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October 31, 2004
days of the dead
So today I am an undead, if not in costume, in spirits, and although the real celebrations will only take place tomorrow, with half-priced candies sold in bulk, the days of the dead have already begun. All the clocks have been set back, and at dawn, I will storm the bakery. Or maybe I could just join the troups of children descending the streets… drunk on sugar, all senses sharpened, gathering enough supplies to last the long winter.
Dark times are here again. (Landscapes slip past vistas and windows open nowhere) Dark times are here again. The undead are speaking to us through the television, vampires in golden rags! DO NOT VOTE FOR THEM.
Boo! I still haven’t decided on my Halloween costume, and I fear there is no party left. Well I am a living corpse; it’s not brain science. Isn’t that enough? People humor me. I think the costume gene just runs poorly in the family. As a kid, I pretty much always went trick-or-treating as a punk. I remember a couple years where I accompanied my brother, who was costumed as a one-arm-missing man. He just tucked his arm under his coat, which is stupid but I think I will remember it until death. Perhaps the candy donators in Quebec are less demanding when it comes to the trick-or-treaters costumes, as we are all pretty much covered in snowsuits anyway.
Boo! I like being surprised, like when someone runs up behind me to scare me, I may sometimes react a little promptly and look mad, but I love the gasp, the exhale. It feels like I am always holding my breath for something or other, for curses to be broken, or new spells being casted. Yet today I celebrate again, for renewed luck and vigour and the end of barbary, as exemplified by a friend’s new job, or my cat’s easy sleep… I went all out and get out the champagne-strawberry jam, so please excuse the sticky mess just typed out! Chomp.
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October 23, 2004
the pleasure principle
In every book I have read, the elements for a successful surprise-party are as follow :
- A stack of records
- A stack of liquor
- Dancing guests (on the couches, under the furnitures, on the piano, on the balcony, in the bathtub, in the corners, around the stereo)
- Explosives (for the grand finale)
I would say that in good company, #1 is the only prerequisite, because books are filled with exaggeration. Still, sometimes, they make us worry when we should not.
Tonight is my friend K’s birthday party. She worries that it won’t be all that, and I worry about people close to me finding my blog and scoffing at me for this and that, so let’s call her Josef K from now on, who is celebrating not her birthday but a wedding anniversary. I got her a little red suede pouch filled with flasks of beauty and cleaning products. She thinks we should get a plan going, in fear of guests pacing around and being bored. I picture it from here, she says. Having no set plans means that sooner or later, guests will turn their nose up, and their mouth downwards,
- I’m bored with everything! Anyone’s any ideas?
- Remember you’re not as empty as you think!
- This party definitely lacks organisation…
- Let’s take some furnitures home, as compensation.
I still think we should not get plans going. Schedules are for the workweek; on weekends I’m good for nothing, sweet nothing. Having no plans leave all doors open to possibilities, such as smearing war paint on our face and go wild in the streets! Or just stay inside quietly, but still with the possibility of painting our face, etc. Maybe it has nothing to do with what is called the pleasure principle but if you asked me to explain it anyway, this is the idea I would try to convey.
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October 19, 2004
other people’s dreams
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October 15, 2004
autumn in peking
So, I just made plans : a lovely weekend of rain and books, a cat to be pet, things to be dipped in cheese and swallowed until a state of grace is obtained! The colder it gets, the more self-indulgent I become. Wait, this is all a lie - I spent last weekend in the delicious, sweltering heat of south padre texas, and indulged quite a lot too. I saw my first opossum, whose courage now inspires my every acts, also my first crazy dragonflies, and stars that shone twice as bright as streetlights. It’s not like my city is covered under thick blankets of smog, or that I live in Paris Ville-Lumière, but the fact is that stars in the Montreal nightsky are very much washed-out and indistinct. I read that it has to do with the low cost of electricity around here, and angry astronomers will point out that stuff like outside parking lots are 5 times more brightly lited than any other place. This can explain how watching the dark Texas sky has lifted my spirits so well, also Lone Star beer, and all the SNF stars.
Let me just tell you one word about the Rimbaud biography by Graham Robb, which I devoured the same way one would a box of Domino’s breadsticks. Like Calvin returning to Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kablooie, I always go back to my favourite lurid fairytale — the childpoet who spat on everything! and set his loved ones on fire! — which operate a lazy, slightly hypnotic beatitude on myself, the unequalled comfort of tired old beloved stories. Anyway, Robb’s biography may very well be the worst I have ever read, close in squalor to Enid Starkie’s, all bathed in slimy worned out myths, and for some stupid reason, like Baldur’s Gate paperback fiction, it makes me happy.
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October 05, 2004
emporte-moi, frégate
Came to work this morning to a water disater; a single night of freezing temperatures and woosh, the roof caves in. I shrugged and whispered the usual into my coffee cup, “Carry me far, far away! Here the office slime is made of our weeping!” But as I grabbed a few reports and started heading to the downstairs café, a voice rose in the corridor… “Now now, rats won’t leave the boat that easy… everyone, back to their place. Business as usual.” Umph.
The sweeping, vacuuming and weird gargling noises add an unusual touch to my regular activities, a not so inappropriate soundscape considering how closely personality tests data collection resembles Dungeons & Dragons character creation, except much more sinister.
To resume, not to tire you out – outside it’s cold and sunny, I feel happy and silly, and will soon be flying over the Mississippi!