And there was cat hair all over everything while the laundry kept spinning and the light was on. I couldn't really think of anything but the sound of pencil striking parchment. My bed was made. Nonsense, thought about abstract advice concerning taboo subjects inappropriately appropriate; my hand is balancing my head and it is falling asleep. He stared back at us and said "hope you don't mind if I kill you all" and I felt safe. Found myself stuck with a stranger on a dock at 3 am and had an awkward conversation about life in your thirties. Always wanted to buy freshly baked bread but could never finish it all. Saw a girl peeing in the middle of the road yelling at people. Karl Urban shows a lot of depth I didn't know he had in the new Star Trek film. Sometimes it's tough to play for an audience.

The cat I live with is named Patches. She meows from time to time. We can't let her go outside at night because then coyotes might eat her.

Streets

Filtered, frequent docile drips
packed and placed along my hips
wait anxiously my eager lips
each cup resembling furry mitts

It tastes like ass but still I drink
and I cannot just sit and think
yes that, yes this, yes that one too,
it's sticky messed-up hyper gue

but generous in its regard
for tranquil trances beats a bar,
paddling, shuffling, scenting, snipe,
frosted leg work tangents night

time caught within its bolder hues,
caressed and crested bebop blues,
that's a lion, phew, a clue
sprinting steamy pungent fumes

which smell quite nice from time to time
a catered well-wished splintered clime
splayed and seasoned ripe with thyme
purchased nourished flourish fine

lee lounging Mrs. Montague,
your cup's half-full plus one times two,
and all day long I sit and brew
and steep their rambling broadcasts through.

Faron Hall's pretty cool.

If the word "teacher" is being replaced by the phrase "facilitators of learning" I think the word "judge" should be replaced by the phrase "facilitators of punishment and discipline."

Sort of like it was kinda something neat that I liked.

Before Tomorrow (Le jour avant le lendemain)

Marie-Hélène Cousineau and Madeline Ivalu's Before Tomorrow (Le jour avant le lendemain) (a product of the Arnait Video Collective) presents some picturesque pastoral panoramas in a subdued and solitary (pseudo) soliloquy. An inuit tribe celebrates the joys of life and lives somewhat harmoniously together until strangers come with guns, germs, and steel which kill everyone but a young boy (Paul-Dylan Ivalu) and his resilient grandmother (Madeline Ivalu). They struggle throughout the winter, secluded in a cave with a only a tiny fire, traditional stories, seal meat, their companionship, and thoughts of a better life further south to sustain them. Similar to other survival tales such as Cast Away and Alien, Cousineau and Ivalu pull us into their protagonist's isolation, slowly forcing us to live and breathe their loneliness while also exposing us to the strength of their resolve. The narrative does unreel very slowly at times which has a somewhat soporific affect, but sitting back and watching its forlorn form mimic its sequestered content still produces heightened periods of awareness. An intricate examination of the traditional ways of Inuit peoples, Before Tomorrow exposes us to the harsh conditions they have faced throughout the centuries while aptly celebrating their vivacious spirit.

Motor

Watermarks and silly tarts
recycled days and snowy phrases
lounging sitting focused framed
a little piece of puzzled painful
last resorts impassioned torts
frenetic stays and sheepish sways,
electronic sweeps and swipes
detrimental crazes, likes.

Star Trek

Was pretty disappointed with how much I enjoyed the new Star Trek film. Was upset when I originally heard about the idea because it seems so unoriginal, bringing back Kirk (Chris Pine), Spock (Leonard Nimoy and Zachary Quinto), and McCoy (Karl Urban) when so many new characters could have been created, forged, manufactured. Doesn't really seem like they're going where no one has gone before anyway; kind of seems like a number of Trekkian franchises went belly-up and in order not to lose sight of the genus, they returned to that genus's very genus, decadently exploding their genesis device, kind of a like a lazy, mundane cash grab. But at least the cash grab is thoroughly entertaining: wait 'till you see how Captain James T. Kirk was born. They certainly didn't slack on the script and characters like Sulu (John Cho), Chekov (Anton Yelchin), and Uhura (Zoe Saldana) are reborn with much more depth than they ever had in the original series (they actually have personalities [or are at least intellectually gifted] and at one point Sulu even saves Kirk's life). I'm growing rather tired of how many times time travel is used as the plot device upon which the narrative twirls in Star Trek films but it's used again and wow are all things Star Trek ever turned upside down (we are seriously starting over again from ground zero). The script goes a bit haywire with Spock's emotions: this version of Spock is much easier to upset than his predecessor which is somewhat terrific. Romulan villain Nero (Eric Bana) could have been more dastardly although script writers probably didn't want to make him too dynamic due to his working class origins. A lot of the film is downright implausible: impossible situation after impossible situation finds a split second solution that saves the day and sets up the next set of sensational circumstances. And the whole 'born leader' thing is kind of annoying. But like I said, I enjoyed it, it's fun to watch fantastic science fiction, a solid reworking of the franchise, nice.

The Class (Entre les murs)

Really liked Laurent Cantet's The Class (Entre les murs). It follows the life and times of a Parisian high school over the course of a year, focusing specifically upon Mr. Marin's (François Bégaudeau) multicultural French class. The realism is solid. The scenes within Mr. Marin's classroom are generally quite lengthy, demanding an extraordinary amount of discipline from their adolescent actors, reminding me of the long, patient shots found in Elephant, The Player, Touch of Evil, and Day for Night, albeit with a relatively stationary camera. And the teens never lose character, always seeming like rambunctious, asinine, aloof, acerbic, occasionally enthusiastic, rebellious teenagers, as Mr. Marin does his best to teach them the intricacies of French. Bégaudeau's performance is exceptional, the intelligent hip pseudo-snob employing a watered down version of the socratic method while suffering the consequences of its design, treading the fine line between friendship and discipline. Unfortunately, a troubled student lashes out during one of his uncharacteristic bursts of vitriol and Marin's then forced to deal with the personal and administrative consequences of his somewhat lackadaisical style.

Definitely complex.

There's a bit of sensationalism during a scene where Marin confronts two students in the playground for ratting him out, but this superrealism can be forgiven inasmuch as you can expect teachers to forget their role from time to time as their daily grind's routine wears on. The difficulties associated with trying to find educational solutions to extraordinarily complex pedagogical problems receive serious attention within, begging the question hyperactive hypocrisy or subdued solidarity? Can you find a way to teach the majority of your students how to teach themselves? Does enabling their critical insights invigorate their wit at the expense of their learning? Can constructive enmity be used as a didactic tool? What if your subjective approach begins to threaten your professional objectivity, progressive though it may be?

The Class examines these questions and thankfully doesn't provide any answers because there definitely aren't any (although many exist from time to time) which only ennobles their pursuit. Students are definitely a handful, so are teachers. So keep teaching. And learning. And causing trouble.

Arrangement

We tried so hard to pretend.
Then we didn't.
Things changed.
Bought a new tie, a wavy one.
She whistled from time to time.
The refrigerator became more bountiful.
I rediscovered Lavender Diamond.
Several different kinds of gourds.
Aren't you supposed to be more epic?
More serious, seriouser?
Winter tires remained expensive.
Twice a month for caramel macchiatos.
Benches are for sitting.
I loved watching her smoke.
Tougher to make snowballs out West.
Is that a magpie?
We only made the bed before sleeping
and kept sleeping together for fun.

Let's reread the entire thing and obsess about it.

Apparently, nerds have sex too.

Riding Bike to Work on Cold Day

The air was pretty thick on my way to work this morning and the wind was omnipresent. So cold and dense I could barely breath while I rode my bike to work.

Vertigo

Was surprised how afraid I was when I hiked half way up the mountain. There was no protective railing, just a perilous drop from which their could definitely be no survival. I initially faced the ground, too frightened to check out the view, worried that an earthquake was going to dislodge the setting or that if I got up I would slip and fall to my death. But then I told myself to face my fears and stared out at the mountain opposite and the trees and creek so very very far below, got used to it, somewhat, but still gripped the ground tightly with both hands.

Knocked Up

Knocking nibs,
nibs knocking.
Nibs are there.
That is what they
are doing.
Knocking that is.
I like that because
I personally like
knocking although
it's been quite some
time since I've
knocked anything,
really,
especially a nib,
considering cheese
and cream and a lightbulb
shining above a river,
I like that, no,
those, things,
those are things that I
like, cheese, cream, rivers,
nibs knocking,
knocking nibs.

One Week

Michael McGowan's One Week chronicles the impromptu road trip of recently diagnosed cancer patient Ben (Joshua Jackson). Upon hearing that he may only have 2 years to live and that only 10% of those suffering from his particular variety of cancer survive, Ben decides to hit the road motorcycle style and travel from Toronto to Tofino to figure shit out. His fiancée (Samantha Pierce played by Liane Balaban) and family are notably distressed and continually try to convince him to return home while Ben reflects upon the status of his relationship and whether or not he's truly in love. The narrator (Campbell Scott) supplies us with a constant stream of secondary information regarding the positive effects of Ben's trip (the good things that happen to those he meets because he met them) and we're treated to shots of several of small town Canada's giant tourist attractions including Wawa's Canada Goose and Port Carling's picturesque Segwun photo collage (not to mention Lord Stanley's Cup).

The shots of Ben's road trip don't unreel chronologically so don't be surprised if he's shown riding through British Columbia while still in Banff, but the scenes themselves prominently display so much of Western and Central Canada's rustic beauty that they're well worth the rental price. The cameo's from Gordon Downie and Joel Plaskett are a nice touch as well. Jackson sort of fluffs the one scene where he has to display some emotional depth but Balaban confidently backs him up and it almost passes unnoticed. A romantic look at the benefits of following your dreams and an exciting examination of one man's self-exploration, One Week's well worth the trip, especially if you've already travelled from Ontario to B.C. 3 or 4 times and want to reacquaint yourself with forgotten details of the road.

Sharpen

Mistaken moping
misguided clue
swings out and in
wards 'twards a view.

Place secured
romantic greens
drawn up plans
vivacious scene.

More certainty
is not required,
the moment's crisp
the thought hardwired.

Snap your fingers,
light it up,
forget what lingers
inside the muck.

Whatever Works

Never thought I'd live to see Woody Allen and Larry David team up together but that's what they've done in Whatever Works, another tale of a neurotic sexually repressed manic depressive doing his best to get by. Within, Allen recycles a number of the themes that have successfully worked for him in the past but this time rather than star in the film himself his (alter?) ego has been replaced by Larry David (as Boris Yellnikoff) (whose resemblance to Allen is remarkable). Boris speaks to the screen and is aware he's being filmed even though his fellow cast members have no idea which simultaneously accentuates and deconstructs his mania. A disgruntled genius, Boris cast off the trappings of the ivory tower in order to teach chess, scraping by a meagre living as he presents his antagonistic reflections to anyone stuck listening to him. Enter Melodie St. Ann Celestine (Evan Rachel Wood), a troubled Southerner homeless and destitute in the streets of New York. Boris takes her in, grows fond of her, and the rest of the film unreels in response to their off-beat odd coupling.

It's definitely a Woody Allen film and will most likely appeal to most of his fans. Seeing Larry David play a hapless genius as opposed to the hapless Larry David is fun, as is seeing what happens to Melodie's parents when they arrive in New York City. There are times when it's impossible to separate Larry David from Boris Yellnikoff which decreases the dramatic affects of the characterization, but I don't think this is a problem. Nothing really that new, but so much fun all the same.

Insistence

The blood came in spurts and the protest continued. A length of rope tethered underneath clung to the body as it shifted in and out of focus. Princing on the prowl, devastating debutante, my heart hungered for the heat, the pace, the moisture.

I stepped up to the stage and slipped into security. The time was ripe, the moment, crisp. We heard the vibration beneath and subsumed its intransigence. Lighting up cigarettes, neurotic debts, for the best in the meantime.

Manga novels are literature's extremely fun to drive unabashed low-mileage vehicle.

When you reach a certain age, you just can't talk about how you really want to see the new Imax: Beavers movie.

The indoctrinated capitalist cares about everyone by only caring about him or herself.

The indoctrinated socialist cares about themself by caring for everyone else.

Pretty sure I prefer kit-kat to mars bars.

Some pretty cool videos can be found here.

Fairmount's hot springs are pretty relaxing. And hot.