Strange Sex
Television, it's the common point of reference. It's what people who have absolutely nothing in common discuss when they have to work together.
For M and G it's the game last night - "Did you see it?". "No" I reply "I don't have a TV"
For Z it's the latest Bollywood film or Hollywood Blockbuster .... "Have you seen...it was on TV last night?".
"No" I reply "I don't have a television".
A thousand times the same questions, related to last nights programming, the answers always the same but nobody ever hears me.
"Oh my God have ever seen "Strange Sex"?" Begins the nephew, and no amount of denial will save me from what's coming.
"There's this guy, he's got the biggest cock in the world, ..." and here he pinches the flesh of his thigh beneath his trousers to give me some idea...
"And there's this girl with no vagina and there's this lady who can have orgasms by herself and she teaches classes and there's this guy..."
"....he has sex with his car, they show him underneath it kissing and hugging it...."
He's doing a standing interpretation of the TV show for me.
"It's not even a nice car, like a Ferrari or something, it's just an old car...."
Somehow I gather from this that sex with cars is not so unusual, only sex with ugly cars is, which standards seem to run counter to his philosophy with women, there all makes or models are somehow beautiful...
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Lucid Dreams, tCDS
An interesting podcast on radiolab - on Lucid Dreaming, and I'm inspired - again, if it's as easy enough as asking oneself throughout the day whether one is dreaming or awake, the only qualm is that I desperately look forward to those 6, 7, 8 hours of unconscious oblivion, and I worry that any sort of dream-activities will only tire me out in the morning.
It's worth a chance.
Today I've reminded myself easily 30 times that I'm Awake, not dreaming, so I'm curious as to how this evening's dreams will pan out.
I imagine a scenario in which I realize I'm dreaming, arrange (when the novelty of materializing the Dallas Cheerleaders wears off) a perfect den in which I can work upon my writing, a cabinet of curiosities, a sense of flow uninterrupted by my day-to-day life. I imagine a sense of continuity - being able to continue said work night after night - while sleeping, of course, and I imagine being able to pack a notepad or file-folder under my arm when I return to my waking self that I can easily transcribe into my notes.
There will be no writer's block or interruptions to my thought processes here.
And then - today again, curiously (or not so) - a link on tCDS - Transcranial Stimulation - on Boing Boing. This has interested me for a while (in addition to Ganzfeld devices) - I've even been looking for Rectifiers and bought a belt to wear about my head for these experiments.
Really, there has to be an easier way to write and paint for a living, but they involve time and practice, and I don't have these. The shortcuts all the way.
Anyways, for those interested in getting into flow, links on tCDS below:
Links: Boing Boing: Zapping the Brain into Expert Mode, New Scientist: Fast Track to Pure Focus, DIY tCDS
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The no-name dead of Colombia
An interesting show on CBC Dispatches on how the un-identified dead found in the Magdelena river of Columbia are being adopted as "Patron Saints" of sorts - Very Louis de Bernieres- evokes his Latin American Trilogy.
Enjoy (short, 14:03 minutes)
Link: http://www.cbc.ca/video/news/audioplayer.html?clipid=2192102020
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The Marcel Marceau Mime School
Sometimes people ask me where I've acquired such unrelated skills as my fluency in French, singing, dancing, balloon blowing and magic tricks.
It's tough to explain, really, I'm more at a loss as to why others aren't similarly gifted.
My line is simple, I tell them I attended the Marcel Marceau Mime school in Paris for a few years, got expelled when I accidentally swore during a routine in front of some children. After that, even living in Paris became hell, it's as if the Mimes were trying to run me out of town, following me about everywhere with their big baguettes and oversized shoes, mocking me as it were.
It was just easier to come to Canada.
A surprising number of people buy it.
Z's bought it, the newer East Indian waiter, he follows me around asking me questions about it until I explain that I was just kidding, I never attended the Marcel Marceau mime school, I don't know how I came by such an inane repertoire of tricks.
"But you could you know" he tells me...."You have that face...."
He's just trying to be nice. He's not letting it go. Now I must have the face of the sad clown, because his tone has gone from nice to conciliatory....
"You know, you could still study it on your own..."
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