am about all the other things that are happening. Sure there are all these terrible things happening but hey I got to drive to a haunted house in a fuck-off yellow convertible transformers car so that should fix it all, right?
I’m okay. I’m not in danger, I’m not drinking my worries away, I’m not sick, I’m not broke, I’m not homeless. I’ve got friends who love me and all kinds of toys.
I’m not okay. I fight back tears every time I’m in the pet food isle. Being at home makes me sad. People I love are in trouble and in pain. I’ve got so much clutter in my house that I’m drowning.
I’m okay. I’m not okay.
Just over a year ago I wrote a big post about how I wanted to focus more on writing and how I felt sidetracked by the work I’ve put into music production (despite how much I love it).
A year ago.
Just a few minutes ago I started writing the exact same post before I realized I had already written that post. A year ago!
Do you know what I haven’t done in that last year? Finished and published a story. Joined a writer’s group. Shown my work to a friend for critique. Accomplished anything meaningful as a writer.
I enrolled in an SF&F writing course, but I was too busy to actually participate. At least, that’s how I remember it now. I was for sure super busy. But was I so busy that I couldn’t have found an extra couple of hours here and there? How much time did I spend clicking links aimlessly in the Facebook/Twitter/MetaFilter Labyrinth of Lost Time?
The only thing I hate more than writing about writing is writing about not writing. Although if we’re gonna be real about this, I hate actually not writing more than writing about not writing.
And so here we are.
I’ve been taking a lot of photos lately. It’s a beautiful contrast to the problems of writing a new album or a novella. No outlines, no b-story, no character development. Just the briefest moment in time, preserved crystal clear forever.
Mae Keane, the last of the Radium Girls, died Saturday. She was 107 years old.
Mae Keane did not care much for the job she had during the summer of 1924, painting radioactive radium onto watch dials to make them glow in the dark.
The pay was 8 cents a dial and Keane, then 18, was not as fast as her supervisor wanted her to be. Keane and her co-workers at Waterbury Clock Co., all young women, were told they could paint faster if they dipped their brushes into the radium-laden paint and then sharpened the bristles with their lips. But the paint was bitter and Keane would not “lip-point,” as the practice was known.
“I made 62 cents one day,” Keane told The Courant 10 years ago. “That’s when my boss came to me and said I better find another job.”
After years of Radium being added to everything from chocolate to lipstick, the death of five Radium Girls (along with the paint’s inventor) brought a light to the unforgivable conditions in US factories, and spurred the tightening of industrial safety and food, drug, and cosmetic regulations.
Even today, you can still walk through the graveyards of Radium City with a geiger counter, and know where the Radium Girls were buried.
Okay not really.
In 2008, Have A Nice Life released a double LP, Deathconsciousness. It is as close to a perfect album as a record can get when it’s this lo-fi and raw. It sounds like it was recorded in the basement where you first learned how hard life was really going to be.
That’s what it sounds like to me at least, maybe your basement was actually quite nice.
From the amazing Sputnik Music review of Deathconsciousness that you should really read:
On this album, I feel I wouldn’t be able to sum up my feelings on the countless moments that make this album amazing. Deathconsciousness has a dense, reverby wall of sound and a dense, lofty concept that is opaque and difficult to see through. Moments blend together and amble along for minutes at a time in the swirling mass of ideas that permeates this album. This album is the antithesis of one created by a band like Hot Cross. It is impenetrable and atmospheric, instead of tautly constructed and brittle. Deathconsciousness is an album to be enjoyed on a long car drive or a pensive late night.
Now there is a new record.
It leaked after being up on the Pitchfork advance streamer, and I have been listening to it non-stop since. They’re posting a few of the tracks in on the Flensner Records Soundcloud. You should try to find a full copy if you can. It’s perfect music for these short days and cold nights.
Are there winter clouds in your heart? Have a nice life.
There are a lot of great 2013 records that aren’t on this list. And there are a lot of great 2013 records I haven’t heard yet. And hierarchies are bullshit constructs. And yet here we are!
10: Eluvium – Nightmare Ending
Guitar drones and ambient synths mixed with moody neo-classical. The only ambient record on this list that stays ambient the entire way through, without drifting into abraisive noise solos. For fans of Stars Of The Lid and Eno-style ambient.
9: Melt-Banana – Fetch
2013 comeback records that don’t suck #1: Melt-Banana. I know that japanoise bands are not everyone’s cup of tea, but just listen to Zero, this album’s closer. How can you not love this record? We all have a little noise in our hearts.
8: Roly Porter – Life Cycle Of A Massive Star
Probably the shortest record on this list? This or the Melt-Banana. Beautiful concept, beautiful tones, beautiful progression from rich melodic Tangerine Dream style ambient into moments of brutal power electronics and back again. Fun Fact: When I first listened to this album, my music player locked up and looped a 10-second clip over and over, and I didn’t notice for nearly ten minutes.
7: Chelsea Wolfe – Pain Is Beauty
This record is like if Zola Jesus listened to Doom growing up instead of Industrial. The production reminds me a lot of Earth’s last few albums, but if you dragged it through the mud and then accidentally used the ‘shoegaze’ preset when you mixed it. Basically it sounds like a lot of good things is what I’m saying here.
6: Le Matos – Join Us
I don’t even know what kind of music this is. Italian Troncore. Vangelis does Georgio Moroder on the set of Zombi 2. Sega Master System racing games fondly remembered through fever dreams.
5: Fuck Buttons – Slow Focus
Fuck Buttons is the band that proves all this whining about kids today being too soft for noise music is bullshit. Listen to this fucking record, man. This is an Ant-Zen record, this is a Tympanik record. Except the band is playing huge festivals and people are losing their fucking shit over it.
4: Diaphane – Lifeforms
I’ve loved everything I’ve heard from Régis Baillet, each album more than the last. Whenever I listen to his music, it makes me want to be a better musician. Beautiful, melodic, haunting, beautiful. Long, progressive washes of synths and loops with rare moments of driving, frenetic energy.
3: The Haxan Cloak – Excavation
If the Eluvium record is Eno-style background ambient, this is lights-off / headphones-on ambient. It is not for playing in the background while you work on wrapping Christmas presents or make dinner. It is for deep listening. There is so much here. Also there are a lot of beats so probably ambient isn’t the best word to describe this anyway.
2: Gary Numan – Splinter
2013 comeback records that don’t suck #2. The best 90s industrial rock record since the 90s. Seriously. If half the tracks on this were released by NIN as instrumental demos from The Downward Spiral no one would bat an eye. Gary Numan is one of those rare vocalists who can make any style of music sound like he invented it, and after listening to this record, I’m not sure he didn’t.
1: Pet Shop Boys – Electric
2013 comeback records that don’t suck #3. The last few Pet Shop Boys records sounded like they were made by people who hated music. It was only with a sense of deep obligation to the 80s that I listened to this in the first place, actually. It’s hard to pick a #1 between this and the Gary Numan, but it was so incredible to hear a return to form for PSB that it gets the top pick. All Pet Shop Boys greatest hits albums need to be recalled so they can add Love Is A Bourgeois Construct to the tracklist.
We’ve known each other for twenty years now, and I can still remember the first time we met so vividly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so breathtaking. You were the standard that everything after was judged by, and did they ever hate you for it.
We had a lot of good years, and even when it started to become clear that I needed to move forward, I kept coming back. I was so young, but you were always there, a reminder of what I needed and deserved. You were my touchstone.
+ Audra and I are working on a redesign for an awesome company!
- We can’t say who it is just yet.
- I still have not been working very much on my own projects.
+ I have however successfully navigated a maze of twisty little passages to make sure a ton of different business/financial/legal/boring things are in order.
- My little cat friend Mothra is pretty sick, and we don’t know how much better she’s going to get.
- Winter is on the way.
- I’m so stressed about Mothra. And she hates all the meds and treatments I’m giving her, so she’s acting totally differently towards me. I don’t even know what to do with myself.
+ I signed up for an online Science Fiction and Fantasy Writing class!
- I have been so busy that I haven’t actually been able to keep up with it at all.
± I’ve been thinking about running a tabletop campaign, but I don’t know if I have the time to do it up proper.
+ I was a panelist on a Kink in Pop Culture panel at Playground Conference, talking about kink culture and imagery in music!
+ I’ve been making a big effort to hang out with new cool peeps so that I don’t just hibernate all winter.
± Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m having a hangout or a date? Either is awesome! But sometimes I think I should pass a note across the table that says IS THIS A DATE PLEASE CIRCLE ONE [Y/N] THANK YOU
! WHAT IF THEY DON’T KNOW EITHER
Every year on International Women’s Day I have this little ritual where I defriend everyone on my Facebook and Twitter who posts WHY ISN’T THERE AN INTERNATIONAL MENS DAY!!!!
Because, you know, there is. It’s today. And if any of those dudes actually gave a fuck about issues that concern men, they would know about it. But basically no one knows about it, for whatever reason. So every year, on International Men’s Day, I have this little ritual where I post links and articles about issues that concern men.
Some of the posts I made last year:
- Was what Jenny McCarthy did to Justin Bieber sexual assault? A 40-year-old model gropes an 18-year-old signer on stage, and says they “couldn’t help it”, because they were “just so delicious”. It wouldn’t be laughed off if it was a 40-year-old man grabbing Birdy’s ass.
- Is the US the only country where more men are raped than women? RAINN says there are 213,000 victims of sexual assault in the US every year, most of which are women and girls. The DOJ says there are 216,000 victims of prison rape every year, most of which are men and boys.
- Teenage Boys, Worried About Body Image, Take Health Risks. More and more high school boys are taking steroids and growth hormones because they want to get as ripped as the men in fitness mags and on TV.
- Officers and Gary Numan release PETALS. A video filmed to help raise awareness for a suicide prevention charity. Suicide rates are highly gendered, nearly four times as many men kill themselves as women.
So I make these posts and some people reply and say “There’s an International Men’s Day?” and we usually have a good conversation about it all. Today I went online and not only does everyone know that it’s International Men’s Day, but everyone is pretty upset about it. My friends list is full of people I know — people who do great gender activism that I respect — comparing it to white pride month, saying if you make Men’s Day posts you’re clearly sexist or an MRA, and all kinds of super snarky super dismissive bullshit. I cannot tell you how disappointing it is to wake up and read this over and over again, especially coming from people who usually have great analysis. I get that MRAs are shitty and there’s a knee-jerk reaction for people. But when we discuss issues that people respond emotionally to (like privilege), we ask that they take a moment to think through their knee-jerk reaction, and to look at what people are actually saying.
Here are some things that are true:
- Some men are marginalized within our prevailing male culture.
- A lot of men are victims of violence from within male culture.
- A lot of men kill themselves for reasons that have to do with male culture.
- A lot of boys drop out of school for reasons that have to do with male culture.
- A lot of gay kids get the shit kicked out of them for reasons that have to do with male culture.
It’s not International Men’s Rights Day. It’s not International Male Pride Day. None of these issues are in any way adversarial towards women’s issues. This year’s focus is keeping men and boys safe. Keeping them safe by trying to address suicide, by fighting our culture’s expectations and complacence on the issue of men and violence, by addressing avoidable illnesses and death, and by examining how we perceive fatherhood and male role models. These are all positive, good things.
When men come into a feminist space and start saying WHAT ABOUT THE MENZ WHAT ABOUT THESE ISSUES, they get rightly told to scram and find their own spaces to have those conversations. So here it is. It’s International Men’s Day. If we can’t, today of all days, have a rational conversation about men’s issues without being pre-emptively snarked, what the fuck is the point in trying? Because the MRAs are just going to see it as more evidence of the Vast Feminist Conspiracy Against Men or whatever, and they’re going to double-down.
The only people that are going to get silenced are the people who actually give a shit what our feminist sisters think. I know I don’t have the will or the emotional fortitude to clean the well that the MRAs are poisoning.
I’m glad that people are talking about the reality that drug addiction is a health issue. I’m glad that my friends and the media are taking time to say that you shouldn’t shame someone for having a drug addiction. What’s being left out of the conversation is that not everyone who uses drugs is abusing them, and not everyone who abuses drugs is addicted to them.
I’m not the only person in the world with friends who are total dickheads when they drink. They’ll say shitty things, they’ll do shitty things, and you don’t want to be anywhere near them when they’re drinking. If they decide to get wasted every now and then and get into fights and drive home drunk, that doesn’t mean they’re an alcoholic. It just means they’re an asshole. Substance dependence is a serious medical issue. Being an asshole is not.
Have you ever been to a college town? Hung out at a university bar? Those drunk people trying to grab your ass or get in your face are assholes, not addicts, and it’s worth taking a second look at Rob Ford’s history and thinking about which profile he fits best.
But Jairus! Isn’t that a false dilemma? Sure. But being an alcoholic is a lot more than binge drinking and acting like a shithead, and being a drug addict is a lot more than smoking coke and calling someone a fag.
In 1959, Belafonte was playing Vegas for $50,000 a week. Every night he looked out on an ocean of white. Black people couldn’t have afforded his show even if Vegas hadn’t been segregated. But TV? Black folks had TVs. One night on television reached more black people than a year of Sundays at the Apollo. TV, Belafonte thought, would be his hammer. He’d use the idiot box to break chains. Revlon ordered another five specials.
But after just one more show, Charlie Revson, scion of Revlon, had a problem. “The white guys down in the South don’t want it,” he said. “They’ll black out the station.” It was the backup singers, the dancers, he said. Some black, some white. Choose, said Revson. Didn’t matter which—so long as they were all the same. He figured Belafonte would probably prefer the color, but really, Revlon wanted to respect his freedom. You’re the artist, Mr. Belafonte. So choose. Black or white.