I feel the devil outside

Video for The Stills - Don't Talk Down, Dir: Christopher Mills

from lagerfeld, with love

chanel's pre-fall 2009 collection is my pre-christmas 2008 present! so. much. russian.

no smoking

trojan beaver

This was in a gallery on Queen earlier this summer but I'm so lazy it took me until now to empty our the contents of my camera's memory card.

so i have it for whenever i want it

oh no, new scudmore

Every cloud...

At least maybe they'll be confined to one limited, easily identified and avoidable retail location?

i don't know what to read next

pick

something

for

me

autobiography of red

has lines like this in it:

"they were two superior eels at the bottom of the tank and they recognized each other like italics"

and

"meanwhile music pounded across hearts opening every valve to the desperate drama of being a self in a song"

happy usa tax day

40% of every american tax dollar paid last year went to fund the wars in iraq and afghanistan.

tarkovsky's zone, from my cellphone

about 15 feet down there's a bed of trash. a sofa. a screen door. a vase.




the water has carved itself an escape route through the ice floor.



here you come again was the only record and now its broken.



an excellent transom.




through a window brightly



"we are home!"




a stretcher, a snowbank.

picture pages, picture pages

dot


dot



dot

i have something to tell you

i just really... like you... you know?



(and i really like vanessa for showing me this site)

stillepost: time well wasted?

Don't mind the self-referential circle this link might lead you into, its still an interesting story, and something I might have had no idea about if I didn't spend so much goddamn time on an internet message board:

No OHIP for Owen!

ouchmyheart

Walking by this gaping hole on Queen was the saddest thing, today
No more Suspect Video, no more National Sound, no more Preloved. The eerie/tragic/beautiful first photo is by David Waldman, the rest are from random news sites.

le sigh

I'm like Rain Man with this video

say something

you have a stage and a captive audience, afterall




more Vivienne Westwood, less Oprah, please.

bulls on parade

Man Man is the best band I've ever seen play live. They are coming to a Lee's Palace near you on April 14th.

what's wrong with me (not a question, thx)

I have a few of the children's books that I was given by my grandparents still on my bookshelf. My grandmother, ever the intellectual elitist (might I even say snob?) insisted on buying us books that could still be considered literature, despite the fact that they were written for children. The illustrations are without a doubt art, as well. I have a beautifully illustrated anthology of Hans Christian Andersen stories, a copy of Peter and the Wolf to accompany Sergei Prokofiev's musical composition, as well as the Jacqueline Onassis-edited The Firebird and Other Russian Fairy Tales, with illustrations by the amazingly gifted Boris Zvorykin.

While I'm sure this childhood diet of incredible books has coloured my taste for the books I currently read (mainly dark and twisted things written by Eastern Europeans) I am also beginning to think they may have warped my 6 year old developing subconscious. I recently skimmed through The Firebird with a friend, who seemed somewhat horrified by the texts, and the fact that they were written for children. Here's why (accompanied by Zvorykin's beautiful drawings):

This is Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden. A child made from snow by an elderly couple who could never conceive. In this particular story, other women throw themselves into wells in jealous rages, she's dragged in front of various officiaries to defend herself against accusations of being the "other woman" and in the end, when she finally finds true love, she melts, and dies.


This is Tsarevich Ivan and Tsarevna Elena The Fair. Ivan has gone to fetch her on behalf of another Tsar, who is in love with her. Obviously and tragically, these two now fall in love (I also am easily smitten with boys who own flying grey wolves). Ivan gets stabbed by his own brother and is dead for thirty days. Elena gets kidnapped and god-knows-what by the very same brother. It ends up ok though.


This is Baba Yaga. When 8 year old Vassilissa's mother dies, her father remarries and the classic tale of the evil step mother ensues. Vassilissa is sent to ask the witch Baba Yaga for firewood. Baba Yaga eats humans and lives in a hut decorated with their bones and their fire-illuminated skulls. Vassilissa is made to be her slave with little hope of escape. I don't remember crying myself to sleep after story time but come on!





Finally, we have Maria Morevna. She gets chased back and forth across the continent by a certain Koschey the Deathless. Not an encouraging name for one's foe to have. It's basically because her boyfriend is a hapless idiot, too (he gets chopped into pieces at one point). Baba Yaga makes a cameo in this story as well, just in case your 6 year old self had managed to forget her/stop being plagued by nightmares.

I'm poor.

Send cash. Or at least buy me brunch this weekend.

yes we can

I could get cynical about this if I thought about it long enough, but my first reaction was "wow. this is goooooooooooooooooooooood."

oh! you pretty things!

scott's finished video for when lost at sea by the wooden sky:



and Video Static is a fan....

fin

I think that this is just the best. Amazing work, Scott and Lee. Just wow.

Oh, and other people like it too.

for kritty

as requested: boobs!

secondarily, my creepy obsession with vintage undergarments: revealed! sadly, the only place i've ever seen any for sale is at cabaret on queen. everything they have is beautiful and in amazing condition but priced way beyond my budget. i did pick up someone's old nightgown there this week, for 45 freaking dollars.

it's cool. i love president's choice macaroni and cheese for dinner. every night. til my next pay cheque.

artovitch

If you have iTunes you can take this virtual tour of the new exhibit, From Russia at London's Royal Academy.


More here

And also: I'd like to be a merchant prince, too please.

sunday, creepy sunday

this morning started with a virtual tour of redon, which led to rops, which led to alfred kubin, and then somehow to the arcade fire video for black mirror.

some kubin:






and one rops:

when lost at sea

wooden sky shoot:



Photos via Jess Baumung

well-done work

Is it done yet? Is it done yet? Is it done yet?
Is it done yet? Is it done yet? Is it done yet?
Is it done yet? Is it done yet? Is it done yet?

Fake Empire stills via Shots Ring Out


How about now? Now?

christmas in london

^^^could be worse!

if marie antoinette were filmed in ekaterinburg, and funded by soviets.

high school graduation photos via english russia:

today is the worst

these things are making it better








now if someone could bring me some scotch.

i take it back!

I WOULD vote for Putin!










Since it would mean losing my job, if I didn't.

kleptocracy!

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck I'm a COMMUNIST!

Russia's commies are poised to come in second place in the next election, after Putin's journalist-killing United Russia Party.

With the Russian Liberal party barely in existence anymore, the country has basically become a two-party state. And if I were a Russian citizen, there is NO WAY I'd vote for Putin, who's suspected to attempt to try to hold onto power next spring, despite the fact that his legal term as president would be exceeded if he were to do so.

Putin has restructured the electoral system in Russia, doing away with constituencies with plurality voting systems, and raising the required percentage for getting into the State Duma from 5% to 7%, making it more difficult for independents to be elected. The only party presenting any real opposition are the Communists, with about 1/6th of Russian voters behind them.

When asked if Russia was still a democracy, one official shrugged and said "Not really."

I'm going to read Bend Sinister again, in solidarity.

:icon_ew:

so.

the other day i kind of got locked on set. for about 8hrs. everyone was supposed to be back by lunch. but they didn't get back til dinner. it was fine, there was work to do. but there wasn't any food. some granola bars, but i hate that shit.

so on my way home i got take-out at fresh. i was starving and i would have eaten there, but i needed to get home to let the dog out. so i did something i really rarely ever do: i decided to eat while walking to/riding home on the streetcar. i am really not a public eater. i think its gross. i'm uncoordinated, i spill, i drop, i trip when not completely focussed on walking. but i was bordering on a hunger-rage so it had to be done.

anyway, i'm trying to be all prepared in case the streetcar comes, so i've got dinner in one hand, i'm holding the streetcar ticket between my teeth, my purse is over my shoulder and there is a hot coffee in my other hand. usually this would spell disaster in the form of scalding (me or someone else), but it seems to be going ok. i'm eating my dinner, i'm only spilling a little, no one is looking at me in disgust. awesome.

then the streetcar comes. i get on. i can't find my ticket. its not in any of my pockets, its not in my purse, its not in my hand. i had another one in my wallet so not really a big deal.... except for the the fact that i think i fucking ATE a streetcar ticket. sick.

scott should be directing...uhhh... basically my whole life

sean should be directing comic book hero action movies

pls. note zombie costumes. ok thanks.

iLike

finally, a laptop I can watch videos on!




and



and



and one more that I can't post til Monday...

nuit blah

after last year's experience of traipsing through the rainy streets to see sights like an eerie pit of fog on u of t's philosophers walk, a girl in a glass coffin on queen, and a pretty decent light installation in trinity bellwoods, i had some high hopes for this year's nuit blanche. i set off on my bike around 7:30 feeling like it was christmas eve and excited for the exhibits i'd read about.

i was really interested in the recreation of the cold war bomb shelter in the architecture building at u of t... but it didn't really hold up. also excited for event horizon, which was pretty amusing, but a bit too precious. deeparture was promising in my mind, as well, but all i took away from it were the idiotic and LOUD comments of the people in the theatre, who didn't even bother to sit, but just stood in the aisles, saying things like "wolves hunt in packs" (thanks, genius), and "this isn't even a movie! its just filming animals!" (die). i really would have loved to see the ghost station, as it promised the creepiness i was seeking, but when we got there, the line was over an hour long, and the idea of sharing the space with suburban yuppies and their off-spring kind of killed the beauty in it, for me.

trinity bellwoods made me feel like i was wandering through a mall, with scotia bank tents everywhere. the aquarium window at queen and dovercourt was pretty, and the giant locust at lamport stadium provided us with some delirious 3am laughs, watching people hurl their bodies into it, thinking that it would support their weight. no!

i couldn't help but compare the entire experience to a night earlier in the summer, when there was the most beautiful performance art undertaken in the abandoned monastery on major street. i still think about how great and inspiring that night was. i'll go out for nuit blanche next year to give it another chance, but the crowds and lack of inspiration in the work this year, kind of made me long for the time when art was an inaccessible pastime for the elite. sigh.

there is no, this is no

Harold is coming by later. Two days ago, when I was sitting on the fire escape, I saw something fall through one of the cracks in the metal slats that make up the floor of the thing. I had no idea what it was, only that it was small, metallic, and not my phone, which I'm supremely paranoid about accidentally tossing over the edge.

I had completely forgotten about whatever it was that had fallen, until I passed Harold in the stairway today. He was talking with the superintendent about some repairs he wanted done in his apartment (my sink has no hot water tap and parts of my refrigerator are held together with duct tape).

Harold speaks with his chin tucked into his chest and jerks his head upwards at every pause. I think about pigeons ever time we talk. Now the pigeon is behind me on the stairs, cooing my name. I don't hear him until I'm in the courtyard and I turn and see him coming, doing an awkward half-run-shuffle towards me and the dog. He moves like he's performing some kind of reverse puppetry. Like all of his appendages are attached to strings, only he's the one pulling, against some motionless puppeteer.

He found the thing I forgot I had lost: Ela's dog tags. They are in his apartment and he will bring them over later.

I entertain myself by imagining that I'm dead and this building is some kind of purgatory that I share with Harold. I never see anyone else here. Its Harold coming home with groceries as I'm going out for the evening. Harold is holding the door as I'm coming home from work. Harold finds Ela's tags. Harold is dropping off his rent cheque at the same time I am, two days late.

I guess there are some others, but there are so few that its kind of eerie. Patrick lives down the hall and doesn't like it when I let Ela pee on the lawn. Alfredo has two or maybe three scruffy looking children and a wife who only speaks Yugoslavian. I hear a lot of rap music coming from 201, and there used to be an old man on the first floor, but I saw his kids cleaning out the apartment a few weeks ago. Thats it.

So purgatory is a spacious apartment building in Parkdale, with a view of the lake. I think that it could be worse.

westlands

i am feeling better. thank you. you are lovely boys.







xo

harold

i've never lived in an apartment building before. it's weird. your relationships with your neighbours are intense. i guess because you're all in such close proximity to each other. i moved into this four story walk-up about a month ago. it's probably around 70 years old, u-shaped, pretty, and crumbling. there are maybe 40 units. i love it.

harold lives on the 3rd floor. he reminds me of seth, this comic book author i met once. he's awkward, far more than i am. this amuses me. i have seen him in his underwear, as he frequently cooks dinner with his kitchen door open to the fire escape, which i frequently climb down to get ice cream sandwiches from the variety store across the alley.

yesterday, when i got home from work, i was in the stairwell and dropped one of the suitcases i was carrying on my own foot. i might have let out a small yelp. harold was going up the stairs from the laundry room to his apartment. he heard me and stopped on the stairs. asked if i needed help. i said i was fine. he carried my suitcase up to the fourth floor for me while telling me that he lived on the third floor, just below me.

i've been worried about whoever it was that was living in the apartment one floor down from me since i have a tendency to blare music and stomp around in heels very late at night/very early in the morning. so i asked him if i was loud. he asked me "in what way?" wearing a suggestive sneer that seemed highly out of character when juxtaposed with his unassuming, pot-bellied, comb-overed, resident-hermit appearance.

we'll probably get married.

this just in: cops: still dumber than the rocks they want you to throw

Montebello Police force desperately seeks wardrobe stylist, IQ above 80 a plus!

Like really, change your fucking boots. Duh.

the same ghost every night

sigh. she is an old woman. seems nice. always in the kitchen. very short! ela has yet to warm up to her...

and now i can never leave

holy shit i'm really loving parkdale.

i'm across the street from the fucking lake. i didn't think that was possible without living in some awful condo in queens quay. i have a fire escape/patio. i live basically right above stella luna and down the street from so many freshly made perogies, both of which i love. the variety store across the street has the best ice cream sandwiches. film buff is about 3 minutes away. i found the greatest table in the alley yesterday. my roommate came with an awesome zombie-child painting for the living room. i have a real bed again. and two closets. the buzzer works. ghandi and she said boom both have stores here. basically, why the fuck did i ever live anywhere else?

better clean up my act

the wife gets back wednesday...

yeah... i don't really like kids either

So this bi-partisan resolution that is apparently polling at 91% approval among the American public will be vetoed by Bush if it passes:

sorry, your child isn't worth 61 cents to me

Bush doesn't want a 61 cent Federal tax added on to cigarette purchases (with the revenue going towards health insurance for the 9 million uninsured children in the US) b/c he's "philisophically" opposed to it. Brilliant. For a nation who had to have the title of a Harry Potter movie altered from "The Philosopher's Stone" to "The Sorcerer's Stone" because people didn't know what a philosopher was, this is basically a perfect strategy to completely mystify the public and quell any protest.

Why do I continue to be shocked by the things this man does?

dance party! (help me buy groceries pls)

I smashed in a Honda. I bought it a new door. Now I'm like, 3rd World poor. Come to my party!

The lurid details

blood, dirt, chinese philosophy

on my way to isis' this dog came out of nowhere in the park, off the leash, on the dirt path by crawford. totally took me and my bike out. and i'm lying in the dirt and my bike is on top of me and the owner is apologizing and the dog is barking. this nice lady is patting my hair and telling me about the I Ching and how i must have a lot going on in my life because i'm a moving target or at least that is what the I Ching would call me. i may have hit my head. then eric from enterprise rent a car brings me a glass of water. i can't hold the water because my hands are shaking so the ice cubes are just clashing around violently in the cup. actually it was a wine glass. eric has two big diamond earrings and he's come out of this house beside the park where there are about 8 teenage boys yelling at him to "get her number, dog!" he once took two days off my car rental fees because i hated the neon i rented from them so much. he rides my bike around to make sure it isn't broken. the I Ching lady takes me to her house and cleans dirt out of my cuts and gives me tea. the dog owner knows cameron and elyse because they have the same breed of dog. the dog isn't hurt. she lets me pet her.

i've had enough crashes for awhile.

anyway, i think this is what the I Ching lady meant:

hi honey, how was your day?

oh you know, it was cool. just kinda went to work. made you well... the most beautiful thing ever. you know the usual stuff. wrote you a love letter and turned it into a film. its not much, just you know, its basically perfect and touching and gorgeous. no big deal. just another day at the office.

uhhhhh... yay china?

This is completely and exactly how I would deal with white collar crime *if* I were a dictator (I AM TOTALLY A DICTATOR!). None of this Scooter Libby shit for corporate actors or politicians who show complete disregard for human life. I don't generally support the death penalty, but for the exception of people who show a premeditated and calculated pattern of behavior that basically amounts to murder, like the douchebag referred to above.