ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: HOLY HELL ON EARTH, IT'S ABOUT TO GET SUMMER IN THIS PIECE.

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 05:07:00 +0000

Well, well, well, Summer, we've been expecting you.

This summer is gonna be sick as fudge. Between different projects, I'm going to try and find some time for the truest of summer pass-times: getting half-naked, sweaty-drunk.
Not like power-drunk, more like, been-at-all-day, I'm-down-for-whatever drunk.
Which brings me to this: I have a problem with Summer, even though I really like luke-warm nights passed out on a dock, and that's there's not always something to do.

Here's a couple of suggestions, should boredom strike you.

1 Get to the lake. It's perfectly human to get a lift off that.
2 Call your girly up... (awe... that's just nice...)
3 Create company. Build stencils, t-shirts, posters, and stack up on aerosol glue. Print stickers, fliers and banners, and blanket them everywhere. Bomb out a bunch of canvasses, murals, and gear, and create stock. Design a route to take advantage of people flow, and sell pieces while doing radically under priced performance art. By night, poster and stencil company logo over, beside, and under every damn thing from here to there. Gate-crash elitist designer parties and Wreakhouse. (See: gate-crashing a RGD seminar.) Dominate a 15 by 20 foot section of Queen and Spadina sidewalk. (with fuckin lead-based paint in case someone was looking to have it stick around like the yellow line on the street.) INVADE YORKVILLE. Eat breakfast. BUY A BULLHORN, or "find" one. Hassle advertising agencies and design firms, relentlessly. Orchestrate a series of publicity stunts and guerrilla advertisments. Draw something "nice." DONT LEAVE THE FUCKIN BBQ ON. Invite a gang of people over to your joint, crack drinks, crank tunes, and light it the Helloff. Lake-side jams, all night. Brand your lifestyle, and introduce mandatory membership. Hammer like 20 beers down and go tubbing with your crazy buddies. Urban exploration: under-rated. "Crash" and "Parties." Hard. Powerfuck. Get lifted.
Find that little thing that does it for you.
Take in a sunrise with having actually slept the night before.
Listen to the birds.

Raise Hell, and relax in Heaven.

Yeah, so there's three good ideas.
Oh yeah, one last thing...
DO NOT MISS THE LCBO BEFORE HOLIDAYS. ("Man that sucks")

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE STRONGLY ADVOCATES THE SECOND AND THRID IDEA...It's because sweaty summer sex and ruthless guerrilla campaigns keeps things interesting. The lake's nice, but not that nice.

-keep it real.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: KRS ONE @ THE OPERA HOUSE, JUNE 12, 2009.

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Mon, 04 May 2009 23:22:00 +0000

I got my ass learned some realness on Saturday.
Yesindeedy, I did.

We hit the Freedom Festival. The weed march, as some call it, we got the tail end of it. Within an hour, Queen's Park was getting tight at the seems.
And that shit smelt lovely. Lovely, like rolling in a grow show. There was plumes of dense white smoke billowing out of every third person, every second in front of your eyes.

We made contact with a stencil/poster/guerrilla promoter, known for work with Tapeminati.com, a mix tape distribution company (re: look down if you're on Queen and Spadina for the mix tape stencil) who gave us a proposition:
Hand out Volcom shwag, lace the crowd with KRS ONE posters, and in return, get on the guest list for KRS ONE, (and rock some sexy backstage passes) at the June 12th show at the long standing Opera House, where other brilliant speakers such Hunter S. Thompson have inspired before.

Sounded dope as figidiuck to me.

So we did it. Oh yeah, we sure did.
We dropped over 2000 pieces (conservative estimate) of Volcom hats and vinyl stickers, many, many ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE stickers, and hundreds and hundreds of KRS ONE posters for the show, all under about four hours.
Like hell-bent vending machines.
Yes, the force was strong here.

We interviewed Jace and Hex of WildCore, the organizers of the event at the Opera House, a righteous pair of Hip-Hop advocates. These guys live it, and you can tell from the way they talk, it’s a lifestyle. The words, the actions, everything ties in to it.
Here at ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE, we are all about living it, what ever it is you do, if you love it, you become it. Simple enough.
When KRS ONE hits the stage, it will have been after doing two seminars under the “Stop The Violence Movement” group, responsible for awakening the public about the nature of the Hip-Hop communities.

What’s the good news? The tickets are $28. The Show is going to be gnarly, and the talent is legendary. Get stoked, this one is for the hardcore Hip-Hop Heads.

BIG UP TO JAS AND HEX OF WILDCORE.
MAD METAL HOLLARS OUT TO THE ORGANISERS OF THE FREEDOM FESTIVAL.

WE HERE AT ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE ARE GETTING A LITTLE FIRED UP OVER HERE. THIS SHOW IS GONNA BE EPIC.

AND LASTLY, FORTIES UP!
TO KRS ONE, “THE TEACHER”...
WE CANT WAIT TO WELCOME YOU TO TORONTO…

#0M

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: How to Save Face.

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 16:47:00 +0000

NEVER BACK DOWN.
REMEMBER WHO YOU FRIENDS ARE.
BURN ANYTHING IN YOUR PATH DOWN.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: TRIPLE SICK SKIN REVIEW; GRAVENHURST.

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 23:42:00 +0000

URSA MEGA AND CHEMICAL ROBOTIKS OF ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE WOULD LIKE TO THANK BILL ORCHARD AND JOHN PURKIS OF PSYCHO WARD CLOTHING COMPANY, TONY THEOS AND PETER WOODS OF TRIPLE SICK SKIN TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS, CHRIS CAMPBELL, THE BANDS AZENITH, RAIGN, MASTER OF WEAPON, AND GODKILLER.

AND A HUGE SCREAMER OUT TO MY BROTHERS STEVE CAIRNS AND KARL FLAGGAR OF SCDIGITAL FOR FILMING THE PROJECT.

STAY TUNED TO ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE AND PSYCHO WARD C.C. EVENTS AND ENTERTAINMENT FOR MORE COLLABORATIONS

The Wrestler

mfclark77@gmail.com (Kermode) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 19:41:00 +0000

Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler poignantly and poetically presents a multidimensional portrait of a professional wrestler's undesired retirement. Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Mickey Rourke) lives life the hard way and when things come crashing down does his best to reign in that which he unfortunately let go during the more belligerent days of his career. Dashing dancer Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) and estranged daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood) do their best to help piece together the puzzle, but it's a heartbreakingly byzantine panorama requiring a sincerely dedicated degree of patience to comprehend.

The film's strong and Rourke's performance is my pick for Oscar's best actor of the year. The grainy shots and promotional poster credits establish a prominent yet passionately melancholic aesthetic that aptly reflects The Ram's troubles. And it hurts to see him go through it, a spur of the moment man crippled by the financial and humanistic consequences of responsibility. Things happen, not everyone can deal, and not everyone chooses a comfortable career with a pension, regular pay, and wide ranging benefits. The Ram's predicament generally functions as a representative of the aging economic other, the dedicated destitute artist doing what she or he can with what little he or she possesses to bring a bit more cheer to the members of her or his community. And each particular performance electrifies and holistically humanizes what it means to live according to your own individual rules with their own attendant predilections.

There are feelings and points of view that get lost in the rush as you travel from one dimension to another in order to reconstruct daily routines, get by, important pieces of your personal constitution that lie dormant in the unconscious waiting for a specific smell/game winning touchdown pass/deal breaking decision/surprise dinner/work of art to bring them back to life. And The Wrestler really made me feel a lot of the convictions that I had been simply thinking for who knows how long (providing them with an outlet to be revitalized) and that's just one of the reasons why I found it to be such an exceptional film.

Rourke's powerful portrayal of a dislodged, dominant demon, stalwart yet dainty, determined yet spellbound, vigorously demonstrates what it means to succeed while simultaneously pointing out the lesions of loss. Aronofsky once again provocatively illustrates his evocative chops, presenting another infinite requiem for a courageously clandestine character.

ISSUE ZERO: ChemicalRobotiks: Paper Zombies

noreply@blogger.com (Chemical Robotiks) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 17:40:00 +0000

*Fold on the Dotted lines
*cut along the solids

Its easy to assemble and makes a creeping looking zombie when finished. If you find yourself bored, and near a printer give it a whirl. Its pretty funny.

Enjoy

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: THE ISOSCELES PROJECT @ SNEAKY DEE'S. FRIDAY THE 13TH 2009

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 03:53:00 +0000

The first time I met Eric Euler... actually, I don't remember the first time. but around the second and third time I'm sure was in the alley behind the Elmo on Spadina. The Issue Zero Magazine triad was ripped from pounding "road-pops." I can't verify this, because, I myself, the person actually involved, was pretty twisted when I smelled the weed.

If it was Eric Euler smoking weed, the guitar player and duck-stepping, mop head-banging front man of the Much Music-raping Isosceles Project, then I am even more impressed than I was when I wasn't sure.
Ob(li)viously.

On Friday the 13th, at Sneaky Dee’s, at College and Bathurst, three guys without a singer got more people rowdy than a band with two singers. The Isosceles Project headlined their CD release party for “Oblivion’s Candle” after the performances by a brit-punk combo I don’t remember the name of, and a second act with some ska that made me feel like it was summer, (some sick saxamaphone actionamon) and made me drink the same too. I don’t remember their name either.

But by God in heaven, when the Isosceles Project got on stage, the whole place went to Hell. Fifty people at the front holding their thumbs and fingers into Isosceles triangles, and the second the was an excuse...Slam-o-Rama. I’ll just start off by saying, I like mosh pits. I do, really. Usually I leave them completely unharmed, part of God’s cruel design, minus some neck pains and some liver issues. But this time, I left with a couple of real nice goose eggs, and somebody’s blood on my face. That’s what I call a good show.

They performed their new song (a Chrono's-melting 15 minutes long) “March of the Obsolete” where some douche bag knocked out the bass feed. They fixed it really quickly, but not before Scott informed us all someone was gonna get it good if they fucked up his chords again.

A stocky 5’10”, easily 180-pound, fully-bearded Scott didn’t have to pound anyone, but it wouldn’t have taken long to do it by the looks of him. They started their "March" again, and it was like there wasn’t ever a cloud in the sky of glorious epic heavy metal and tossing your good friends on the floor and thrashing around all Superdrunkass.

I've seen some killer drummers in my time. Oh, you better believe it, (Ryan Chalmers wrote out bass tab for me once, while playing, a complete mindfuck,) and after that night, I'm putting Justin Falzon in that category, under "unstoppable force of nature." That kid kills it, but good.

Five bucks. I’m not gonna lie, it was the best spent since my LSD days. And in all fairness, I got enough food and beer into me downstairs before the show to justify drinking the good old C.C. I “found” at the liquor store and brought in with me.
I bought the Isosceles Project’s CD. For ten bones, you get it all. The sound is level and strong.

My insulting them in categorizing their actual musical style is more like a fond fantasy of mine where a transport truck called Tool and a full load of Frank Zappa is high jacked by a screaming mad man, who falls asleep at the wheel and drives full speed into Funky Town, slowing for nothing, taking everything out on its magical ballistic and euphonic trajectory.
Oh yeah.

The songs come on a disc that has some sick texture on it; I don’t know what it is, but that shit wont come off. When you pull the CD off the case, you see some Dante’s Inferno artwork that immediately reminds me of a bloody fistfight in a fire pit. (This is a compliment.)

And, finally, when you turn that album on, you can kiss off forty-five minutes of your life you ain't gonna want back.
No fluff.
No bullshit.
No filler repeated chorus’ (there’s no fuckin lyrics AT ALL.)

GO TO
WWW.ISOSCELESPROJECT.COM
AND ORDER YOUR HEAVY METAL VACATION SOUND TRACK.

You wont be disappointed.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE WAS PROUD TO BE A PART OF THE FRONT LINE AT THE ISOSCELES PROJECT’S CD RELEASE PARTY.

PSYCHO WARD CLOTHING CO.

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 04:46:00 +0000

BILL ORCHARD PUT A HEX ON EACH INDIVIDUAL PIECE OF APPAREL, IN HIS OWN VOO DOO LOUNGE, SOMEWHERE IN ORILLIA.

BUY ONE TODAY, AND DO THINGS YOU'LL REGRET.

ORDER YOUR T-SHIRT TODAY!!!
PSYCHOWARDCO@GMAIL.COM

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE IS ALL THE FUCK ABOUT PASSING THE BUCK.

ANNND, AS AN ADDED BONUS, ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE CAN DRINK YOUR LILY LIVERD ASS WAAAAY UNDER THE TABLE. WE'LL SALUTE YOU FOR TRYING, BUT THEN WE'RE TAKING TURNS PISSING IN YOUR OPEN MOUTH.
CHEERS, FUCK-ASSES.

COMING SOON,
TRIPLE SICK SKIN REVIEW!!!

NOW GET BACK TO FUCKIN OFF.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: BRANT HOUSE

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 15:01:00 +0000

OK, FIRST OF ALL, BRANT HOUSE IS FULL OF DOUCHE BAGS.
THE MUSIC IS SHIT, AND THE BOUNCERS THINK THAT GOD TOLD THEM TO GUARD THE PEARLY GATES. THE ONE REDEEMING CHARACTERISTIC IS THAT THE STAFF IS SO DAFT THAT EVEN AFTER BEING REQUIRED TO BE AT LEAST 25, THEY LET MY ASS IN, WITH A MICKY OF GOOD OLD CANADIAN CLUB.

SO WITH THAT SAID, FUCK THE BRANT HOUSE.
LIKE A ROOFY IN YOUR BEER AND A BOTTLE OPENER IN YOUR EAR.

SUCK IT SO HARD YOU DROWN, YOU QUIFF BREATH-FRESHENER.

PS. IF WE DO ANYTHING WE WANT IN YOUR ESTABLISHMENT, YOUR SECURITY ISN'T ITS JOB.

KING AND PORTLAND: GIVE IT BACK TO THE STREET CREATURES.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: MY BLOODY VALENTINE 3D

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 03:49:00 +0000

WELL, LET ME JUST TELL YOU SOMETHING: WITH 3D GLASSES, YOU DON'T NEED HARDCORE HALLUCINOGENS. NOT THAT THEY ARE NOT WELCOME, LIKE I'M FUCKING POSITIVE THE GUYS IN THE BACK ROW WERE JUST SWIMMING ON A HANDFUL, BUT THIS MOVIE WAS THE STRAIGHT UP SHIT WITHOUT A BAG OF MUSHROOMS.
I HAD ONLY A GLASS OF WINE BEFORE THIS MOVIE, AND I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE TAKEN A BLAST OF THAT FUNKY DUST-MIST FROM THE SCARECROWS MASK IN BATMAN BEGINS, RIGHT IN MY OPEN MOUTH AND INHALING NOSTRILS WITH BOTH EYES SURPRISINGLY WIDE OPEN LIKE A FRAT HOUSE TEA BAG AND A CUP OF FART....
HORRIFIC. FUCKING HEART STOPPING.

THAT'S ALL YOU GET. THAT, AND IT'S CANADIAN.
SO GET OFF YOUR WALLET, AND PACK YOUR HEAD WITH MUSHROOMS AND GO SEE THIS SHIT BEFORE SOMEONE SUFFERS A HEART ATTACK AT A SHOWING AND THEY YANK IT OUT OF THE THEATERS.

AZENITH TAKES SECOND PLACE!!!

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 03:25:00 +0000

AZENITH ROUND 3

AZENITH AND THEIR MURDEROUS STEAM TAKE 2ND PLACE!

MORE CLIPS FROM THE BELT HOLDERS: GOD KILLER!

AZENITH CONTINUES TO BRUTALIZE!!!

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 03:24:00 +0000

ROUND 2.

AZENITH CONTINUES TO BRUTALIZE!!!
MANY DRINK AS FAST AS THEY CAN TO CATCH UP WITH THE FURY!!!
FEW WERE SPARED!
EVEN LESS LEFT SOBER!

AZENITH KILLS GRAVENHURST!!!

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 02:52:00 +0000

ROUND 1!
AZENITH COMES ON STRONG! DEMANDING ATTENTION AND EVICTING YUPPIES FROM THE NEXT ROOM!
THE PANDEMONIUM ENSUES!

ISSUE ZERO:ChemicalRobotiks:Slumdog review

noreply@blogger.com (Chemical Robotiks) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 14:07:00 +0000

Well, I just finished watching this flick and was pretty pleasantly surprised.

It's the story of a young boy, born and raised in the Mumbai slums who later on becomes a contestant on who wants to be a millionaire. Everyone is puzzled at how an uneducated kid from the slums could be doing so well on the game show and speculations begin to surround him as people believe he is either cheating or the show is rigged.

The film tells the boys story though each of the questions asked by the host, as it cuts away to show the story behind how he knows the answer. After the first question the audience knows he has had a hard life.

When I left the theater I though the film was only OK but as I began to think about it I actually really liked it. The cinematography is excellent and has long sweeping shot of the slums as well as rich imagery of the streets and people. All of this is complimented by one of the best soundtracks I have heard in a movie for some time.
-stick around for the credits. There is an awesome Bollywood dance routine

All and all, I would give this movie 3.5/5

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: THIRD EYE MEGA

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 04:41:00 +0000

IT WAS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME.
WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH TEN SEXY MEGA PIXELS?
PROBABLY TAKE FUN LITTLE SNAPS OF FLOWERS AND DOGS AND SHIT.
WELL, HERE AT ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE, WE'D LIKE TO THINK WE ANSWER TO A HIGHER CALLING.
LIKE THE INFAMOUS CIRCULAR BREATHING TECHNIQUE I USE TO POWERDRINK.
THANKS TO LONDON FOR THE KICK ASS CAMERA.
...YOU SEXY LITTLE MONSTER.

THE BORN DESTROYERS @ QUEEN AND BATHURST.

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 05:11:00 +0000

A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO, ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE WENT TO THE BIG BOP AT QUEEN AND BATHURST TO SEE THE BORN DESTROYERS. WE HAD A KILLER GOOD TIME. IF YOU EVER FIND YOURSELF AT A BORN DESTROYER SHOW, AND YOU AREN'T FULLY GOING APE-SHIT-NUTS, YOU BETTER MAKE SURE YOU AIN'T CLOSE ENOUGH TO THE STAGE THAT THEY CAN SEE YOU, OR YOUR SORRY ASS IS TOAST.
BECAUSE IF THEY DON'T GET YOU, I SURE AS FUCK WILL.
LONG LIVE HEAVY METAL.

BY THE WAY, THE CONTEST MENTIONED IN THIS VIDEO IS LEGIT, IF YOU CAN DESIGN THE FEARED "VAGINA MONSTER" DESCRIBED IN THIS VIDEO, AS CLOSELY AS POSSIBLE TO THE DESCRIPTION GIVEN, THE BORN DESTROYERS AND ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE, WILL HOOK YOU THE FUCK UP.

SEND ENTREES TO WWW.ISSUEZERO@GMAIL.COM

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE PRESENTS: THE BORN DESTROYERS.

SEE? WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU?
THAT'S RIGHT. NOW WIPE YOUR CHIN AND GET THE FUCK OFF YOUR WALLET, GET YOUR BORN DESTROYERS TICKET, AND GO GET YOUR HEAD THOROUGHLY PULVERIZED AT THE OPERA HOUSE THIS SATURDAY AT 9:30, FOR ANOTHER INSTALMENT OF THE TYPE OF ROCK AND ROLL THAT MIGHT JUST SAVE THE GOD DAMNED WORLD AS WE KNOW IT.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE: INVADE MUSKOKA.

ISSUEZERO@gmail.com (Issue Zero Magazine) — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 08:13:00 +0000

There comes a time in everyone's life, when someone drops the bomb on you. Bombs can come in many forms. Some measure potential damage of said device against x amounts of TNT. Some can be made out of the things you can find in your very own home.
But the kind I am referring to now, is the kind made out of a simple true statement, specifically, one made to me, by a good friend of mine.

"I have a hundred acre lot in Muskoka you can use to throw a festival."

Shortly after I ran a couple of worst case scenarios and best possible outcomes through my head, I took a big, throat-rupturing chug of Canadian Whiskey, and through some wincing and choking, I thanked my good friend.

After which, we got royally shit-faced.
Like, fall-off-the-throne-drunk type of shit-faced.

Where is this magical century of acreage?
All you need to know for now, is that yes, it most certainly does exist, and for all intents and purposes, WE ARE GOING TO THROW THE MOTHER OF ALL FESTIVALS IN THAT FIELD, SO HELP ME GOD, MARK MY WORDS, IT WILL BE REMEMBERED FOR A LONG TIME TO COME.

This project is only in its Genesis, and already, Bill Orchard and friends of Psycho Ward Clothing Co., bands, Dj's, sound and lighting crews, vendors, and my own personal film crew SCDigital, ran by Steve Cairns, have gotten on board for our little fuckshow.

The ones that will be forced against their will won't be notified until the last minute.
Sorry, but what would a fucking great idea be without some hostages?
Well, I guess they're just "kidnapped" until we use them as leverage, then they'd become hostages...
Whatever.
I'm just fucking around.

Kinda. Yeah, no, I guess I mean it.

Look, the important thing to remember here is that there is gonna be a wicked weekend-long festival in Muskoka where you can park your ass down for 72 hours and get mental to some killer good tunes, and you'll be missed if you don't come.

Look to the sky in the city of Toronto, cuz our special brand of advertising is coming to a highly visible space, real soon.

ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE HAS THE SPOT.
AND IF YOU LISTEN, REALLY CAREFULLY, YOU CAN HEAR GOD FILLING OUT LIFE INSURANCE PAPERWORK, AND MAKING THE SPACE UNDER HIS BED BIG ENOUGH FOR HIM AND MARY.

CAN YOU SURVIVE THE ISSUE ZERO MAGAZINE 72 HOUR CHALLENGE?

IF YOU ARE A MEMBER OF A BAND, OR YOU ARE A DJ, AUDITIONS ARE BEING HELD IN THE FUTURE. CONTACT US AT WWW.ISSUEZERO@GMAIL.COM

Insomnia

mfclark77@gmail.com (Kermode) — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 19:06:00 +0000

He was just like, that's what he was like, no criticisms that hadn't been crafted in a thrift shop, no interpretations that weren't seen through a focused one-dimensional lens that dismissed before trying to understand controversial out-of-the-box cultural objects of inquiry. Foolish, little Kermode, happy with your bowl turned thirty years old this year, didn't you, you didn't?, why, yes you did, you did little Kermode, yes yes. Foam from his tongue on-the-run-stunned by knowledge, paradox, cake that had to be and eaten as well juxtaposed with complicating things. That lush spirit bear, originator of wimp mouth, prince of a thousand enemies, relaxed. He had done things, many things, out there inside his room, searching. What would that taste like, he could work there, like that gas station in the middle of nowhere, or driving a train, choo-choo-choo, escape, like Aeneus of old, broadsided. The room was lined with little plants who required water and sun light as well as landscape paintings with a television and a brass tiger lamp. Woolen socks were being worn when he got out of bed to watch television in his pajamas, Wolfy vigilantly guarding the VCR, always there, permanent, the same thoughtful stare, resting, loyal, trustworthy, true. A half-finished glass of orange juice rested on the floor next to a cheese sandwich missing three bites. The fight was on, boxing, he was attempting to understand but couldn't and didn't feel noble because he was trying even though as he continued he appreciated how these thoughts paralleled the bout. 1 2 3 times top, out of your rut little Kermode, Duke of Determination, Earl of Evanescence, out into the great universal wherein you'll find something new, whereby you'll be challenged, excellent suggestion, nice.

And the Moment Will Come

mfclark77@gmail.com (Kermode) — Sun, 07 Dec 2008 03:48:00 +0000

That was it then, it, for the moment. A remorseless tag-line subjectively imposed with perfection, reverberating across. The scene required a mediator of sorts to reconcile three distinct yet inter-dependent avenues: fortune, forensics, fame. The first path necessitated a glimpse into an unforeseen caricature whose prognosis was frankly obscure. Remarkable candour. Number two, research. The third was more like a boulevard lined with balloons each with a designation suggesting flow, and go; no idea. While walking there I put on my scarf because I loved the surrounding city and there scarves were fashionable. My focus was somewhat haywire, the result of significant confusion countered by a caffeine pill which had my mind running faster than my body making it difficult to intuit a catalyst. Better than the last time, everything disproportionately appealing, like stairs, heading somewhere, with sandals stuck. For fortune I'd rent a pinball machine, for forensics, a professional. Fame delights in concrete likenesses that must accept the knocking back and forth forth and back cut through the centre inside the tendancy to inflate a wizened resilience, that being it, for the moment.

Pose

mfclark77@gmail.com (Kermode) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 13:31:00 +0000

There is a peculiar output from time to time although its precision is comprised by its accuracy. No need to bring that up, we're aware. Yes, we've covered that, we know, at ease. Basically, the tangent Smyke's been working loosely aligns itself with three of the major themes developed in his earlier prose but is divergent enough to potentially be classified as new ground. If it is indeed new then we can be confident that at least 85% of the projected pilot has hit the mark and can be counted upon for more verdant televisual pastures. To a lighthouse or some such thing. The characters seek change within although their motivation is tangled up in metaphor. We certainly appreciate the ways in which the metaphors abound in a juxtaposed yet complimentary fashion but are continually confounded by the slide. Sliding so often, slipshod, ramshackle. I'm unaware if he's accomplished that as of yet for I've only read the first 20 pages but will let you know after I investigate the content with increased rigour. Certainly, there is a fashionable interest and not simply a bizarre intrinsic infatuation: this I can assure you. But if you can't be content to wait for our analysis of the finished project I'm at a loss as to how I can continue to answer your questions.

T-2000

mfclark77@gmail.com (Kermode) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 12:47:00 +0000

I gave him my hand after asking if he wanted to live. Indeed he did, that gaunt rapscallion, indeed. We started walking down Main towards the falls mesmerized by the rapids. A groundhog was scurrying on the rocks, scavenging, sorry, scavenging, not scurrying. That's not it either. I wanted ice cream as did he hence we bought two scoops each. Went with chocolate ripple. The old lady with the read and white striped scarf was feeding the sea-gulls because she understood that they weren't going anywhere. "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" was humming in my head but I felt like singing "Sway." Was that kind of morning. I thought about what he had said while going over what I had to do. For work. The falls were rushing down, always rushing, down, from the top, rush rush, past past, that was a stick, not a fish, rush. Show me don't tell me thought I while remembering I was to play bridge in the afternoon. I was living well, thinking, rearranging, filing feelings for fact, attuned. I'd never met someone split out West, in tact, sunk with stones yet fighting back. Never.

Beaches

mfclark77@gmail.com (Kermode) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 02:22:00 +0000

I knew I could never leave, new that, I knew that at least. There was recognition in acknowledgement when it crashed, leaving me there, picking up pieces. I bought a ticket, packed a lunch, called Sheila, played a hunch, lost, same old. Past that stuck lounging in another story searching for solace amidst the sentence. Found something that may have resembled it but the verisimilitude was distracting, more distracting than the same old same old. I was distracted, had been anyway, been there, in distraction, indiscreet. The streets were lined with deep-sea blue lights lit up for the holidays, I think. The pictures in my room were staring at me and I stared back to come up with something neat. There were too many. The bus was coming, I was going, for a ride, downtown, buy some pastis, drink it, ready. To wear my thin-laced slack-tongued sneakers on a trip through hindsight's distorted reapers.

Art, Science, Religion

mfclark77@gmail.com (Kermode) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 21:53:00 +0000

Currently, I have the world divided into three realms, the same old same old realistic, idealistic, and spiritual plains. Within the realistic plain, scientific laws have definite applications: hence, one's biology is subject to things such as gravity. In the idealistic domain, artistic inspirations have mentally corporeal effects, sixth sense's developing and so on. The two realms exist symbolically and are linked by the spiritual wherein synthetic moments catalyze evolutionary outcomes (electricity, Twin Peaks), points of understanding producing piquant chemical literary spirits, intent on things like detail, heuristics.

Thirst

mfclark77@gmail.com (Kermode) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 21:42:00 +0000

Doubled down, double take. Laid into the patchwork armchair, sat down. The bird continued to sing while I thought about refreshment. Cola, root beer, ice cubes crackling, splintering, spice. Put in some pepper, tabasco, I was thirsty. Lost my handle on the image and sat staring at the wall. Crushed insides screaming for all. Figured it was time to get up so I did. Lisa was afraid of birds, don't know why.

My uncle didn't die after his bout with cholera but was hurt, bad. Aunt Clara lived for a while after. Different times I'm told, lot of mutton, billiards. I walked to the fridge and opened it, found some dijon mustard, spread it, on rye. Cut some roast beef and placed it there also. Filled the void, finished it quickly, moving on.

The sun was going down when I closed the front door and went out for pizza. Lights shone through the branches, the last of it giving a puddle a milky white hue. The leaves hung over the street like a canopy, sheltering the cars. I was hoping they weren't out of vegetarian and that Mr. Welch's dog would stop barking. I proceeded.

ISSUE ZERO: The Isosceles Project Interview

noreply@blogger.com (Chemical Robotiks) — Sun, 30 Nov 2008 17:46:00 +0000

Check out their music here: http://www.myspace.com/theisoscelesproject