Strange dream last night. I don't remember much. In the beginning I was at home. The neighbors across the street had switched houses, no explanation why. Fast forward and I was in White Center at an old friends house, but he was no where to be found. There were a lot of people there and I didn't know any of them. I sneaked out to run to the convenience store and ran into an old girl friend. Her hair was long and curly. She was with a group of guys that appeared to have gang affiliations. Her face was withered and appeared as though she hadn't slept in days. It was sad and beautiful at the same time...
They let me out in the summer...
I really need to take some initiative on getting the yard ready for the festival. It's a month away now and I still have to build a table. Last night we also worked up a plan for an outdoor bar of sorts. It should be pretty sweet when its done. I'm also getting close on the Tiki stand. I should stop and buy some wicks tonight...
I think I was in a coma...
BLUR! The NESF reminded me of their greatness last night. Now I can't get enough. If there were ever two songs that described me very well I think that they would be Bugman and Trimm Trabb. Kind of a strange contrast, but I guess I am too...
I didn't know what to do...
Quote of the Day: fucked up is not an excuse to piss in the fish tank...
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
You think it's easy but you're wrong.
I started off this morning by listening to Pink Floyd. It began with Dark Side, moved on to Wish You Were Here and it ended with Animals. It was the perfect beginning to today...
Seems like a lot of notable people are dying. There are a lot more people dying that aren't notable. I want to know more about them...
I got the first 10 gallon batch of beer done up for the festival. Hopefully it turns out well. I'm really hoping that its done fermenting by Friday. I'd like to use the 3 hours I get off for Independence Day (fuck my boss) to get that done. But we'll see...
It went from Pink Floyd to Pavement...
Speaking of the Fourth of July, I still don't know what I'm going to do. I'm very tempted to go to Alki, but I have a sour taste in my mouth after the horror that was transportation last year. Maybe it won't be so bad since there's no fireworks on the bay. If only I had a boat. Then I'd do it for sure...
The MP is a strange character. He was at my house everyday this weekend. I'm not sure that I'm going to allow him access to my kitchen in the future, but I appreciate his company...
I want to be back on a river...
Seems like a lot of notable people are dying. There are a lot more people dying that aren't notable. I want to know more about them...
I got the first 10 gallon batch of beer done up for the festival. Hopefully it turns out well. I'm really hoping that its done fermenting by Friday. I'd like to use the 3 hours I get off for Independence Day (fuck my boss) to get that done. But we'll see...
It went from Pink Floyd to Pavement...
Speaking of the Fourth of July, I still don't know what I'm going to do. I'm very tempted to go to Alki, but I have a sour taste in my mouth after the horror that was transportation last year. Maybe it won't be so bad since there's no fireworks on the bay. If only I had a boat. Then I'd do it for sure...
The MP is a strange character. He was at my house everyday this weekend. I'm not sure that I'm going to allow him access to my kitchen in the future, but I appreciate his company...
I want to be back on a river...
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Ethical Dilemmas of Moral People
I really wish I could be an asshole. But for some reason I don't fully understand I can't be...
Friday, June 26, 2009
Let's Rock!
So some of you out there are probably thinking that I have pretty strange dreams. I don't think they're all that weird. This might help put it into perspective for you...
It doesn't have the killer music at the end while the little man dances. I guess it violated copyright or something. But you get the point...
After thought: Here's the music thats missing, it's pretty good...
It doesn't have the killer music at the end while the little man dances. I guess it violated copyright or something. But you get the point...
After thought: Here's the music thats missing, it's pretty good...
A Tribute to the King of Pop: Michael Jackson 1958-2009
I felt like I should do something to commemorate the life of Michael Jackson. I wasn't sure exactly what. Maybe a youtube montage. Maybe a collage of pics from his life. And then I remembered...the Jackson shirt. These pictures are from a house warming party back when Nathan and Morgan were reppin' the hill. This was an amazingly fun night and I feel it's appropriate. So this one goes out to you Michael...
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
A good man is easy to kill
As i was just leaving work i noticed a man in the shell gasoline parking lot. He was probably in his mid 40s. He wore a flannel shirt and a pair of waist high waders. As he walked past the cars he began swinging an electric chain saw that was lacking the necessary power to be truly horrifying. He moved with it as if in some other life he'd received military training for just that purpose. Most people seemed frightened. I just stood captivated by the intricate motions of the metal teeth in the air.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Dripping in Apathy
I'm very indifferent to existence today. I think it might be a defense mechanism to avoid having to deal with things. I know that they need to be addressed but I'm suffering from social fatigue. I had a dream last night. This was the first "nice dream" that I've had in days. I lived on a farm. The dream was more like a lifetime than a single event. No one else lived there. There was a dairy cow, a bull and a few young cow. Three pigs, but one seemed to always be pregnant. There were two goats and a small herd of sheep. A large horse, whose name I can't remember, that I rode everywhere. There was one large field of corn growing to the west of the house. I remember the sight of the sun setting over the harvest. It was perfect. There was many small vegetable gardens and another large area of wheat and barley. Both of my cats were there and a large dog followed me everywhere. To the east was a large range of snow capped peaks. From the edge of the farm I could stand at the base of the stone and look up. I wish I didn't have to wake up. I'd much rather be there now.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Linger on
A lot of Youtube posts lately. Not sure why. It is what it is. I needed some music to calm me down. It's been a stressful day. A friend recommended this. I've listened to it 8 times now. I'm starting to feel better...
Monday, June 22, 2009
Monday Evening
I'm watching this pseudo-documentary about Pavement. I'd forgotten how great they really are. For those of you who don't know, now you know...
No more ads
I took em down. They became too chaotic. I guess they struggled to determine the point of this blog. I struggle too.
20 in 2: 8 years past
I think it was Dickens who said, "change begets change". The older I get the more I realize how true this statement is. I asked the NESF earlier if he considered himself "20 something", his response was he is 47. I think that was very fitting because that's about how old I feel right now.
Check this out...it's good.
Check this out...it's good.
In a Post Apocalyptic Dreamscape
I had an apocalyptic dream last night. It was slightly frightening...
It began when I was looking out a window, I think it takes place on Vashon, and without any warning explosions happened everywhere. But not like mushroom clouds, just flashes of light and then nothing. The house I was in was destroyed. A young girl offered myself and two other people (im not sure who they were but i was definitely with them) refuge but we had to hide from her parents. I was discovered and thought the parents would kill me for sure but instead they asked me to help coordinate the response. We started building large walls built of the various fence parts we could find. There was a large argument about food and I was placed in charge of making sure everyone was fed. So I gather up a group of men. We looked like those descriptions you hear of the Colonial army early in the war. Half of us were armed, half weren't even wearing shoes and we went out to find all the food that survived.
We loaded rickshaws with canned and dried foods that we scavenged from houses. When we were digging for food we often found bodies. It was horrific. We gathered all the bodies and burnt them in the streets. I vividly remember pulling the rickshaws back to our "base" and the way we knew to get back was to follow the piles of burning corpses. I'm glad I can't remember the smell of dreams. When I got back everything was looking up. Somehow Elizabeth was there and she had rallied all of the people left to begin tilling the land. They had planted a giant garden. The last thing that I remember was the image of approximately 10 people hunched over planting seeds in the earth, while pillars of smoke rose behind them. When I woke up I was extremely detached. I laid in bed for an hour before getting up.
It began when I was looking out a window, I think it takes place on Vashon, and without any warning explosions happened everywhere. But not like mushroom clouds, just flashes of light and then nothing. The house I was in was destroyed. A young girl offered myself and two other people (im not sure who they were but i was definitely with them) refuge but we had to hide from her parents. I was discovered and thought the parents would kill me for sure but instead they asked me to help coordinate the response. We started building large walls built of the various fence parts we could find. There was a large argument about food and I was placed in charge of making sure everyone was fed. So I gather up a group of men. We looked like those descriptions you hear of the Colonial army early in the war. Half of us were armed, half weren't even wearing shoes and we went out to find all the food that survived.
We loaded rickshaws with canned and dried foods that we scavenged from houses. When we were digging for food we often found bodies. It was horrific. We gathered all the bodies and burnt them in the streets. I vividly remember pulling the rickshaws back to our "base" and the way we knew to get back was to follow the piles of burning corpses. I'm glad I can't remember the smell of dreams. When I got back everything was looking up. Somehow Elizabeth was there and she had rallied all of the people left to begin tilling the land. They had planted a giant garden. The last thing that I remember was the image of approximately 10 people hunched over planting seeds in the earth, while pillars of smoke rose behind them. When I woke up I was extremely detached. I laid in bed for an hour before getting up.
Friday, June 19, 2009
A Reminder
I'm posting this to remind myself to listen to it later. I tried at work and it skipped a bunch. Maybe too much traffic...
You should also know that my hair is a mess today...
Record Club: Velvet Underground & Nico 'Sunday Morning' from Beck Hansen on Vimeo.
You should also know that my hair is a mess today...
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Captain of the Titanic
I get the feeling that I'm the last one left on a sinking ship. The first question is whether or not the ship is really sinking. Are the high water marks illusions cast out by others throwing buckets of water or is there really a leak? Distraught by situations have other sailors been creating an impression of panic? Furthermore if there is a leak is it something that can be corrected in hopes of staying afloat? I have no idea. Maybe I should just go looking for a band to play out the final days.
On the corner of Penny Lane and Desolation Row
I was talking with an old friend who reminded me of a idea that I used to use when writing. Whenever I would sit down to write I would determine what I was going to write about and then ask myself "how would this be different if it took place at the intersection of Penny Lane and Desolation Row?" For those of you who are familiar with the music pieces you understand how drastically different these two places are and how they are each immensely beautiful in there own way. Any of you who are not familiar I urge you to become so. In a lot of ways this idea helped to form the basis for "drull" and anytime you're not exactly sure what "drull" is just think of that and it might start to make more sense to you.
I need to learn Arabic
I had a dream last night that I was in Iran. The streets were filled with people in green. Everyone was shouting. I was shouting. I spoke Arabic fluently. I wandered through the masses of people talking with them, learning about why they were there. It seems as though everyone had a different reason. On the edge of the masses I could see police in riot gear lined up. They were assaulting the protesters on the fringe of the mob. However for every person that was injured it seemed that two more joined the cause and the police were losing moral. Nearby there was a car that was burning. A group of young people continually poured crude oil on the vehicle. It was poetic. Now that I'm awake I wish that I still spoke Arabic, because I have no idea what was said to me.
*Note: I realize that it may have been Farsi, but part of me still really thinks it was Arabic.*
*Note: I realize that it may have been Farsi, but part of me still really thinks it was Arabic.*
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A nickel and two pennies
I just finished another draft of the 7 project. I'm starting to get really pleased with it. I figure its the fifth draft and as it was brought to my attention that means I only have two more. And while I don't mean to start putting the cart in front of the horse I also have been thinking about what comes after I complete this project. I'm starting to think that I may work more on the bus stories project. You might remember I've done 7 and 43. I also have a draft that I did about the 54. Maybe with a little focus I could work it all into a larger piece. Then maybe the novel? But again, that's not for a little while...
Here's a part of the new draft. I think this is the section that changed the most...
Klara, hair softly rustled, exchanges a long look with Nick, having forgotten their past. A confusion and intrigue neither of them understands. I blink and Billy Pilgrim appears sitting sideways with filthy flamingo eyes. He would be wearing tattered sweats and no shoes. Montana Wildhack is in a wheelchair with a child. Her disheveled hair tangling and straightening in Billy's vision while his eyes glazed over in time. Billy can see the blood of past mistakes on Nick’s hands as he goes through a small bag of trash on the seat beside him. He begins to pull items from the bag; an empty pack of gum, the weekly circular from a local super market, two cigarette butts, an old baseball. He begins to repack his rubbish when Klara sends him a suggestive look and motions to the vacant seat beside her. Nick plans his move carefully before following her suggestion. Montana notices Billy’s exposed toes and removes her shoes and passes them to him. "Go ahead try them on. They'll keep your feet warm." Klara smiles and looks out the window as she reaches for Nick’s hand. Billy put the shoes on and smiled like no human had before. Nick slowly moves his hands over Klara’s lap and releases his grasp. Her hands float to her knees with movements like wind. “Thank you,” she says quietly before he stands up with his bag and leaves her again. Billy, wearing his new shoes, replaces Nick on the seat beside Klara. She is startled at first but something about the rippling of his eyes sooths her fears. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two pennies and a nickel. He holds them in the palm of his hand half way between them both. Klara is captivated with the color and shape of the coins. Billy clenches his fist, overturns his hand, “These are for you.” Klara opens her hand, “I don’t understand.” Billy ages before her, “…in time,” and with a violet light and hum he is gone.
Here's a part of the new draft. I think this is the section that changed the most...
Klara, hair softly rustled, exchanges a long look with Nick, having forgotten their past. A confusion and intrigue neither of them understands. I blink and Billy Pilgrim appears sitting sideways with filthy flamingo eyes. He would be wearing tattered sweats and no shoes. Montana Wildhack is in a wheelchair with a child. Her disheveled hair tangling and straightening in Billy's vision while his eyes glazed over in time. Billy can see the blood of past mistakes on Nick’s hands as he goes through a small bag of trash on the seat beside him. He begins to pull items from the bag; an empty pack of gum, the weekly circular from a local super market, two cigarette butts, an old baseball. He begins to repack his rubbish when Klara sends him a suggestive look and motions to the vacant seat beside her. Nick plans his move carefully before following her suggestion. Montana notices Billy’s exposed toes and removes her shoes and passes them to him. "Go ahead try them on. They'll keep your feet warm." Klara smiles and looks out the window as she reaches for Nick’s hand. Billy put the shoes on and smiled like no human had before. Nick slowly moves his hands over Klara’s lap and releases his grasp. Her hands float to her knees with movements like wind. “Thank you,” she says quietly before he stands up with his bag and leaves her again. Billy, wearing his new shoes, replaces Nick on the seat beside Klara. She is startled at first but something about the rippling of his eyes sooths her fears. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two pennies and a nickel. He holds them in the palm of his hand half way between them both. Klara is captivated with the color and shape of the coins. Billy clenches his fist, overturns his hand, “These are for you.” Klara opens her hand, “I don’t understand.” Billy ages before her, “…in time,” and with a violet light and hum he is gone.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Well I'm okay. How are you? Thanks for asking.
Wow, just realized it's been a while since I've done a rapid fire blog post so here goes...
The situation in Iran is horrible. If I was there I'd be in the streets too. I am pleased to see that the Iranian people are standing up for democracy though. If there is anything I can do to support them I will...
The yard is starting to look amazing! I got the space behind the shed cleaned up and am starting to think that could be a huge asset. It wasn't easy to move the compost pile, but well worth the effort. Next step is going to be getting the beds around the house all weeded out so the hops don't get strangled. Maybe this weekend...
It has been 28 days with no rain here in Seattle. Its strange. I guess a couple more and we've got a new record for the driest spring. The weathers been nice but it really makes me wonder at what cost? (see previous blog post)...
I bought a new charcoal grill last night. It's been a while since I've cooked on charcoal and I kinda screwed up last night and let them cool down too much before throwing on the meat. Hopefully round two won't be quite such a failure. We'll see...
I was at lunch today listening to Revolver when I had a realization: it'd been way too long since I'd heard "For No One". Great track. That whole CD is amazing. I can't wait for September when I get to hear all of their music remastered....
Radiohead's Palo Alto just came on my iPod. Now all I can think of are agricultural skyscrapers....
The situation in Iran is horrible. If I was there I'd be in the streets too. I am pleased to see that the Iranian people are standing up for democracy though. If there is anything I can do to support them I will...
The yard is starting to look amazing! I got the space behind the shed cleaned up and am starting to think that could be a huge asset. It wasn't easy to move the compost pile, but well worth the effort. Next step is going to be getting the beds around the house all weeded out so the hops don't get strangled. Maybe this weekend...
It has been 28 days with no rain here in Seattle. Its strange. I guess a couple more and we've got a new record for the driest spring. The weathers been nice but it really makes me wonder at what cost? (see previous blog post)...
I bought a new charcoal grill last night. It's been a while since I've cooked on charcoal and I kinda screwed up last night and let them cool down too much before throwing on the meat. Hopefully round two won't be quite such a failure. We'll see...
I was at lunch today listening to Revolver when I had a realization: it'd been way too long since I'd heard "For No One". Great track. That whole CD is amazing. I can't wait for September when I get to hear all of their music remastered....
Radiohead's Palo Alto just came on my iPod. Now all I can think of are agricultural skyscrapers....
A Changing Climate
If there is one thing that really gets me worked up lately it's people who deny the sobering reality of climate change. Now I don't want to argue whether its man made or a natural occurrence because in the end it's doesn't matter. The climate is changing and placing blame isn't going to solve the problem. We are at the threshold of a major turning point in our relationship with the planet and things don't look too great for us. The thing that I struggle with most is those who insist on ignoring the evidence and propagating the idea that we don't need to change anything about how we live and we don't need to worry about the amount of carbon that we're releasing into the atmosphere. I recently heard one such account.
This morning I was watching C-SPAN before I left for work and had the misfortune of hearing Rep John Shimkus (R-IL) and his view on climate change. I have never heard anything quite like it and decided to do some more investigating into this man. I was appalled. Here is one of his bold statements: "It's plant food ... So if we decrease the use of carbon dioxide, are we not taking away plant food from the atmosphere? ... So all our good intentions could be for naught. In fact, we could be doing just the opposite of what the people who want to save the world are saying."
Now I was completely caught off guard by where this ideology so I dug a little deeper. One defense used for this argument cites the Cambrian Period when CO2 levels in the atmosphere were much higher than they are today. However they fail to mention that this is also a period in history in which most of the animals that survived did so by burrowing and vegetation all but went extinct. Is he advocating we need to start digging cities underground and finding ways to survive without plants for sustenance? I'll grab my shovel.
Now there is a another twist in the whole story. Rep Shimkus has more than one reason why not to be concerned with the changes in our climate:
"The earth will end only when God declares its time to be over. Man will not destroy this earth. This earth will not be destroyed by a flood."
Now I'm not sure what kind of church his is attending but this seem ludicrous to me. It seems like he's using his perception God's will as an excuse to be irresponsible and destructive. Now I'd love to find a scape goat that removes any responsibility that I might have but somewhere in my life I stumbled into a moral and social conscious. So using God as a scape goat is completely baffling to me and seems to border on sacrilege.
I urge all of you to write a letter to Rep Shimkus and tell him that we need real solutions to fight Climate Change, not excuses and theology based rhetoric. You can contact him here.
Now, I could go on all day about how disturbing this whole thing is to me, but I won't. I'd just like to leave you all with something to thing about. To the naysayers: I urge you to consider the implication of your choices. I know that this climate change thing may seem like nonsense, but it's not and you're not the ones who will feel the effects of your actions. Please think of your children. You can either make an effort to make the world a better place for the future or stay in the status quo and gamble your grandchildrens fate.
To fellow supporters: Don't let small blips discourage your resolve. This is a fight that we can't afford to lose. It may seem like a constant uphill struggle but failure is not an option. Our very existence is at stake.
To generations yet to come: I'm sorry. I hope that you can forgive us for our ignorance and arrogance. It's a tragedy that you may pay the price for past follies. I hope for your sake that we open our eyes soon.
For more information about what you can do to help reverse the effects of climate change check out these sites:
We Can Solve It
1 Sky
Green For All
If there is an organization that I've missed send me a comment and I'll edit it into the list.
Monday, June 15, 2009
A mid June's outting to the shadow of a stratovolcano
I went camping this weekend with my dad at Ohanapecosh on Mt Rainier. We found a great little site...
That was right above the river by this awesome looking mudslide...
Saturday morning we woke up and hiked through the woods...
We went up to Silver Falls...
Some volunteer rangers we saw said it was the largest they'd ever seen the falls...
It was pretty amazing. Thanks again Dad!
That was right above the river by this awesome looking mudslide...
Saturday morning we woke up and hiked through the woods...
We went up to Silver Falls...
Some volunteer rangers we saw said it was the largest they'd ever seen the falls...
It was pretty amazing. Thanks again Dad!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Moore Inside Out
You all should check out this event...
STG Presents MOORE INSIDE OUT
A Free Public Event
An artistic intervention at The Moore Theatre including over 50 performance, visual and musical artists exploring the historic venue
SEATTLE – Seattle Theatre Group (STG) and 4Culture Site-Specific present Moore Inside Out, a Free Sheep Foundation curated event, free and open to the public on Saturday, June 20, 2009 from 6pm – 10pm at The Moore Theatre. Moore Inside Out will present new, site specific and experimental works from Seattle’s most innovative artists throughout the venue including non-public places.
The Moore, Seattle’s oldest operating theatre, will be turned “inside out” as the public explores over 50 performance, visual, and musical artists performing an artistic intervention throughout the facility – backstage, through the halls, and up the balconies; artists will be exploring the layers of meaning and possibility of this historic place.
Built in 1907, The Moore Theatre has housed vaudeville acts, revivals, political meetings and musicians ranging from opera singers to Soundgarden, boxing matches to dance and theatre. For one night only, these performing histories will emerge simultaneously, interwoven as a mysterious and menacing, fanciful and fantastic topography of the theatre.
Featuring installations by Lead Pencil Studio, Susan Robb, Iole Alessandrini, Susie Lee, Beliz Brother, Gretchen Bennett, Megan Mertaugh, Laura Curry + Lori Dillon, Jason Puccinelli, Keeara Rhoades, Wen Marcoux, Robb Kunz, Jesse Higman, Stefan Gruber, Joshua Lindenmayer, Video
Ego, Heumer, Baldman, NKO, and No Toucing Ground.
Performances by Orkestar Zirkonium, Harlequin Hipsters, "Awesome”, Seattle School, Hidmo
Jason Webley, Byron Au Yong, Kaleb Hagan-Kerr, Butoh - Joan Laage, Sheri Brown, Douglas Ridings, Kaoru Okumura, Dub Marronics (from Kyoto), Ezra Dickinson, Karn Junkinsmith with Paul Hawxhurst, Rachel Kessler, Lucia Neare, Scratchmaster Joe, OrangeMan.
Moore Inside Out is programmed to acknowledge the Moore Theatre’s role in the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific (AYP) Exposition of 1909, and celebrates its continued role as a hub for creativity and innovation. This event is one of many in the region celebrating and recognizing the AYP centennial this summer.
ABOUT FREE SHEEP FOUNDATION:
Free Sheep Foundation has curated architectural investigations with shows like Motel #1: Bridge Motel, the Belmont, the Tubs Memorial project, and the 2400 3rd Ave Gallery Intervention projects. Focused on presenting site-specific performance and installation works, Free Sheep Foundation is dedicated to commenting on the cultural landscape of the city, our relationship with collective memory, and the meaning of modern urbanism.
ABOUT 4CULTURE SITE-SPECIFIC:
4Culture Site-Specific is a unique collaboration between 4Culture, the network King County Local Arts Agencies, and King County artists. For over a decade, 4Culture has brought contemporary performances to communities throughout King County through the King County Performance Network (now called Site-Specific.) In 2005, the Network began a new focus on site-specific performances, taking contemporary art out of the theater, and integrating it into the daily life, work and play of audiences.
ABOUT STG:
STG is the 501 (c)(3) non-profit arts organization that operates the historic Paramount and Moore Theatres in Seattle, Washington. Our mission is to make diverse performing arts and education an integral part of our region’s cultural identity while keeping these two landmark venues alive and vibrant. STG presents a variety of shows from Broadway, off-Broadway, dance and Jazz or comedy, concerts of all genres, speakers and family shows – at both historic theatres in Seattle and at venues throughout Puget Sound and Portland, Oregon.
*Thanks to Jeremy for getting me the full info*
STG Presents MOORE INSIDE OUT
A Free Public Event
An artistic intervention at The Moore Theatre including over 50 performance, visual and musical artists exploring the historic venue
SEATTLE – Seattle Theatre Group (STG) and 4Culture Site-Specific present Moore Inside Out, a Free Sheep Foundation curated event, free and open to the public on Saturday, June 20, 2009 from 6pm – 10pm at The Moore Theatre. Moore Inside Out will present new, site specific and experimental works from Seattle’s most innovative artists throughout the venue including non-public places.
The Moore, Seattle’s oldest operating theatre, will be turned “inside out” as the public explores over 50 performance, visual, and musical artists performing an artistic intervention throughout the facility – backstage, through the halls, and up the balconies; artists will be exploring the layers of meaning and possibility of this historic place.
Built in 1907, The Moore Theatre has housed vaudeville acts, revivals, political meetings and musicians ranging from opera singers to Soundgarden, boxing matches to dance and theatre. For one night only, these performing histories will emerge simultaneously, interwoven as a mysterious and menacing, fanciful and fantastic topography of the theatre.
Featuring installations by Lead Pencil Studio, Susan Robb, Iole Alessandrini, Susie Lee, Beliz Brother, Gretchen Bennett, Megan Mertaugh, Laura Curry + Lori Dillon, Jason Puccinelli, Keeara Rhoades, Wen Marcoux, Robb Kunz, Jesse Higman, Stefan Gruber, Joshua Lindenmayer, Video
Ego, Heumer, Baldman, NKO, and No Toucing Ground.
Performances by Orkestar Zirkonium, Harlequin Hipsters, "Awesome”, Seattle School, Hidmo
Jason Webley, Byron Au Yong, Kaleb Hagan-Kerr, Butoh - Joan Laage, Sheri Brown, Douglas Ridings, Kaoru Okumura, Dub Marronics (from Kyoto), Ezra Dickinson, Karn Junkinsmith with Paul Hawxhurst, Rachel Kessler, Lucia Neare, Scratchmaster Joe, OrangeMan.
Moore Inside Out is programmed to acknowledge the Moore Theatre’s role in the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific (AYP) Exposition of 1909, and celebrates its continued role as a hub for creativity and innovation. This event is one of many in the region celebrating and recognizing the AYP centennial this summer.
ABOUT FREE SHEEP FOUNDATION:
Free Sheep Foundation has curated architectural investigations with shows like Motel #1: Bridge Motel, the Belmont, the Tubs Memorial project, and the 2400 3rd Ave Gallery Intervention projects. Focused on presenting site-specific performance and installation works, Free Sheep Foundation is dedicated to commenting on the cultural landscape of the city, our relationship with collective memory, and the meaning of modern urbanism.
ABOUT 4CULTURE SITE-SPECIFIC:
4Culture Site-Specific is a unique collaboration between 4Culture, the network King County Local Arts Agencies, and King County artists. For over a decade, 4Culture has brought contemporary performances to communities throughout King County through the King County Performance Network (now called Site-Specific.) In 2005, the Network began a new focus on site-specific performances, taking contemporary art out of the theater, and integrating it into the daily life, work and play of audiences.
ABOUT STG:
STG is the 501 (c)(3) non-profit arts organization that operates the historic Paramount and Moore Theatres in Seattle, Washington. Our mission is to make diverse performing arts and education an integral part of our region’s cultural identity while keeping these two landmark venues alive and vibrant. STG presents a variety of shows from Broadway, off-Broadway, dance and Jazz or comedy, concerts of all genres, speakers and family shows – at both historic theatres in Seattle and at venues throughout Puget Sound and Portland, Oregon.
*Thanks to Jeremy for getting me the full info*
Friday, June 12, 2009
The subject was always just out of frame
I can't wait to get out of here. I'm sitting at work bored out of my mind and this weekend I finally get to get away. I'm going to Ohanapecosh (SE Mt Rainier) with my dad. Well we're hoping to find a site there. If not we're going to hit up the family compound and pitch tents there. Either way it's going to be nice to get out of Seattle even if its just for the weekend...
I've been fending off boredom by working on the festival. Things are starting to come together nicely. Looks like I still need a few more acts, but I'm also adding a surprise performance. I might release more details as the date nears, but I probably won't. You'll just have to show up to find out...
I mowed the lawn last night. I must say, "Damn, it looks gooood!" It was exhausting though. By the time I was done I was dripping in sweat, my leg throbbed and my skin burned. But my foot didn't hurt. There's a plus...
I'm still obsessed with Deerhunter. It never stops...
I've been fending off boredom by working on the festival. Things are starting to come together nicely. Looks like I still need a few more acts, but I'm also adding a surprise performance. I might release more details as the date nears, but I probably won't. You'll just have to show up to find out...
I mowed the lawn last night. I must say, "Damn, it looks gooood!" It was exhausting though. By the time I was done I was dripping in sweat, my leg throbbed and my skin burned. But my foot didn't hurt. There's a plus...
I'm still obsessed with Deerhunter. It never stops...
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Metro Route #7
So here is a short story (emphasis on short) that I wrote about the 7 a while back. It's part of a collection I was doing about various routes, I think that I've posted the 43 story here before. I'm not exactly sure what to do with it. Maybe I'll incorporate it in with my 7 project. Either way I thought I'd share it with all of you...
Metro Route #7: Rainier Beach, Columbia City, Rainier Valley, International District, Downtown.
I fought with my girlfriend, again. She yelled. I yelled. She cried. I yelled some more. She cried some more. And I left. It was becoming more a part of our routine. I’m just not sure how much longer we can really last.
I waited beneath the canopy of a maple tree. Every few minutes someone would walk by. I would make up a story to go a long with them. Like the woman from Detroit who couldn’t handle the stress back east so she came to Seattle only to find that her life was much calmer where she was and now she doesn’t even know if she can make the rent payment much less feed herself. Followed by a man who’s wife just left him and took their children. He’s finding it hard to think and even harder to breathe. Now all he has left is the solemn noise of cars on Rainier Ave. to keep him from pulling the gun from his bedside table and making a choice he is sure to forget. People have all kinds of stories.
The bus crested the hill and rolled to a steady halt. The doors swung open and the driver, a middle aged man with little hair remaining except for a large mustache which he wore with pride. He glanced slightly to acknowledge my presence as I paid the fare, the doors closed and quickly ended our encounter.
Street lights flew past the windows as we pulsed down the most delicate artery of the city. We would stop at times, to let a few teenage girls on or so that a young couple with a newborn could get off. Every beat a new face. Each beat with a new story.
We had risen from the valley by the time that she boarded the bus. Her eyes were well traveled with long dusty blond hair and skin that had aged for too long in the sun. She fumbled with the fare box before sitting down a few yards ahead of me, her hair like a rats nest from the wind.
We reached 14th and Jackson, were many people were entering and exiting the bus. Without my noticing, she was then sitting beside me. Unsure how to respond I sat motionless as we traveled down into the city. We descended into the brief darkness beneath the freeway and I felt her move closer to me. Her thigh pressed tight against my own and I could feel her pulse through the long cotton skirt.
“Do you have a cigarette?” she asked in a voice shallow and hurting, as if she had just been beaten.
“No, I’m sorry I don’t smoke.” I lied.
She smiled politely and then reached over to hold my hand. Her fingers trembled as I cupped her hands. We rode in silence, staring into one another.
As the bus rounded the corner on 3rd I realized the moment would have to end. I slowly moved our hands over her lap and released. With the movement of palm in the wind her hands floated down to her knees. I reached up and pulled the chord.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I uh…” I began to stutter when she stopped me with a closing gesture to my mouth.
“Thank you, for not saying anything.”
I stared into her eyes for a moment longer then I should have and then departed the bus. I wandered the streets of Downtown for hours wondering why I decided I had to get off at that stop. I had no where else to be. Finally, tired of the day and put off by the prospect of rain I boarded another bus home.
About half a block from my apartment I started to gather the stray clothes of mine. A sock here. A tee shirt there. My boxers hanging from the neighbors flower box. Some had already fallen gently to the sidewalk or fallen from the tree taking with them the young branches that failed. Many still were outside my reach. I’m not sure how much longer we can really last.
Metro Route #7: Rainier Beach, Columbia City, Rainier Valley, International District, Downtown.
I fought with my girlfriend, again. She yelled. I yelled. She cried. I yelled some more. She cried some more. And I left. It was becoming more a part of our routine. I’m just not sure how much longer we can really last.
I waited beneath the canopy of a maple tree. Every few minutes someone would walk by. I would make up a story to go a long with them. Like the woman from Detroit who couldn’t handle the stress back east so she came to Seattle only to find that her life was much calmer where she was and now she doesn’t even know if she can make the rent payment much less feed herself. Followed by a man who’s wife just left him and took their children. He’s finding it hard to think and even harder to breathe. Now all he has left is the solemn noise of cars on Rainier Ave. to keep him from pulling the gun from his bedside table and making a choice he is sure to forget. People have all kinds of stories.
The bus crested the hill and rolled to a steady halt. The doors swung open and the driver, a middle aged man with little hair remaining except for a large mustache which he wore with pride. He glanced slightly to acknowledge my presence as I paid the fare, the doors closed and quickly ended our encounter.
Street lights flew past the windows as we pulsed down the most delicate artery of the city. We would stop at times, to let a few teenage girls on or so that a young couple with a newborn could get off. Every beat a new face. Each beat with a new story.
We had risen from the valley by the time that she boarded the bus. Her eyes were well traveled with long dusty blond hair and skin that had aged for too long in the sun. She fumbled with the fare box before sitting down a few yards ahead of me, her hair like a rats nest from the wind.
We reached 14th and Jackson, were many people were entering and exiting the bus. Without my noticing, she was then sitting beside me. Unsure how to respond I sat motionless as we traveled down into the city. We descended into the brief darkness beneath the freeway and I felt her move closer to me. Her thigh pressed tight against my own and I could feel her pulse through the long cotton skirt.
“Do you have a cigarette?” she asked in a voice shallow and hurting, as if she had just been beaten.
“No, I’m sorry I don’t smoke.” I lied.
She smiled politely and then reached over to hold my hand. Her fingers trembled as I cupped her hands. We rode in silence, staring into one another.
As the bus rounded the corner on 3rd I realized the moment would have to end. I slowly moved our hands over her lap and released. With the movement of palm in the wind her hands floated down to her knees. I reached up and pulled the chord.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I uh…” I began to stutter when she stopped me with a closing gesture to my mouth.
“Thank you, for not saying anything.”
I stared into her eyes for a moment longer then I should have and then departed the bus. I wandered the streets of Downtown for hours wondering why I decided I had to get off at that stop. I had no where else to be. Finally, tired of the day and put off by the prospect of rain I boarded another bus home.
About half a block from my apartment I started to gather the stray clothes of mine. A sock here. A tee shirt there. My boxers hanging from the neighbors flower box. Some had already fallen gently to the sidewalk or fallen from the tree taking with them the young branches that failed. Many still were outside my reach. I’m not sure how much longer we can really last.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Burn the boot!
Its been 8 long weeks since my escapade with the pick axe. Thinking back i remember the horrors of the ER with blood pooling beneath my bed and the hours of waiting to go into surgery. The mindless days spent playing video games and gobbling up percoset. The struggle of moving on crutches and the extra weight of the boot. However today it's all over. I'd like to say to both the boot and the axe, "fuck you, i never want to see either of you again. You can both burn in hell." now on to summer, who wants to go camping?
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The British are Coming!
Quick! Everyone run out and buy a fully automatic weapon. Our very freedom is at stake! They've already taken over part of Oregon and rumor is Washington is next. If we're not careful they could take the entire west coast in a matter of weeks. This is serious now. If we don't take up arms in the most impressive manner we're going to be subjugated by the queen!!!
Monday, June 8, 2009
Poker, 7 and an untitled work
We're getting the band back together. Poker night at Goldies. It's been a long time, but figure since everyone is in town it'd be fitting. I'll probably go out in the first hand. That's just my thing...
I had a great meeting over the weekend about the 7 project. I have the best "editor". Got a lot of good ideas for additions. This is turning into quite the project. I'm actually really excited about. It has a lot of potential to be the best thing to date. Now I just need to keep with this momentum and not let it fall to the back burner, like so many other things. I don't think that should be too much of a problem. I've started dreaming about it...
Here's an excerpt from another project that I'm hoping to pull out the vaults. I guess a quick way to describe it is as a novel about a religious experience. You may have noticed I'm a little obsessed with religion and this work is kind of my tribute to that. I ended up shelving it when I got discouraged over something, I don't even remember what. This is going to be the next big undertaking once I finish 7:
Hayden sat at the top of Caribou Peak looking out over Queen Charlotte Straight. He had been awoken in the night by a dream. His memory of it was hazy but he distinctly remembered seeing Maria Drake and hearing something about her son, Sean. Hayden had long believed that his dreams were a prediction of thing to come, however never before had one been so clouded he didn’t understand the message.
The sun was hours from cresting the mainland and not even the birds sang. A group of elk moved through the woods behind his small cabin, occasionally grunting or rustling the ferns. One of the new calves become lost and wandered out to the spot where Hayden was sitting. The calf was sure to be a recent addition to the herd, as it still bore it’s spots of childhood.
As Hayden reached out to pet the animal and it pulled back. Startled by the sudden action of the calf he stood up cautiously. The young elk then moved to his other side and looked down the steep bluff towards the road. Hayden went to see what it was hinting at when he noticed a man on the side of the road, illuminated only by the moonlight.
The man was wearing a long brown cloak with a hood that hung low over his face. The silence was disturbed when the calf almost lost its footing and sent a cascade of rocks down the hillside. The stranger turned his head slightly to look up to the bluff. His eyes glowed a strange essence over the bluffs. Hayden bore a heavy sense of déjà vu as he stared down on the man. The air became cold and carried a voice before the man hastily turned away and continued walking down the desolate road, “You can’t save him. He’s mine.”
I had a great meeting over the weekend about the 7 project. I have the best "editor". Got a lot of good ideas for additions. This is turning into quite the project. I'm actually really excited about. It has a lot of potential to be the best thing to date. Now I just need to keep with this momentum and not let it fall to the back burner, like so many other things. I don't think that should be too much of a problem. I've started dreaming about it...
Here's an excerpt from another project that I'm hoping to pull out the vaults. I guess a quick way to describe it is as a novel about a religious experience. You may have noticed I'm a little obsessed with religion and this work is kind of my tribute to that. I ended up shelving it when I got discouraged over something, I don't even remember what. This is going to be the next big undertaking once I finish 7:
Hayden sat at the top of Caribou Peak looking out over Queen Charlotte Straight. He had been awoken in the night by a dream. His memory of it was hazy but he distinctly remembered seeing Maria Drake and hearing something about her son, Sean. Hayden had long believed that his dreams were a prediction of thing to come, however never before had one been so clouded he didn’t understand the message.
The sun was hours from cresting the mainland and not even the birds sang. A group of elk moved through the woods behind his small cabin, occasionally grunting or rustling the ferns. One of the new calves become lost and wandered out to the spot where Hayden was sitting. The calf was sure to be a recent addition to the herd, as it still bore it’s spots of childhood.
As Hayden reached out to pet the animal and it pulled back. Startled by the sudden action of the calf he stood up cautiously. The young elk then moved to his other side and looked down the steep bluff towards the road. Hayden went to see what it was hinting at when he noticed a man on the side of the road, illuminated only by the moonlight.
The man was wearing a long brown cloak with a hood that hung low over his face. The silence was disturbed when the calf almost lost its footing and sent a cascade of rocks down the hillside. The stranger turned his head slightly to look up to the bluff. His eyes glowed a strange essence over the bluffs. Hayden bore a heavy sense of déjà vu as he stared down on the man. The air became cold and carried a voice before the man hastily turned away and continued walking down the desolate road, “You can’t save him. He’s mine.”
Friday, June 5, 2009
Resignations of wilderness
I gave up. I don't know why planning a simple evening is so difficult. The strange thing is that as soon as I gave up trying to plan something, I had plans immediately. Buck Hunter. I don't know what it is that draws us together. Whenever I'm stressed out, whenever I'm bored, whenever I'm frustrated, when I'm dead - I'll want to play Buck Hunter. It makes me think that I should move to Montana and live in a small town, maybe Libby. Where I'd be tucked between the mountains and the rivers. Everyone at the local pub would know me by name and I would know all of them. My wardrobe would consist solely of denim and flannel. A variety of bows and lethal arrows would be seen hanging from the walls, beneath heads long devoid of life. I'd even have a fishing pole or two. Makes me wonder if it would be an easier life than I have now. I kind of doubt it. But I'm sure it would be good for my spirit, until I remembered the ocean...
My greatest fears...
(I should note that this is still a work in progress. I decide to flesh it out a little more.)
An earthquake will hit Seattle and I'll be injured to the point that I'd be unable to save anyone else...
I awake to the motion, ripples in the walls. The entire house shakes as if Arges was lifting the house like a snow globe. Painting fall from their hooks and novels tumble to the carpeted ground before it begins to give way entirely. It slowly drops away like a puzzle in reverse. I grasp the trembling walls for safety but there is none to be had. My body is captured in the ruble. A searing pain shoots up from both my legs and my right wrist. I struggle to remove the sheet rock and asbestos holding me down. My throat burns with debris. I can feel blood slowly draining from my many wounds. Suddenly the ground is still. An eerie presence enters the scene. In the distance I can hear cries of agony. The sound continues to grow, with every passing minute a new voice joins the choir. I exhaust myself trying to break free before I slump down in defeat. My watering eyes begin to lose focus and all I can hear is a young girl, “Help me”.
I'll never meet God...
I can see the smile of old friends and know how their houses smelled. I remember lying on the cement sidewalk along a strip mall when she reached down, gave me my first kiss, and I felt nothing. I drive a car through a long dark night in the desert where I want nothing more than to be home. I’m lying in my bed at home writing long odes to no one. My eyes grow heavy as a lack of sleep drags me closely to Hades. I watch a young man in a white suit stands on the seawall tempting the waves. I’m in a bar with all my closest friends celebrating an anniversary of someone. I’m in the emergency room surrounded in my own blood while no one responds to my calls for help. I die and the one person I wanted most never came.
I work the same job for the rest of my life...
Each morning I wake at 7:28am. The anchors on the morning news have something new to say but the same tired old face. I walk to the bus stop and board the same bus as the day before, greeted by the same driver in the exact same way. I arrive at the office and immediately reach for a mug of coffee. I sit at my desk and answer the phone. No one new ever calls. For lunch I eat a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread; only one slice of turkey left, I’ll have to get more. I leave work at 5:32pm. I take the same bus home that I took yesterday, greeted by the same driver in the exact same way. I get home and watch some TV. Simpsons, Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy. As the prime time programming begins I wonder if things could ever be different. Then I set my alarm for 7:28am.
That everything I'm doing in my life to help fight the effects of climate change are all for not and I'll spend the rest of my life paying the price for faults of past generations...
The water continues to rise. It’s now above the recycling bins. Panic has long passed. We knew this was coming. I remove all of the compact fluorescent light bulbs from their sockets in hopes that they aid in keeping my makeshift raft afloat. The compost has mixed into the permanent deluge and has started to smell. There hasn’t been any food for days. As I strap the bulbs to the bottom of the raft my son pulls on my Goodwill jeans, “Daddy, did it always used to be like this?” I didn’t have the heart to tell him it didn’t.
I always live in Seattle...
The people I care about become lost and I have no ways of finding them...
After the dust settles I realize that I’m alone. My father, who was right next to me before, is nowhere to be found. My sister has vanished. My brother gone. All my friends have scattered the continents. I start off towards the east certain they are near. I cross the Cascades and the Rockies. I trek across the great expanses of the Midwest and through the densely populated cities of the east coast. After swimming the Atlantic I try Stonehenge and Paris. The Coliseum and the Parthenon. Tripoli and Baghdad. Somewhere along the shores of the Ganges a priest approaches me. “You have the eyes of a wanderer,” he said softly. “I search because there is nothing else I can do.”
I die outside of the Pacific Northwest...
I never dream again...
I'll die and have done nothing worthy of remembrance and all meaning to my life will have vanished before they even get me to the crematory...
An earthquake will hit Seattle and I'll be injured to the point that I'd be unable to save anyone else...
I awake to the motion, ripples in the walls. The entire house shakes as if Arges was lifting the house like a snow globe. Painting fall from their hooks and novels tumble to the carpeted ground before it begins to give way entirely. It slowly drops away like a puzzle in reverse. I grasp the trembling walls for safety but there is none to be had. My body is captured in the ruble. A searing pain shoots up from both my legs and my right wrist. I struggle to remove the sheet rock and asbestos holding me down. My throat burns with debris. I can feel blood slowly draining from my many wounds. Suddenly the ground is still. An eerie presence enters the scene. In the distance I can hear cries of agony. The sound continues to grow, with every passing minute a new voice joins the choir. I exhaust myself trying to break free before I slump down in defeat. My watering eyes begin to lose focus and all I can hear is a young girl, “Help me”.
I'll never meet God...
I can see the smile of old friends and know how their houses smelled. I remember lying on the cement sidewalk along a strip mall when she reached down, gave me my first kiss, and I felt nothing. I drive a car through a long dark night in the desert where I want nothing more than to be home. I’m lying in my bed at home writing long odes to no one. My eyes grow heavy as a lack of sleep drags me closely to Hades. I watch a young man in a white suit stands on the seawall tempting the waves. I’m in a bar with all my closest friends celebrating an anniversary of someone. I’m in the emergency room surrounded in my own blood while no one responds to my calls for help. I die and the one person I wanted most never came.
I work the same job for the rest of my life...
Each morning I wake at 7:28am. The anchors on the morning news have something new to say but the same tired old face. I walk to the bus stop and board the same bus as the day before, greeted by the same driver in the exact same way. I arrive at the office and immediately reach for a mug of coffee. I sit at my desk and answer the phone. No one new ever calls. For lunch I eat a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread; only one slice of turkey left, I’ll have to get more. I leave work at 5:32pm. I take the same bus home that I took yesterday, greeted by the same driver in the exact same way. I get home and watch some TV. Simpsons, Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy. As the prime time programming begins I wonder if things could ever be different. Then I set my alarm for 7:28am.
That everything I'm doing in my life to help fight the effects of climate change are all for not and I'll spend the rest of my life paying the price for faults of past generations...
The water continues to rise. It’s now above the recycling bins. Panic has long passed. We knew this was coming. I remove all of the compact fluorescent light bulbs from their sockets in hopes that they aid in keeping my makeshift raft afloat. The compost has mixed into the permanent deluge and has started to smell. There hasn’t been any food for days. As I strap the bulbs to the bottom of the raft my son pulls on my Goodwill jeans, “Daddy, did it always used to be like this?” I didn’t have the heart to tell him it didn’t.
I always live in Seattle...
The people I care about become lost and I have no ways of finding them...
After the dust settles I realize that I’m alone. My father, who was right next to me before, is nowhere to be found. My sister has vanished. My brother gone. All my friends have scattered the continents. I start off towards the east certain they are near. I cross the Cascades and the Rockies. I trek across the great expanses of the Midwest and through the densely populated cities of the east coast. After swimming the Atlantic I try Stonehenge and Paris. The Coliseum and the Parthenon. Tripoli and Baghdad. Somewhere along the shores of the Ganges a priest approaches me. “You have the eyes of a wanderer,” he said softly. “I search because there is nothing else I can do.”
I die outside of the Pacific Northwest...
I never dream again...
I'll die and have done nothing worthy of remembrance and all meaning to my life will have vanished before they even get me to the crematory...
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Ode to Sweat
Its on my forehead, in my eyes, saturating the air around me. I wonder who damned the 7 to this fate. I can now taste it in my mouth and feel a burning in my lungs. There is nothing like the smell of humans rotting in the sun long before they die. I urge you, Reckoner, we've paid the price.
What is going on in Iran?
I've started getting caught up on my Iranian election knowledge. I've decided that I need to follow this more closely. Here's one of the more interesting bits that I read. Maybe it's not just the American youth who is realizing that apathy leads to political silence and oppression.
This is just the beginning
I've done gone and brewed up a pot of iced coffee. It's already 2:45 pm. This much caffeine is potentially dangerous at this hour. But we're going to see what happens. Here are some photos that I have saved on my computer for no apparent reason...
I'll leave you all alone for a moment. But I'll be back...
I'll leave you all alone for a moment. But I'll be back...
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