floating in a gravity-free universe

Ahh.... this explains a lot.

2008-05-09T21:49:00Z

Collectively, we have about .9 of a kilometre to go, I figure.

who ever thought not working would drive me crazy?

2008-03-10T03:05:10Z

Two, possibly one, maybe three weeks of no workdays have started. I need projects I can do sitting down, that don't require bending, lifting, or resting things on my belly. Any ideas?
I guess that until the baby comes, I will amuse myself with things like this. Or maybe we should pick out a name? I suppose that even a couple of artists can't really call their child "Untitled" (mixed media, 2008).

I am Emperor Norton!

2008-03-10T02:58:45Z

Thanks for the link, nscafe, I feel better knowing I am a harmless lunatic!
Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

MOVING!

2007-08-20T22:45:05Z

Well, we are taking a page from 444's book and ditching the unclean apartment. The Boy found three fat, contented cockroaches in our utensil drawer, so an executive decision was made, I was duly informed, and the household voted to relocate (except for one nay-saying furball who likes to hunt and eat the six-legged prey). Hopefully we will find a good place for November.

Also, the Canadian gov't clearly got a cut-rate bulk deal on breadline communist-era, Kafka-inspired passport offices, and had them shipped complete (including redtape and surly staff) to cities all across our otherwise friendly and efficient land. Although for some inexplicable reason, the surly bastards running my passport office have french accents. FIVE HOURS in various line ups - FIVE HOURS. All to go to the US of A for a business trip, where they no doubt have my name red-flagged and an orange jumpsuit waiting for me at the customs desk in Charlotte, NC.

BAH.

zeribird @ 2007-08-04T18:36:00

2007-08-04T22:54:03Z

So here is my summer in brief....

It's been really hot here, and damn I wish we had air conditioning. No camping yet this summer - The Boy has been working like crazy doing all sorts of sucky jobs, trying to make the tuition for fall. It is hard to find time to do anything together. Saw a couple of movies - Transformers (yay) and Harry Potter (also yay), and a Quebecois film on DVD that my friend lent me called Une Crabe Dans La Tete (also also yay).

Our friends Colin and Ashleigh will be moving here soon - we found a pretty sweet apartment for them a 1/2 block from our place. They will have a kick-ass rooftop terrasse, lucky people! Our friend Michael moved in across the alley, which is cool, and we still have sunday brunches going sporadically with the best of the west. Some of our unwelcome six-legged critters are back in the kitchen - we will move next July. Also, it seemed that a bunch of the stray cats we were feeding have disappeared - I hope that there isn't some sicko poisoning them or something. There is a new one- a sweet little gray boy who actually honestly says "mee-ow'" when he talks.

At the end of June it was announced that my workplace was moving its customer service to South Carolina, due to a merger. Sucky, but there was a severance package. I decided to try for another job in the company, which would be a raise and a promotion. There were three positions open. I got it, and the other two people hired were my two closest friends at work (remaining, anyway. The other one got a killer job and left).

I have been doing a bit of drawing for the SPCA, I found a painting I want to finish that I hadn't yet unpacked, and I have ideas for more and for a drawing. I read the Life of Pi - the author (Yann Martel) of whom is sending a book a week to Stephen Harper to try and convince him that the arts are important, which is very cool if likely futile. I also reread some Calvino and some Gibson.

Life is pretty good.

for 444

2007-07-07T01:16:47Z

... because he said to, and well, he's 444....

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 4-7 sentences on your LJ along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest (unless it's too troublesome to reach and is really heavy. Then go back to step 1).
6. Tag five people.

"she is sustained by her insatiable passion for reading...."
Forced to abandon the novel Looks down in the gather-
ing shadow because of a production defect in her copy,
the young Sultana wrote to the translator, protesting.
Marana rushed to Arabia. "an old woman, veiled and
bleary, motioned me to follow her.In a roofed garden,
among the bergamots and lyrebirds and jets of
fountains, she came toward me, cloaked in indigo, a mask

If on a winter's night a traveller by Italo Calvino

Which, unfortunately, doesn't capture the spirit of the book at all, which is written to directly address you, the reader, and the path upon which you are set when you buy Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveller, and the relationship between the reader, the writer, and the read. Of course, the damn thing assumes the reader is a man, but then it was 1979 and it was written by an old European guy, who may not quite have caught up with the times.

It is still one of my favourite books.

Not being a dedicated livejournal-ist, I don't think I know 5 people.... so I guess you are it, Jamie Q!

zeribird @ 2007-04-28T13:46:00

2007-04-28T17:56:37Z

The fire-escape kitten now looks like this, and it has found a home for mid-June. Yay for fire-escape kitten!

I took part in the Echo show at the Long Hall here in Montreal (thanks Jamie and Vanessa!) and I made a new drawing for it. it is 15x22 mixed media - I might do more of them.

Sculpture is delicious!

2007-04-15T02:38:06Z

A project done by Robert Weschler, a young American artist who has a talent for infusing the mundane with a lovely sense of the bizarre. I also really like "Vacancy" and the series done with school desks.

"Applied Geometry"

A moment of silence

2007-04-13T01:19:22Z

First our beloved Robert Anton Wilson, now Kurt Vonnegut, dead at the age of 84.
2007 has been a dark year thus far for lovers of thought-provoking, wonderful stories.

zeribird @ 2007-04-10T18:57:00

2007-04-10T23:01:18Z

Todays Cat and Girl ....<sigh> does she read my mind? Click the Caravaggio titles of Cat's favourite paintings for giggles.

A place for everyone and everyone in his place!

2007-04-09T23:05:53Z

My friend found a home for Kitten - yay! Now we just need to find a home for Mama-cat.

Oh and...Happy Easter Everybody!

2007-04-08T20:56:10Z

New Pic!

2007-04-08T20:55:02Z

This is the little fire-escape critter as of this afternoon. Looks like he/she will have long beautiful fur!

I have decided on my career!

2007-04-07T18:15:21Z



"I have decided on my career!" on Google Video
Recently, I visited the Biodome, and I learned a few things. a) penguins look funny when they moult, and they make crazy unbirdlike sounds b) not as crazy as LyreBirds, which is what I want to be when I grow up.

Name this Story

2007-03-28T01:31:29Z

I just found this story on my hard drive this evening and decided to finish it. I started it few years ago with the fond hope of writing and illustrating my own children's book. Like many of my fond hopes, it soon got pushed aside by other concerns and has languished there since.
I think I might revive it, but I'm not sure the story is good enough. Thus, I put it out there for your inspection and constructive criticisms - remember I survived art school, so whatever you say I promise that
A) I won't hold it against you
and B) you can't make me cry
:)

I invite all comments about all aspect of this first draft - particularly the ending, which I am not at all sure about! I think I might have changed tones there. Okay, I am going to go make drawings now.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Once upon a time many, many years ago, on the uttermost edge of the Snocone Mountains, there lived a troll named Marrowcrusher Underbridge. Now young Marrowcrusher, or Emsy, as he preferred to be called, was descended from a long and illustrious family of bridge trolls. Their territory included all of Foggybottom Vale, and Fogstream Bridge in particular. Night by night and day by day, each Underbridge troll took his or her turn roaring out the terrible challenge that turned the hearts of travelers to jelly.

Grandfather Bonebreaker was particularly horrifying. “WHO’S THAT TRIPPTIY TRAPPING ACROSS MY BRIDGE?” he would thunder in a voice so great it shivered the stoutest heart. But it was his Scare Song that really sent hopeful wayfarers gibbering in terror back to their homes.

“Flesh to rend, and blood to suck,

Brains that leak into the muck,

Below my bridge by water dark,

Your life will lose its feeble spark.

No toll to pay, no way to pass,

Your brittle bones I’ll smash like glass,

And as I slurp viscera hot,

Your small trapped soul begins to rot.”

As you can quite imagine, this little ditty was enough to send even the bravest adventurers scampering in terror.

All of the other Underbridge trolls strove to please Grandfather Bonebreaker, to be as hideous and terrifying as possible. All the brothers and sisters, uncles and cousins, aunts and nephews and grandchildren spent hours and hours refining their own Scare Songs, and practicing their very best gravelly voices.

All but one, that is.

You see, Marrowcrusher, or Emsy, was a bit of a sensitive lad, and having been frightened himself as a very young child by the roarings of Grandfather Bonebreaker, he couldn’t quite get into the spirit of things. Instead, he spent his time bird watching, secure in the knowledge that, as the youngest of all Underbridge trolls, it would be years before he was called upon to contribute to the family business.

About the time of Emsy’s one hundred and sixty-thirteenth birthday (which is very young for a troll indeed!), something changed in Emsy’s world. All across vale, from Clearsight Ridge to Mount Tumbledown the cry was

heard, “Gold! Gold!” It echoed in deepest dells of Foggybottom Vale, it swirled around the waters of the Fogstream, and whispered through the pines of the Snocone Mountains until it filled the wide world. And all the adventurous folk from the east and west, north and south, up and down all heard the siren call of the gold, and from east and west, north and south, up and down they flooded into the quiet, forgotten lands of Foggybottom Vale, and they began to try and cross the Fogstream Bridge.

Well, Grandfather Bonebreaker was delighted! Here was the opportunity of an age; a veritable bonanza of food and plunder in the form of unwary travelers. Chortling with unholy glee, he called a meeting of the Underbridge Trolls.

“LISTEN ALL OF YOU!” he thundered to the assembled trolls. “WE HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY FOR RICHES NOT YET SEEN IN THE LIVES OF MEN AND TROLLS, AND FORCES ENOUGH TO PULL IT OFF! I WANT EVERY ONE OF YOU, EV-ER-Y-ONE! OF YOU ON THE BRIDGE AT DAWN!” And with this pronouncement he glared upon the assembly one by one, until at last his gaze came to rest on poor, trembling Emsy.

“EVEN”, he grated, pointing his gnarled old forefinger, “YOU!”

And with that he turned his massive back to the family and stalked back to the bridge.

As dawn broke the next morning, Emsy crept to the bridge, miserably frightened and bleary-eyed with fatigue. He

had been awake all night working on his Scare Song, but one night is a very little time to practice a Scare Song, and he knew it wasn’t a very good one.

As the very first traveler began to approach the bridge, a cousin (trying to be kind) gestured that Emsy should begin the days festivities.

“Wh – who comes trippippity –trappting ‘cross my bridge?” Emsy tried to squeak politely.

His cousin Jawripper gaped at him in disbelief.

“Louder!” he whispered frantically. “You must yell louder!

Emsy gamely cleared his throat and tried again, but his voice cracked into a higher register on ‘trippippity’.

“Oh….” Cousin Jawripper moaned, “You must do better than that, and before Grandfather hears!”

“I, er, I don’t really see the point in being rude”, Emsy whispered back, “I mean, Grandfather will eat him in a moment.”

“Not if he gets across that bridge!” his cousin rejoined, teeth clenched, “Quick, sing your Scare Song!”

So Emsy closed his eyes, and began to sing his newly-minted Scare Song in his thin, piping voice.

This is what he sang:

“Run away run away traveler fair,

and you may still escape by a hair.

Throw us your gold and we’ll leave you alone,

no rending of limbs nor breaking of bones.

Give us your riches and be on your way,

And mayhap you won’t lose your life this day,

so turn back, traveler, and beware,

Of the trolls of Underbridge’s wicked stares. “

As the last wobbly note of his song died in the still morning air, Emsy opened his eyes to find Cousin Jawripper staring at him in distress.

“Oh, Emsy, what have you done?” he cried. “Surely the prey will escape, and … oh by the Great Rock, here comes Grandfather!” and overwrought, cousin Jawripper fled.

Bravely, Emsy turned to find Grandfather Bonebreaker bearing down on him, his craggy face black as a thundercloud.

“MARROWCRUSHER, WHAT PANSIED TRIPE IS THIS? IT IS NO WAY FOR AN UNDERBRIDGE TROLL TO BEHAVE!” he rumbled.

“YOU HAVE LOST ME A KING’S RANSOM IN GOLD, AND MY BREAKFAST!”

Emsy cowered at the base of the bridge, paralyzed in the face of his grandfather’s fury. The great troll took one threatening step toward him, when suddenly a veritable of rain of jewels and gold came down upon him.

“Spare me fiend, spare me!” the trolls heard the traveler cry. “Take my gold, my horse, and all my jewels but let me keep my life!” he beseeched them, his voice quaking with fear.

“HMMM….” rumbled Grandfather Bonebreaker, considering. “GO!” he roared suddenly, and the bridge above clattered with the speed of the terrified wayfarer’s flight.

Slowly, old Grandfather Bonebreaker turned and looked at Emsy’s white, pinched face; the boy’s large eyes dark with apprehension. He opened his great, fearsome mouth to speak, and then paused, and an odd expression came over his face. The pause grew into a moment, and the moment grew long, before Emsy recognized Grandfather Bonebreaker’s expression.

He was amused! Finally, the old troll allowed a small twisted smile to grace his craggy face. “TRAVELERS ARE TASTY FARE, BOY,” he said, “BUT THE BUTTONS DID ALWAYS GET STUCK IN MY TEETH.”

And with that startling pronouncement, he picked up little Emsy, and placing him carefully atop his massive shoulders, strode away.

Emsy and his family passed many a long, happy year under Fogstream Bridge. Even Grandfather Bonebreaker soon adopted Emsy’s strategy, as increasing age stole from him the strength to crush bones and snap spines. The family had grown rich and complacent from the gold of many terrified wayfarers, and even became accustomed to buying horses for their nightly feasts! When the Scourging of the Trolls came to pass and all the Trolls perished from this earth under the fierce onslaught of angry Men, Emsy’s family had long been forgotton in their quiet corner of Foggybottom Vale, and so were spared.

For all I know, they live there still.

zeribird @ 2007-03-27T20:10:00

2007-03-28T00:16:52Z

I just took this quiz. I am not at all happy with the answers they provide you, so I think I must be a mix of several things. Still, for what it's worth:

What School Of Magic Are You?

Transmutation
you are transmutation, the art of turning things into other things! you are odd, but your strangeness and unique sense of individuality is an asset, not a problem. Next time someone calls you weird, just turn their cat into a giraffopus!

Take the quiz at http://quiz.myyearbook.com/zenhex/quiz.php?id=96015

Juniper and the Radioactive Picnic Basket

2007-03-24T14:15:49Z

I wrote this at work on March 13th, 2005. I think it started like this:

- God I'm bored - work is SO DAMNED SLOW today. Give me something to write about.

-Write me a story with, hmmmm.... armadillos, leprosy, Timbuktu and a picnic basket.

- What? But those things don't go together at all!

- So??

And this is what happens when you open things up to someone with a highly developed sense of the absurd. Thanks C!

Juniper and the Radioactive Picnic Basket

“Mama Mama get up!! Is it time yet? Is it? Come on, Mama!”

Marigold groaned and rolled over heavily, a headache already beginning to form between her eyes as her daughter’s young voice pierced her sleep-fogged brain. Why, oh why had she ever thought that three mugs of elderberry gin were a good idea? And she had to take the kid on that damn hike today, in daylight of all things!

Marigold stumbled to her feet, kicking quickly discarded clothing and pair of dirty underwear out of her path as she headed for the bath. Maybe a cold dip would do her good; she could have used one last night instead of.... of…. Marigold probed the black spot in her memory with trepidation. Oh hell. Instead of sleeping with her damn ex, that’s what. At least there was no evidence of him this morning; no sense messing up the kid’s head, having her think her papa was coming home.

Twenty minutes later, dripping wet and shivering, Marigold stopped dead in her kitchen door, heart in her mouth.

“Timbuktu. You’re still here. And come down off Papa’s lap, Juniper, and go brush your teeth. Come on now, go!”

Marigold fixed her daughter with a stern gaze until Juniper reluctantly jumped down and shuffled down the hall.
Wearily, she turned her eyes back to her former husband. His shell glistened a deep violet in the morning glare, and he looked rested, she noted with disgust. Way too rested.

“What,” she grated, “are you still doing here?”

Timbuktu shot her a startled, wounded look, and rose to come to her.

“Back off Tim, I’m not interested in your rationalizing right now. What are you doing here? Did you think I’d let you and false piety in on this day, of all days? That June and I would show our underbellies at one flick of your tail? Well, let me tell you something, Reverend, that’s not how it works! Now go!”

He stared at her, incredulous. “But last night, you were… we were okay. What happened to change that, honey?”

“I’m sober!” she spat. “And what happened to change us being okay happened a long time ago, when you fucked that damn floozy in my bed!”

Tim looked around nervously, hushing her.

“Don’t you dare hush me!” she flared, “This is my house now, Tim”, she added more softly, conscious now of Juniper’s presence in the other room, “and I’d appreciate if you left.”

He opened his mouth, lashed his tail, and shut his mouth again. Marigold had never before seen the honey-tongued preacher without a word to say.

“Your house.” He seemed to choke on the words. “My house, which I built, and my daughter, which I made. Mine. And I fully intend to participate on her pilgrimage to the Holy Place of Giving, and as religious leader and pillar of the community, I have every right!”

She snorted.

“You abrogated your rights in this family, and in this community, buddy. You might have thought about them before making little miss Goldilocks your mistress. And the tabloids! They didn’t even get the race right! Bears and humans? By the Armour, who the hell in their right mind would believe that? But they got the names right, didn’t they, oh no, no mistake there, not at all. And there was nothing your spin doctors could do about that, or the shame your daughter felt! I’m glad I gave the little flipshell leprosy!”

She paused, panting in her rage. “But there is nothing I can do to stop you, you’re right about that. So come. Make a spectacle of the most sacred event in your daughter’s life. I hope it makes you happy.”

“Damn hike”, she muttered as she stalked from the room, lashing her tail.

The day was hot and humid as the procession snaked its slow way through the dusty countryside. High Priest Timbuktu led, trying in vain to ignore the whispers and jibes of the fourteen community members behind him. Trust Mari to position her lovely amethyst self right behind him, he thought bitterly, why couldn’t she walk behind with the other women, instead of causing all this turmoil, stirring up the rumours again. His daughter, however… her pale lilac armour would darken as she aged, of course, but she would never sport the same dull browns and grays of the other armadillos, and in the morning sum she was lovely as she walked solemnly to the Place of Giving. She made it all worthwhile; the gossip in the ranks, the long dusty road, the danger and exposure each member there felt in the daylight hours. He would have protected her from it all, but he knew that the pilgrimage had to be completed for Juniper to assume her full status, and he could not deny her that, despite the daylight dangers.

As mile followed dusty mile and the Place of Giving grew nearer, the excitement of the pilgrims began to grow. Soon the sacred ritual would be upon them, and another member would join the community. The Giving was done earlier now; in recent years the community had been decimated; disease and war had both taken their toll, and they needed all the soldiers they could get. Soon they would have plans in position to attack in force, and with enough soldiers in their ranks they could drive the enemy back for good.

Just before they crested the hill that sheltered the valley of the Place of Giving, the High Priest motioned the procession to a halt. From Juniper must make her way alone, proving her courage in the face of the enemy and her ability in battle. She was young for it, even according to the standards of recent years, but she was also one of the fabled Coloured Ones, and Timbuktu had every faith in her. He had not cursed his family with his infidelity with Goldilocks, no matter what the community whispered. She would NOT fail at the Giving.

Juniper swallowed hard, and looked into her mother’s worried eyes. A tremulous smile drew one in return from Marigold, and Juniper knew that she had to take that first step to the Giving now, or her courage would fail and her community cast her out. There were no second chances for cowards.

Tail swinging nervously, she stepped from her mother’s side, resolving not to look back or to either side. She could, and would, do this. Step by step she drew closer to the giving, and as she crested the hill the vertigo and panic welled up to her throat, constricting her breathing and closing her throat on a scream. There they were, the enemy, sitting peacefully below just as if they didn’t have a thousand deaths on their conscience, the flesh, blood and skin of hundreds of her people between their teeth, in their labs, adoring their homes. At this thought the bile rose up as anger in her gorge, and with new determination she stepped towards the armourless pink monstrosities. She would complete the Giving!

Laughing and oblivious, they sat in a circle on a bright swatch of material, all facing a central object. Tall, square and heavy, it appeared to hold some kind of sustenance for the soft ones. Clamouring, they all grabbed, chewed, slurped and sucked, revolting in their single-minded intensity. Unnoticed, Juniper crept closer, ready to roll into a defensive ball at a moment’s notice. Closer and closer, her breathing laboured now as the fear and revulsion swept back through her, until the moment of Giving was upon her.

And then she squeaked.

All four pink, snoutless heads turned towards her, their clamour turning to coos and gasps of delight. Soft, clawless paws reached for her, and as they touched her shining lilac shell, her soft little snout, Juniper Gave. She gave everything that she had in her, everything that could muster she spread amongst the four things that pawed her, and then she bit the smallest one. The hot blood rushed into her mouth and the thing yelled and dropped her, and Juniper ran, retching, back to the community. She had succeeded!

Juniper arrived panting back into the midst of her community, relief flooding their tight pinched faces as they noted the triumphant gleam in her dark eyes. She had succeeded in the Giving, and a new soldier joined the ranks! Soon, the push would come, and all the soft pink things would be Given to. With luck, it would drive them from this place and the community would be safe. And as custom dictated and full hearts demanded, every armadillo in the procession rolled into prayer, and gave thanks to the Great One for the gift of the Giving of Leprosy.

kitten!

2007-03-24T00:37:53Z

There are many, many stray cats in parts of Montreal. They yowl in chorus through the wee hours, dine on the contents of ripped apart trash bags, and proliferate shamelessly. Naturally, we feed about eight of them regularly on our back fire escape. Recently, a gray one we call Kikipants got kinda chubby...and then this came out.

Anyone in Montreal want a kitten in six weeks?

zeribird @ 2007-03-19T22:04:00

2007-03-20T02:22:42Z

A grey and snowy day to embark on a new endeavour....