Radigan

This is good news, and as i would rapidly like to reach as many sympathetic ears as possible, is a good cause for a blog post. On the first business day of the last week of September 2007 i will be at work making dental prosthetics. This excites me. My educated skills are going to be put to use!

My Convocation happened a week ago.
I just graduated, and yet what dominates my time?

Nothing much. listening to Soma.FM's groove salad, drinking some screwdrivers and reading chemistry entries on Wikipedia while comparing them to information in the textbook.

Time to make some art then Eh? I need to buy materials, and that requires money, and time spent going to the places that sell what i need.

My off-hours studies are scintillating and recreative at once, but creatively i feel inactive. I can't reasonably blame this inactivity on my day job. Although lots of people come home tired, with no heavy lifting involved, there's no reason to let important things fall to the wayside.

---

That aside, insofar as adventures and interpersonal actions have been proceeding favourably.

I saw an impromptu performance of a band called "National Frost" when i was on my way through the square one night. They had been double booked by The Corner Stone cafe and being the second ones to arrive on the scene, ended up playing to a captive audience of true Guelphites enjoying indie rock at it's finest. I bought a CD of the band's work, and to all of you who are interested i'll see that you get a taste of their stylings to whet your appetite. It's nice to see a saxophonist strutting down Wyndham street breaking noise laws with improv style and aplomb.

Regularly with the company of Sir Parsons and his lovely consort Ms. Essex i have been sampling Southern Ontarian craft-beers whil'st enjoying some quality programming, and talking back at the TV.

I'm convinced that Silvercreek takes a detour through a subterranean labyrinth, and that furthermore a gateway here may be found in this realm of blind fish leading to the very center of the earth. I expect action, danger and excitement. I fully intend to discover where this Trogdor has been skulking since his last encounter with peasants. If we don't, i'm sure we'll have a good run anyway, (have a good run anyway... violins). Feel free to contact me if this, or other similar expeditions pique your interest.

I mean to do more than i've done. This is a good thing, in that i am challenged to get the most out of each weekend. Speaking of which, the weather is spectacular outside. I'm going to go soak some more of it in.

Warm Regards
-- KEvin

Today was a good year for an art show. I'm quite happy with how this culture event proceeded, as it represented the culmination of a year's work for "the three amigos", D. Constantino Salazar, Philipo Woollamm, and Ivan Langosiris (names may not be spelt precisely as shown). Being the fabricators that they are, the art-objects these friends produced were up to a high standard of craftsmanship, and as such it follows that many of the conversations catalyzed at their feet were equally as interesting as the work was to look at. Ginette Legarie had encouraging words to speak concerning the futures of these creators, and of the others who will be populating upcoming shows. George Boileau and a student of his allowed me in on an exchange where the dynamic of a proposed public artwork was considered. I was able to touch base with some fellow graduates with whom i had drifted out of contact since the year previous, and engage in a truly enriching discussion with Prof. of woodshop Stan Krzyzanowski concerning validity.

Here's the Play by Play:

- Standing in front of Langohr's automated headbanging, i flipped the switch that turns it off.
- Will (fellow grad) turns to me and says "you can't do that".
- I argued that whatever interaction i have with the artwork is valid, and i run with it, contributing a number of other ways that could be considered "valid".
- Stan challenges me by asking what limit i would put on validity, after having used the word so much.
- After some thought i replied that any action around which a well constructed supporting argument can be built is valid.
- Stan accepts, though he adds that this is a kind of validation, and that there are many different flavours of validity besides.
- Will brings up fiscal success as a measure of validity.
- I ask where in these shifting sands can we locate a solid anchor point for a standard of excellence, or some means to measure the virtue of a creative endeavour.
- At length Stan replies that the most important function for art is inquiry. Work that one does in an effort to answer a question is the pulsing vitality of it all. If you're making something in a situation where you have all the answers, where is the room for personal growth?

Things that should go on Youtube:

"Cookin' with Kel-Par" A cooking show hosted by Kelsie the Parsimonious Bon Vivant, featuring the best of his often cheese oriented cuisine.

"Workin it Out" Chatting about various science facts while casually lifting 15lb weights.

"The View from Here" A travel/talk show hosted by Kevin from exciting Urban Exploration destinations.

The evening last there was a report that the mighty and awful snow demons would quit this place herewith and bring their bounteous shimmering realm with them as they left. Word of the imminent departure of the great weather beings has echoed quite often from information sources that make their voices heard to mine ears, and as such i have felt it prudent course to take advantage of their ephemeral kingdom extant here and fleetingly while the dark side of the year is wan.

(On a snowy yesterday night in Late February)

With our cunning arts we set ourselves with purpose in our hearts to fashion a new race from the substance of this demonic desolation. Through our intent and from our acts we meant to set our spark upon our creation and see them live ere the demons return to their home behind the sky.

(Not knowing how long the snow would remain, We decided to make snowmen)

But lo what capricious zephyrs did hold sway over the white that eve robbed the power and ability to cohere. As we had not by ourselves the capability to give form beyond a fist full, deep was our anguish at the foiling of our intent. With life beyond reach, and with ammunition at hand, perhaps then death instead?

(The snow wasn't any good for rolling, but we could still squeeze snowballs from it)

And so it was with combative hearts we took to the air and fought upon the rooftops and in the cracked and craggy depths like alleways below. First Klev ascended and then Kel-Par, Phillis and the Valkyrie in his company, and Langore. The others joined the melee until there was no more ice to be hurled from on those dangerous steeps upon the garage.

(The snowball fight ranged over some unconventional terrain)

Before it all was over the guardian spirits assigned to night-watch, roused by the din and the rumpus we raised, came by in their chariot and enquired after the nature of our deeds. When we accounted for ourselves they smiled upon our valour and left us to our happy conflict.

(The Police took notice, such was our vigor)

If every day could be seized like that... Maybe we'd be in better shape

It was the best decision i'd made all day.
From scarborough at warden station it takes half an hour or more to get to my place in the core. I purchased a Ginger Beer from a pastry shop that sold soft drinks and took it with me for the trip home. I was still sipping on it when i took off my coat and sat down in my own chair, finishing the last off of a bottle full of flavour sensation. At two minutes of enjoyment per sip, i can scarcely convey to you how scintillating a whole bottle of this beverage was any more easily than describing what a new colour would look like were i suddenly gifted with the ability to see one.
Maybe that's exaggerating.
But it was still the best decision i'd made all day.

For those of you who may have felt deprived over newyears not having a classically overintoxicated friend to watch, this weekend i hope that you had your fill. I don't appreciate the costs associated with the machine's lack of control, neither monetarily, nor in terms of the inconvenience caused to friends. Kelsie has been the only person to voice to me his disapproval for the machine business, though i suspect that there are others who would echo that sentiment. As such, i intend that this writing in this public forum should be a formal announcement that it shall end. Bear witness to my bond. I promise you all. An end to my drinking.

The beginning of this week was something. I discovered a chemical method for simulating gold leaf on bronze. Kelsie went back to Guelph.

Coming upon a reliable means for a patina effect that the peoples of the foundry have not seen before is an enormous boon to me. I have a unique weapon in my arsenal.

Kelsie's departure back to the homecountry means that i will no longer have the benefit of the continual presence of this most solid example of humanity. I must strive to live up to his ethic.

The events here detailed are set against the backdrop of a mirthful and calamitous house party's aftermath.

Exeunt: Sir Kelsie and Mr. Jason

Enter: Sandman

Apparently i speak in my sleep. I need to build a device that records the things i say while i'm asleep.

When i've sat down and made my head write a paper, my body squirms around quite a bit and shifts about. I can't make it sit still. It's as though at the sensation of having been forced to do something, my mind is seeking some alternative position to free itself of the discomfort of the present circumstance. Antsy.

have you ever heard an opera of belches? what would it mean if you had the kind of control over your esophagus as your vocal chords? I don't know the answer to this, but if you gave Kelsie Parsons 2 litres of pepsi and put him on a trampoline, and recorded the whole thing... you know what, skip the gallery and put it on YouTube instead and you've got one excellent work of postmodern abject art right there.

This is just something i cooked up sitting next to Kelsie while i attempted to sabotage his efforts to write a paper.

Today i gave blood, took allergy medicine and drank a six-pack.

This is just something Kelsie cooked up while he sabotaged my effort to write a livejournal post. However I did exchange 3 vials of my blood for $20 to aid medical study. If everything goes well for them, i presume we will soon have better ways of treating and diagnosing diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis, chrons/colitis, and a number of other seemingly unrelated diseases. It's interesting to be financially compensated for participating in a study to alleviate the effects of terrible human diseases, ultimately being conducted by a corporate entity for financial gain. I suppose that such a thing as Karma would break even on that one.

My dream was an interesting one last night, and that is why I find myself here writing it down while I still have enough of the feeling behind it to motivate me. Frequently I need something to convince me of the importance of a task.

I was at SarahBeth’s Christmas party. I had just eaten an entire blueberry pie to myself, and for a moment my stomach felt odd, though soon enough I was mingling just as easily I was before. People were closely packed together when Sarah screamed, and everyone else around me started freaking out. Blood was seeping out my navel. The deep crimson of oxygen starved blood was not disturbing to me, nor painful even as it began to ooze from more places on my abdomen. A hot electricity burned up the back of my neck. All my friends around me were in a state of agitation, worry and panic. Someone called an ambulance. Their panic became my panic. Their worry became my worry. The blood became coloured blue and textured like partially digested pie filling as it continued to flow out of me. I rushed outside.

The scene of SarahBeth’s basement shifted as I ran outdoors to a yard outside a house in some Central-American climate immediately outside. A thoroughly beat up ambulance styled like an unmodified Ghost-Busters mobile pulled up in the driveway a few metres away from me. I asked them if they could help me. Surely this was the ambulance that had been called? Full of people. A few of them jumped out and walked in separate directions toward nearby homes. The remainder stared at me as though my request for help were absurd and vulgar. I hadn’t just asked them to suck on my man unit, but I might just as well have for the contempt in their collective glaring.

I walked off, the trouble of a medical emergency forgotten with the absence of people who cared enough for my well being to react. I suppose it healed itself as the scene shifted from rocky Guatemalan town to Pacific island resort. A rich businessman was swimming in the shallows with two women who seemed to want to be left alone. I did this to the best of my ability despite repeatedly running into them as I swam.

Another scene shift and the activity of swimming on a tropical beach has been replaced by laying new gas line and cat-5-e cable in the foundry under the employ of the Almighty Tallest. It figures I’d be dreaming about work. Every inch of that piping was steeped in political intrigue. I could hear the voices of the elites of Irken culture arguing with one another as though their thoughts and opinions were broadcast to a radio station in my mind. Everyone had a stake in this, and centimetres mattered. If I used bricks as a temporary support, the entire invader caste gasped in horror. Like a surreal game of Feng-Shui.

And then I awoke.

Time until "Engaging Suburbia" class = 30 minutes.

Getting LastFM was a good idea.
Jason finally convinced me to get LastFM sometime earlier today, and i find myself wide awake listening to music in lieu of dreaming.

I'm listening to "Rippin Kitten" a song produced through collaboration by Golden Boy Feat & Miss Kitten. Those high notes at the beginning of the song along with the soft deep bass. It's always been about atmosphere. Ambient House, Industrial, the Myst video games, Janet Cardiff's audio works, David Lynch's movies. All these owe their astounding virtuosity to a very finely crafted atmosphere. In my appreciation for these things is a visceral connection to finely tuned qualities meant to smack and resonate of specific time and place. That rush i get while skiing through a snowy glade, or while on a meandering journey over forested land or my love of foggy nights. It's ALWAYS been about the atmosphere. Before a truly forceful atmospheric presence i am powerless. If even i were a faithless man living in a greco-roman history, i might have a locus for worship in a goddess to personify those two high pitched and divinely resonant synth strikes crowning five seconds of well purposed music.

It's late, and the agonized tiki sculpture on my desk is staring me down.
I shall follow this new direction further tomorrow

You know Toronno gets this bleached washed out look this time of year like a heroin addict, or at least the way i'd picture one anyhow. Sallow, and thin with a grey pallor the human form, void of leaves and skeletal with exposed stone walls. Wet detrius litters the impervious earth. The aesthetic is at once something attractive and hideous.

Aside from my minimal shifts granted by the school, there are various projects i'm working on now. Meg's Plaque, Sarah's Dancer, Mark's gamepieces, Kevin's gift to meg, and Kevin's own "?". It's nice to be employed.

I've got a few of these things plus school projects scheduled out and written in on a calendar on my wall. Since about october 20th i've been feeling this industrious. I have a commission i'm planning on starting in the winter semester for a man named Henk, and probably more work for Mark.
It feels good to be working.

I need to build a portfolio from the projects i still have, and the ones i'm currently producing. For that i need really good photographs and layout. I'm hoping to trade work on layout and design by Mark for work i'll do for him in the second semester (this semester's work will most likely be for food and rent). The photography depends a lot on how busy Brian (room mate) is, and what he desires from me in exchange for his services. Webdesign... well there's Mark, Mary, and Bianchi i suppose, but that all depends again on what i can give them.

I can exchange my thoughts, words, deeds, time and creations for quintessence. Money.

For quintessence, for money, I can buy words, deeds, time, thoughts, and creations from others.

Today the water falling from the sky soaked through the foundation and held a social function on the floor of my basement apartment. It's more the pity because i had just got over how nicely the dehumidifier had removed all traces of moist from this room. Kelsie was marveling at it too, and i think that may be what angered the divine or demonic entities controling our daily fates. Things were going so nicely. I had it in my mind that i would go to school and get more work done on the projects i've undertaken this afternoon. Kelsie seemed to have similar ideas when we nigh simultaneously discovered the aqueous invasion. The afternoon and night's work was channeled into stemming tis tide. This ended up costing me $6.00 for plumber's epoxy, $21.00 for a new hot glue gun, $4.00 for a packet of glue, $11.00 for a mop that didn't work all that well, and $12.00 for something from the LCBO to make me and Kelsie just a little less aware of the conditions we fought. The moneys ultimately were wasted also, there was no solution which would stop the incoming fluid.

So here we are at square one. Wet as a bathing suit clinging to my leg on the beach.

The most difficult part of writing about Erin Mills is finding on a map just where precisely it is. There are no boundaries readily observable between one development and the one next to it on road maps and online. On these maps Erin Mills is indistinguishable from Streetsville, Erindale, or any other community of Missasauga. The boundaries exist only according to the plans of a land development company. Although the same development company called this a ‘planned community’, it is likely that if persons living in the area consider themselves a community, they do loosely if at all. Maybe it’s a tad presumptuous to make a statement like that. Perhaps so, but I believe that it is a safe assumption to make that suburban landscape in Southern Ontario functions with the same general uniformity as it appears on maps. If that’s so, then Erin Mills has all the feel of community as the developments surrounding Willow West mall, and the Kortright Waterfowl developments in Guelph.

(excerpt)

Concerning blog entries. I had a conversation back in the summer with a few of you to get a sense of what it was you were enjoying about one another's written online experiences, and what you felt could do with some modification.

Byans: We like your poetry. For God's sake could you write more often?

Ryan: You speak of things technical and this is good. Perhaps you could help us join you? Your hillside article is a very nice vignette on your life, a pleasure you afford us with frustrating infrequency.

Jason: your knowledge of the musics are astounding. They manage to hold me out at arm's length though, as i have a limited base knowledge to serve as a means for going in so deep. A double edged sword this wired world of tomorrow is. Your education, having enabled you to write extensively with little apparent expense of effort is something I stand in envy of. However given the formatting and average length of articles at boingboing (or in Kelsie's case) the BBC, our ability to sit and browse as we should is rather truncated. Perhaps a cole's notes primer thrown in now and again to help us slow students get up to speed? Some distilled Jay-soni brand literary beverage of great refreshing properties?


Kevin: Your entries are chaotic. You are often late when you do write, and infrequent in your entries. The tone you affect a la "here comes the weirdness report out of rowdy-land" is interesting, and your protean(pro-tea-Anne)style is well conducive to an entertaining read. However we would like to hear of your musical discoveries and other linear things now and again. It would do to have some identifiable substance in there which has not been garbled by free association.

............******************,,,,,,,,,,,

So for the comments section today, write in with your suggestions to these and other bloggers from our sphere. I havn't heard any complaints about Colleen, Jen, Sarah, or any of the women folk. Although the myth of feminine perfection (seemingly destined to circulate in perpetuity) conflicts with this endeavor toward improvement, wouldn't it be nice to try and contribute to their already vast stores of awesomeness just the same? The answer is a resounding "maybe"...

Where was I while all this was going on? Difficult to say.

:My mind is Hazy:




My guess is that I was continuing to lazily venture about in my age-old quest for happy pills. But there ain’t none. My body throbs with unhappiness. You have no idea how much I love grapes. It’s like a big weight, a giant distraction all the time.

:Here’s my attempt to clear it:




Kelsie likes to rewrite the things I’ve typed on my computer while I’m not in the room. He says that going to OCAD is like attending a boot camp where they push a program of indoctrination for homoerotic BDSM violently left wing environmental and political activism. Tow the party line. I think he’s taking too many academic courses.

:OCAD is a trip:




Back to the point from these distractions on the computer screen nextdoor. ‘Venturing: Hillside. 20,000 Leagues beneath College Avenue. Northern Ontario. September 20th, Don Mills. Nuit Blanche. All these are fairly major departures from my average day.

:Departures from normal are landmarks:




The average day is dominated by duties flakily attended to amongst the higher calling. Bit by bit, chipping some off a few of the projects I have piled on the drafting table. Gradually they come to fruition. Go to class, do the readings, wash a few dishes, mix some algenate to spread on the clay mastercopy, then clean up after yourself and resume doing something you need to. Without fail, most of my tasks are interrupted by consideration of leaving for the next, or invitation to retreat outright into such memory.

:Distractedly I plan the next landmark:




I have some difficulty in keeping from placing so many landmarks on my temporal landscape such that they nearly render one another ineffective. If I were not limited in resources or the scope of my freedom, I would be lost. Awash in a chaos of such monuments, what could time mean?

:Heaven help you if you have too many of them:




I dream that the ghosts of ancient Roman trumpeters rise in the cartoon moonlight to play Boards of Canada on their bent clarions.

:I'm going to sleep/work on some art:

I came into the Waterloo on the Greyhound with Kelsie, the both of us bearing house-warming gifts. "Wheee! *Beep* pie" and a Waffle Iron, him and I respectively.

I went to Ryan and Sarah's House party this past weekend. Ryan got hammed. I'm glad to see the man having so much fun (and Sarah taking it with such good humour). For my part i think worked out a nice level of fun-ness, though i suspect Sarah would differ greatly on the point where i decided a midnight hike would be refreshing.

The rest of my weekend i drifted wherever the rides took me. I was made quite happy by this, as i was thence able to visit the Bianchi family headquarters in Guelph, Byans' new appartment, Bobby O' Brian's Pub, the TVR-Lindz Loft, and my parents home in that order before returning to Toronto on Sunday night.

When i stepped into my appartment, I played a game of Risk, and it was not painful.

--KEv

I went to Lake Superior, and toured Northern Ontario with Sarah, Ryan and Meg. More details to follow.