Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Born Fi Write

This going to be one cheap-out post. Firstly, I'm just about zombified from all the writing I've been doing. The trouble comes from Writing vs Real Life. It's a tough battle, and not at all like the opening seconds of The Sound Of Music. A reliable source of mine—he's a Mill Woods Vice Lord named Kyle ("I knew this guy at camp. He was maybe 13. He got two girls pregnant, man. Two girls pregnant. Yea, Kyle.")—points out that Anthony Trollope managed to churn out a reliable thousand words a day before breakfast. Anthony liked to rise around five and he went to bed at eleven or twelve. This is in addition to running the British post office, avidly hunting foxes across the corn-fields, entertaining a never ending rush of dinner-guests, and toddling down to the Garrick Club for a quick drink and some cards with his mates. Oh, and don't forget the world-travelling! What a pirate. Alright, anything Anthony can do, I can do better.

Secondly, that's it.

Reading: The cheapness does not end merely because we've hit the fine print. The stuff down here will be just as unimportant as the headlines. I haven't read much of anything outside of a little William Law, not since Sunday night, that is. So why don't you try a little reading? Sometimes I throw pasta at the walls in the kitchen. Sometimes it sticks. Hard to eat that way—tomato sauce and meatballs never stay very far from the floor—but it's an experiment, right? Sometimes I throw words on paper, too. A little bit of it often leaks on to the net—read: carefully cut and pasted—and it's messy, yeah, but it's an experiment, right? I've got the twin of this website coffined in the links on the right, and if you care to, you could go dig up a couple of fairly short stories, there. The prose is a little bit grim, and there aren't any happy endings (very emo), but there is a story about this-year's-pirates (1862 words), and the last story on the page talks about a were-crocodile (2747 words). Come on, what's better than a were-croc? Alright, so Batman basically beat me to that, and my girlfriend tells me that The Others beat me to my zombierrific tale, but I'm out there and I'm trying, alright? Well, it's self-aggrandizement, anyway, and that's got to count for something. Stories Of Erebus + Terror + Yrs Truly

Listening: I hate Myspace. I hate it so much. I hate it so entirely that the only people I ever allow on my acount are people I hate. It's tough to get on my friends list. Tom had to go. Whatever happened to Livejournal and Xanga? What about Hello and Tickle and Hi5? There's room for another sarcastic Chief Enablers song in there somewhere. These networks are like empires (bear with me) collecting millions of unsubscribed souls into a vast digital embrace. Then the next popular only-connect comes along and boom! It's the decline and fall of the wholly roaming empire. And I'm a little tired of seeing these enormous bands taking up space among the fifteen-year old emo kids crying under the table and slitting their wrists the wrong way. Rivers is alright, I guess (let's be arbitrary, by all means), but come on. Atreyu? Get out of here. Franz Ferdinand? You are dismissed, sir. REM? Stipes, you're out. And the list goes on. When you've already made it, is it neccessary to make like you haven't? Because that is what Myspace is for bands, isn't it? For bands that haven't made it, but others have a chance to see them, anyway. Bands like Cantankerous, for instance, or Jon-Rae & The River, or Spitfires & Mayflowers, or, one of my current favourites, Henri Faberge And The Adorables. This Toronto band is, apparently, "a self contained party, no audience neccessary". There appear to be at least three more members in this band than are actually needed,including a poet laureate and a dancer/rug cutter/move buster. Alright, I'm in. Their best song, catchiest, most-radio-friendly (pick your adjective), is a poppy little number with a strong beat and lyrics like ten-years song-writing can't give you, you just have to be born writing that way, you've got to be born fi write to pen lines like these. Their other song and the other versions are good, too. Check them out. "Favourite Kisses" + Henri Faberge And The Adorables (move the thingy in the scrollbar down about an inch and click on that photoset to see a guy in a green skirt playing the accordion)

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