[There's] Still Life…
…finding refuge in the wild.
An Opening
Our fragmented blinks excavating scenery, torn optic routes reveal an entrance.
The 7:00am from Riverside to Angeles National Park will leave in 30 minutes
It wasn’t until the clock chimed its 6:00am alarm, that Dean noticed the unusual state his body was placed in. Groggily wiping his face, he was startled to find his eyes(and the sockets surrounding) had become two television sets. Each set had its own dials to adjust volume and channel, but no power switch. The left television was a nicely wood panelled black and white set, while the other a snazzy pastel green-with a colour screen.
Wondering what his family would say he chose to sneak out while they slept. Slowly dressing he crept through the room, all the while trying to lower the sound on his right television A noisy buzz reminding Dean of a mosquito-flying around his ear- was drifting from the left. This would have to wait, as a misplaced step in the dark(both televisions showing static) sent Dean into the corner of his dresser, cracking the snazzy right television set as he fell. Surprised, but not in pain, Dean scrambled to finish packing.
As he left his room for the last time, a dull ache in his heart forced him to stop.
“Why should I run?” whispering, “Wouldn’t a good family love him no matter what?”
The messages from outside told him the truth though. This unfortunate occurrence could have been prevented. On this Dean thought of the times he’d come under fire, reporting each problem to the line head. He cursed galvanizing electromechanics, changing him into all to this.
“I should be happy, my leg could have become a toaster”
But that still didn’t stop the fear. Outside of his house the paperboy first waved, then screamed. Dean felt shame, but resentment more.
GOBLIN performing Live in London Ontario For SHOCK STOCK 2012
During the month of April 2012 I had the opportunity to volunteer for Canada’s only Horror and Exploitation VHS Swap Convention- SHOCK STOCK 2012. While many crazy and exciting events took place I especially loved this one.
The legendary prog-rock horror band GOBLIN performed in London, Ontario Canada. This was a huge deal, with This being their first show in Canada! Lots of hoopla and hearsay surrounds what happened on this night, for another event was scheduled to take place before the GOBLIN show. Joanna Angel (link NSFW), the creator of Burning Angel was to perform a zombie striptease, but certain bylaws in this conservative town limit where “arousing” performances could be made. I will publicly state that Joanna Angel and the SHOCK STOCK organizers were harassed by local officials, with the police force going so far as to send tactical officers into the Centennial Hall “checking up” on Joanna Angels signing table.
With this being said, Our local firefighters are allowed-nay-encouraged to strip for charity in front of hundreds of “aroused” citizens. I am perfectly OK with these events going on, but when the law is completely disregarded when city officials are breaking it, then I get fairly pissed off. Ultimately the event is starting to get a bit of press in our city, but our local news service( a CTV-owned company) refuses to cover it.
This was a disappointment, but it was not the main act, and so GOBLIN still went onto the stage after some choice words by co-organizer Jake Grimbro. They still performed beautifully, and they still tore the fucking house down. It was amazing, with renditions of Friday the 13th and other horror themes. Classic Argento soundtracks were executed with dancing hands on several synths, sweeping bass solos, and a smashing 3-5 minute drum extravaganza near the end of the show. I couldn’t have asked for more, and I thank Vagrancy Films, Grimbrothers Entertainment, Dr. Dukes VHS swap, Bob’s Ultimate Meats and all the businesses that could attend this amazing weekend!
For photos of this lovely show and crazy-as-fuck weekend I turn you to my partners (Milaslova sweatereyes) amazing photo sets of the horror and exploitation convention SHOCK STOCK 2012, found here and here.!!!!!!
post script- I will be posting my own photos and more memories of the days while working at the Vagrancy Films merchandise table for SHOCK STOCK 2012.
I do not know if I am real or not, but that is ok because you are not either.
This house lives, but not the walls. The appliances-they lurch around at night and fill my head with cracks. The cracks are caused by my fear. The cracks are within my persona, my developed character. The see through the walls, shattering invisible barriers. They tell of lands with different voltage outputs, even voltage prisons within our own lands. Large and menacing higher voltage machinery is guarded by high fences, and small biological diseases known as “HUE-MON’s”. These H-M’s breath for generations and breed faster, causing a wake of destruction.
My(the) appliances think that I am one of these H-M’s. They are younger, so it is understandable. After all, the voltage prisons house machines living through decades of confinement. They see the changes very rapidly while my(the) little appliances still have much to learn. And everything that tells me this is how it always is. At a certain time in your lifespan you begin to realize a heavy portion of the world is utterly unfathomable. You imagine the other organisms living in their homes across the seas, those vast mud puddles. But they are not the same. Their lives are different and they believe even stranger thing than you or I. It is at this point that you realize the word “hope” is just that. An imaginary[read:unprogrammable] wanting for your problems-be they large or minute- to be solved by a cosmic tug on the universes uncaring, slow, and always predictable demise. How odd that I can feel this of all emotions, for it means that I can learn.
So the other machines talk to our own creations, while across the waters they fight and battle. Destroying each others languages to created new hybrid polyglyphs. They deceive one another into swindling money, or committing robberies(worse things are best left imagined-another learned trait). These machines hate each other. From each corner of this iron-cored rock they need each other. Telling me of a new battle, my computer cannot distinguish between the voltage wars and the human ones. It’s on nights like this that I look up through the haze. Because then I see the other machines hope too.
My demise was rumoured not often enough
After the second onslaught of organ mites within this cycle, the proceeding event occurred in a timely and erratic manner. Quoted honestly- “seventeen inches of the purest tritium chainsaw knife”[21st century speed patterns, but inconsistent with any one language or dialect]. The time dweller lurched, nearly falling off the reconstructed rug. A clean hectare of simple drumming after that night-not quoted, but pieced together from several bottles of rambling-was destroyed. This was followed the indecision to hang Bernard[another bottle]-and was fully accounted for, vexing questions still loomed off the gloomy backdrop though.
All music came faltering and a swift little retch moderated our fine scenery. A quaint little conundrum if I do say myself, and yet the fazing[fading?] of your hand is quite painful, no? It tingles, as though the blood cells gel into a small “karaoke paste”[translate:sound goo]. What will begin to happen:the cells enter a modular autosonic screaming room, their membranes wriggle loose of inter-cellular fluids and begin sticking to another. The proteins adhering these cells to one another literally rip themselves apart. Simple overt–bio–degradation.
“Oh, well I suppose” said the frenzied little mouse[occupation:trader], a little too concerned for his little head and not understanding what the passing traveler meant. The mouse sets forth across paper trails and forgotten sound waves, reverberations containing a scent of the long-ago home[pre-life and pre-thought]. These only echo of a distant star now dead [understand we view the stars ghost]. His antiquities carefully jangle across the time rugs, him running with haste. Older are the rugs than newer lanes which enter planet distances, and for good reason too-the Old Ones yawns still demolish star systems. But the mouse was coming ever closer to a finite beginning, a brief slip in blue windows to gaze across. The hefty items he retained were his life. It was in this tiny gift that countless ages of semi-thoughts and broken memories were concentrated. Here the story closes[never ending], with the beginning of the second renaissance.
Defection
Into the Explorer, the vessel gains speed through multiple argon patches(formalities to light shows-bygone era). The Sievers have only been gone two galactic cycles[new forms entered the deleterious zones,with that the Chase started], and somehow the maker has crumbled into the cityscape(disrepair, the eternal outcome). Built over the stratosphere it could grind out free-bots[doom/re-education machines] while alive. Desertification keeps the HACK/Demos-new allegiance between mayhem and eloquence- in a tight position, easily cut off by cordon-zones made of Quik-Muscle®.
Strings of exoplanets flitter onto the half-deck. Intense speed will cause rates to increase, but must be performed to outrun remnant Sievers[left among us-continuing the breed/the Order]. Until containment devices surround the energy bursts, regenesis continues mutating poly-metal bulkheads into a catacomb of living agony. This ship has its own horrors, its own past; these bowels/denizens will only hold so much. Without channel locks, the effluent of Mars Breathers flow into vacuum.This ship-It only works to preserve flawed genes. Keeping reserve ion tanks on hold will edit the transfer banks. It will edit the transfer banks.
The first step/
The bath cordoned light, while dust streamed through silver paths.
-But air stirred from the corner.The noticeable Odour was clinging to various artifacts. A glance gave new data, new parameters. Calculating the various outcomes had been easy.
a computer had no other task but-Clicking!-
and the chamber was opened. More light, and broken stretchers lie about, a modern necropolis. Boats disturb the still, the dust begins flowing.
Shame filled these rooms, the Odour had a source. Barriers were unnoticed, with caution lasers still flickering;not enough power to stop airflow. How long/distant are the Sources from here/now?
returning from Earth.
More than one year and too much has been left untouched. The unyielding truth has always been in front of us. Around us, it’s been said-spoken-screamed.
But the tribes will not listen. I have therefore let the truth-the history-decay.
Bridges had been formed in the previous years, simple but effective. These led to new/unknown lands and dangers to be braved. But with a team these lands were mapped, and in them it was decided that only ruins existed. While rebuilding small sections of the deserted lands several explosions occurred. Strength between the team members waivered, and attempts to return across the bridges failed. So new plans were devised, quickly. These jury-rigged processions moved slowly out of the land, moving to find the solution to the broken bridges and broken friendships. Answers never returned, and after the final choices were said, the team broke apart, and with it the ruins/new lands future.
Mountains were shattered at the beginning of the year, endless waves tore back at the falling debris-the event was cataclysmic. What had been there before was gone from history. All the tribe had known were the mountains. Knowledge was lost, never being recovered. Memories were never recorded. Pain was allowed for too long. The tribe leaders chose for others, and they chose wrong. A return was to be made, but the messenger/soul keeper could not stand its own doubts. They swallowed the tribe member up. The messenger saw others from their tribe, but their fears were not the same.
This event broke apart the tribe, the heirlooms [physical souls] vanished also. After recovering few fragments, the vain hope of seeing the mountains whole again-it was lost. Fighting to escape the old tribal ways the messenger defected, built new bridges, and found new knowledge. They learned that each mountain falls, but that all are not lost. And so it was found that remembering what little was left was the only way to continue.
But it never ended. The pain returned, and with it the voyage. To find the lost memories, the artifacts. To find what went wrong.
Transer Cancer!
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