Category Archives: LiveJournal Imports

Brushed Steel and White LEDs (Or: An attempt to distract from An Empty House With No Leslie)

Neal Stephenson answers questions on Slashdot:

In a fight between you and William Gibson, who would win?

You don’t have to settle for mere idle speculation. Let me tell you how it came out on the three occasions when we did fight.

[…]

Gibson came through Seattle on his IDORU tour. Between doing some drive-by signings at local bookstores, he came and devastated my quarter of the city. I had been in a trance for seven days and seven nights and was unaware of these goings-on, but he came to me in a vision and taunted me, and left a message on my cellphone.

[…]

Snatching up one jagged shard of oak I adopted the Mountain Tiger position just as you would expect. He pulled off his wireless mike and began to whirl it around his head. From there, the fight proceeded along predictable lines. As a stalemate developed we began to resort more and more to the use of pure energy, modulated by Red Lotus incantations of the third Sung group, which eventually to the collapse of the building’s roof and the loss of eight hundred lives. But as they were only peasants, we did not care.

poiesis, poiema

These have been very dark nights.

Even when I’m quite literally surrounded by friends and family, I still feel like I’m missing part of myself.

I never knew anyone could mean so much to me.

I love you, my lady; my beautiful. If I’m asleep when you come home, please wake me. I miss you.

Until the morning, Leslie, I’ll be dreaming of you.

August 29, 1997 – NYC

In The Terminator, there’s a scene where Sarah Connor is told a speech by John Connor’s father, that John Connor’s father heard from John in the future.

John is born, Sarah tells John the speech, and then John grows up and tells it in the future.

…so who wrote the speech?

…

I now understand why my father owned a handful of Cadillacs. They are like driving inside a big couch. A big, $70,000 couch with 300hp and power 4-way lumbar controls.

It was worth every penny we paid Hertz. Do you know what it’s like to drive to NYC, and not have your legs or ass hurt when you get there?

I could go on about the car, but I will leave you with this: After crossing the border to the US, we switched the onboard controls from metric to imperial, and promptly forgot that the readout was now in MPH instead of KPH. We went up to about 100-110MPH before we noticed that the cars ahead seemed to be approaching at an alarming rate. The ride is just that smooth.

…

New York City was very big. Overwhelmingly so.

Even more impressive than the physical scale of the city was the economic scale. Where else in the world can you support a video game store that only sells retro/weird consoles, like $500 Intellivision and Coleco bundles, or Hello Kitty Dreamcasts?

I’m having a hard time writing any of this without sounding like a tourist.

Greenwich Village was blindingly fantastic, and anything else I say on the area would be a massive understatement. The rest of Manhattan was a bit too much for me at times, to be honest. Too much money, too many shiny things. It was like a giant set of <BLINK> tags had encapsulated the borough. I much preferred the architecture (and renegade craps games) of Brooklyn, or the back to back graffiti walls of Harlem.

The Siouxsie show was fantastic. Performing with her were Budgie, Knox Chandler (guitarist/multi-instrumentalist from The Psychedelic Furs and countless other bands), Kris Pooley (keyboardist from Jane’s Addiction), and Leonard Eto (from Kodo, widely considered the world’s preeminent master of Taiko drumming).

Again, anything I say about the performance will be wildly misleading, simply because I don’t have adjectives large enough. Instead, I’ll tell you that someone made the mistake of fucking with Leslie at the show (we got your back, ), and Leslie made the shitheaded sonofabitch cry like a girl.

Didn’t know who they was fuckin with.

…

Back in town, the show on Tuesday was great, aside from the (surprise!) turnout. Luckily, our expenses for this show were very small. A rental van, some food and spending money, a few dollars, and flyers. It’s hard not to break even, really, given those expenses — but it was close, for a while.

There seems to be a new crowd that is starting to come out to the shows, I didn’t recognize at least half of the crowd, and they all seemed to have a blast. I would very much like to see more of them, they seemed more interested in participating than complaining and sniping.

It’s hard, though, to tell if some of the new people are being friendly because they’re friendly people, or because I’m the complete stranger with blue hair who hangs out in the DJ booth. Anyone who’s ever played a show outside their hometown will know exactly what I mean.

…

It was great to finally meet Caitlin, after chatting online for the last seven years or so, which is almost long enough ago that meeting people online got you strange looks from your friends.

She is smart, clever, and capable. She’d do very well here, or overseas, or anywhere she chooses to be. Here’s hoping she’ll make the choice.

Distractions

Things that are happening:

Next week is the Displacer/Re_Agent/s:cage show slash Industrial Nation release party. Tomorrow, I need to get more flyers and posters printed, and spend a few hours postering around the usual hangouts.

October 18th is going to be KMFDM + DJ? Acucrack (+ local opening act maybe, if rider/time allows). This is going to be a fairly big show, and I want to get the promo started right away. I might do up some stark teaser posters to put up on my run tomorrow, just to let people know that they’re coming to town.

Oct 26 looks like a tentative date for our Halloween show, which is almost certainly going to double as an independent music fundraiser. Ideally, we can get some exposure to underexposed acts/organizations, and provide a little financial help:

Warren’s music keeps getting better and better, and I’d like to raise enough to pay for professional mastering for his CD (from the producer of his choice).

Downhill Battle can always use a few more dollars to keep things running, and they’re going to be sending t-shirts and stickers and such for giveaways and sales.

Rumour has it that Nick has sold all his gear, and is without a PC. If this is the case, I’d like to put together a barebones system for him so that he has a way to keep making music.

And so on, and so forth.

We’re still working to confirm Skinny Puppy for November. There have been some changes to the Barrymore’s liquor license, and we’re looking into alternative venues in case these changes affect Puppy’s willingness/ability to play there. I don’t want to use the Capital Music Hall, because they tried to fuck us out of the show when I went to them four or five months ago. Also, I hear their sound sucks like ass. Ottawa needs more venues.

…

I taught my first 5-day computer security course a week or two back, and it went pretty well, from what I can tell. The students seemed to enjoy the course and the material, and the school seemed to enjoy the reviews of my work. (Additionally, I think I’m unofficially the new IT guy for the school. I’ll find out this week.)

I made a decision to take a theory-based approach to the course (rather than a technical-based approach), because theory spans generations of technology. I could easily do a security course that’s just five days of hard tech geekery, but it’d mostly be useless in a year or three. With any luck, the material I presented will still be useful five or ten years from now.

…

I’ve been trying to dedicate as much time as possible to writing music over the past few months, and I’ve managed to get a fair bit accomplished — but every time I think I’m happy with the material I’m working on, I’ll leave it alone for a week or two and listen to it again, only to be disgusted by what I had thought was a good track. I’ve been trying to avoid showing this material to anyone but Leslie, who seems to think that the music is much better than I think it is. She cautions me against developing Zykotik K9 Syndrome (wherein I write a lot of very good music, but release nothing because I think it all sucks). She makes sense, but I don’t want to be the next Hypnoskull. (Ready to scream, ready to die!)

I was, for a time, considering playing some of it live if we end up doing an indie music fundraiser show — but after sneaking a track or two into the rotation last night, I’m thinking better of it. It sounds so very different in a nightclub than it sounds on headphones. I actually felt embarrassed when I heard it on the big sound system. So much so that without thinking I started looking for another CD to mix into before anyone got upset at me for playing such terrible music. I ended up letting the track play, but… There’s no way I want to have that feeling when I’m on stage with a hundred people staring at me.

I’m going to be trying to acquire some gear in the near future. I want to move from a composing-based setup to a recording-based setup, and I know how to accomplish it. ACID (and Tracktion, and the like) were a good starting point to learn about composition from a non-tracker point of view, but I can’t do what I want to do with it. It also makes the idea of a live show pretty laughable — I don’t want to be another artist doing Industrial Karaoke, where I hit play and pretend that the knobs I’m twisting are somehow managing the song structure and soundstage. I need to work in a structure where I can improv, where I can record different takes of a song, where I can perform instead of play.

We shall see how well this works.

…

This entry is just an excuse to avoid writing about what I’m actually thinking and feeling.

the space between

The dreams have been coming back, recently, in a way I haven’t felt in many years.

…

Last night I watched a man die.

We were in a store, in the middle of a firefight between cops and robbers. I was crouched between two big freezers, well-covered and out of sight. He was standing in front of me, looking down, oblivious to the arms fire all around us.

We watched each other. We gave everything we were to each other in that moment, because we knew how precious it was.

We had lived this before, you see.

…

Three nights ago, I watched a man die.

We were in a store, in the middle of a firefight between cops and robbers. I was crouched down against a wall, exposed and in the line of fire. He was shooting at the robbers, along with the men from his station.

I watched him. I gave everything I had to him in that moment, because I knew how precious life was.

It didn’t make a difference, you see.

He survived the firefight, but slipped while attending to one of his men. He fell onto a pile of broken glass from an overhead display, and then the floor was the brightest crimson I had ever seen.

The paramedic did what he could, considering the circumstances. He couldn’t get a vein, he couldn’t open the bags, he couldn’t break the seals. Later, he remarked, “It was like God wanted this man to die, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

…

Last night, I went to the store. I brought my purchase to the counter, and saw the robbers walk in through the mirror in the corner. I knew where I was. I knew what was going to happen. The details might change, but the outcome would be the same.

I started walking towards the back, looking for somewhere to hide. Things were happening faster, this time. I heard a shot behind me, and I knew the shopkeeper was down. I managed to fit between the freezers, and kept my head down.

I heard the police come in. I heard them yell useless words of negotiation. I heard the firefight start.

When I looked up, I saw him standing over me, between the white men with guns and the black men with guns. He had been there with me. He knew what happened. He knew he was already dead.

We watched each other for a lifetime, and there was no space between us.

NO DIET SODA, PLEASE!

ode to skinny puppy
a poem by jairus khan

oh skinny puppy
how great you are with your fake organs and meat grinders
how happy you seem covered in blood
will you come to my town?
would you come to my town?

i spoke with a man who says he knows you
he said ‘i can help you see them!’
and so i talk to him. he is a Tour Manager.

but sometimes i wonder what it is he’s saying
i will give him venue details and make him an offer
and then he will ask me to make him an offer.

maybe he’s drunk

i look at your rider, and i glimpse a part of you
a part that mandates 48 mono channels and 12 channels of 1/3 octave eq inserted on each mix output
and 12 more of compression
we can give you these things, sweet friends
and your (1) 6 pack dr. pepper in cans
i, like you, like to eat (1) bag tortilla chips with (1) jar salsa
but why do you need (2) packs of zig-zag red rolling papers?

oh puppy, my puppy
do you not like canada?
do you not remember how tasty leslie’s bbq chicken is?
maybe you are not out of her jam yet
and so you do not need us (yet)

but the jam will be here
even if you are not.

Thirty Aethyrs

Where have you gone?

Are you in the silence? The spaces between? Are you, like me, still searching?

He was here, last night. We listened to the walls speak, heralds to the poems of brick and stone.

He threw a blanket over the stars, and pulled them into the lake. We watched as the water sparkled, royal and dazzling; and when the sun left the sky, there was nothing there at all.

Everything was new, bathed in blue waves. This land held no shadow, only places the light could not witness.

We made sacred space, and I whispered my dreams to you. (When I see you next, I’ll tell you again.)

Do you hear him? Are you shivering?

He said:
In the oceans of the moon,
Swimming squidlike and squalid;
This bright moon is a liquid,
The dark earth is a solid.

Life and Death on the Streets – Third in a Series.

I remember.

…

When I was sixteen or so, and my police file listed my residence as “NFA: NO FIXED ADDRESS”, I spent a lot of time at The Square. All of us. It was where we spent our time.

There were maybe two dozen of us there when this kid grabbed my collar, his face caked in blood.

“You gotta help me, man. Some big jock just fuckin’ decked me and took my bag. I was holding for someone else, I don’t even know who this guy is. I gotta get it back.”

That was all we needed to hear. Very few of us agreed on anything at all, and most of us had been in scraps with at least half the people there. We only knew solidarity when someone from the outside fucked with us.

There were dozens of us at the square, and then just like that, there were none.

We followed buddy (who’s name I don’t remember, if I ever knew it) down the back streets, until we found the jock. He was drunk, or high, or both. Big motherfucker, too. Bigger than any of us, at least. Nice jacket, nice shoes. He mumbled something under his breath, held buddy’s denim backpack close to him, and we circled around him.

…

The details are fuzzy, and largely irrelevant. I remember one of the squeegee kids broke his squeegee handle over the guys head, and someone else kicked him into a car so hard he went through the window, and the alarm went off. At no point did he fall down, he just staggered and kept swinging at us. Probably less than half of us did anymore more than watch, but it didn’t matter who did what. We were all complicit.

Ten minutes later, we’re out of the alleys and on the main street. Traffic is heavy, and he’s bleeding bad. Someone picks up an iron garbage can from the street corner and throws it at him, in the middle of the road. I don’t remember if it hit him or not.

We all know this can’t go on much longer. It’s broad daylight, and someone’s almost certainly called the cops by now.

He jumps in the back of a moving pickup truck, and then he’s gone. The backpack is in the middle of the road, and the kid with the bloody face grabs it, and takes off. The rest of us follow his example, and find other places to be for the rest of the day.

…

Someone went down to a few hospitals the next day, pretending to be a concerned bystander. This wasn’t uncommon when situations like this happened — it was always better to know than to not know.

He had come in for stitches, and then gone into a coma. He died due to a ‘closed head injury’. That’s what they call it when you get hit in the head hard enough to kill you, but not hard enough to actually crack your skull open.

All of this is true. This really happened.

…

No one needed to speak aloud what we all knew:

We are all complicit; we are all murderers here.