The Wombats "Little Miss Pipedream"

I might be wrong, but I think this is a live version.

in a land not so very far away

Once upon a time...

There was a happy little girl in a happy little town, when suddenly, she became very very sad. Everything around her was sad. The once happy little town sagged under the weight of her sadness. It began to snow. Buildings, cars, cookie-cutter housing blocks...nothing escaped the blanket of white. The snow softly and gently crushed any dreams that were ever dreamed by anyone anywhere in town. The little girl's tears froze to her cheeks. She tried to cry out, but it was muffled. All was silent. Until...just as the little girl was giving up her last shred of hope, a ray of silver light parted the clouds above. It shone on her face and melted the frozen tears. More and more strands of light broke through the sky and warmed the white little town. The snow thawed. Rivers of melted ice raced down the streets and washed away the sadness. The happy little town once again became the happy little town of everyone's dreams. She basked in the sunlight and it let it fill up the empty void inside her hollowed out by the sadness. Unfortunately, it was too late. No amount of happiness, light or dreams would ever be enough to fulfill the little girl, so she became an alcoholic and spent the rest of her days in an ironic happy half-life marked by misuse of harmful substances and distrust for society. It was here that she realized it had been sad all along.

The end.

Or is it...

Wolf Parade "I'll Believe In Anything" (Bird Peterson Remix)

how about this rad remix I discovered by accident! I think I was probably responsible for at least 20 of the views so far...

Man Triumphs Over Insomnia.

Dear Friends,

"Mists of Time" is about finished, which means it's that hour for "Castles" on the Still Frame Photo Channel in HD. After "Castles" there's a viewers' submission hour. Thrilling. What a job that would be - a photographer for the Still Frame Photo Channel in HD. I've been waiting for "Castles" since 1.30. The idea of living in a castle has always filled me with whimsical escapist dreams. It's absolutely got me transfixed. A neat garden walk and my own round turret reaching up towards the sky. That's all I wanted when I went to Europe.

They've just shown the castle at Dubrovnik as viewed from the walled old town. Hey I've been there.

Only sops like me watch this shit.

Lately I've only wanted to escape. From what exactly, has, funnily, escaped me. So what I've concluded is that the 'what' is myself. Because as much as I hate to admit that my parents are right, escaping to somewhere that isn't here won't help me escape from my problems if my problems are me. Alls I know is that it would be a hell of a lot more fucking fun than this, somewhere else. And my problems may be easier to have at.

Hey I've been to Bratislava, too.

Escapism aside, the only other thing of interest I've experienced to report is that last night, instead of tuning in to FRAMEHD 230, I dressed up in wool and went for a night walk. Other than cold, it was odd. I never strayed out of the neighbourhood where I live, but all of the houses I'm used to viewing in daylight looked rigor-mortis-y and dead with their darkened windows. It was as if I could peer into the houses' souls through their window-eyes. (Hey I've been to Trakai in Lithuania, too). Approximately 10% of them had a night owl in there watching TV or surfing the interwebs at 2am.

It was once said to me that "a man's house (or home I can't remember the exact quote), is his castle". Does that mean when we grow up and buy houses with the intention of making homes, our whimsical escapist dreams will automatically be realised, fully equipped with pool rooms and master-turrets for bedrooms? Or is that just me being a dickhead.

It looks as if I'll need a more impressive camera and a professional version of Photoshop to chance a spot on Viewers' Submission Photos in HD.

"Let's pretend we don't exist. Let's pretend we're in Antarctica."

"...hallowed be thy name."

Imagine this, if you will:

A home-made hipster, art-chic bitch with a self-haircut, loafers and cigarette in hand. One Emily Carr grad who would dry shave her bush for experimental film, and who would threaten to prank future tenants by, “hiding used, and bloody tampons around the apartment”.

Do you have a clear image in your mind?

Thankfully, there were no biohazard booby-traps left for me in my room, but other than several hundred cigarette butts in a ceramic tray outside and a corded off rope set which she later returned to snap up, this previous renter’s ‘homey touch’ was dusted away quite quickly by us.

Except:
About 30 CD albums sitting on an Ikea-esque wire rack in the living room.
During my last night at that apartment, I spent 3 hours ripping almost all of them onto my hard drive. I write “almost all of them” because said Artist took off with some of the best discs (in my opinion) and discarded their cases. Calculating.
Anyway, I never really got round to chancing a listen to those hipster hymns until now. And I am not disappointed. What I hold here in my hot little iTunes library are the definitive secrets to life as a With-It Young Artist In Vancouver. As of yet, I have not had the sudden urge to tie my hair up in an extra-high bun on the top of my head, or read Vice Magazine. Yet.

I realise this post is turning into an alarmingly drawn-out jab at Vancouver Hipsters, if they even exist. I get that everyone is just ‘trying to be’. Love and above, I’m just ‘trying to be’ a person. I have nothing personal against the alternative groove the so-dubbed ‘hipsters’ in the downtown are playing at, I would only like to express fully, my inability to ever be that cool. How do they do it?

No matter how many Value Village outfits I rock with socks, no matter how many underground, undiscovered, un-sell-out albums I own, no matter how much I suffer for my art, no matter the degree to which I make fun of others for not being cutting-edge-scene-knowledgeable, I will just never be like them. Even though I try. I try so hard.

So now, all I’m left with are these songs, as there are little to no hipsters in the Nanaimo area to even shake an unlaced Doc Marten at. It is as if I’m the petite dreamer gazing up at the glowing night sky searching for my favourite constellations, wistfully wishing that it was me up there, the astronaut in a space suit cleverly modified to accommodate my top-o’-the-head bun and jagged bangs. The Alternative one with a vintage still film camera taking slightly out of focus, yet striking photographs of the first cigarette being enjoyed on the moon.

I hope it’s a Lucky Strike Red.

“Impossibly long percussion solo with background ambient recordings from a no-doubt,European train station.”

might/may

You know that simple anxiety in the air when the sky is white and objects on the horizon are wan like they're obscured by a layer of wax paper. Nature settings seem unnaturally bright. There is nothing but the silence of heavy fluttering snow.

Well it might be snowing. The sky was white for a while and unidentifiable precipitation was falling from above. It was pertinently put once that the key word would always be quite, "might". Because I was chillily tucked up by the window with a frozen nose, hugely influenced by the hundred ways of cold in this apartment, my perception of meteorologic possibilities was pointedly reduced to that of a bitter, groundhog-hating presumption.

Somehow, transfixed inbetwixt hating the great whiteness outside, cursing flighty burrowing animals, and fucking the hydro bill in the dick, there was a teensy bit of me inside that hoped for snow. Perhaps that was what prompted me to even entertain the idea of a "might". For of course it wasn't snowing. it was, and still is, raining.

But- what triggers a hint of a smile on my lips, is that there is always a might. Might, meaning a 0-50% probability. If zero is the low end, why might we not someday see World Peace? The chance of that happening is slim, but still might be realised. Even if the percentile of the pie graph is 1%. We might do some cool things. I pretty much might be writing bullshit as we speak.

So, I put forth that "might" is not just the less probable version of "may". It's a hopeful word that should inspire us that we still have a chance. Unfortunately, I guess there's that chance that the chance we dream about desperately hasn't a chance. That it ranks zero. That it has zero probability of becoming reality. I guess that is reality. In that I choose to live dangerously, I'm ready to take that chance, wear it as a slightly hipster-esque, self-made button badge.

There are too many unpleasant things in life that will consume me if I don't.

So in my defence Mr Duthie, I know perfectly well that when I say "it might be snowing", it is not physically snowing. But that zero percent chance is hopeful. Is Zero so different from a fifty-fifty toss up that what I see outside, without actually venturing outside to check for myself, is in fact the white stuff?

I think it might snow tonight.

"GET OUTSIDE...unless...you're underdressed."

"She's Leaving (for) Home"

Dear my friends:

I'm sorry, but I really did try.

When the combination of Butter Chicken and the bottom dust of a half-hearted spliff cause you to lose your theoretical stomach in a way that can only be described as "premature evacuation", and the spent remains of $10 000 that was never yours to begin with lies face down on the bedroom floor amongst filthy laundry in need of laundering and several unresolved sticky spots...maybe it's time to go home.

I gave it my best shot, and missed the mark. And if we've learned anything from modern media, it's that when rocking the rock bottom, it's traditional and quite socially acceptable to run home crying to ma and pa. Nothing beats a fully-stocked refridgerator and clean sheets.

I AM NOT WEAK. I will repeat. It's okay to be down. It's all right to be not super right.

After 13 hours of jPod season 1, and yet another bag of take-away Indian I have come to this conclusion. The only obstacle is packing. Procrastinators hate packing down to their very bottom dust. and GO.

"So let's drop the pills and we'll say hello."