Les linéaments du désir gratifié.

I.
Spring is manipulative. It has all these subtle hints and suggestions that you should start raising your metabolic rate and come out of your apartments, when in fact, it's just teasing. I always remember it being this way too, I hated spring for the way she would trick my friends and my soaked socks. Spring is a first girlfriend. Romanicized by those on the proverbial "other side of the fence" but really the grass isn't even green yet. Because spring, with it's clumsiness and awkward haste hasn't allowed us to photosynthesize properly. This is why I've always though that if you're going to make a bad decision, spring is the time to do it. Everyone's crazy. Here is a poem that I think captures how crazy everyone looks running around trying to have sex with one another. It is by William Blake:

The Question Answered

What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require?
The lineaments of gratified Desire

II.
I don't why the lack of the aforementioned photosynthesis has so many people charged romantically. And believe me, blog readers, I am no exeption, but I still think that it's one of those tricks Spring is playing on us. I could pontificate for pages about how everything is oh so beautiful, and how blossoming flowers could represent new relationships. The squirrels and birds would be mating, and I could make note of their innocence. But are they the lineaments of possibility, or just a grander "first warmth" that is to say, a transient bait to lure everyone out of their comfortability, only to be hit with Fall's reality? and by whom? Fortuna? the squirrels themselves?

I've concluded the answer dosn't matter. There is a certain honesty in the nervous allure of spring romance, however fleeting. One night stands, instead of lonley bodies grasping for satisfaction, become admition to vulnerability. All of springs cliches, grass, squirrels, even the fucking flowers exist because we allow them to. And it's okay.

III.
I saw the band Deerhunter last night. They were crazy. My favourite part was when the singer, skin and bones and dressed in a wedding dress, told the audience that he wished to be cremated when he died. The ashes, he told us quite matter-of-factly, were to be masturbated into by one hundred twelve year old boys and the resulting mixture of ash and cum to be spread upon our faces. It seems like Cryptograms is pretty hot shit right now, so I'll upload their newer Fluorescent Grey EP, recorded during the mixing of Cryptograms. It's more concentrated and focused than Cryptograms, while still retaining that radiant, shoegazy quality. Hope you have WinRAR:



Deerhunter - Fluorescent Grey

Dog's mouths are cleaner than humans.

I.
In addition to the existing list of what I have to feel sorry for myself about, I found another augmentation sitting in my email inbox this morning. I have been denied entrance to the UofC this coming fall. This really wasn't a suprise, seeing as my GPA was just borderline acceptable, but it fucks with my 'ideal' plan. As well as it hurts to be rejected by anything, expectation notwithstanding. The UofC was to solve this restlessness I can't seem to escape. I'm really not meant for working full time, it's too depressing. I guess my only course of action is to take high school upgrading classes, take another dip in the sine wave-pool and get my feet wet for university next year.

II.
With my newfound penchant for escapism, I spent yesterday evening indulging myself in irony and cinamon kit kat bars at Dollar Cinema with some pals. We saw The Number 23. Holy shit. I was expecting it to be bad, but it undoubtedly exceeded these expectations. I thought there would be casual references to discordian chaos theory, or at least one reference to the illuminatus trilogy, at which point the wikipedian in me would cheer. Failing that, I hoped to see Jim Carrey fuck some shit up, and it disapointed on both accounts. What I got was a very poorly concieved compilation of hollywood cliches, with the added twist of "stylistically dark" (gratuitously gothic) imagery. And Jim Carrey is always holding this fuckin' saxophone but he never plays it! what the fuck!

THAT ASIDE, I certainly enjoyed myself, as one assuredly will at Dollar Cinema regardless of which movie they are seeing. The nights are growing clearer, and with it a sense of innocence and possibility.

III.
xbxrx is a band i've been aware of for years, but never really got into them untill recently. Their newest full length "Wars" has really grabbed my attention. It sounds more like the actualisation of their sound than an attempt to be more serious, as pitchfork insinuates. I think they're a band that, while not "maturing" are growing more comfortable with themselves and can still keep up their energy. Fucking great, punk/hardcore songs. This is what vocal distortion should sound like:


xbxrx - Wars

Sorry, I was too busy being awesome.

I.
Ok. Admittedly I am a terrible blogger. Due in part to circumstances beyond my control, re: computer malfuntion, but I should credit it mostly to my own lack of ambition. I've decided to not go into the past month here, its details, anecdotal and poignant, shall be left only to my bedroom walls, and in a more ambiguous version to my coworkers. That's it.

II.
I've recently become quite interested in the finnish musician Marja Kokkonen, AKA Islaja, having heard some of her songs on a Fonal Records compilation. I've since come across her new album 'Ulual YYY' and become quite taken with her. I think that this obvious finnish translation from the fonal records websites quite eloquently, albeit simply, sums up how I feel about her:

Islaja as a concept has turned into a star that is expected to shine with brilliance. But she is something else. The songs tell us about the decay of our age, its demise and immorality. Its plunge into heartless consumer culture. Islaja herself does not burn in that same fire. Her fire is an inner fire. Behind her eyes and in her heart you can see and hear her true charisma. True dedication and utter disrespect for the artificial authority made by men. Yet she is not the self-destructive Nico or the eccentric Björk. But a good woman. A tough one. Her eyes can burn a hole in you. Her songs are poems and stabbing knives.

Because her lyrics are in finnish, my entire emotional reaction is based on sounds instead of lyrics, which is not something that I really normally experience. Because it sounds so original and haunting, I don't even have to know what she is saying to know her heart is in the right place. Check it:

Islaja - Ulual YYY


III.
I'll start real updates again soon. Hopefully writing?

so it goes.

God bless you, KV.