1. |
weather beaten
04:09
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The painting dries and wrinkles, the gutters overflow and a maritime morning pours in through the window. Last year at this time one would be nearly downing in all the grey. This year things are easier; cling to the belief that things are getting better every year; float passively. (During yesterday's darker hours) a porthole shaped window looked on as the parking lot below overflowed and a lighthouse beat out its nightly waltz in an eerily pacific serenade. Behind double panes the first and third beats lit up two young hands at the kitchen table dripping brush rinse on a water colour. As the colours bled together in a monochromatic agreement a busy mind wondered if the rain outside was blurring peoples' lives together and if they were happy? Then the ocean breathed a pneumatic reminder through the crack under the door- that this is a five months test of constant kettle whistles, oversleeping, sore throats and cheaper ferries teasing last summers meagre savings. And on a day like today when the rest of us are sick of walking in circles with wet socks on, it seems like such a sensible idea: sneak off these slippery streets, desiccate ourselves into dry-salted preserves and climb up on the basement shelf with the jars of jam and applesauce. It's a comfortable place to sleep through this savage season.
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2. |
of things unproved
03:33
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With nana's knitted blanket and tea in a mug made at a beginners' pottery class, on a smelly couch ($25 at the WIN), she stares in silence at the ceilings cracked corners. The family that lived here before was crazily devoted to laughing and loving. Before them, pioneers lived off the land and left their souls in the sand. The room is telling her stories and for an instant while listening to the murmurs she forgets just how lonely she's become. It rains again; she'll drown in her faults: broken porcelain plates, many missed birthdays and all her awkwardness, one family she threw away and doesn't call, not even on Christmas. At her feet is a box of old war wounds: records, love letters, and flowers (pressed between the pages of her favourite books and small moments her mind won't let be). Memory will defeat our old surfaced dreams like summers fade our favourite shoes. This city cackles as the sun breaks the horizon and no one wants to leave their beds. Of all the things to believe like the universe, a little man in the sky, moon's tug-o-war with the tide, mountains meant to be climbed, hills rolled down, jeans grass stained and ripped. All the ways we find to come home. All the places there are to belong to. The heart of the city never skips a beat, are we destined to slavery? She held her faith in the wrong place, those lines of angst mark her mistake.
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3. |
ichthyology
03:13
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Feed the line and sit back for bites - seems like the world has been on steady troll since Grade 5! I'll take what I need and put the rest back to swim free, but this is where the confusion rests, the myth behind our "better half." I've seen whole lives spend trying to reel in a dead fish. Flopping on deck, gills can't breathe the thin air, and I can't suck back the thought that I could end up on a dinner plate by believing programmed fate, like there's one person who can make my picture complete!? The only thing to complete is the food chain. This species struggles to survive? No, to lead fulfilling lives! There will be no sole reward when stomachs fold and hearts grow cold and families built on this fear of solitude dissolve and the washed up victims of a 20-year-old mistake will spend their whole lives searching for someone else when they've got themselves.
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4. |
a measure of disquiet
04:08
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5. |
night cruising
07:33
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Andre's Last Chance Victoria, British Columbia
punk band from Victoria BC 1999-2002
Leigh Pharis - guitar/vocals
Jessie Snow - drums/vocals
Amy Choy - bass
Christa Reynolds - vocals
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