It's about time, but it is now up–Head Wound podcast #6. In this podcast we discuss the TV pilot episode of Flashpoint, a SWAT-team style show. Flashpoint is set and shot in Canada and stars Enrico Colantoni as the head of the Strategic Response Unit (SRU). Despite being filled with a few too many buff boys, we both agree that Flashpoint has some real surprises that make it a show to keep an eye on. We further discussed the chatter that Flashpoint, written by Canadian authors, may have emerged in response to last falls US Writers Guild strike. Given the success of this first episode (8.23 million viewers in the U.S. and 1.11 million in Canada), CBS is lurking around looking for more imported shows. Yet more outsourcing and potential union-busting tactics? For more information on Flashpoint:
Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sniper_(TV_series); IMDb: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1059475/; IMBd News: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1059475/news#ni0264599.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Dislocations
I have begun to worry and thought I'd put my concerns out into the darkness of the internet. For isn't a problem shared a problem cut in half?
So here's my trouble: you know when you suddenly enter darkness or are thrown into pitch black, that, all you can see is blackness? But, if you wait, and shapes begin to appear? You begin to see the outlines of things—chairs, lamps, bookshelves or, if coutside, garbage bins or the boats by the water. This return of vision, night vision I suppose it is, calms your pounding heart. It gives you a sense of orientation, control and power that you can now negotiate your way through the area.
But lately, when I am in my own darkened rooms or other inky places, I've noticed flickers, shapes of things that are not apart of the normal landscape. They do not evolve out of the darkness into chairs, garbage cans even rats. In fact, they do not evolve at all. No matter how much I blink my eyes or command them to focus, my orbs refuse to bring me clarity. As if this wasn't fretful enough. But what I find even more worrisome is that lately even in the bright of day I am seeing flickers of forms, movements of some things dark, unclearly shapened, things that should not be there in my rooms or even in the questionable environs I find myself in.
I will be honest. I am heavily medicated. I've wondered if this visual aberration wasn't a side effect of one of the various neurological drugs I must take. But the seeing of things not there is not listed in the copious side effects on the small-print inserts that come with my prescriptions. When I mentioned my concern to Dr. Panchek, he barely glanced up from my chart. He merely snapped it shut and moved the conversation on to how I liked my new abode.
"Rats," I said. "There are rats in the alley outside my window."
"And how do you know they are there?" Dr. Panchek asked. I knew what he meant. How could I tell the difference between real and imagined was what he was getting at.
"By the bites," I said and left it at that.
to be continued...
Wickie
So here's my trouble: you know when you suddenly enter darkness or are thrown into pitch black, that, all you can see is blackness? But, if you wait, and shapes begin to appear? You begin to see the outlines of things—chairs, lamps, bookshelves or, if coutside, garbage bins or the boats by the water. This return of vision, night vision I suppose it is, calms your pounding heart. It gives you a sense of orientation, control and power that you can now negotiate your way through the area.
But lately, when I am in my own darkened rooms or other inky places, I've noticed flickers, shapes of things that are not apart of the normal landscape. They do not evolve out of the darkness into chairs, garbage cans even rats. In fact, they do not evolve at all. No matter how much I blink my eyes or command them to focus, my orbs refuse to bring me clarity. As if this wasn't fretful enough. But what I find even more worrisome is that lately even in the bright of day I am seeing flickers of forms, movements of some things dark, unclearly shapened, things that should not be there in my rooms or even in the questionable environs I find myself in.
I will be honest. I am heavily medicated. I've wondered if this visual aberration wasn't a side effect of one of the various neurological drugs I must take. But the seeing of things not there is not listed in the copious side effects on the small-print inserts that come with my prescriptions. When I mentioned my concern to Dr. Panchek, he barely glanced up from my chart. He merely snapped it shut and moved the conversation on to how I liked my new abode.
"Rats," I said. "There are rats in the alley outside my window."
"And how do you know they are there?" Dr. Panchek asked. I knew what he meant. How could I tell the difference between real and imagined was what he was getting at.
"By the bites," I said and left it at that.
to be continued...
Wickie
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Threatening artists
Insomnia. Runs in the family. As do other maladies.
Currently I am doing what artists do, trying to cover the bills. This need has lead me or rather driven me to every conceivable kind of work. I've cleaned alligator meat as well as toilets, washed dishes, cleaned toilets again, then houses, cat sat and did I mention cleaning toilets? There are all these theories of the artist as a cultural threat, a subversive. I don't know what I think about that. Perhaps I am too busy like most artists just trying to pay my bills and not get evicted. The occasional wealthy lover helps, but then that brings its own can of worms (those I've never cleaned. Not yet.) Maybe this notion of being a social threat has to do with too many of us sucking up all the food stamps, as though we were able to even get them. I got them when I was in Boston. They gave me about $40 a month. In San Francisco, I had to stand in about a block-long line, then go through a metal detector, then wait with hundreds of other indigents for about eight hours, be treated like scum by the worker and finally get rejected. Or maybe artists are a threat to society because we are draining the free health clinics (the ones that are left) of all their services. I've used them in Boulder, Colorado, Boston, Massachusetts, North of Boston and San Francisco,California. I sat for hours in crowded waiting rooms. When finally called, it was not unusual for the staff to talk to me (it always seemed incredibly loudly) right in the waiting room about very private health matters. Privacy really is a privilege. Or maybe this idea of the artist as a social threat comes from the times when they cut off my electricity (or when I couldn't pay for heating oil) and I used candles to light my room or I kept the gas jets going on my stove to stay warm. Maybe us artists have caught too many places on fire so that's why we're considered dangerous. We're pyromaniacs. So, the next time you see what looks like an artist —some broke-ass, worn-down-shoed motherfucker—slouching your way, you better run. Because we might rob you because we've just been rejected for food stamps, take a chunk out of you because we're hungry or we just might burn down your place to try to get warm.
Wickie
Currently I am doing what artists do, trying to cover the bills. This need has lead me or rather driven me to every conceivable kind of work. I've cleaned alligator meat as well as toilets, washed dishes, cleaned toilets again, then houses, cat sat and did I mention cleaning toilets? There are all these theories of the artist as a cultural threat, a subversive. I don't know what I think about that. Perhaps I am too busy like most artists just trying to pay my bills and not get evicted. The occasional wealthy lover helps, but then that brings its own can of worms (those I've never cleaned. Not yet.) Maybe this notion of being a social threat has to do with too many of us sucking up all the food stamps, as though we were able to even get them. I got them when I was in Boston. They gave me about $40 a month. In San Francisco, I had to stand in about a block-long line, then go through a metal detector, then wait with hundreds of other indigents for about eight hours, be treated like scum by the worker and finally get rejected. Or maybe artists are a threat to society because we are draining the free health clinics (the ones that are left) of all their services. I've used them in Boulder, Colorado, Boston, Massachusetts, North of Boston and San Francisco,California. I sat for hours in crowded waiting rooms. When finally called, it was not unusual for the staff to talk to me (it always seemed incredibly loudly) right in the waiting room about very private health matters. Privacy really is a privilege. Or maybe this idea of the artist as a social threat comes from the times when they cut off my electricity (or when I couldn't pay for heating oil) and I used candles to light my room or I kept the gas jets going on my stove to stay warm. Maybe us artists have caught too many places on fire so that's why we're considered dangerous. We're pyromaniacs. So, the next time you see what looks like an artist —some broke-ass, worn-down-shoed motherfucker—slouching your way, you better run. Because we might rob you because we've just been rejected for food stamps, take a chunk out of you because we're hungry or we just might burn down your place to try to get warm.
Wickie
Monday, December 29, 2008
The Anti-Onerous
Along with Wickie and some friends, I am in the process of instituting a fixed time each day to work on "onerous tasks." For me, this particularly includes my creative work, which I'd rather chew my arm off than do when I don't have an external threat/impending deadline/whatevra. I especially rarely want to work on creative projects alone, without constraints, something most filmmakers I know dream of doing 24/7. Anyhow, I am getting together with one or more fellow sufferers for an hour each morning to get cracking on these human-company-required-or-it-ain't-gonna-happen types of tasks. Today I storyboarded the SHIT out of a music video I am working on. Did the whole thing! One hour is so much more productive than four.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The importance of accents over E's.
My apologies for the delay in getting this up. I got bogged down writing a blog on ergodic literature (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ergodic_literature). Hope to get that to you later.
These are my recent radio meanders: since my iBook stopped accessing Pirate Cat Radio (http://www.piratecatradio.com/), I've been listening to Vegan Freak Radio (http://veganfreakradio.com/). Simultaneously, I been trying to find an anarchist podcast /radio show. I found Under the Pavement (http://www.underthepavement.org/) out of Manchester, England. But, so far, I've not heard any news from them, only some music some of which horrified me as it was bad almost American disco. In fact, I think it was both American and disco although they did have some good stuff in there too. No news or interviews yet. I can't say this is their fault as they are only every other week and 8 hours later than my time zone. Am currently listening to Radical Radio (http://radicalradio.org/). I can already feel my eyes (and my mind) glazing over. Even though I was once a member of Line of March, a Marxist-Leninist organization (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Communist_Movement), even then (the 1980's), I was never really able to understand what the fuck people were talking about or keep my attention away from just wanting just slit my throat, get high, or just generally kill myself. Not that I have self-destructive tendencies. I just turned off Radical Radio and will turn back to Vegan Freak. I can listen to it (and do) for hours on end. I can actually do this since I am a latecomer to the podcast and have lots of back episodes to cycle through. Because of their podcast as well as some zine I seem to have recycled (FUCK!), I am aiming my brain towards the SHAC 7 (shac7.com/index.htm). What the hell is that mess all about?
On the book front, I have Thirteen Stories by Eudora Welty (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eudora_Welty) on my chair (not that I've read them). "Why I Live at the P.O.," comes highly recommended. I have managed to eke my way through a few more pages of China Miéville's (http://wwwhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China_Mieville) Perdido Station. That brings me up to page 313, leaving me only approximately 400 pages to go. At this rate, I'll finish it in about five years. ARGH!!!! But a greater accomplishment than completing Perdido is my ability to place an accent over the "e" in China's last name. This is no small feat, especially since I have now launched Monstre Sacré my "handyman to the damned" service. More will be revealed on this at a later date.
My recent music interests have veered into The Residents (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Residents) then stumbled across Lou Reed's (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lou_Reed) newest release (I think) Hudson River Wind Meditations. This last one, a huge departure for Reed, is great to listen to late at night. It started to feel like the soundtrack to some crazed slasher movie, although I might be a rarity in making this connection to this "new age" effort of Reed's as I find most things menacing.
There are many more things I could dive into, as I suffer from obsessions, but I have to get this fucking up.
Wickie
These are my recent radio meanders: since my iBook stopped accessing Pirate Cat Radio (http://www.piratecatradio.com/), I've been listening to Vegan Freak Radio (http://veganfreakradio.com/). Simultaneously, I been trying to find an anarchist podcast /radio show. I found Under the Pavement (http://www.underthepavement.org/) out of Manchester, England. But, so far, I've not heard any news from them, only some music some of which horrified me as it was bad almost American disco. In fact, I think it was both American and disco although they did have some good stuff in there too. No news or interviews yet. I can't say this is their fault as they are only every other week and 8 hours later than my time zone. Am currently listening to Radical Radio (http://radicalradio.org/). I can already feel my eyes (and my mind) glazing over. Even though I was once a member of Line of March, a Marxist-Leninist organization (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Communist_Movement), even then (the 1980's), I was never really able to understand what the fuck people were talking about or keep my attention away from just wanting just slit my throat, get high, or just generally kill myself. Not that I have self-destructive tendencies. I just turned off Radical Radio and will turn back to Vegan Freak. I can listen to it (and do) for hours on end. I can actually do this since I am a latecomer to the podcast and have lots of back episodes to cycle through. Because of their podcast as well as some zine I seem to have recycled (FUCK!), I am aiming my brain towards the SHAC 7 (shac7.com/index.htm). What the hell is that mess all about?
On the book front, I have Thirteen Stories by Eudora Welty (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eudora_Welty) on my chair (not that I've read them). "Why I Live at the P.O.," comes highly recommended. I have managed to eke my way through a few more pages of China Miéville's (http://wwwhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China_Mieville) Perdido Station. That brings me up to page 313, leaving me only approximately 400 pages to go. At this rate, I'll finish it in about five years. ARGH!!!! But a greater accomplishment than completing Perdido is my ability to place an accent over the "e" in China's last name. This is no small feat, especially since I have now launched Monstre Sacré my "handyman to the damned" service. More will be revealed on this at a later date.
My recent music interests have veered into The Residents (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Residents) then stumbled across Lou Reed's (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lou_Reed) newest release (I think) Hudson River Wind Meditations. This last one, a huge departure for Reed, is great to listen to late at night. It started to feel like the soundtrack to some crazed slasher movie, although I might be a rarity in making this connection to this "new age" effort of Reed's as I find most things menacing.
There are many more things I could dive into, as I suffer from obsessions, but I have to get this fucking up.
Wickie
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
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