attraction/repulsion

counts & measures

there are few words more pleasurable than collective nouns.

consider:

a trace of hares
a richness of martens
an implausibility of gnus
a troubling of goldfish
a business of ferrets
an unkindness of ravens
a clash of bucks ('swhat i need!)
a trip of dotterel
a watch of nightingales
a crash - or even a stubbornness - of rhinos
a memory of elephants
a stare of owls

but what about octopuses (or octopi or octopii)? a friend of mine recently told me that there is nothing in the world more slippery than a baby octopus. he knew it from experience. so what is the measure word for those? perhaps there isn't one because they typically don't congregate? maybe the business of socializing is best left to furry, frisky things with fewer arms. but what if these baby octopii are accidentally lumped together, like say, if they're caught in a net? and it's your job to untangle the little sluggers? how do you communicate what you're trying to save?

"an oily medusa of baby octopii" doesn't quite roll off the tongue - but wait - what about "a greasy tongue"? a big ole greasy tongue of 'em? no?

how about...
a wonder-wiener? (you know, those toys that forever slip from your grasp)
an idea?
a slope?
reason?

apparently the octopus has three hearts - numbers one and two are used for pumping blood through the gills. the third is used for loving.

food for goths

What do Goths eat? Say you wanted to throw a party, an event to celebrate that special brand of doom and you wanted to invite a handful of your closest gothic friends. How would you meet their culinary desires?

Allow me to clarify that when I say “gothic food” I’m aiming for something broader than cakes shaped like coffins or drinks served in chalices. I’m referring to the essence of the term - the gothic brings together things that were intended to stay forever apart: life and death, the innocent and the corrupt, technology and the human body, asparagus and wine. It’s generally agreed among wine aficionados that asparagus is the one food that doesn’t pair. Not with whites, not with reds, nothing between. Your gothic friends, however, want nothing more than to see a plate of these greens next to a nice long-stemmed glass of shiraz, preferably not in season.

Does the Goth require an appetizer? A capital-g Goth would never spoil their appetite by consuming a ‘dip’ with a baby carrot. A jelly-mold salad as a first course however? A resounding yes.

They say the way to a Goth’s heart is through the heart of something else, something like a medium-sized animal. Goths do love a good organ meat - kidneys, brains and livers will do in a pinch.

Yes to seafood – the ocean is arguably gothic: mysterious, temperamental, epic and full of death. Bring on the bouillabaisse, the lutefisk, the sharkfin soup, the turtle stew, anything endangered is top of the list. Let’s not forget that the Goth is villain first, forever seeking unsustainable, fetishistic, irresponsible fun.

You know how they've added a fifth basic taste – umami –to the lineup? Well, guess what? There’s now a sixth and it’s, yes, gothic. It’s a flavour best described as criminal and moody and found in foods like testicles, camel humps, sea cucumbers, pigeon pies. Never oats, broccoli, almond butter or oranges.

What about dairy? Quark? Only if prepared in a goat stomach. Would a Goth drink milk? Generally speaking, Goths avoid anything derived from the udder. The mammary however, is another matter. The Goth is probably busy turning several small wheels of human milk cheese in some dank basement right now. Maybe even yours? Now you’re wondering if I’m referring to the basement or the breastmilk…and I won’t clarify because there’s nothing more delicious than a perfectly aged, salted, cured, slow-cooked mystery.

Risotto? No, texture’s all wrong.

Consider an ice-sculpture of a werewolf as a centerpiece for your table.

Tongue? Absolutely – preferably still attached to the head. Goths need their food to be deliberate, staged, intentional, stylized. Think live-sushi on chopsticks that are two feet long.

It’s all about exquisitely high production values – so long as the production doesn’t involve the lifting of a gothic finger. But if you're willing to do all the work, consider lifting a steamed & braised bear's paw. It's a sure-fire winner.

Goths enjoy desserts too but only the sickeningly sweet, exceptionally tall or skillfully prepared. The meringue, the mousse, the croquembouche.

In terms of late-nite snacks, pomegranates, cherries or anything that stains will suffice. Except beets. Additionally, the Goth does appreciate a chocolate bar from time to time, Snickers in partickers, really satisfies, especially one obtained from the 7/11 in the wee hours.

où es-tu / where are you?

If you suddenly snap back into consciousness after an extended leave of absence - some sort of low-level coma, deep drunken slumber or average cheese-dream - and you’re not sure where you are, there’s an easy way to test if you’re in your bed, at home, in Montreal, with this little experiment:

1. Turn on the light and scratch a little bit of paint off any wall in the apartment– enough to reveal the last six coats applied. Among these layers, you may find one (or all!) of the following three colors: royal blue, forest green or bright orange. Here, let me visually assist you.

2. Now scratch a little paint of the opposing wall in the same room. If one of these walls is a second of the three aforementioned shades, you almost certainly - but not definitely -are in Montreal. At this stage it’s still possible that you’ve have stumbled upon the place where jesters go to die or the inside of a parrot’s skull. The determining factor lies in the ceiling so go ahead, climb on up. If beneath its rough-n-tumble, smoke-stained surface (some would describe it as sexy) you find the third and final colour, well then voila: you’re positively in Montreal.

I’ve been thinking long and hard why the entire population of this city at one point or another chose to minimize their five square feet of living space by selecting this singularly vile combination. Is it that nothing says zest (cringe) and vigor (ew) like that particularly obnoxious orange shade of orange? I’ve heard it argued that orange and blue may be complementary colors – in play-dough or freezies – and forest green was tossed in as a rebellious twist. Maybe everyone was just trying to match their entire apartment to that bedspread their boyfriend’s mom picked up from Zellers in grade 9 – I know you know the one (cuz you still have it). Maybe it’s a tribute to the metro line colors? I can't figure it out. I've had way too much vodka.

beer.....chocolate.....ravenous muse.....: day six of "the wild rose"

these books taste better than the millet i've been eating.

talking to you about love is like taking a trip to the zoo

woody

at the ladies bruncheon, meghan's place, enn dee gee.

february 4, 1912

franz reichelt, the flying tailor.
an inventor killed by his own invention 98 years ago today.

a week of caged animals.

muzzle at deutsches historisches museum
birdcage at sloerm cafegiraffes at the knie kinderzoo
bizarre aquarium/elevator/bar in the radisson hotel lobby

plenty of fish in the aquarium to reflect on.
at oberseestr. 135, jona

on the walk from jona to rappi. (ch)

der königlichen spürhund aka the regal beagle

my siblings and i learned everything we know about the english language from cartoons and sitcoms. three's company was a particular favorite. below is a babelfished script excerpt - probably fairly close to what it sounded like to me as a 9 year-old.

"ascent and gloss" is the new "rise and shine".


Janet: Young one, this it, this does, really does it!
Chrissy: I would have never believed this from Jack!
Janet: Oh Chrissy, why not? It' s over time, which you, Jack realised, is not holy! He' s received the same desires as each normal man.
Chrissy: What' s, which assumed, in order to mean?
Janet: He' s an animal.
Chrissy: He, wait you one minute, Janet. Aren' t we over-reacting?
Janet: They mean that this is good with you?
Chrissy: Of course not! I mean that the last thing, which we need is another girl…
Janet: Quite!
Chrissy: But still….
Janet: Still which?
Chrissy: . .he lives here.
Janet: Well in such a way we do.
Chrissy: And it pays a third of the rent. And that is ITS bedroom.
Janet: Yeah yeah.
Chrissy: And Janet, I don' t more than you do in such a way, but it is Jack' S-life and we' No right received VE to obstruct.
Janet: You' , I accept Rerecht.
Chrissy: And you remember, what happens between two advising adults in private lives of their own head…
Janet: Chrissy….that' S-Zustimmungerwachsene.
Chrissy: [Roles their eyes] I know, but first they must confer or otherwise them wouldn' t know, what they agreed too!
Janet: [Laugh] you came me really there.
Chrissy: So which you do, set to say we the whole thing from our understanding and you clear up this confusion.
Janet: , We knew Oh in addition. [Janet begins to clear up]
Chrissy: Who it he' think; s received inside there with it?
Janet: I don' t know and I don' T-care… does you been supposed it' s everyone, which we know? Sylvia!
Chrissy: Who' s Sylvia?
Janet: Sylvia! The Blondine! The Blondine with the sport car!
Chrissy: I saw its last week. It drove around with its top side down.
Janet: [Keuchen] well I bet that she was!
Chrissy: Case on, waits one minute! It was its party, why we are clearing up confusion?
Janet: Oh you' Rerecht. I' VE had enough.
Chrissy: And I' VE had enough.
Janet: And I think Jack' s had enough, let' s go. [both go into its bedroom]
Janet: Well loverboy, ascent and gloss!

before & after

holy union.

marzipan and poppy seeds. together at last.

shining amour and less reflective loves

taken at the german history museum (in berlin).
give yourself 5 hours if you visit.

white object next to strange find

wish i were gift laden

new year.

secrets in a rugless home

i've been thinking a lot about the people across the street lately. particularly the kid who lives in the lower right-hand window. that kid has some very interesting cleaning techniques - shoving all their toys behind the curtain like that. i bet the rest of the room is squeaky. i can't help but imagine the day all those things tumble and crash with all the subtlety of a trainwreck, probably some time in their late twenties.

a few seconds after i took this picture, the remaining blinds in the window above dropped. i guess i'm not the only one watching and wondering. now i feel like a big old creep.

christmas crush.

mise-en-abîme

a picture i took:

and a picture i took of a postcard i found of someone taking the same picture i took: