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Monday, November 18, 2013

A Break-Up Letter to Marilyn Manson

Hey, Manson. Come on in. Have a sit-down.

Look, I know we go back. Way back, to the 90s back. Mom bought me Antichrist Superstar for Christmas, and I loved it. You weren't my favourite - Nine Inch Nails won my heart first, but you tried to woo me away. Hell, the Guns, God and Government tour was a pretty good argument for "but he's a better LIVE performer."

Speaking of, I saw you in Vancouver this year. Every time you humped the floor, I thought you just really, really wanted a nap. You played for an hour and fucked off, and yes, apparently you were ill but mostly I think that it's the fact that you're fucking forty-five or something now. Don't get me wrong, I had fun. I laughed a lot. But I was also sure to point out to anyone I told about the concert that I'd gotten in for free.

I didn't know any of your new songs. I tuned out from your career about the time you wrote your "I broke up with Dita von Teese" record. Then I heard you were dating the LITTLE GIRL FROM PRACTICAL MAGIC and I went, "oh, ew." I also felt old since I realised the little girl from Practical Magic was old enough to make poor dating decisions. But that's not your fault.

Anyway. Pretty indifferent, it what I want to say.

Then the other day at work while cruising the musical waves on 8 Tracks, I thought I heard you in the background of some shitty song. So I checked the track and yup, there you were. Singing with Avril Lavigne.

Avril, Manson. Avril.

I messaged my sister, who agreed that, yes, you'd finally reached "skeezy old guy" status.

You know, once upon a time it looked like you were gonna wipe the floor with your old pal Trent Reznor. You were doing shit for Resident Evil while Trent was doing terrible songs for Tomb Raider. (Ugh, Deep.) You were the big time shock rocker.

But now... Trent looks like someone's uncle, yeah, but maybe that's because he's a friggin dad now. His kids are cute, his wife is talented and smoking hot, and he's got fucking awards for his musical scores.

I'm just saying... I have tickets to NIN on Thursday.  They weren't free.

We'll always have Mechanical Animals, but it's time for me to stop making secret excuses for you.

And take some fucking naps dude, seriously.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Mainstream.

Today I read this excellent article by Gordon, and just as I was nodding my head in agreement with him I read that Urban Outfitters is selling prayer candles. "No way," said I, and opened another tab to see for myself. Yup. They certainly are.

And they're really fuckin' cute.

"I don't know how to feel about this," I told my sister via gchat, and sent her a link. "Holy shit, they're really cute," she shot back. So today after work we decided to see if they had made it to the Canadian stores. Yup, they sure had.

 I bought the set.

...I don't think that's what I was supposed to take away from that article.

(Nor is it the only thing I did, but that was a funnier line, so shut up.)

 Hipster occultism. You know, I've noticed for a while that fashion has been flashing back to the 90s (my sister and I like to play "sixteen-year-old me would LOVE this" when we shop) and not that long ago I was musing on the resurgence of witchy TV, so this really doesn't shock or appall me. It feels like we've just hit another point of recycling, and as was pointed out over on Rune Soup this seems to happen pretty frequently with magical currents. And as much as we like to roll our eyes at the new and hip incarnations, there's no denying that you wind up with people who are attracted for the aesthetic and stay for the rest of their lives.

Beside the prayer candles in Urban Outfitters, on Granville Street, there was a copy of Raymond Buckland's Book of Spirit Communications. THAT surprised me, because wtf it's Raymond Buckland in Urban Outfitters. It's not even like they updated it with a moustache on the cover. But here's the thing - how many people will buy that book, read it, and actually USE it? How many will do so more than once? Probably not a lot. So what? A little occult dabbling is fairly normal. But there will also be a few people who read the book, test it out, and go hunting for similar material.

Everyone has a starting point. For a lot of people my age it was The Craft, or Charmed. It was the comic books of Alan Moore and Grant Morrison. There's always an in, and from there you find your way with a lot of trial and error.

Who am I to judge the chick with too-big non-prescription glasses sitting in her crappy apartment bedroom, praying for love or fortune while her roommates slam PBR in the living room and argue about the merits of vinyl records? Nobody. Because when I was her age, I was in my OWN crappy apartment, with my own equally silly clothes and music, fucking wishing I could find premade spell candles instead of making my own out of shitty dollar store materials. 

So. Are these candles ridiculous? Yes.

...but they're really fuckin' cute. 




(Note that the candles are not in any way dressed - it is simply the glass that is decorated. So, yes, they're totally a rip-off for the price in terms of candle composition. On the other hand, I've seen truly atrocious scented candles go for an even higher price, and they're not marketed as either magical or aesthetically pleasing, soooo.... dunno.)

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Stripping Down

Definitely getting colder out there, and I am getting ready for a break.

Work is a madhouse, and when my contract is up I think I really will just say no to any offers of extension. November is going to be a lot of late nights at the office, though, and even less of a social life than normal.


I've noticed the aesthetic shift in my personage that began when I cut my hair short has continued, resulting in a simplification of my wardrobe and personal grooming. This streamlining has also been manifesting in less immediately obvious ways. My diet is much like my wardrobe - key pieces with little touches to make it enjoyable and unique to the day. The exercise routine stays basic and flexible enough to allow life to flow easily. In burlesque, I've tried to better optimise my time on the Chicken board of directors, and to devote energy to routines and projects that I feel will better me as a performer. Not a lot of room for fluff, basically.

Ditto magical practice. It's time to rip stuff down to the basics yet again, and make sure that shit is in order. This means meditation. Jesus, I hate meditation. Hate it, hate it, HATE it. Gotta do it more regularly, though. It means a proper offering schedule. It means some good cold walks along the beach in the dead of fucking winter. It means running under the moon, and a lot of careful listening without fear.

This winter is going to be a good one. Stark, brutal, and good for cutting down to the bone.

The author, thinking deep thoughts/watching Hoarders.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Madame Sparkletits

Photoshoot going on in my living room.

SO much blood and glitter.

MoA

Got knocked down with a flu over Halloween. Like an idiot I figured a day of rest would fix it, and so I went out on the weekend and then wound up even sicker, resulting in two days off work spent sleeping and groaning.

I never claimed to be terribly bright, people.

Thankfully I was feeling decent this weekend, because my father was in town visiting with his wife. It was lovely to see them both; as an adult, time spent with your parents is all the more enjoyable because you can dispense with some of the bullshit and you can all relax. Part of our visit we spent at the Museum of Anthropology at UBC, which is a place dad used to take us when we were children and remains one of my favourite parts of Vancouver.

There was a lot of new stuff from Papua New Guinea, including a series of contemporary collaborations with Haida artists. My sister and I enjoyed the masks most of all, as we usually do. My favourite part of the museum besides the totem poles in the main area is the First Nation mask area, where there are beautiful pieces from the Kwakwaka'wakw - masks used in the Hamatsa rituals depicting huge, man-eating birds. 

The artwork of the Pacific Northwest indigenous people is stunning. No matter how many times I see it, I am always struck by how graphic it is, with bold blacks and a brilliant use of negative space. This is true in the carvings as well, as you can see simply by walking through the main hall of the museum. The poles there have the designs carved in so deeply that shadows pool dark enough to create contrast. 

I grew up with this one.

Maybe that's where my love of heavy inks came from. And perhaps my limited palettes? To this day I'll avoid more than a handful of colours in my art if I can get away with it. 


Speaking of art... I'd hoped to enter a Canadian graphic novel anthology contest deal, and I'd planned to collaborate with my friend Andrew. The deadline, however, is December 1st and realistically with my work schedule I don't think I'll be able to do it. This gives me the sads. 

Still, there's always other chances. 

I'm pretty sure I had something else to write about here, but I went for a run today after over a week of not doing so, and I am fucking exhausted. I think I may just lounge until my sister crashes my apartment for a photoshoot. (My couch, it is photo worthy.)