Memory-an excerpt

From Memory by HP Lovecraft:

The Genie that haunts the moonbeams spake to the Daemon of the Valley, saying, “I am old, and forget much. Tell me the deeds and aspect and name of them who built these things of stone.” And the Daemon replied, “I am Memory, and am wise in lore of the past, but I too am old. These beings were like the waters of the river Than, not to be understood. Their deeds I recall not, for they were but of the moment. Their aspect I recall dimly, for it was like to that of the little apes in the trees. Their name I recall clearly, for it rhymed with that of the river. These beings of yesterday were called Man.”

"I can't remember a thing.  That's why I'm here."

That is what I tell them, the fans who come to see me.  One came by today.  She looked so much like my wife.  Where is that one anyway?  Always out with her friends.  When is she coming home?  Galivanting falluting galvanizing van van van Vancouver.

The afternoon light is dim.   I look out the window but I see no birds in the trees.

It is actually very dark and everything is quiet.

Except for that bitch in the next room, who just keeps crying.  Something about her  Danny or Daddy.   Make up your mind bitch which is it?   Your Danny?

"Daddy!  Daddy! Please. I'll be good this time.....Please.  Daddy!" Her pathetic wail starts low, sounding like a scared child; she is no child.  She is probably my age.  I get so fed up hearing her I shout, Shut up you stupid bitch!

It is quiet for a brief moment.   Then the whole thing starts again.

Daddy!  Daddy!  I'll be good this time.

Christ, where are they?  Security?  Didn't they hear me call?  Security!  Escort this one to my room.

Someone is at the door.  Another fan.  She's young enough to be my daughter.  I don't think so, but I don't know.  I can't remember shit.  That's why I'm here you know.

Why is my daughter wearing white?  Is today her wedding?  Why wasn't I told about this?  Or did they tell me, and I forgot?  She wipes my mouth.

                  "You can't shout that like.  Please calm down.  Miss Brook is just upset again.  I'm sorry if she woke you up."

What does she mean 'woke me up?'  Christ, it's not like I'm a child here.  It's the middle of the afternoon.  Am I supposed to sleep in the day time now too?   They have funny rules here.

                   "Here.  Did you need some water?  Take a little. That's a good man.  Now get some rest. I'll be by later to check up on you."

                    NmGggnnhh.  Rbbdu.  Christ!
                  "I'm sorry.  Did you need something?  "
                    Nmmmggnh. Rbbdu. Christ!!!
                   "That's good.  You'll be ok.  Your daughter is coming by tomorrow she said."

What the hell is she talking about. She is coming by tomorrow?  Today and tomorrow?  What does she do all day?   Doesn't the poor girl have a job?   Oh,  right today is her wedding day.  No?  Then why is she here now wearing a goddam wedding dress?  Weddings.  Wife.  Walls.  Walking.  Walking.  Waaaaaa!  Daddy!  Daddy!   I promise I'll be a good girl.

Am I walking?  My legs aren't moving so fast. If I had a candle in my head you could say I was a little light headed.  

I used to be in a band you know.  You probably heard of us.  One day I jumped off a stage and they caught me and I screamed but that was before I jumped, but they caught me.  They don't catch you anymore. They left you drop.
BANG. Fuck that hurt.  The bastards didn't catch me this time.
                 
"Oh my god, he's out of bed again.  I think he fell.  Code blue in room 403.  Code blue.  "

Oh, my daughter is here again, and she is wearing white.  She looks like an angel.  Why is she looking at me like that? Is it lunch time?
                 
Nmmmmggh.  Rbbdu. Chrrr.  Sss.  t.

I can do it  myself you ignorant foods.  Fools I meant today.  To say.  I meant to say Foo on  you. We don't care what you say, Fucky you.  You heard me shitbirds.   Shithead birds turds n-n-n-nnerds.  I can't do everything here.  I'm pulling my load, you pull yours.  Lift my what?  My head?

                  "I think you had a bad dream.  We'll get you cleaned up.  That's a good little man."

If your going downtown miss, you might as well say hello to my friend Mr. Happy.  See?  He's happy to see you too.

"Daddy! Daddy!  I promised I'll be a good girl....Daddy!"

My dog is coming tomorrow to visit me. Maybe he will play some cards!  Hah!  That's a good one.  I used to be in a band you know?   We used to jump off the stage and young girls would....they would...
I forget what did they do?
I can't remember so good these days.  That's why I'm here.

Buy Nothing Day

From the folks who brought us Occupy Walmart, comes the most terrifying thought America never had.  
Buy Nothing Day.   
Want to send a real message?
Stop buying crap you don't need.  

Backscatter!

http://www.visualexpert.com/Resources/lawsofattention.html

Red eyes at dawn, seek something to hold onto

a familiar breaking through veils 

in the dark our eyes slow to adapt 

Behold the Dazzle!

- you must pay attention now- 

From midnight porn to morning pouring 

Watch out for the poor on the road

the Specular reflects spectacular holes

then genuflects in the middle of nowhere

Speed on 

Tempo of light 

Behold 

the Waves of night still

Imposed on daybreaking

Still/life creeping into Light- the coyotes must find their holes

Did you see the raccoons strewn with their

wet black Davy Crockets red glare- 

stripes stripped to the status of roadkill

Pull the veil of light striations

Revealing coruscating glare on glass- the grooves burrow into a morning frown

A heavy load of Rain lights on shiny pavement

Backscatter! Backscatter!

Do you see that there is a shimmery glimmer on the road?


You reach for coffee and eat the cake of Soft tremulous distortion 

The light adjusts and suddenly Luminescence

Guiding us from the nether radiance 

thru the angry fog and angry god
and hungry dogs to the possible

At night they howled at the moon,
but the dawn is gone

For now the night departs for tomorrow

while I forgot to say that the sky is falling

Why stop at a moustache? Many options available.

ABC'S OF DEMENTIA

A=ALZHEIMER'S  B=VASCULAR DEMENTIA  C= "NORMAL"

D= WALNUT   E = WALNUT   F=WALNUT

Why I Vote

This weekend local elections were held and I voted.  My candidate for Mayor did not win; three out of 6 of my councillors won and three did not.  Was I satisfied with the outcome?  To be frank, I did not know the candidates well enough to know if it was the best decision.   But I still voted.

Why vote?  I posted on my facebook the thought to Occupy the Voting Booth or shut the F. up.   Apparently many people thought this was of interest, as it drew many comments.

The same day I wrote a blog post on Screaming Growling Art which attracted two people to comment.  I should have titled it Occupy Screaming Growing Art if I wanted people to read it.

I digress.  Why do I vote when in some cases I'm not totally sure who the right person is to vote for?   Because like many immigrants to Canada, I went through a process to be able to vote, making the right to vote more important to me.

I was born in Canada in 1958, and moved to the US in 1963. My father and mother moved us to the US, and as a child I had no say in the matter.  I enjoyed my childhood there, making many friends.   One friend from grade 8 just called me the other day.  He is a lawyer in San Diego.  We had great laughs remembering our grade 8 Social Studies class, where we played an educational role playing game called Disunia- where we replicated some of the decisions by the original colonists to try to create a republic.  It was great fun, but I reminded my friend of the time our teacher brought us into his room, and reprimanded us for messing up the game for the other kids.  We were having our intellectual fun times, and because of some actions, threatened to mess up the role playing so that we would have a similar outcome.  At least that is how I remember it.

My parents wanted to become US citizens so they wrote the tests and we went to ceremony and some of us were naturalized as US citizens along with our parents.   In 1973 we moved back to Canada, entering the country as landed immigrants.   How could this be?  We were born in Canada.
Well at the time my parents gave up their citizenship to become citizens of the US, they also conveniently gave up my Canadian citizenship.  So as a Canadian by birth, I was a landed immigrant.
Flash forward many years, and the names changed and I was a Permanent Resident.  This always caused much discussion as I crossed the border, as I would have to explain the whole thing.

So in 2003, some thirty years after moving back to Canada, I decided to apply to regain my Canadian citizenship.  In 2005, I attended a ceremony in Canada along with all the many immigrants from about 50 different countries who were also becoming a Canadian.  They even made a joke about it; look at all the people from all over the world wanting to become a Canadian. Why, we even have a Canadian who wants to be a Canadian!

Since that day, I have voted in every possible election.  I had some years to make up.  I always try to inform myself and make the best decision possible.  People are fighting all over the world for the right to have a say; yet in most communities in North America, voter turnout is around 30 something %- in the town of my birth, Burnaby, only 15% of the eligible voters voted.

I know many of my friends believe that the old saying, If elections changed anything, they would be outlawed.  The same old crooks get in no matter.  They are all devils of a similar color no matter what the labels say.   Even the labels are confusing.  In BC, we have a provincial party called the Liberals, who are not affiliated with the Federal Liberal party.  They are not even "liberal".  

So why vote?   Because I can.   Because I still believe that if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.  

Does civic responsibility end at voting?  No, it is the bare minimum involvement.

Do the people who do not vote deserve to even have an opinion?   Unfortunately, yes.  But also unfortunately there are many who do vote that still deserve to have an opinion.

Does your vote matter?  Ask Ellen Woodsworth if a single vote matters?  How about 100 votes?   If the 60+% who didn't vote voted for Ellen and Tim and RJ and Sandy and all the other candidates that worked hard to represent their city, then the results may have been different.  Elections are decided all over the place by the smallest of margins.  Margins smaller than the margin of error.

Meanwhile in Syria, people are killed by their own government for trying to stand up for a right to vote.

Growling Screaming Art

32 years ago, I wrote an article about a local band called Tunnel Canary.  It was called, Tunnel Canary Hates You.  Besides being the first article written about the band, it was probably the only article written about the band for 30 years.
Tunnel Canary was and is the creation of Nathan Holiday, who at the time went by the name Aleh Fitzgerald.  He has had a few names in his lifetime, but safe was not one of them.  Never would anyone call Tunnel Canary safe.  Hated by the punks, they were the ultimate punk band.
Their best performances were live on the street with Aleh playing his wall of noise guitar- loud, transgressive, yet to my ears beautiful and almost symphonic in nature.  Judy or Ebra as she was called then, was the "singer".  As you can hear on the link on YouTube, she took the screaming vocals of Mars, and Lydia Lunch and pushed the envelope.  It was a direct action aural attack on the consumers who passed by on the street.  Time has not dulled the power of this music. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HP8icVH5PU4

Another woman artist who is often called a screamer is Diamanda Galas.  Galas has an eight octave range, and is closer in nature to an opera singer than punk.  Her Litanies of Satan with the wicked Wild Women with Steak Knives was an introduction for me to her art.  I think the first songs I heard from her were on a Henry Kaiser/John French record at my friend and band mate Alex Varty's.  Henry Kaiser was a good friend of Alex and John French was the original drummer Drumbo from Captain Beefheart's Magic Band. Today
I was listening to a Scandanavian interview with Diamanda Galas this morning.  It starts at about the 17 minutes mark.  She talks about her voice and how her father wanted her to play the piano, but not to sing, because singers are just a step from whores.  
http://svtplay.se/v/2602691/kobra/del_8_av_13


Before the 17 minute point,  the same interviewer speaks with Angela Grossow, the growling singer of Arch Enemy.

Angela discusses the "growling" technique favoured by the black metal/death metal singers today.  To see her sing is a beautiful thing.  I find the music, lyrics and fashion a bit comic book, but this woman is the real deal.  Angela- call me.  You need a 53 year old sax player.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JFgT9JXZlU&feature=related

Recently, I have been getting into black metal.  Clearly I have listened to extreme music for years, but this is the first time I have sought out a Metal genre.   In past, I have disdained the moronic lyrics, obsession with Satan, Dragons and medieval monsters.  Speaking of monsters, we come to Varg Vikernes, the 

Varg Vikernes

Norwegian black metal musician, writer, philosopher and religious, political and nationalist activist, arsonist and convicted murderer. Yes you read that right.  Convicted murderer and arsonist.  Killed a singer from a rival band Mayhem for personal and political reasons.   Varg is Burzum, a symphonic black metal band from Norway.  I wonder what Varg thinks of the Norway shootings, where all the children were killed by a madman.  Nothing would surprise me.   What did surprise me was the beauty of the music that comes from this racist, anti-semetic murderer.
Check out Jeg Faller by Burzum from the album Fallen: 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oh7BWiDSuSY


Here is the English translation:


I Am Falling
High up there I stand in time;
in the green, beautiful and warm,
strong tree crown, in white clouds,
surrounded by the beautiful and friendly few.

I am falling.
All the way down.

High up there I stand in time;
on the top of the world tree's crown.

From high up there I fall from time;
down into the bottomless, empty and timeless.

The tree's rind changes in the fall.
Branches and boughs, leaves and nuts,
rush by me in tremendous speed.
The roots and the ground comes nearer.

My time disappears to somethwere else.

Into death, from death.
Into life, from life.
Downwards and across the river
without a source.

Into darkness, from darkness;
into cold, from cold.
Through time, from time;
to where the deities smile.

I drink from the river of forgetfulness,
row dryshod across the river of hate;
sail with the wind,
to the end, beginning and meaning of the devine powers. 

Another band on my radar is Arabrot.  


Here are the lyrics to their song: 
Madonna was a whore  
We picked dirty on Mother Teresa,
... Melanie Nelson and Ofelia,
..queen Sheba!
Madonna was a whore!
Say whore!...
Marie Antoinette
Whore, Lolita!...
...Venus will never...
Madonna, Madonna was a whore!
...Venus will never...
Madonna, Madonna was a whore!
Madonna was a whore!
Madonna was a whore!
Madonna was a whore!
...Venus will never...
Bring it up Queen Marry!
Madonna, Madonna was a whore!


Their new release is called Solar Anus- how often do we hear metal bands reference Georges Bataille?

The title and part of the thematic inspiration of the album is from the french literate Georges Bataille. Like Bataille, Arabrot is fascinated by the joy and energy of unifying the high and the low, the filth and the pure, the animalistic and the divine in man. In songwriter, vocalist and guitarist Kjetil Nernes’ own words: 
Gold indicates the sun as we hail Bataille’s take on the subject of abjection. Solar Anus betokened the Golden Calf - juxtaposed between utmost evil and greater sanctity. Such as the eternal radiance of heaven or the egregious iniquities of the abyss. Or the alchemist of The Holy Mountain converting faeces into gold. 



There are many interesting links on their website too.   
http://www.disinfo.com/

One of my favourite black metal bands is a Washington state band called Wolves from the Throne Room
Winter is coming... is the line from Game of Thrones.  The game here is Wolves.  Their newest release is Celestial Lineage.  Go on You Tube and listen to an interview with their drummer.  I know, drummers should never speak.  But often they demonstrate an unlikely intelligence. 






"Who cannot live with honor must die with honor." 


As I have said a few times in this post, there is almost a classical aspect to much of the black metal sounds.  The guttural growling may be the polar opposite of opera, but their tragic songs and emotions share similar roots.  
This is how we go from Galas to Callas.   If you have been drawn to this post because you love black metal, check out Tunnel Canary, Diamanda Galas, and also Maria Callas.   


If you have not heard Maria Callas, that is a tragedy.  Below we have her singing Madame Butterfly.

Maria Callas - Madame Butterfly
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLaY2VcIEq

Madame Butterfly is the opera based on a story of love, deception, honor and death.  
Could be the theme of a death metal song.   


Angela?  Are you listening?  
Do I have the write the Death Metal opera of Madame Butterfly?  


I think I will call it Motherfucken Assault and Buttery.  Better start growling.