a conversation

Do you ever get that feeling when you are reading or creating, when you feel like you are filled with so much energy and power that your body might just explode?

Noo… what are you talking about

Its like… its like when you are learning something from a book for instance and in the maze of corridors in your head there are like all these doors, and as you read you just feel them all start to open and you kick on it and gain momentum as your run through these rooms and you start to grasp all these concepts. Your heart beats fast. Your hands start to shake and you might start nodding your head going “yes yes yes!”. You just feel like you KNOW it like you reeeally know it and it makes so much sense to you.

Um kinda like an epiphany? I don’t really read that much…

I don’t know why he is getting all excited about these things… I mean its just a book. I like books but he… REALLY likes them, he’s getting so excited and I don’t know about what. I like to read too but I don’t really get all excited like that unless it’s a good story.

See I really like it when its raining… and its dark outside, so you start the fireplace and its warm and cozy. Then you make yourself some nice hot chocolate and curl up by the fire or in your bed and listen to rain while reading just a lovely book. One with a really good story.

Oh yeah! I love that. But I could read anywhere. I like stories too, but for me its more about what I can get from the book.

Evacuate

Always bring a towel

I read that somewhere; whenever you travel, and ESPECIALLY in outer space. Since I am one of the lucky 100 people chosen to evacuate the planet prior to the “big one” you bet your ass I’m bringing a towel.

So they put us in these big ass spaceships, and shoot us into space like the first space monkeys for a couple weeks… then we come back down and do the whole Noah’s ark thing.

I’m gonna get stuck with the fat chick. I know it.

We can only bring a suitcase so I need to figure out what to bring with me. I know people are all talking about “preserve the culture” and “cherish this” “cherish that” blah blah blah. As far as I see it: good riddance! Moral relativity already taught us that there is nothing inherently good about any culture anyways… so why bother saving the memory of any of them? No, I’m gonna start from scratch. Start a NEW culture. One built on great ideals and beliefs.

So. The contents of my suitcase:

1 copy of “where the wild things are”
1 LP of “bat out of hell 3” by meatloaf
5 pokemon cards
2 sticks of beef jerky
1 towel
1 game of “guess who”
2 sticks of deodorant
1 solar powered calculator
1 a box set of Stanley Kubrick films
1 issue of spiderman no.1 kept in pristine condition
1 english-klingon dictionary
5000 condoms.

because of the immediacy of the danger we only had time for 5 conversations with friends. And they had to be short ones at that. I felt that meeting with people that I really cared about wouldn’t be any help to anyone so I picked 5 people to talk with who would really, really matter. For efficiency my conversations were kept down to 5 words apiece:

#1 my ex: “burn in hell you bitch!”
#2 Robin Williams: “sorry about death to smoochy”

I am so damn good (eng 212)

I am so damn good at liking music.

you can’t even compete with how good I am at liking music, it truly is a gift.

Most people, when they like music… man they might sing like an idiot in the car, or even nod their head and say “i love this song!” I even often see people who close their eyes at a concert and sway to the music. Amateurs.

Let me tell you: when you are good at liking music, man you are a raving lunatic slash broken hearted wanderer slash car salesman.

Obviously different genres of music require you to express how much you like it in different ways. First of all, essentially you must have a blog and a hypem.com account and a last.fm account. How do you expect people to know how good you are at liking music if they don’t even know what music you are listening to at any moment of any day?

This takes time to set up, i understand, but it is important to be a world class music lover. You also must have a blog that allows you to gush unabashedly about music. You must update this blog every day.

Once you have done this, man you have gotten off to a great start. One of the greatest joys is waking up at the crack of dawn… say 11am; with a hot caramel macchiato extra hot with soy milk at your local star bucks, and blogging for hours about music.

That reminds me: to properly love music in this day and age you need to spend at least 3-5 hours a day scouring the internet for new and unusual music. How do you expect to really be good at liking music when you only listen to a new band every week or so? 25 new bands a day. That’s my motto.

Ok so here we are: social music networking sites? Check. Obsessive internet music surfing? Check. Cooler-than-though attitude with heavy doses of sarcastic humor? Lets’ work on that.

Personally the best way to be a good music lover is to hate anything that has been out for 3 months or more.

eng 212 / 1

I do this walk all the time.

It takes longer now than it used to. And its not as easy as it used to be. But I still make myself do it, habit you know. Its good for the body, or soul or whatever.

Every day at 6am just as the city is waking up, I have my routine.

I drag my sorry creaking bones out of my years-in-need-of-replacement mattress and shuffle over to the kitchen and brew up a pot of coffee. Real coffee. Black. No sugar, no cream. Not like this pansy coffee the kids are drinking nowadays from their star-bucks or whatever. That isn’t coffee.

In my robe I walk over to the window and wipe the morning precipitation off it and look down at the city streets. The floorboards creak as I make my way to the bedroom and gets dressed: brown slacks, black socks, navy blue button-down shirt. The slacks have stains.

You can only buy so much on a veteran’s pension.

I trudge downstairs without the aid of a cane, thank you very much. Down 8 flights of stairs coated with a glorious film of dust that flies up when I take each step and gets caught in the early rays of sunlight like a newly birthed galaxy. Nobody notices me.

I’m a ghost, who wants to pay attention to a retired old geezer shambling his way down the apartment stairs. Oh sometimes Rodney the super will say high:
“owe’s it goin mista Williams?”
“fine, fine Rodney: how is the missus?”
“oh she

1

I stayed up late waiting for you to arrive. but it was too much for me and I fell asleep. When I woke you had already come and gone, and I had missed you.

Sick

I’m in Brazil and i’ve been mad sick for 5 days now. If your the praying type I’d love some. I only just started eating solid food. luv you all kthxbye

Airport Showdown

Brazillian airport, arrivals, alternate lineup for baggage search:

“open the bag please sir”

oh shit

I lay out the contents of my bag on the polished aluminum desk in the flourescent light. I am a doctor, carefully laying out his instruments for surgery.

1 “sex god” book by Rob Bell (re-reading it)
1 firewire cable
1 dell laptop
1 hoody (from zumiez, $14)
1 nintendo DS: final fantasy 6 and FF tactics thank you very much
1 ipod classic 120GB ( airborne toxic event playing)
1 ipod USB cable
1 Canon XH A1 3CCD professional video camera. dang.

This has happened before. My last trip: Lima, Peru
we got hit with a $1000 fine for having pro equipment. had to pay in cash. they took our gear until we coughed up the dough. and our passports. These guys, they want cash. No Visa. If you got anything that looks pro: they can smell it from a mile away, the try and get you, smack you with a fat bill. They scan your bags not to stop terrorism, they scan to make coin. This customs agent, he will try and corner you: prove you need to pay, you: the under-the-radar video and photog have to parry and dodge his blows. He’s on the offensive, you have to defend.
Whether you have to pay a grand depends on the next 4 minutes of dialogue.

like they say in the schoolyard: its on

He saunters up to the counter, looking smug with his dashing moustache and customs uniform. He thinks he has this one in the bag. A little extra money on the side, maybe head to the bar tonight.
People in the lineup are looking over, the other customs agents at the scanner machine are smirking, the dude with the metal detector wand is leaning against the gate. They all know its On.
We face each other, shoulders squared off like this is some samurai showdown or high school arcade showdown.

Ok buddy, you think you can take me!? I’ll tear your face off.

“what you coming to Brazil for?” he grills me in broken english

nice right hook, but its a little slow. Homo

“touristo! tourism” – shooting a smile.

Block, counter. Gaurd up

he levels a bone chilling gaze at me: “Define Tourism”

Ouch, fiece punch high, tap “A” to get up!

crossing arms: “oh you know, travelllll, see some siiights, meet interesting peeeople, maybe meet some laaadies.”  - wink.

charmander is paralyzed!

Opens up my laptop. it comes out of hibernation. Have Adobe lightroom open.
“What is this?”

You know nothing. I’m sorry Espanol, your princess is in another castle

“It’s a computer.”

down, diagonal, forward + Punch: Hadoken!

That pissed him off a little bit. He picks up the camera.

Magicarp! hit him with a splash attack!

“Is there something wrong with my camera? You don’t like? Too big?” -Big smile.

Back, Down, Diagonal Foward and punch: Shoyruken!

“How much your camera cost?”

a trap. But i done my research. Anything over 3k and you got me.

“Oh about two thousand US”

Low kick countered, Back, Diagonal, Down, Diagonal, Foward and punch: Yoga Flame!

“…it looks new…”

Enemy is low on health

“It’s 3 years old. Christmas present from my mom!” -smile

Headshot! No scope!

“…ok…get your things, you can go.”

Finish Him

“Thanks, and hey! you have yourself a good night!”

Fatality! Flawless victory.

It’s all over. 2 people are seriously maimed from the collateral damage. The terminal is in shambles. Broken glass lies everywhere. holes the size of houses in the floor and ceiling from the wayward energy beams. Everyone has long since ducked for cover under the converyor belts and seats. The dust clears. It’ll be several minutes before the SWAT teams arrive. The champion reholsters his Revolvers, Puts the extra quarters in his back pocket, powers down from super saiyan. He looks over to the remaining airport staff: “you remember this day forever.”

He slowly repacks his belongings, whistling. Grabs his checked luggage, and saunters out of the airport. Whistling.

Chaco

The Mennonite colonies are almost identical to the little towns from “the village” except without actor Adrian Brody pretending to be handicapped.

each town less than 5000. in the middle of the north western wastelands of paraguay. All farmers. All go to the same church. All won’t talk to you unless you name ends in “Klassen” or “Neuman”. All have children that just stare at you silently and utter one word answers to your questions.

downright eerie.

Stayed with a cattle farming family for one night. with a fellow from the congo. Every book in their house what christian literature. Everything was dated from the 70’s.

downright eerie.

We chatted late into the night, me and Mr.Congo talking about Rwanda, the Tutsis and Hutus, what that means for the Congo etc. over a bowl of grapefruit. The family was floored that they had a real live black man in their living room. their daughter didn’t say a word. sheltered like you wouldn’t believe in this town. its like Abbotsford on steroids. We talked of genocide. The United Nations. Muslims. He speaks 6 languages. Crazy.

Oh: She was 18. blonde.

Glances were exchanged.

coaxed a smile out of her.

then i saw the gun rack. abort. abort!

In Asuncion now. Capital. video is going mediocre. schedules are too hectic.

listening to James Blackshaw and Major Lazer

Paraguay

me.
and 30 pastors.
crazy parties like you wouldn’t believe.

been filming in Paraguay at ICOMB (some words that stands for all the big-shot pastors of every country in the world get together and rave on mad drugs  for 3 days)

by rave i mean discuss church biz and by on mad drugs i mean eat a lot of farmer sausage.

So i had 4 (ish) videos to do:

1. 19 pastors, video them greeting the whole Menno world conference from their respective countries. (for a video celebrating the Mennonite Brethrens existance for 150 years)

2. video of Randy Friesen: Menno Missions kingpin greeting the whole world for MBMSI’s latest batch of DVD’s they are sending to the world.

3. Interview this guy named Victor Wall at a television studio.

4. Get footy and sick pics of Paraguay like this was the BBC and i was filming Baraka

So far on level of amazing the shots are:

1. eeh 8/10

2. mm 7/10

3. totally got effed and we are doing it next week. 0/10 fail.

4. been stuck in a university for the last 2 days. 2/10 fail.

this week: 3 and 4 NEED to happen

In other news:

Picture paraguay. if you can’t picture paraguay picture some other south american city of 1.8 million (or so). by that i mean houses made of red brick, its hot. 8pm.  still 18 celcius. I’m in a university. Think the UFV campus compressed down to 1/10th its size. there is lush vegetation in the form of trees and gardens all around the campus. everything is very compressed. tight walkways, some of the roofs are that corragated metal tin. The rooms are typical nearly 3rd world affair. Picture the house from Fight Club. Every time we use a toilet it needs to be fixed to allow the water to refil, the windows are streaked with grime, the walls should have been white. One time. They are a yellowish tinge. The fan in the ceiling has shed its plastic casing and has revealed its motor and electrical guts for all to see. it circles lazily in the ceiling casting running shadows along the tiled floor in the fading light of the day.

I’m on the top bunk reading “To Kill A Mockingbird” and listening to Bibio on my ipod. Mike, my chinese UBC engineering student partner is playing starcraft on his laptop beneath me. (no jokes) while we banter here and there about brazil, spiritualism and any other sort of thing that pops into our heads.

It is quite for a while. the sun skinny dips itself into the horizon. lazy minutes roll by. the world darkens.

“Hey Clint…”
“Yeah what?”

“…is that lightning?”

It looks like someone is taking wedding photos outside our window. Which is impossible because we are on the 3rd floor.
“hmm”

We take a look into the horizon and galloping towards us: a black wall,kicking out flashes of light like it was a mobile rave. We watch through the darkened, grime covered window for about a minute before heading out onto the balcony on the other size of the building. Mach 3 is how fast this storm is heading. this continental cloud landmass stretches across the entire horizon, looming. at the university: all is calm and quite.
“This is gonna be so, so sick.”

suddenly wind from a refrigerator blasts through our complex and doesn’t let up. 20km, 40km, rocking 60 at least has the trees going epileptic. lighting coming and it doens’t let up. 1 second space between hits. regular thunder battle rollin’ through town. the sky is black when it isn’t electric. closer. closer. closer.

I jump up onto a half-completed wall to sit and watch the show.
“man, haven’t seen a storm like this in a long time.”  -Clint
“I’ve never. ever. seen this.” -Mike

And then its on us. raindrops on steroids. near vertical. might as well have gone swimming. Fog outta nowhere, engulfs all. What once was a good view of the vistas and corrugated steel roofs of the slums has become a wall of white. lighting. too much. no delay between the hits just non stop rolling with it, a strobe light the size of a city. ghost forks snaking like cobras dancing through trees. no thunder. just light. nobody is touching down tonight, its all for show. no use trying to take pictures: all you would get is the purple white of burning ozone. every once and a while the maelstrom saves up a big one. the strobe light slows… slows…

then your blind.

it was midday for a second there except purple. nuclear winter. soaked now and can’t stop yelling into it. Clouds are so low you could scoop a handful of the stuff and put it on your dessert. Yelling at a ceiling 4 feet away and something up high, deep inside it, dead in the heart of that living, breathing thing yells back.

its 3am. time for bed. need to wake up at 6:30.

Last Sip

That last one, it always gets me: The one where you need to stare straight at the ceiling to get the final minuscule amount left. The one where the reward does not warrant the effort in the least, but still you try: arching your back like you were punched in the kidney, eyes glazed over and bulging as if you were being strangled, throat convulsing in desperate need to choke back the last. few. drops.

It’s already empty and you know it. It’s just the possiblity of more that goads you to try your luck. Then, once your finished you’ll smack the cup on the table with a hollow “clap” like a miniture hockey puck hitting the ice. You’ll let out rehearsed “aaah” and make a snapping sound with your tongue off your bottom row of teeth.

I can’t stand it when you drink coffee, but when you go for that last sip I want to cut your head off.

Listening to: DJ/Rupture