sweaty blistered sneaker toe

the cave dwellers

2009-10-30T23:57:00.003-04:00

too sick for all get out. scroll down a bit and read someone from over there.

a post without a title is like a...

2009-10-21T08:12:00.002-04:00

why hello there. the photos in this post i did not take. they're by Sarah Small, one of the winners of the XTO Image Awards.

is this filler? i'm not sure, to be honest. i like putting some good, inspiring stuff i find on the internets here sometimes. for you, for me, for the internet, for the future looking back at the past. if i don't spazz out and in a state of frustrated sense of obligation to self and a partly imagined, partly real audience, where i let loose the sacred, the asinine, the angst, the naive childish mess of my present that promises to become the shudder of my future when i know more, have grown more, have developed into something new but more authentic than ever before, decide to stupidly delete this blog i will enjoy the record of who i've been, of what influenced and inspired, of what i knew, and i'll be compelled to read each post carefully for hints to who i really am right this minute and who i've been with the same relish that

those cardboard legal archival boxes hold over there next to the couch: my earliest diaries (the others live in all kinds of places all over this house... and some in storage that i need to rescue... and some in los angeles i need to reclaim... and some lost in the internet to urls i no longer remember... and some forever locked in the corrupted hard drives of computers past/passed) where the truth is spelled out sometimes openly on purpose, sometimes openly by default, oh the lies we tell ourselves. and the hunt will prove successful despite its unavoidable failures. i will still find it all fascinating and revealing even while aware of the glaringly obvious omissions, and the big pieces i know i must be forgetting that feel lost forever even though they happened and my brain has filed them away somewhere hopefully with the intention to remind me some sunny afternoon sitting under a windy tree still spry at 73. or maybe not.

i always hate the fact that to read all my diaries, and all the thoughts and ideas and histories i've recorded, would eventually take me years if not already. that to look at every photograph i've ever taken would take me decades. that in everything i accumulate and experience takes time that is forever lost at once and to review it all would steal even more away. i've always wanted to be rolling film of each second of my life so i can watch it later, for a better appreciation and understanding of what happened and how and why and especially to notice what i missed the first time around, to have it organized and easily accessible so i can review that specific moment of the past, that pivotal turning point, that conversation that changed everything and know, because it's recorded as it happened, with utmost certainty exactly how it all went down without any chance of memory distorting things, the future challenging the perception of the past. no such luck. onwards we go. too fast, too slow, some things so clear, some buried so deep below. the brain's seemingly random way of organizing and it's desperate clinging to slivers of the past. the inability to forget, and the frantic need to find what i can't remember. if our minds chose to remember different events and forgot some of the most important things we remember how different would we be i wonder. how much more a completely different person, identity built on a totally different set of rules and psyche-forming memories culled from completely forgotten events could we be? is our subconscious really in charge of the selection? is there any cohesive method of cataloging that makes sense? perhaps we're just overloaded. a scrambled offering of the past regularly warping the growth of identity creating someone else. someone not accurate or suitable enough to make sense. i just woke up with my laptop on my face. goodnight, goodmorning, see ya later. see? already i've forgotten most of what i was going on about. memory, the brain, they still don't really understand any of it. 100 years from now maybe it will all be figured out. a brain manual. operating instructions. a troubleshooting chapter.

Sarah Small, "The Delirium Constructions"

"Description: These images are from an ongoing body of work placing unlikely characters together in the same space. In this series, I explore the purest interaction I can find unhindered by environmental cues that could signify occupation, social class, or revealing context. While many of these scenarios are staged, the emotions that result -- uneasiness, curiosity, sensuality -- are spontaneously captured and authentically experienced. Though these moments may be disquieting, they are packaged in candy colors to disarm the viewer. I want to photograph the raw emotional underbelly of scenes both found and fabricated. Like an optical illusion, where the viewer shifts between opposing visual perceptions, my images reference emotional illusion, a rocking back and forth between projection and introspection, between thought and feeling, between darkness and hilarity. I imagine us all left unbalanced but not out of sync."

some photos of whose and where from only the internet remembers...

it's been 1994 again for a while now and i'm sick of looking at it, so then it became 1992 revisited, it's also 1997 not quite. thank god the eighties are over again, again. recessions fuck up fashion. recycling fads too soon, demanding it's over only to be born again, coma patients wake up confused and walk around staring at the pretenders only to realize it's not then, the same and always different. nothing ever perfectly executed slightly twisted old new thing all so you can tell the difference between a wannabe and a wannawere or a stillis. as soon as something's horrifying it's daring enough to be appropriated and celebrated, a visual history game we all can play, conforming to the newest old idea to buy more of the things we a long time ago once gave away. i'm all for inspiration and emulation and celebration of the past but when everyone looks the same and there are so many of them it's just creepy sad and lame. how many people are complaining this same way. how many people really don't give a shit and are just totally self-indulging, enjoying their own shit, an eclectic mix, an exactly accurate retroactive exclamation of public eyeball space for fun i totally get, but enough with this bullshit. it's too easy to buy, it's all premade, no imagination required, no real homage to anything... bullshit. almost as meaningless and a waste of time as reading this whole paragraph. i need a cigarette. i don't smoke anymore. confession: the other day i did. it was delicious and foul and guilty and illicit and i got a head rush like i was 15 and playing the specials on vinyl giggling inhaling BTs and getting ripped, piercing each other's ears with potatoes and ice cubes and similarly sharp sharp objects, skipping school, colour of your doc's stitches, shaving fat mowhawks slash skater undercuts safety pins and airwalks and vuarnet and flannel shirts and giant hoodies and brain breaking beats and basements of kensington market's SAC after parties raided forced to hit the floor covered in beer and butts and god knows what else no wonder i can't ever remember shit so many lifetimes fly by and i'm surprised i'm still here, not like i expected to die before 30 or anything so cliche but more like it just didn't occur to me that we'd all still be here (well, most of us) and have this collective memory of when we used to do that and do you remember when and clearly i've been spending too much time on evil facebook that records your every move along with google here amassing such a detailed profile to better sell to you, monitor you, make you write paranoid sentences like this. it's 8 in the morning and i'm finally ready for bed.

p.s. thank god for great friends in strange places and certain people's big brothers and is this font to small for your eyeballs? this blog needs a serious overhaul. the links, the design, the everything i don't have the time for despite so many hours spent pondering blemishes on the ceiling and the wind in the trees and how the sun hits the leaves and the neverending cups of good tea and the gifts of the CBC and the hottest epsom salt baths imaginable leaving a sharp line where the last inch of white became red and goodnight go to bed.

nobody trusts a black magician

2009-10-16T20:21:00.001-04:00

one of the blogosphere's ultimate greats who goes by the alias, XTX, has recently published some seriously fucking ferocious literary fantasticness entitled, "Nobody Trusts a Black Magician," that you can either read or listen to or do both right here and FOR FREE. check her out. you won't be disappointed, i promise.

you should also visit her blog which is here.

i did not take the above photo and have no idea who did.

that's all for now, bye.

cerebration celebration!

2009-10-14T04:23:00.003-04:00

part of an ever-expanding series of Toronto garages and alleyways. measly offerings hoping to encourage dear blog to move forward. the future already came and yet i left you the same. i sat quizzical over your demise. your life in my hands. your entire existence, stagnant stinking growth moving deeper and deeper into filler and dissatisfaction, even downright resentment. so annoyed over whether to kill you or to keep you alive. so tempted to erase your entire existence and too oftenly. irritated that what used to feel like delicious cryptic secrecy, you only for me, now has a strangulating hold on words and thoughts and deeds. especially when further burdened to keep other private lives private and free. i don't know how you do it, but, as usual, you're here still. against all odds and rather shockingly i left you here to sit in wait. with me, for me. forever betraying me, spilling all my secrets so childishly, frustrated by the shudder that runs through me whenever i think of you, a pointless fragmentation of the pretend and the real. an unfair reflection of your true entirety. not to mention mine. in the depth of the night treading the seine in foggy gloom and self-indulgent self-inflicted misery, flicking the butt of my filthy gauloise into reflected deeps, toxic and ancient and stewing, home to whatever dark and blind lurking creatures sleep. misty lights extinguish mutely in quiet succession one after another into the east resenting the dreamiest heavy melancholy air of pink lavender grey as it threatens to seep into the forever past of the what once was and was once to be. the rustle of the city waking, the earliest of its preparers preparing, the revelers having long since stumbled home to a deep and drunken sleep. my boots hard and clear and distant on the street i follow them no longer an anonymous passer in the night but instead harsh and bright and disturbingly conspicuous my mind both enjoying the immediacy of the moment, a true existential worship, and the unavoidable awareness of defeat. privacy erased. glaringly. my pillow closer with every step i breathe in its dusky musky luxuriously hypnotizing scent and it seems that's enough insomniatic rambling, i've put myself to sleep. you're not dead yet. i think i may have wrestled you into survival, short or long as it may be. dear blog, why didn't you remind me that all i had to do to reclaim you was to slur some shite, spread the shit thick, set the feces free, urinate all over you, curse your very existence, play russian roulette with the delete this blog button, throw out all the rules and promises and admit a resentful childish defeat. night night, fuilukb wink wink.

buying the lie that sells the dream

2009-09-30T04:53:00.014-04:00

when dreams outweigh doubts.

2009-09-19T02:25:00.008-04:00

.... more to come shortly.

he's eating his own cancer while he's sick. NOT maynard and not to any particular allegiance to uh the anyone else. just an inescapable phrase that disrupts the inital melodies of my head. trying to gnaw away at the evil eruptions any chance he gets the bad thing. little does he know, i still have the dreaded elizabethan collar cone lampshade undignified medical get-up dog gear. fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

my tits hurt like bruised balloons engorged with so many months of blood and a lifetime of impatience.

(above image most recently via shehaslazydiamonds)

thank goodness for stickers.

and tea dates and cards full of kind words.

sweet mossheart.

m.j. keenan.

remember the trees and how their leaves rustled in the wind that day?

2009-09-19T00:52:00.006-04:00

"Surely, it is no assault on my dignity as a person if you take my car keys, against my will, when I have had too much to drink. There is nothing paradoxical about making an agreement beforehand providing for paternalistic supervision in circumstances when our competence is open to doubt."

"Recovering the Social Contract", Ron Replogle

sometimes i die for a little more natural understanding - not to mention actual desire - for mutual positive liberty, as in the theory, and then i remember there are easier alternatives. this is why i am kind to you despite your monstrous transgressions.

i know to understand bot just the theoretical underpinnings, but also the indulgences, and satisfaction, and contentedness of democratic gynocracy is, sometimes sadly, far too beyond a certain scope of reference. sigh. it could all be so much easier. fuck educating the children. they're hearts are not worth it anyway and only a promise of a colossal debt of lost time and practically guaranteed heartache. interesting how non-gender-specific this is these days. however, only as sad as the happiness of the alternative's authenticity and beautiful simplicity. thank the fuck.

carmelized cardboard chaos in a zero angst reduction sauce

2009-09-16T01:10:00.008-04:00

if only i had 7.900,00 Euros to spare...

German designer Hermann August Weizenegger presents his latest project, Digital Couture, at Appel Design Gallery in Berlin later this month.

Digital Couture by Hermann August Weizenegger

The Erosio Chair

"The Erosio chair also emerged from a 3D design and acquires its shape from the layering and turning of material, in this case, layers of paper. As with the other designs, the designer started with the basics of the design sculpture Muse.

The compact arrangement of 900 sheets of paper lends the chair its solid state. A sintered component in the middle of the chair forms the core of a connecting system, to which four circular metal rods are fixed. These constitute the inner structure of the chair. The layers calculated on the computer which form the outer shape of the chair are threaded onto the round rods in an additive process. The individual paper layers are not all fixed to the chair’s legs so that the shape of the chair within the framework of its fixed inner construction can be lightly modified.

The aesthetic appeal of the chair’s finish is determined by sensual characteristics created by the electronic production process, but which in one way is similar to manual production. The precise laser technique with which the cardboard is cut leaves minimal burn marks, spots and fine fraying on the edges barely visible to the eye. As a result of these sutures, which are occasioned by the material and fully intended by the designer the chair assumes a material presence all of its own that is reminiscent of a natural material such as wood or sediment stone. In functional morphology, tectonic and geological layering like this can be found in connection with erosion discordance. The designer is consciously playing here with the demarcation line between nature and artifact.

From the virtual world of a design made using 3D tools an everyday object with high object character emerges, referencing with its sculptural presence the geological circumstances of the real world, a world in which a chair always has its place."

Material- Inside: sintern nylon, metal pipe, Outside: cardboard
Photo: Bernd Hiepe
Edition of 12 Price : 7.900,00 Euro
more photos and pieces here: dezeen.com

SIGH!!!!!!!

see? zero angst. zero personal business. zero bones. zero intestines. zero flesh. all paper. now if the dog could just cure himself of cancer everything would make perfect sense again. not really. closer though. fuck cancer. that's right, FUCK CANCER! grrrrrr. ok, one photo:

scientists now believe in god.

2009-09-04T04:49:00.006-04:00

BILL MURRAY

and we stagger forward.
what DID the human genome project tell us? Bill Murray.

time to rewatch "Coffee and Cigarettes." i'm going to have to rebuy my entire DVD collection, nice. if you feel like handing stacks of cash over for what it seems like you already own. at least i've stopped with that nonsense. oh sigh. riddilickulous, now i know.

photo of our hero reblogged via 2late4adate's tumblelog.

2009-09-03T02:46:00.004-04:00

i have really mixed feelings about this video.
adorable dog though, wow.
gotta go.
so busy. so so busy all the time it feels like i never get anything done ha.
goodnight.
but first,
tonight's word is: wiggle room
bye.
ow.
end of summer.
2:46 am and the night is really cold coming in the window.
no sweaters or coats yet but close. definitely if you're out at night ha.
gold gina ya.
stretched.
lost in a crowd.

--
EDIT/UPDATE:

then there's this...

but, leaving you full of warm fuzzies and with thoughts of puppies and dawgies only, there's this...

"the one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person."

2009-08-31T17:33:00.002-04:00

he's referring to the same person right? like love is blind. or love is in the eye of the beholder, right? or, just simply, we love each other although, in reality, we're actually quite different because than the other one thinks we are because we usually have superimposed our first impressions of who we had then ideally thought them to be and strangely are surprised and shocked when they turn out to be quite different from who we had gotten used to expecting them to be. that we all have quite difficult reactions to people who don't turn out to "fit" the version of them we have somehow decided them to be. this is why it feels like such a betrayal, i think. you can pour so much of your own bias into your idea of reality that you get lost in it and someone's "suddenly changed."

(something here about how this post is) the laziest of some time. hey, quit your complaining, at least you posted this at all, self. the truth of this is that this post is neglected since it's currently overshadowed by this poster's desperate need for one really good cup of tea. unknown reader, aren't you pissed you tuned in for this? sorry, but right now this blog is all about me. it always was though i like you too and i count our relationship as worthy enough to continue. especially for you and you and you and some more of yous. the known of yous. but concerning the rest of you, right now your needs are not of my concern. how you cubicle bunnies waste your time on the internet is not my job today. how best to waste your hours fast enough to get out from under that work clock most speedily is totally overshadowed by my knowledge that organic chocolate cake that melts in my mouth exists moments away with a more than necessary strong cup of tea promising to simultaneously deliver sanity and indulgence and is right now waiting to be made and sipped as the lazy afternoon sunshine streams in through the window soothingly. oh, title of this post is courtesy of the illustrious mr. chuck palahniuk. and the above image, i don't know where it came from, but whatever, god i love tumblr. however, i am not completely heartless, so why don't you visit my friend allie's blog. she's guaranteed to blow you away...

see what i mean?

allie carnes: dissuade.org

TEA.

all strapped in and ready to GO!!!

2009-08-26T14:10:00.010-04:00

cover me in your stinky sickly sticky warm ejaculate after you've taken everything from me in one single criminal moment, i don't care. tell me i am without future, hope, ability. without the luck i never knew before now, too sad a case of suffering for you to suffer me. say it over and over again, enjoy yourself. hold on to it. tightly. i know it's what you hope will set you free. magic words, indeed. you made me repeat your every word verbatim promising not to do this or that or how to fold your fucking socks or clean out the lint trap properly EVERY SINGLE TIME i use the dryer to wash your fucking clothes. i see you forever in the past, thank time, standing over me, swaying drunkenly, high on god knows what, making me repeat your words like some terrified school child. a grown woman huddled in the corner while i turn my face as fast as i can as you spit on me. feeling so threatened by my pain, your powerlessness, my strength, my fear that you only destroy and threaten and overpower in escalating cruelty hoping to finally permanently free yourself of whatever pain you had left as you systematically eradicate another person's self-esteem. i still hear you. but you get quieter throughout the years. and you're not even my chief enemy. you did not win yourself that title, poor you, no. i know you tried ever so hard. but even in such adversity, i am a lil one with hopes humungous and faith falling nothing short of an everestial-sized free. i continue forward. i've continued forward. today. tomorrow i may fall by the wayside yet again, but each time i wake up and come to my senses i remember how to remember everything once again and put it all back together in such impressive and expertly organized order, fit to be re-internalized again, this sequence of intensely sad and soiled sordid stupid string of events and i'm able to see it all with a straight eye again and then i'll start pushing you around again, you'll see. i may not have mastered patience yet, but for such an impatient person i'm getting impressively close. of course i'm still a million zillion miles away but no matter where i stand i'm left with no choice but to persevere. and i, with full awareness, am grateful to agree. this life is long i hope and i am eager to grow on and just to be. these decades' old demons got ta get themfuckingselves set the fucking free. change always has a tendency to signify the end of the world to me - no matter how necessary or beneficial or even happy that change may be so i remember it is not the end. i must remember it is not the end and neither the beginning, but instead the elusive and fleeting truth, the oops-already of the in between. it is the most immense and neverending forever so small that even when fragments refragment over and over eventually into identical repeated exponential matter smaller and smaller versions all stretching out into black infinity, the smallest shard possible to still be counted material and tangible, real, just simply cannot be. not in time or space. but it is. and it does. too quick to catch and too large to perceive. too slow to hurry up and too small to set free. nevertheless, these nanoseconds still got nothing on me.

p.s. a beautiful practical sensitive mind full of careful ingenious inventions, that pesky little old "lady time" and little old lady-like me, my newfound inability to concentrate well enough to play at scrabble, the comfort of a simple cup of tea, an almost deserted apartment still sits full of boxes and its many memories, even more prescribed exercises into the hideous past for me. sleepless nights seem to make for bad blogging angst and no matter how hard i try to coax them into light and out from behind still they try to rhyme their selfish stupid sap at me. i think i might finally be able to sleep. here goes, we'll see.

p.p.s. i am not responsible for this post in the least. delirious and sleep-starved babble isn't fair to dissect and unravel so fuck you and forgive me. oh how cheaply shocking. fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuckity fuckity fee, that's enough of this fucking shit fuckity fuck for me. see?

(photo reblogged from wickedknickers)

allodynic hypocrisy refused!

2009-07-18T03:42:00.003-04:00

photo: brian walker

it's so wonderful when people are wonderful. and really so many of them are. and often remind you by their actions although they don't always know it. thank god for that. really. in a world of infinite beauty and infinite horror and time scurrying in and out of the cracks between, it really is a fucking blessing to have any good and be able to feel it at all. not everyone gets enough good. personally, i think most of the people of the world don't. too much suffering! (as yoda would say, at least he does fairly often in my head.) and then there's some that get it and never know they have it, while others can't feel it even though they know all too well that they also have it (almost the worst), and then others who don't even understand the concept at all, really. and, of course and as their always is, the tortured few, who, by no fault of their own, don't get to know even a minute of it at all. ever.

thankfully i am about to get me some good and yahoo it away for a bit. sort of. it's kinda hard to explain. however, there'll be no wifi access at this particular spot which of course sucks gigantic hairy ass testicles and, at the same time, is also more than a little appealing. clean. sorta like the idea of fasting. but probably, like fasting (probably, dunno, never fasted for long), their will be moments where i'll feel quite different about it and lament the obvious usefulness of such modern marvels as google and wikipedia (cupcakes!) only to remember this later and in absolute horror say were we really talking about the usefulness of...? really? un huh, i see. not to mention, while knowing far too well not to get up to it, trying to describe things that are really really difficult to describe unless you've seen or felt or heard or read them for yourself. and much more enjoyable to experience that way too. i'll be back soon enough though. a very small adventure. somewhat real and somewhat imaginary. you'll see. hmnnn, interesting how i have very little blogging angst/guilt/irritation/resentment right now. not unusual but not necessarily usual either. except i really really really really need to shrink some photos and when i'm uh back i'll have even more. egad. that's forever the case though, regardless of blog activity or not. but it's still nice to feel this freeness. nice. very nice. i mean good. very good. ha. very very good. cause good is great.

now you should check out this flickr stream to be blown away by the most amazing katie west. a fellow toronto girl who also likes to take photos. and very much the most amazing photos.

photo: katie west by katie west

she also has a new book out entitled, practical tokens of affection

you should buy it.

soon.

p.s. first, have yourself a little this:

photo: originally? um no fucking idea (so cool though!)

wretchedness unleashed

2009-07-15T03:59:00.013-04:00

i was a dutiful, sensitive child during maggie's reign. and often terrified. too young to comprehend and yet my parents spoke of nothing else. along with the quickly growing carefully collected stash of anti-thatcher propagandist paraphernalia pins pens and stuff lovingly given by family friends my growth became twisted, quickly developing into an intense anxiety disproportionate to reality, naturally lacking enough life-time to possess a healthier sense of perspective. she was evil and she was coming for me. first destroying the last remnants of security of the working class stuffing her abuse proudly into so many tired young and tough fists and faces. blood on the streets. the poll tax. the insanity. of course there was also apartheid, and although my heart bled raw like any child's can, and too often does, i knew south africa was far away from where we lived. and though i dreamt of good people fighting for justice burning alive in stacks of rubber tires, the chemical smoke emitting in a landscape of fiery clusters of burning ditches where the freedom fighters lay slowly dying, maggie was at my front door. nuclear disarmament was also high on my list. the pain of the world was an ordinary, regular terror from before forever and onwards.

photo via vice and article, Days of Thatcher, here.

via Fotografia, akt, Sara VII

and now for something completely different...

Jenny Lewis "See Fernando" from Team G on Vimeo.

i absolutely stole the above video from a blog i regularly visit - whose i can't remember now. i realize this is everywhere and posted and discussed all over the place but i hate to be dishonest and i came across it rather than it occurring to me naturally allowing me to independently seek it out and right now convoluted moral decisions and inexplicable reasonless reasons are at the top of my hate list and i will now account for the origins of everything i know and own and how i came to know them forever onwards.

i have been too sick and too lazy to shrink and ftp and post my own photos lately. however i have entered a new fit of photography fascinated by my body, its memories and violations, its beauty and honesty naked in the morning before the birds sing and although balls deep in the city, deeper than i could ever get, i am in love with the silence of the early morning with no cars in the street. i have always loved this gift, a sort of private freedom, the quiet solitude the curse of insomnia so graciously begets.

there are times when i am amazed by how many tears i can make. a salty face. it always leaves me wondering what physical purpose do my tears have. why the salt, and the rest of their chemical makeup is what, and why. why do they act as some necessary bodily response to stress. what does crying achieve. physically. emotionally. how many tears will i cry in my lifetime. how many tears does the average person shed. how many people have never cried at all. exempting childhood, of course. or perhaps theirs a baby or child that has existed on this planet in the last 4.5 to 4.6 billion years that never cried once and why. a tribe of the tearless. what have people believed tears to be. tomatoes were poisonous once. surely tears have been magical, mythical, precious juice from the gods. poison. the water isn't warm enough now. soon i'll prepare for the next phase of ordinary ritual living activity. reaching forward i turn off the radio. tears flow over my cheeks, curling into my neck on their way down to hide in my armpits and traveling slowly making faint evaporating pathways down between my breasts finally meeting the bath water to become a part of the rest that i, so gratefully, prepare to purge, drowning out their existence, pulling the plug watching them drain out slowly, but effectively, with everything else from my skin, my body, the sweat and tears and oil of my body collected, wasted and disposed of forever. and finally i feel calm again.

i have not had a period in over 8 months but recently my breasts got fat and sore but still not a drop of blood. my mind overridden by the worst hormonal chaos, right now i could commit heinous crimes and even murder and in england get off scott free.

sleep.

"the freak accident"

2009-07-11T00:01:00.002-04:00

creative and insane = insanely creative!

Creative minds: the links between mental illness and creativity

the Independent
Roger Dobson
[link]

At first glance, Einstein, Salvador Dali, Tony Hancock, and Beach Boy Brian Wilson would seem to have little in common. Their areas of physics, modern art, comedy, and rock music, are light years apart. So what, if anything, could possibly link minds that gave the world the theory of relativity, great surreal art, iconic comedy, and songs about surfing?

According to new research, psychosis could be the answer. Creative minds in all kinds of areas, from science to poetry, and mathematics to humour, may have traits associated with psychosis. Such traits may allow the unusual and sometimes bizarre thought processes associated with mental illness to fuel creativity. The theory is based on the idea that there is no clear dividing line between the healthy and the mentally ill. Rather, there is a continuum, with some people having psychotic traits without having the debilitating symptoms.

Mental illnesses have been around for thousands of years. Evolutionary theory suggests that in order for them to be still here, there must be some kind of survival advantage to them. If they were wholly bad, it's argued, natural selection would have seen them off long ago. In some cases the advantage is clear. Anxiety, for example, can be a mental illness with severe symptoms and consequences, but it is also a trait that at a non-clinical level has survival advantages. In healthy proportions, it keeps us alert and on our toes when threats are sensed.

It's now increasingly being argued that there are survival advantages to others forms of illness, too, because of the links between the traits associated with them and creativity. "It can be difficult for people to reconcile mental illness with the idea that traits may not be disabling. While people accept that there are health benefits to anxiety, they are more wary of schizophrenia and manic depression," says Professor Gordon Claridge, emeritus professor of abnormal psychology at Oxford University, who has edited a special edition of the journal Personality and Individual Differences, looking at the links between mental illness and creativity. "There is now a feeling that these traits have survived because they have some adaptive value. To be mildly manic depressive or mildly schizophrenic brings a flexibility of thought, an openness, and risk-taking behaviour, which does have some adaptive value in creativity. The price paid for having those traits is that some will have mental illness."

Research is providing support for the idea that creative people are more likely to have traits associated with mental illness. One study found that the incidence of mood disorders, suicide and institutionalisation to be 20 times higher among major British and Irish poets in the 200 years up to 1800. Other studies have shown that psychiatric patients perform better in tests of abstract thinking. Another study, based on 291 eminent and creative men in different fields, found that 69 per cent had a mental disorder of some kind. Scientists were the least affected, while artists and writers had increased diagnoses of psychosis.

"Most theorists agree that it is not the full-blown illness itself, but the milder forms of psychosis that are at the root of the association between creativity and madness," says Emilie Glazer, experimental psychologist and author of one of the Oxford journal papers. "The underlying traits linked with mild psychopathology enhance creative ability. In severe form, they are debilitating."

Research is also showing that traits associated with different mental illnesses have different effects on creativity. The creativity needed to develop the theory of relativity, is, for example, very different from that required for producing surreal paintings, or poetry.

Research is now homing in on whether the psychosis that is linked to different types of creativity comes through schizophrenia and schizotypy traits, through manic-depressive or cyclothymic traits, or traits associated with the autism and Asperger's disorders. A study at the University of Newcastle found significant differences between artistically creative people and mathematicians. While the artists showed schizotypy traits, mathematicians did not, and that fits in with the idea that mathematics and engineering, which require attention to detail, are closer to the autistic traits than to psychosis.

"Affective disorder perpetuates creativity limited to the normal," says Glazer, "while the schizoid person is predisposed to a sense of detachment from the world, free from social boundaries and able to consider alternative frameworks, producing creativity within the revolutionary sphere. Newton and Einstein's schizotypal orientation, for instance, enabled their revolutionary stamp in the sciences."

The stereotypical images of mad scientists working alone and preferring foaming beakers to friends, abound in literature, and reflect a popular perception of the aloof, detached and obsessive genius. But the idea goes back even further. 2000 years ago in Rome, the philosopher Seneca was obviously already on the case when he wrote: "There is no great genius without a tincture of madness."

It's no joke: Comedians and depression

Heard the one about the man who went to the doctor to get help for his depression? He's told to go and see a show with a well known comedian who would make him laugh and lift his spirits. "But that's me," says the patient. "I'm the comedian."

The joke, related by Rod Martin, author of 'The Psychology of Humor – An Integrative Approach', is apparently something of a favourite among comedians, who are known to be prone to depression, from the late Tony Hancock and Spike Milligan, to Stephen Fry and Paul Merton.

One theory is that humour is developed in response to depression, and that it works as a coping mechanism. One study, reported by Martin, looked at 55 male and 14 female comedians, all famous and successful. It found that comedians tended to be superior in intelligence, angry, suspicious, and depressed.

In addition, their early lives were characterised by suffering, isolation, and feelings of deprivation, and, he says, they used humour as a defence against anxiety, converting their feelings of suppressed rage from physical to verbal aggression. "The comedic skills required for a successful career may well be developed as a means of compensating for earlier psychological losses and difficulties," says Martin. A second study did not find higher levels, although comedians had significantly greater preoccupation with themes of good and evil, unworthiness, self-deprecation, and duty and responsibility.

"A significant proportion of comedians do seem to suffer more with depression," says Professor Gordon Claridge, emeritus professor of abnormal psychology at Oxford University. "Comedy seems to act as a way of dealing with depression. I think there is an emotionality and cognitive style that goes along with these depressive disorders which seems to feed creativity."

Salvador Dali was not just a great artist. He also met the criteria for several psychosis diagnoses, a mixture of schizophrenic and depressive. He may also have been paranoid, as well having antisocial, histrionic, and narcissistic disorders. "Dalí and his contribution to the history of art highlights that abnormality is not necessarily disagreeable – or to be so readily dismissed as a sign of neurological disease. For without his instability, Dalí may not have created the great art that he did," says Caroline Murphy of Oxford.

"freak accident." flying metal object, origin unknown, slices through windshield and kills 54 year-old simcoe man on impact. july 9, 2009 on the QEW a little after 1pm. they describe him as hardworking, kind, a grandfather, and his father still alive to lose him. the son before the father, the father and husband gone so suddenly, senselessly. truly senseless crime without a criminal. we remember that everything and anything can - and will - change in an instant. never to be the same again. and never to be forgotten. au revoir, friend.

a house on fire in the 1970s, a teenaged boy perhaps quiet, definitely shy, runs inside risking his life and rescues a 5 year old girl trapped and frightened and carries her to safety. years later, a grown woman now, she finds him and thanks him for saving her life that day. the odds are at odds. the math's all wrong.

her family's catholic. his, diabetic. she's so intensely allergic to wool she breaks out in hives when she wears it in a kilt to their wedding despite tights cut-off underneath. somewhere a small pup is sad and lonely, barely 6 months old, desperate for his mummy to come home. i want to go and find him. i should have brought him home with me.

a girl called home

2009-07-10T02:29:00.007-04:00

via giasco bertolli some of this is not so safe for work btw

photographer unknown famous celebrated photographer via the sourceless overflowing internet

you should watch this in full screen:

Les 5 siamoises from Hugo Arcier.

diablo cody and megan fox and eating boys in Jennifer's Body...

and then the inevitable happened. circles circles circles circles. unending stupid circles finished and closed before they're begun. so many belongings to retrieve realizing again that no one ever belongs to anyone no matter what naive promises are made and believed and even when you pull yourself open as far as you can and it hurts realizing you'll never close the same way, you'll never retract to what you were before you followed in faith and gave yourself beyond your own limits and protests, violating your own safety just to make room for you just to say see come here you can live inside me and you come home one day feeling bloated and stuffed and too full of them and you open the door and are shocked that they're not even inside anymore. that they left in the dark while you lay sleeping, distracted, fighting nightmares all night you were deserted and sick with horror the skin snaps back closing up sealing off for the last time but inside now empty it's still not the same there's a hole they left for you a giant gaping inside and you remember how there was a time when you were a fully complete person, a body intact, connected tissues and muscles and thoughts before you forced yourself open to accommodate them, exceeding your limits to protect them, to hide them away from the outside and with deep sadness you promise not to do it again how it's impractical and dangerous and boring and leaves you limp and bloated and defined by loss and lost, open discarded like a torn empty balloon that once was and still you know against all knowing in a crazy fit of delusional faith you'll say come here, come to me, i'll keep you safe, come live inside of me, i want you to live in me, i'll carry you with me and you can have all of me everything you want, i know you won't leave me empty and wounded, open and discarded, it's different with you, i know you so well, like you were already here, like you were always supposed to be here inside me like we were born together but somehow lost each other, got separated along the way and then the cliche cycle repeats and you know you'll still do it again and you'll even point it out to yourself and write it down indulging yourself and this ordinary woe while a more than a million hearts do the same in the same seconds of the same days but that won't stop you from tearing yourself open even wider this time to take all of them inside again where they belong where they have no business to be and you'll spill your boring, infinitely common, trauma heart stretchmarks on somewhere like blogger like a million others because you don't care to hide the obvious anymore and tomorrow will wake up and start the process over again, picking up shards, bleeding out the pain, and find hot model fuckable girls bodies so similar, long legs intertwined and you'll keep your heart closed as tightly as you can while you wonder why your breasts are so huge, engorged, water retention, nipples such tender pain to the touch and after so many months without a period you pray it's not milk, that you'll not find out your full with somebody else and tomorrow i'll buy myself another few dozen pregnancy tests.

discover discovery and help people

2009-07-02T10:44:00.012-04:00

hear this! today through July 7, most awesome indie supergroup, Discovery (Rostam Batmanglij of Vampire Weekend and Wes Miles of Ra Ra Riot), has pre-released their new album, entitled "LP", for only $8 a week before it hits the stores. more importantly, 2 of those 8 little dollars will go to Oxfam America to do all kinds of good things any even remotely intelligent human being would want his or her 2 bucks to help do. otherwise, wait until june 14th to buy it at regular price through the usual chain retailers or itunes and do shit all to help your fellow human being while happily doling out even more money to gazillionaire corporate greed giants and feel like shit about yourself because you should you heartless, pathetic, ignorant, selfish, uncharitable, insensitive, irresponsible, unsympathetic, thoughtless, self-indulgent, ignorant, miserable, apolitical dumbass fucking idiot of an asshole.

by choosing to not take advantage of this cheapo exclusive early release you're actually doing harm to people. how much easier does it have to get for your rich ass to help someone in need? don't tell me you think you're not rich, because you are. if you're able to read this you have access to all kinds of shit you take for granted and even if you're down to your last 10 bucks you're not REALLY down to your last ten bucks you ignorant moron.

YAY DISCOVERY!!! as the boys say, "We are thrilled to have Oxfam as part of this release. Oxfam's focus on broad advocacy and local relief for the impoverished is inspiring and we hope our support brings more awareness about their projects and goals." fuck yeah!

photos from 10 whole long years ago by a mister smith long NOT of the band Discovery...

life is short. and gets shorter and shorter till it's all gone. cease the day. i meant seize. woops. hee. whoopsee. whoopsy? seize it before it ceases! goodmorning goodnight i am asleep and awake and it's almost 11am and time for bed, finally.

for eager eye and willing ear

2009-06-28T07:24:00.002-04:00

yummy stills from alice in wonderland

fucking birds already. feed the stomach, watch the sunrise, go to bed. but first, this:

g'night

2009-06-27T18:50:00.009-04:00

RIP MJ so sad. heard the news in the cab. had just given 12 fat vials of blood after fasting. woozy and disoriented i watched the city roll by. separated by a dirty window and a pharmaceutically-induced blurry mind. each unexpected bump a new agony. all those lucky people on bicycles with such opportunity to do anything, go anywhere, and on and on as my usual post-doctor visit case of poor me's goes and then suddenly we three (me, cd, and mister cabdriver) heard something in the burbled background chatter of the radio and immediately, all minds now three, we rushed to request but already had turned up the sound and then looked at each other in shock and disbelief (he watching us and we watching him and no one watching the road while hurtling forward through space and time unprotected) and said did you hear that too? i was hit by how hit by it i was. incredible. unthinkable. and sad. what came next was nothing short of a global outpouring of grief and celebration. media everywhere of every kind expressing every detail, every thought. people sobbing and dancing in the streets. from city to city, the same response. global. the "real" news overcame by celebrity shock and speculation. and then bizarre response the world over. liza manelli, brando's son, al sharpton, usher in tears on larry king. the news keeps coming and it's sad and lonely and misunderstood. they keep saying prescription meds this and that, but what about the agony of living with Lupus and how it typically kills you in your 40s and 50s? i know far too much about that disease and pray i'll never have it. i have two similar autoimmune diseases - "autoimmune" illnesses are caused by a dysfunctional immune system that attacks your body's healthy tissues, bone, brain, whatever... where/what it attacks is what classifies what disease when really it's more fitting to think of the actual diseases as symptoms of this disordered state. one which leaves you at high risk to acquire others which is why many autoimmune disorder sufferers struggle with more than one disease. among other painful and difficult symptoms, Lupus attacks your organs resulting in their eventual failure - usually the heart or lungs cease functioning causing death. none of the media seems to mention that MJ had both Lupus and also Vertiglio (an autoimmune disorder that attacks the skin, whitening it in patches and probably the cause of his dramatic skin colour change over time). i hope there's freedom in death. i hope there's peace. i hope the weariness of a lonely life leaves and one's left with the innocence and delight of a child who doesn't yet know anything of hurt or fear or pain. i hope there's some experience of peacefulness, of some kind of powerful understanding of a universal uniting love, some reassuring sense of recompense after everything's finally said and done. i hope.

As He Came Into The Window It Was The Sound Of A Crescendo He Came Into Her Apartment He Left The Bloodstains On The Carpet She Ran Underneath The Table He Could See She Was Unable So She Ran Into The Bedroom She Was Struck Down, It Was Her Doom

Annie Are You OK? So, Annie Are You OK Are You OK, Annie Annie Are You OK? So, Annie Are You OK Are You OK, Annie Annie Are You OK? So, Annie Are You OK? Are You OK, Annie? Annie Are You OK? So, Annie Are You Ok, Are You Ok, Annie?

Annie Are You OK? Will You Tell Us That You're OK? There's A Sign In The Window That He Struck You - A Crescendo Annie! He Came Into Your Apartment He Left The Bloodstains On The Carpet Then You Ran Into The Bedroom You Were Struck Down It Was Your Doom

So They Came Into The Outway It Was Sunday - What A Black Day Mouth To Mouth Resus - Citation Sounding Heartbeats - Intimidations

friends in high places

2009-06-23T03:09:00.003-04:00

i desperately need a massive poster of Bob Homme aka The Friendly Giant:

quite possibly my most favorite childrens' show ever.... oooh and Barbapapa and Fables Of the Green Forest, and of course Roland the Rat. here he is on the Wide Awake Club with David Cassidy and um others... this so totally obscures his astounding talent. ah well. i was totally obsessed with him. don't think i was ever more a fan of someone than he.

(this is not to say i've resumed regular posting by any means.)

high rollin:the cadillac of cardboard boxes

2009-06-11T05:27:00.005-04:00

this woman's home on wheels was so expertly made that peeping through the crack of the padded padlocked door revealed an interior of walls lined with various sizes of cubby holes made from layers of paper, plastic, and tape, displaying an astounding amount of carefully organized personal items among which included a small radio and a deck of playing cards. she pointed out the small ventilation spaces protected by chicken wire that weren't big enough to be called "windows" but were numerous enough to allow air to circulate and provide sight from the inside out, but cleverly still small enough to make it very difficult to see from the outside in. i wish i'd taken more photos - she was more than happy to explain its construction to me - but somehow i got too caught up in the conversation that i ended up only taking these three shots so you'll just have to use your own little brain to imagine the rest for yourself - specifically how awesome the other side was and how detailed and organized it was inside. i also really dug her haircut and friar garb.

[retroactively posted: Aug. 22nd, 2006 at 11:36 pm, note: she at least on that day was living in santa monica. as were the subjects of the other photos also.]

fucking morning birds chirping already dammit. sleepless pain, more like painful sleeplessness and i was just about to take a bedtime make me sleepy bath. i don't need some well-meaning morning bath to wake me up. the sun shining on the bath water and all that and then cue the traffic noises, people noises, dogs barking, a certain dog who's happily asleep in my arms while i type this will instead be jumping on my head for food and walking and no. goodnight. nothing like some evening angst to make you stay up all night ouching on the internet. grumble-sigh. hey, one more day till friday working people. you're almost there. now go somewhere good like here. goodnight again. hey, can someone please tell me if you can see my itsy iconish photos in the sidebar (a brilliant button given to me by the pants (which she FOUND no less, didn't make - i didn't either, so what brilliant totally unrelated soul did? i often wonder), a "fuck war" shirted girl i met in NYC just after 9/11 and some other little pictures? they're in my html but not on the page = impossible. thanks. goodnight again (again). ahh some car just started up outside. goodBYE. also, this blog would have been murdered months ago if it wasn't for a boy named blayne (he's an adult, but alliteration is funner) so thank you to blayne. i was letting it die slowly by the tried and trusted method of ignoring it and not posting and i may still murder it yet, but not quite this yet at least. no comments on that part please, this is not a fishing for compliments threat it's just a shout out to an encouraging friend. goodbye again.

changing every lock, melting down every key

2009-06-05T03:33:00.008-04:00

recycled photos. i'm not sure if i ever posted these.

look a ridiculous commercial about shaving pie!

...that smacks a little too much of um purposefully err mutilating your genitalia. gotta love commercials for products that advertisers have to get uh "creative" about in order to get across the idea. badly. and too often.

i just wrote a beautiful poem for you

all about gang rape

it really wasn't the time or place to post it

i've got some other things to tend to first

hey look, there we go!

consider it done.

!!@%(^%$!#^&%#@!!!

2009-05-26T20:48:00.012-04:00

grrrr. fuckers. so sad and mad at this evil shit the gays get flung their way. protests everywhere. 2010 not so far away at least. america, please grow up and learn to love yourself. if america was a parent, child services would be a knockin. in the meantime, i am working hard to remember that people around the globe are astounded and horrified too and that the gazillion protests will continue to push this forward to ensure a fairer future. check out dayofdecision.com for rallies. so far...

117 Total Day of Decision City Events:
115 U.S. City events
+2 Canadian City events
32 States + D.C.
55+ California City events

and that's only the ones that are listed and pre-organized. i can hear the roar outside already and that's through closed windows. it's only going to get louder tonight. the canadian cops aren't as likely to bludgeon anyone to death, but that's canada. i'm praying people stay safe here and everywhere. praying cops don't beat the hell out of people though it's unlikely that they won't. i'm sure we'll have some insane photos by tomorrow morning.

keep the peace and give em hell.

above image via hewhocannotbenamed

judgment day for love and h8

2009-05-26T06:06:00.010-04:00

in less than 4 hours from now the California Supreme Court will have decided whether to uphold or overturn Prop 8, the now infamous and heinous bill that, incredibly, successfully passed last November effectively overturning the right to marry for gay and lesbian couples in the state of California and which, if allowed to remain law, threatens to annul over 18,000 marriages in our otherwise historically liberal California.

it is important to understand that no matter what the outcome may be, today will be a day of action. whether it turns out to be to protest or to rejoice, people across the nation and around the world will be joined together in emotional reaction. many many rallies have been planned throughout the country expecting to either demonstrate in peaceful civil disobedience against violation of basic human rights or to (hopefully) celebrate an incredibly important victory for equality - one not only for the LGBTQ community, but for human rights everywhere. every step closer to equality for all is vital to our progress and survival as an entire species.

dayofdecision.com lists rallies by state and city, has some excellent information about the importance of peaceful civil disobedience opposed to violence during protests, and lists many resources and organizations worth checking out.

if you're not able to attend any of the group gatherings in California or your home state and you're at home watching the kids or picking your toes or stuck in a cubicle watching the clock or blissfully watching the tide come in all hammocked-up on some heavenly private island with internet access, radio, whatever, remember that you are still sharing this moment with thousands upon thousands of people who are experiencing the same emotional response whether it be anger, joy, relief, or sadness. wherever you are the world will be watching with you. let's hope this turns out to be a historical day that champions freedom and equality for all people. if not, it will still be a historical day in the fight against oppression where people everywhere joined together for a better world.

forgive my sloppy sentences on such an important subject. my brain has already gone to bed. goodnight aka goodmorning. i'm off to dream of places where people aren't criminalized by the state or ostracized by society simply for loving each other. and also, that other people whose lives may not seem to be directly affected by the suffering of others still have the intellectual and emotional capacity to understand that this is their cause as well.

button eyes in a carboard face

2009-05-23T02:36:00.001-04:00

my harddrive's full, my external drive's fucked, the other one, also full, the other other one, not here. my laptop's dying, i need a new laptop, i need a lot of new things. i hate needing things. especially material ones. bah. enjoy this recycled blog photo i took all the way back in february of last year. enjoy it, i said, enjoy it!

i did not make this video. and i don't care if you've seen it before. i'm feeling a tad cantankerous at the moment. just a tad. turning into a grumpy crotchety whiny old fuck. it happens. don't you glare at those missing commas. today was hotter than jessica stam sunbathing in the buff off some craggy precipice of paradisal greek islandry. yup. hotter. mmm greece... mmm portugal... i have plans to escape back to europa. all hail the motherfuckin motherland (motherfuckers).

farewell ne'erdowells. is ne'erdowell multi-hyphenated? meh.