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Monument to my youth: Stand Like the Great Pyramids of Giza! [10 Apr 2009|01:51pm]
I think I'll copy my sister for a change. For the record though, I was into ancient egypt way before she was.

This will be my last post on this thing.

http://aspacetoolarge.tumblr.com

Crazy daisies and wooden stars
the threat of oxygen on mars
marching armies in the night
just a few things most vampires don't like.

I'm discovering uses for you I thought I'd never find,
I could have made chancellor without you on my mind.
4 comments|post comment

Pure poetry. [13 Mar 2009|03:45am]
a distrust of dogma, an abhorrence of grand
designs, a belief in compromise, and a disposition towards pragmatism - all
attributes that Denis Stairs [1982: 667-690] holds to be derivative of a
domestic political culture whose "ultimate origin.. .lies in the application of
the basic principles of liberalism to the governance of a polity composed of
too few people, of too heterogeneous a composition, living in a space too
large, with a topography too varied (Haglund, 2000:94) .6
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Holy shit new Joel Plaskett [10 Mar 2009|07:28pm]
I have a new favourite song: Deny, Deny, Deny, off of Joel Plaskett's soon-to-be-released album Three.

http://www.myspace.com/joelplaskett1 <----LISTEN HERE

Hey Undercover Lover!
When you coming home?
I’m a different lover than I was before
Hey Undercover Lover!
Why you rattlin’ on?
What’s keeping me from locking up this door?
Hey Disappearing Dreamer!
What you dreaming now?
Hiding places I could never find
Hey Disappearing Dreamer!
Let me ask you how
You intend to make this heart rewind

Hiding in the backseat
Waiting for a dark street
Trying to find a place to run
Living for the last night
Bluer than the moonlight
Everybody comes undone

Around, around, our love came down
Like the Berlin Wall
Deny, deny, you can’t deny
You let the Curtain fall

Hey Unraveling Traveler!
Where you traveling to?
Is there somewhere else you wanna be?
Hey Unraveling Traveler!
When it’s only me and you
Why’s everything gotta break in three?

Sitting on the back deck
Writing me a bad cheque
Bending down to tie your lace
One: You were the lonely
Two: You were my only
Three: You went and left this place
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Cathedral City [20 Feb 2009|02:12am]
This is a song my friend Chris and I wrote/recorded today. Its mostly inspired by towns we've never been to, but we romanticize anyway.

http://chris.martin.n.googlepages.com/Everybodysselling.mp3

Hope you're all having a good reading week!

And everybody's still just sellin' it
It's still creeping through the country side
Twelve yards long and five miles wide
All the hate we couldn't hide

Like a stagecoach set on fire
We were just rollin' and blazin'
Tell me again what Los Angeles means
Arizona's for the in-betweens

borderlines on your face
a journey's end to consecrate
train tracks turn to rows of pews
as we travel through
cathedral city

You and I were vagrants then
without food or poetry
Father Grimm came to our car
said "get me out of here or you'll be sorry"

So we took him to the 9th concession
Like Cain and Abel we played our part
Mainline deadshift Megachurch heaven
killed his faith and broke his heart


I did what I just about never do: write a song about women. Maybe I'm just not sentimental enough. Its also a song about how I'm not sentimental enough, and kind of an apology/explanation for the dishonesty that comes with being male.

CLICK HERE --> http://chris.martin.n.googlepages.com/Myhome.mp3


My home, my home,
where the wild dogs roam
And the fire keeps winter at bay

Never have I
seen your face in the sky
like the day that lie took you away

You were, the best
kept secret of the west
but your secret was not safe with me

and if I confess
all the lies you protest
there'd be nothing but truth left for me

if you can't live with yourself
you'll spend your whole life looking for someone who can
in the rivers and the canyons or your parents kitchen shelf
find a boy who believes he's a man

the wait was long,
our time too brief
I felt old beyond my years.

In the winter of the young
our lives just begun to
accept the fate my heart brought to here

The change came fast
there was no way to last
through the storm that your absence did start

Amazing Grace
well she couldn't stay
the changing of seasons and hearts

if you can't live with yourself
you'll spend your whole life looking for someone who can
in the rivers and the canyons or your parents kitchen shelf
find a boy who believes he's a man

So this, my dear
my heart has to fear
the only thing left for me to blame:

I'm in love, with love
and not with you,
but I'm sad that you're gone all the same
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[07 Jan 2009|11:10pm]
This year has already been great.



I dreamed of, I dreamed of, I dreamed off-shore
I dreamed of, I dreamed of, I dreamed off-shore
There was truth in rooms.
A room for thinking, There's no room for
A room for thinking, There's no room for
the room to say goodbye

I say goodnight PEI
I say goodnight PEI
Forced Childhood to watch you die,
I say goodnight.

Where were the words, where were the words, where were the words?
Of the national hero that was born here?
Stuck in rationalization, gospel march to confederation,
past cape cod, and gaspereaux, and Murray Harbour's mussle boats.



We're all patriots in our places
We all seed the party line
Sick, Sick, Sick, Ottawa Outsider
You're on socialist time.
Divine woman of contempt,
Parliament will run back to her
She's a sickness, but they all believe their ideals
will survive beyond the mis-named fact checkers.

We are beings of light
We are beings of light
we are beings of light
we are beings of light

we sold our dignity up the river
it floats over the tomb of the unknown soldier
he's like a holy father with benevolent hands
oh father, give me your shoulder
let me run through the veins of our nation
let me understand where I live
let me bathe in the regional archives
I want to give, I want to give, I want to give

We are beings of light, we exist without kindness
We are beings of light, we exist without kindness
We are beings of light, we exist without kindness
We are beings of light, we exist without kindness

If we're all sinners in the eye of the traveller
but we're all travellers in the eye of the creater
if Beauty, my dear, is in the eye of the beholder
then won't you hold me just a little bit closer.

We are beings of light, we exist without kindness
We are beings of light, we exist without kindness
We are beings of light, we exist without kindness
We are beings of light, we exist without kindness



What do you need searcher?
Brutalist Iron Architecture?
I am the dog star, and you're a hidden camera.
Raise your lens to the sun,
because you're not fooling anyone.

I've seen the wind Mitchell,
The places I've been Mitchell,
teach that age is no barrier,
that I'm no road warrior,
and teach me that you're no rhodes scholar.

The pleasure dome, versus the place that we call home
The cities we struck, through knowing diversion and stupid luck,
the power you wield, teaches us how to remember to feel with the heathen,
just to break even.

We're more basic than you think,
our thoughts lye prostrate across our bodies.
Oh, what a long and weary thing,
this wise ex-patriot body.



Loving a country's just like anything else,
It can leave at any given time.
Men from Toronto leave their love at home,
but they never ever question why.
My love of open spaces, well it keeps me warm,
in the middle of the cold dark night,
campfire and a coffee cup, coffee's from a tin made right.

Whatever you could want,
Thats what I've got.

Vinyl man from the 70s, picks up another copy of Led Zepplin 3
he's got Cobain's first, Dylan's last, he's got sixteen copies of Blood on the Tracks,
I'm here to stay, just passing through, I can't buy the feeling that I'm looking for,
and if you dare start thinking we could make a home, I'm already halfway to the door.

Whatever you could want,
Thats what I've got.

Passing through town on a beat up horse, working so hard, just to get by,
But I'm just passing through, I stay the course, Every single thing I know is a lie,
I'm just passing through, down on the floor, can't buy the feeling that I'm looking for
If we meet again, I don't know when, we're going over the falls in a big pig pen.
2 comments|post comment

We want the death of Rock & Roll [26 Aug 2008|01:37am]
Here are some songs that I'm living and breathing every day these days.



This is a song by two incredibly talented, attractive songwriters called Dala. Honestly, bands like this are the reason I can't be attracted to real women.



This song is about my cat Gatsby. Not written about him, but its about him.



This song actually makes me tear up, every time.
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We are beings of light. [12 Aug 2008|06:28pm]
We are patriots in our places
We all cede the party line.
Sick, Sick, Sick communist sympathizer
You're on socialist time.



Sublime measurements achieved fast
Parliament will run back to her
She's a sickness, but they all believe that their ideals
Will survive beyond the mis-named fact-checkers.


We sent our dignity up the river
It floats over the tomb of the unknown soldier
He's like a holy father with benevolent hands
Oh father, give me your shoulder.



And lead me through the national static
Let me understand where I live,
Let me bathe in the regional archives
I want to give, give , give


And we are beings of light
We exist without kindness
We are beings of light
We exist without kindness.
post comment

Some insane rambling. [29 Jul 2008|02:27pm]
My life plan thus far (in very general terms):

Next two years:

-Take courses that interest me, do well in them.
-Continue to be involved in humanitarian & student political work. Really give that my all.
-Try to be as complete a person as I can be.
-Assemble the foundations of a good band.
-Practice, Practice, Practice.
-Work on my everything really.
-Graduate!

After that (My post undergrad youth):
-Get a 9-5 job, one that pays the bills, but doesn't suck my life away.
-Really try to carve out a spot playing/writing music for a living. Massive success isn't as important as making a living doing what I love. This is going to take a while probably, and may never happen.
-Try this on for as long as it takes, or I can stand, whichever comes first.

Just so you all know I'm sane, there is probably some point out there where I would give up the dream. However, I'm not sure what that point is really, because I really can't imagine it right now.

The beauty of life, and our society, is that you're never really pigeonholed into one thing. You need to work at what you want to do, but I'm working on so many things right now that I think I have several paths before me. I'm picking the one that a) makes the most sense for me, and b) I really feel in my gut I'm meant for.

However, I'm making sure not to limit my options in any way. Just in case.

Being smart with money is another important thing too I've realized. The time has come to end my youthful spending habits. Starting August 1st I am going to be as absolutely frugal as I can be. I made a budget, and I'm going to stick to it. I'm going to start saving for my future.
2 comments|post comment

Battle Song of the Republic: 1988. Casey at the Bat [03 Jun 2008|09:19am]

"Love has its sonnets galore. War has its epics in heroic verse. Tragedy its sombre story in measured lines. Baseball has Casey at the Bat." - Albert Spalding


The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

"Phin"
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A bit of a political rant. [21 May 2008|01:15pm]
So, I was wondering a while ago why George Bush was taking so many trips to Africa lately.

I had just assumed it was because presidents often get legacy fever in their last years (And what a legacy George Bush is going to have!).

However, while I was looking at old Gallup polls (I'm that cool) at work today, I found out that he's just going where people love him.



Hell, I'd go too with a 62% approval rating.

-------------------------
Democratic Race.

I used to have a huge disdain for Hillary Clinton's candidacy. I was actually once quoted as saying that if I were in the United States, John McCain would sooner get my vote than Clinton. I really wish I had not said that.

(I have *some* admiration for McCain, his strong stance against torture, as well as his willingness to break with his party and history of ignoring the religious right inspired me.)

As Barack Obama (my candidate of choice, by a long, long, long shot) has been doing better and better, and the Clinton camp has been getting more and more desperate, I've come to realize something about Hillary that her supporters see. While her boasts of "Experience" and "Better Understanding of Policy" are complete myths, her supporters more often talk about what a fighter she is.

And she is. People can't seem to understand why she is staying in the race. She essentially can't win, she practically cannot win, and her argument for convincing the superdelegates to come to her side is so full-of-holes that nobody who has had any political experience could actually buy into it.

However, what most of her critics do not see is that the fever pitch of (often sexist) cries for her to get out and accusations of delusion, her *true* supporters have hardened their support. To them, Hillary Clinton is every woman who has hit a glass ceiling, every woman who has had a husband humiliate her, every woman who has been ridiculed for having ambition.

Underneath all the political pressure (likely more of it internal than external), she isn't giving up. She's still fighting. She's still going for it.

I don't care what her true reasons are for continuing and I don't care that *I* don't find her inspiring; the fact that she carries that mantle for women with ambition, and is refusing to give up is beyond admirable.

I can honestly say that I'm going to be very disappointed if she isn't on the ticket as Vice President.

ADDENDUM:
Its easy for Obama supporters to fret over whether Hillary supporters will vote for them in the election. When your candidate is down, you begin to hate the other candidate. This happened to me when Obama was down. Now that he's up though, I can look more objectively at Hillary. Non-racist democrats are going to vote for Obama, period. I really wish CNN would stop talking about how Hillary supporters are so bitter.
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TAKE THIS! [14 Apr 2008|05:19pm]


Some explanation is required, look at the number of myspace hits we have:



All is not as (gay) it seems!
7 comments|post comment

Mr. Self Destruct. [14 Apr 2008|02:15am]
I'm sitting in my room listening to Nine Inch Nails.

I remember what it was like to be the kind of person that could really be into Nine Inch Nails. Part of me still is that person, lying on my bedroom floor listening to "The Downward Spiral".

I still lie on my floor occasionally. It really helps to feel small sometimes; to look up at something, even if its just a roof. I love communing with the dust, the stuff under my bed that you forget about, and sometimes even myself. Somehow lying down lifts the weight of life off your shoulders briefly, and you can really think, completely unhindered by garbagethought. Some of the happiest memories of my life were from floors.

I used to be worried I'd stop loving Nine Inch Nails. I think because it was an integral part of a life that I had, that I loved. I was really too young to even consider that maybe I'd grow out of that life.

SMASH ME! HATE ME! ERASE ME!
WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME, MY PERFECT LITTLE STARS, YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU REALLY ARE!
MY FUCKING WORLD IS WEARING YOUR DISEASE!
DON'T YOU TELL ME HOW I FEEL! YOU DON'T KNOW JUST HOW I FEEL!
I WANT TO FUCK EVERYONE IN THE WORLD! (Not even joking)

(Choice examples of Reznor-isms from The Downward Spiral)

Looking back, and thankfully having grown out of that phase of my life, I actually don't resent it or hate it. I'm not even that embarrassed by it.

-I'm really glad I had a chance to be really teenage.
-I'm glad I had the chance to feel like I could relate to Trent Reznor.
-I'm glad I had the chance to feel like some high school girl not reciprocating my feelings was *really* the end of the world.
-I'm glad I had a chance to feel really cool with stupid looking long hair, spikey bracelets, and T-Shirts with Trent, Iggy Pop, and The Cure.
-I'm glad I had a period of my life where my main worries in life were video games and learning to play the guitar.
-I'm glad I had things to set my teenage-boy emotions off.
-I'm glad I had friends that I don't talk to now, but I thought were the entire world.

I'm so extremely lucky to have had the chance to be embarrassing. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

All I have of that life are these Nine Inch Nails records I'm listening to now.

Thats the way it should be, and I'd rather be me now, but I think being that embarrassing is so important. I'm always a little wary when people shun their "uncool" past.
2 comments|post comment

You can't really communicate. [02 Apr 2008|02:28am]
Does anyone else suffer from the strange desire to check the internet right before they go to bed? Its bad because I always end up staying up an extra hour looking at livejournal, facebook, Wikipedia, or something else. I really want to sleep, but something compels me to stay up that extra hour.

I guess I'll use tonight's time to tell you about how much I love Margaret Atwood. Many don't like her, and I think this is because she's so unapologetic. She writes depressing feminist/animist stories, using prose often heavily laden with embedded linguistic games necessary to understanding the plot.

So basically, not only are we reading sad feminist literature, but she has the audacity to ask us to put the narrative together. As people who most often want entertainment, this just doesn't do. Who is this morose lady to ask me to do anything?! I paid twenty bucks for her book!

Dr. Hyman (my lit prof), told us that you need to read her carefully. I think you need to realize that she isn't telling you a story, she's painting you one.

The emphatic beauty of Dadaist art is that it doesn't hit you over the head with meaning. They didn't draw the horrors of the second world war, but rather they created impressions of its psychological footprint. Similarly, Atwood doesn't just tell you "A woman goes mad", she paints you a picture of her descent into madness. It is a picture painted with wonderfully accessible images, symbols, and cultural references. Many of these are also quite entertaining.

Once I appreciated this, Atwood's Surfacing instantly became this immensely heartbreaking story. Honestly, I wanted to cry when that dark form came bubbling up from the depths of pond. I wanted to strangle David, not simply a chauvinist, but an abuser, a Eurocentric destroyer of life.

But thats not important: I have two things to say to people who don't like Margaret Atwood. Well, three really, but one goes without saying really.

A) If you haven't read her, but have judged her, you really, *really* can't know just how much you don't know what you're talking about. You need to actually read her, not read about her. If you don't, and you judge, you're pretty much just being a jackass. (So many people do this though!)

B) If you actually, really disagree with what Atwood has to say about feminism, and nature, thats fair. I don't understand you, but you probably have something valid to say, as there are two sides to every story.

C) If you've tried to read one of her books, and then just put it down because you were bored/not entertained, you really haven't put enough work into your reading of the book. Until you do, your opinion isn't really about the book. Its not even an opinion really, its just some kind of preference you have constructed in your head about the books you like to read. Its not Atwood's fault you didn't engage, as there is usually so much to engage with

This really only has to do with Surfacing, and The Handmaiden's Tale. I haven't read The Robber Bride or the Blind Assassin, and have heard that they are incredibly dense, frustrating reads. I can't judge them.

Surfacing is the bomb though. Seriously, everyone should read it.
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A coffee house [29 Mar 2008|04:28am]
4 comments|post comment

"I don't drink and I don't plan on it" [19 Mar 2008|12:23pm]
So, I found this quiz in my "draft" box in my hotmail. I think I must have done it when I was in grade 10 or 11.

It's the weirdest thing, as much as I've changed (and I have changed quite a bit, thankfully), at two in the morning I've essentially been the same person all my life. I would probably give some of the same answers today.

Others would be less sad.

BLAST FROM THE PASTCollapse )
5 comments|post comment

Heavier Song [12 Feb 2008|01:00pm]
NEW SONG HERE

Wave to friends as they get farther away
the goalie shakes his frayed glove
and sends you to meet the day.

Death Kit waiting in the lobby at noon
shakes your hand as you greet the day.
The wind and the sea and the cedar trees
meet the sky, who smiles in his own way.

The words that you wrote
seemed to rock the boat
as the ferry sails into the harbour.

The wind and the seas and the cedar trees
getting farther, farther and farther.
3 comments|post comment

There is a rhythm to life. [08 Feb 2008|03:48pm]
"There is a rhythm to life I've found," I said,
"no matter what you do every day, it will eventually become normal and you'll accept it. Whether you file papers, put out fires, or kill people, there is endless potential for you to simply tap your foot with the beating of the drum."

They stared back at me blankly. I'm no Al Purdy, I'm no Emily Carr, I don't know how to deal with this.

So I changed the subject.

I think it's ridiculous that nobody questions the fact that we've created systems so complex, we don't really understand them at all.
2 comments|post comment

4AM [24 Jan 2008|04:04am]
I want to be listening to Gord Downie at the apocalypse.
I want to hear country music that isn't so much twangy, as stuck inside a steel box.

This steel box would be used to hold all kinds of things, starting as a tobacco box, then a pencil case with hand-drawn pornography, and finally a place of refuge for the soul.

It would sit at the apocalypse on my shelf, full of mementos and lint.

I would stare at it, Trick Rider playing in the background. I would remember what it was like to be a child, wishing to be a composer of science fiction music.

I would remember my adolescence, wishing I could scream.

But mostly I'd admire the thin steel of the box. The royal reds and navy blues, from an age when tobacco was dignified. I would wonder how it was I carried such a small disposable thing with me through all the years of my life.

Others would be outside, staring at the sky shoot fire, trying to find a cup of coffee, having last sex, calling their loved ones. I would be in my box, listening to steel guitar whisk the world away for good.

3 comments|post comment

OHYEEAH [21 Jan 2008|10:57am]
Oh yes, like the great nation of China I write songs, in mass quantities in the hopes that flooding your markets with my goods will provide net economic gain.

Seriously though, this one isn't as intentioned as my others perhaps, but for some strange reason it means something more to me. Maybe it's that I articulated what I wanted to articulate exactly, or maybe it's just that I finally got the levels of vocals vs. guitar to close to where they might be in a normal song! Either way, I put a lot into this one.

It's vaguely about a kid from Ontario looking in at Quebec during the Quiet Revolution.

Available http://www.myspace.com/chrismartinlovesyoutoo

AND

Ballad of an Anglophone
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Happy Memories. [19 Jan 2008|03:06am]


I just watched this for the first time in years, and it made me so happy.

Not everything about high school sucked. I did stuff like this.

ANyone that wants to come see me play at the Casbah is more than welcome too. I'll be sure to rock it.
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