Assorted Horses?

This image gives me great pleasure:



Putting it in context will ruin it, but I'll feel guilty if I don't give credit where credit is due: some guy named Randy Johnson used it as his avatar on a message board, and I'm pretty sure it originates from Ryan North's Dinosaur Comics.

Word.

Dancing About Thinking

I'm not one for high art.

But I make an exception for Marie Chouinard.



Last night I took my wary gal to see Chouinard's latest, bODY_rEMIX/gOLDBERG_vARIATIONS - at Calgary's oldest theater The Grand. This morning I noticed the connection between the building, swathed in construction drapery and girded by temporary scaffold, and the dancers on Chouinard's stage rebuilt by their temporary prosthetic extensions. Within the theater, bodies retrofit. Without, the building undergoing its own remix.



But let me step back for a moment. Marie Chouinard is in my opinion the most talented and visionary choreographer working today. She hails from Montreal but has lived abroad in New York, Berlin, Bali and Nepal. I was introduced to her aesthetic in 2000 with the performance of 24 Preludes by Chopin and Le Cri du Monde and found myself immediately captivated by the precision of her group's movement, the playfulness of her staging, and her perverse sense of humor. Her work appeals to me because it walks a beautiful tension between the sensual and the cerebral. The body is her instrument, no doubt, but she uses its contortions and creations to communicate heady and silly ideas.



In the new bODY_rEMIX/gOLDBERG_vARIATIONS, she equips her dancers with walkers, canes and imaginary bodily extensions that both support and limit their range of movement. They wear pointe shoes on their hands and walk like gazelles. They're fitted with poles, rods, ropes and harnesses and scuttle like crabs, dangle like larvae. Dueling females lunge for each other and feint away on glinting steel crutches. Dueling men thrust and parry suspended between barres that make an attenuated boxing ring, their chests and pelvises twin ends of the muscled weapons of their torsos. A single female transposes her body across a five-tiered barre as if it's a musical staff and her limbs the notes, shifting tonality.



The first act felt more intellectual to me, an introduction to and exhaustion of the performance's central ideas. In the second act, I discovered myself emotionally engaged, and more amused, as Chouinard stripped away the pretense of the alien bodily configurations to get at the human cores within. I sympathized with the man on his cane shuffling offstage, shoulders slumping and legs bowed. I felt for the woman rising on wire assemblies, twisting and fighting against her bonds like a caterpillar pushing at the edges of its cocoon for the relief of release.



And I was struck again by something that's been on my mind a lot the last few years: the way time changes our bodies, stunting and sapping their former fluidity and elasticity, their strength and stretch. Time, that most heinous thief, forces us from our four good limbs (if we're lucky enough to start with them all) to an accreted, augmented coral of biomechanical supplements: our walkers, our back and knee braces, our wheelchairs, and finally, that last of the bodily extensions, our deathbed.

Again: Chouinard moves bodies, but she really gets your head going too. It's dancing about thinking.

Good review here: The Dance Current

Received: The Sun

The title I owe to my Mom, who was talking about sunlight coming to the Elk Valley today after days of rain (and snow we enjoyed).



The sentiment I owe to my old heroes The Orb, whom I've discovered have a new album out last October! It's Dr Alex Paterson and Thomas Fehlmann this time around, so The Good Doctor's sense of nonsense is slightly tamped down by precise German discipline. But oh, what discipline it is!

Okie Dokie It's The Orb On Kompakt is a consistent delight in the ultra-modern style popularized by those inventive Krauts at Kompakt. If you're expecting kold, Kraftwerkian klockwork, you'll get some of that, but Dr Alex shines such lovely rays of sun across the proceedings that upon hearing this LP for the first time I knew summer (or at least spring) proper had arrived.

This is the third return to form by one of the bands responsible for my formative musical years. Like Erasure (Nightbird) and Front 242 (Pulse) before them, The Orb have shown me there were some very nice aural surprises to come back to after my own "return to form" at the end of last summer after a crippling illness.

An Orb is for life, not just for Christmas.

Music For Meaning

I've been digging for a blog topic a while now but nothing struck me. Probably because I've been too busy redesigning my website.

I finally found something - where I least expected it, as usual. I promised myself I would never do one of these things, but this is too entertaining to resist. Mostly because it's about meaning generation, and my favorite thing to dig for, after all, is meaning.

So, onward (and it should be noted Nox didn't tag me with this, I did it all by myself):

Instructions: set your iTunes on shuffle and use the song order to answer the following questions.



Q) How does the world see me?

A) Right Where It Belongs - Nine Inch Nails

What if all the world's inside of your head?
Just creations of your own
Your devils and your gods all the living and the dead
And you're really all alone
You can live in this illusion,
You can choose to believe.
You keep looking but you can't find the woods,
While you're hiding in the trees



Q) Will I live a happy life?

A) Alarm Call - Bjork

I have walked this earth
And watched people
I can be sincere
And say I like them

You can't say no to hope
Can't say no to happiness

I want to go on a mountaintop
With a radio and good batteries
And play a joyous tune and
Free the human race
From suffering

It doesn't scare me at all

I'm no ****ing Buddhist
But this is enlightenment

The less room you give me
The more space I've got

This is an alarm call
So wake up, wake up now
Today has never happened
And it doesn't frighten me

It doesn't scare me at all



Q) What do people really think of me?

A) Sex On The Flag - KMFDM

SEX ON THE FLAG, GIVE ME RESPECT OR GIVE ME DEATH
SEX ON THE FLAG, NO RESPONSIBILITY
SEX ON THE FLAG, YOU GOTTA HAVE SOME FANTASY
SEX ON THE FLAG, CRACK DOWN AND CRY FOR ME



Q) How can I make myself happy?

A) Work It To The Bone - LNR

Come on let's work
Come on let's work it to the bone bone bone
Gotta work it to the bone
Gotta work it to the bone
Gonna work you 'til you sweat
Gonna work you 'til you get wet
Come on work...to the bone bone bone



Q) What should I do with my life?

A) O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high,
Who orderest all things mightily;
To us the path of knowledge show,
And teach us in her ways to go.

O come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death's dark shadows put to flight.



Q) What is some good advice for me?

A) Drama! - Erasure

One rule for us, for you another
Do unto yourself as you see fit for your brother
Is that not within your realm of understanding?
Well then, poor unfortunate you
There are a myriad of things that you can do
Like pick up a pen and paper, or go and talk to a friend
The history of the future
No violence or revenge

Your shame is never...ending
Just one psychological drama after another
You are guilty, and how you ever entered into this life...
God only knows the infinite complexities of love



Q) What do I think my current theme song is?

A) Lips - Ambo

You know we say the damnedest things my love
We must see something here that's invisible to most
Her lips are slightly parted and wet and soft and full
They enrage and confuse and clarify my ideas
And when they speak they sometimes break my heart
I lift my eye for the help to come
I don't know what the help will look like



Q) What song will play at my funeral?

A) Knowing Me, Knowing You - Abba

No more carefree laughter
Silence ever after
Walking through an empty house, tears in my eyes
Here is where the story ends, this is goodbye

Knowing me, knowing you
There is nothing we can do
We just have to face it, this time we're through
Breaking up is never easy, I know but I have to go
Knowing me, knowing you
It's the best I can do

Memories, good days, bad days
They'll be, with me, always



Q) What is my day going to be like?

A) Masterhit (Parts 1 & 2) - Front 242

You know me and I sure know you...
Every one of you.

You seem so...tender

Give me some more of the warm little beasts
I'm so fond of

Master, I'm so glad to feel your presence
But you don't seem to share my impatience
I relied upon you to break the silence
I cannot understand your reluctance

Master, I feel so warm and I'm so happy, oh master
Give me some more of the warm little beasts
I'm so fond of

You seem so...
I could melt the frozen wall you raised between us
And now I'm on the other side, you seem rather surprised

Constricting viscous rings around your warm body
Holding you tied, holding you tied...and I feel so happy

You seem as tender
As the warm little beasts
I'm so fond of



Q) Why am I here?

A) Come To Me - Bjork

Come to me
I'll take care of you
Protect you
Calm, calm down
You're exhausted
Come lie down
You don't have to explain
I understand
You know
That I adore you
You know
That I love you

Jump off
Your building's on fire
And I'll catch you
I'll catch you
Destroy all that is keeping you back
And then I'll nurse you
I'll nurse you

Come to me
I'll take care of you
You don't have to explain
I understand



Q) What will people remember me for?

A) Tread Water - De La Soul

As I walked along my journey,
I thought 'What have I just learned?'
Always look to the positive and never drop your head
For the water will engulf us if we do not dare to tread
See I look past all my worries, which is something you must do
Though you're fed up, throw your head up
With this advice from me to you:
And that's to tread water



Q) What song will I get stuck in my head tomorrow?

A) All Apologies - Sinead O'Connor (written by Kurt Cobain)

What else should I be?
All apologies
What else could I say?
Everyone is gay
What else should I write?
I don't have the right
What else should I be?
All apologies

In the sun - in the sun I feel as one
In the sun - in the sun
I'm married
Buried

I wish I was like you
Easily amused
Find my nest of salt
Everything's my fault
I'll take all the blame
Aqua seafoam shame
Sun burn with freezerburn
Choking on the ashes of her enemy

In the sun - in the sun I feel as one
In the sun - in the sun
I'm married
Buried
Married
Buried

All alone is all we are



Q) Are there people outside waiting to take me away?

A) Black Dove (January) - Tori Amos

She was a January girl
She never let on how insane it was
In that tiny kinda scary house
By the woods, by the woods, by the woods, by the woods
By the woods, by the woods, by the woods, by the woods

Black-dove
Black-dove
You're not a helicopter
You're not a cop-out either
Black-dove
Black-dove
You don't need a space ship
They don't know you've already lived
On the other side of the galaxy



Q) What will this year be all about?

A) Is Blood - Ambo

What is blood, tell me is it blue?
Like a river, flows from me to you
Tributary of veins upon my wrist
All lead to a sea of pain and bliss

The sea is the heart, mind and soul
No one on this ocean has control
Not even God, He allows the choice
The ocean rages - I rejoice

Laughing and bleeding inside this storm
I look up, I scream and am forlorn
Back and forth I dream and deeply sleep
From nightmare to peaceful dreams I keep

I'll tell you a secret... listen well
I still taste Heaven, seized by Hell
And in this seizure that wars in my soul
I find great peace in flesh and bone

So war and wage within my sky blue blood
We'll build a bridge and cross over the flood

Tagging Mike, Neil, Art, "Spy Pucca", "Dark Knight" and "Enmity Bear" with this.

Immortal Beloved

If, like me, you're a child of the mid-70s, and if, like me, you're a nerd (mini or otherwise), your imaginative landscape is partly painted by the animated TV programs of the 80s (and really, has there been a more inventive decade for mainstream genre entertainment? I think not - but that's a topic for another post).

What I want to blow the trumpet for right now is a gang of scary-talented artists who've done a wonderful job reimagining characters from our televisual histories, all for the purposes of friendly creative competition. I like the idea that a fictional persona can live forever as he or she is parsed through the minds (and eyes) of a different generation inspired by the creators who came before them.

Example: take a look at this masterpiece reinterpretation of my favorite Master of the Universe, the boy's dream Trap-Jaw - half-monster, half-weapon, all cool:



I had a hard time working up the courage to make this fellow my desktop background. The Trap-Jaw I knew was happy to be a grotesque man-machine hybrid, enjoying his ability to blow away enemies, hook himself to lengths of rope, and come to grips with whatever he wanted - all from one interchangeable robot arm.

The above painting of the character pulls off a discomfiting portrayal of loss and pain, capturing what it might actually feel like to be trapped in his skin (and steel).

Kudos to "max-cant", who did the deed of immortalizing Trap-Jaw. There are also some excellent renditions of Skeletor to be found at the link that houses these artworks, including a super kinky pairing of the bony one with his gal pal Evil-Lyn that I won't display here because I fancy mine a family-friendly blog. But do check it out:

conceptart.org THUNDERDOME 8 Competition

Oh, that I shared these folks' illustrative talent!

We do have at least one thing in common, though.

Our brains were likewise polluted by the kickass imaginative entertainments of the 80s.

PRFDSR

Or, "parent reference from databound selection routine":

Public Sub BoundControlSelection(s As Object, e As EventArgs) 

Dim oBoundControl As BoundControl 'DropDownList, CheckBox, etc   
Dim oLabel As Label oDropDownList = CType(sender, BoundControl )   

oLabel = oDropDownList.Parent.FindControl("lblStatus") 


oLabel.Text = "Hello"  
End Sub

Go Cave

Now it's gone too far.

My friend Dave doesn't need me as accomplice any longer. This beast has found a shorter, faster route to its warren of origin:



Behold the filth that issued directly from my friend's contaminated brain, without my assistance:

Pugvold Visigoth slid sideways through the Primary Entrance of Blood Caverns of Orthos, his Bard's Jacket® already ruined by the viscid gut-dollops falling from this most feared grotto ceiling. The guttering hollow was a riot of glistening elf and orc commixture, steaming and burbling (only slightly) in the heady backdraft. "Othos has done well this day," the discerning Pugvol nodded ruefully to himself. "This ripe vista shall be detailed tonight in song at the Tavern." Harp at the ready, the stanzas, amplitude and timbre of his piece already taking form, Pugvold turned from the dusky massacre and began the long trek back to Town.

All right, I tweaked a couple sentences for publication. But still--

With only Dave as its instrument, the Lord Blooddyke may yet achieve full emission.

In Its Honor

My dear friend Dave has fallen ill, unquestionably due to the influence of this entity in his life:



Rising from a deep, reddening, swooshing and tingling fever, he mustered the energy to demand from me a description of the Blood Caverns of Orthos. I knew the words came from my friend's lips, but the command was clearly the will of this creature:



Mind you, I have no knowledge of a "Blood Caverns of Orthos", so I was a little puzzled my friend was asking this of me.

Still, within moments of the request's implications reaching the edges of my inner soul, the answer was there - twitching and hairy somewhere deep inside me. Unbidden, my fingers poised over the necessary keys and I began to type.

Malaprop Budsen trod beneath the yawning maw of the Blood Caverns of Orthos, his somewhat passable Adventurers' Sandals™ sinking immediately into a foot-deep mire of ground bones and seeping viscera, the mulched leavings of those foolhardy enough to attempt earlier excursions here.

The Filth Tube is pleased.

And now we are both in grave danger.

Televisikinepathy

I'm a little wary of making a post about the boys in red. Last time I did, it was for my first attempt at a blog (failed) and Calgary's first attempt at the Stanley Cup in recent years (also failed).

I wrote in ecstatic, beer-fueled reverie about the pleasure of cheering for the Flames at local hangout The Rose & Crown, and our subsequent stampede (har har) into the finals. I even foregave the gal who emptied her entire pint onto my coat (since replaced) in her enthusiasm, because, as my friend Lisa pointed out, it seemed a prerequisite for a win at those games I watched in public that somebody spill beer all over me. Yes: I am prone to superstition, belief in jinxes and general meaning-mongering, even outside hockey season. And during - let me tell you, buster.

Watching last night's game against the Phoenix Ferrets - screaming, yelling, bouncing on the bed and violently disturbing my agonized lover (for she is at the mercy of her back this week and spent the previous day and night immobile on the hardwood floor of our living room) - I theorized (no, believed), as I always do, the intensity of my passion could propel our team to a decisive win.

(Andrea, bless her heart, forgave me the animated display. I think the reason I was pardoned is she's a hockey maniac, making this an acceptable breach of conduct.)

Maybe you yell at your television set when your team isn't playing up to standard. Maybe you laud these well-paid athletes with oft-deserved applause through the negligible membranes of glass, liquid crystal, plasma or cathode-ray - knowing they can feel your appreciation miles away on whatever ice they carve and conquer.

Me, I take it a step further. I've convinced myself I can achieve a telepathic link with hockey players, particularly my man Dion Phaneuf (chosen not because he became the upstart goal-scorer of the season, but because saying his last name aloud amuses me no end). I can even manipulate his actions with my mind.


Note the clear line of sight from my eyes to Phaneuf's brain.

I guess that's telekinesis, actually. At any rate:

Blame it on too many years playing computer games; playing God, even (thank you, Will Wright). But if we do edge our way closer to that ultimate win on account of my mad televisikinepathy skillz (and yours, too; I believe anyone can do it), then don't turn up your nose at those of us who've spent years honing The Craft.

For what it's worth...at home, in the 'dome, on the road:

Support your Flames!

< televisikinepathy >
Shoot the puck! Skate the ice! (Hi, Doug.) Win the Cup!
< /televisikinepathy >

Hearts Filled With Seeds

If you're like me, your life was changed by a little multimedia CD-ROM released back at the top of the 90s by a small gang of very talented Spokane residents with a love for God, a well-nurtured sense of wonder, and an appreciation for exploration, discovery and revelation tempered by humility. That's a long-winded way to say Myst blew my socks off and inspired me to quit film school to start a company like Cyan.

But I'm here to talk about something different than a CD-ROM, though it also spins in your drive and at least one of the Cyan team is involved: my hero Robyn Miller, who in addition to imagining and helping bring to life the worlds of Myst also composed soundtracks for the game and its sequel Riven. Robyn went quiet for a few years after the latter, reportedly working on an animated film codenamed Green Tea. Then he appeared on the web (Tinselman, here) and later disclosed his recent creative efforts in the form of an album co-authored with friend Keith Moore. They call themselves Ambo, the project is 1000 Years and 1 Day, and it is a marvel.



I suppose you could label it prog rock, but that feels reductive. I don't really have a name for it myself, but there's Robyn's powerful atmospherics and abstract poetry married to Keith's plaintive vocal and crushing love songs. The biggest love here though, as noted above, is that for God. Hence the album's very real and persistent struggle with life, death, faith, sin, redemption and possible salvation for its "lead character", who is certainly abandoned and lovelorn, may or may not be a murderer, and eventually comes to terms with his grief and guilt to seek forgiveness. Whether he gets it remains in question, but I suggest you needn't take any one interpretation to heart. Robyn and Keith both seem willing to leave your experience of this art open, and that's a lovely confidence. Setting aside any lyrical reading, the music is outstanding in its invention and evocation.

So it's currently part of my life's soundtrack, and my work's too.

You can take a preview listen here: Ambo

If you're moved like I was, you can grab the whole thing at iTunes or CDBaby or Amazon.