The randomness of any particular event should be liberating. Especially if it randomly occurs shortly after thinking about something random occuring. (If that makes sense). I’m thinking about Einstein and his dislike of quantum–theory/mechanics/physics and the choice of random events in our lives. Mostly, I think this ties in with my randomly dying car, the random lapses of time I’ve lost this week, or even the random way I found the article. The randomness of entangled living these days leads me to wonder about my own thinking, about what’s real, or, at least what’s real to me. If it’s random is it real? If it’s real how can it be random? This quote from the article struck me as curious: “science was about the results of experiments, not ultimate reality”. Are they trying to convince me it’s otherwise? I wonder how long science will search for their own random reality?

… and their meaning have left me stranded in front of the computer screen furiously reading the ebook of Dick Hebdige’s Subculture: The Meaning of Style. I was also stranded earlier (in the slush and fog) on Albert St. (a major street in the city) in the turning lane (the left turning lane I must add) when my car died for no apparant reason other than it could. Fortunately, my car is light, a standard, and easy to move, so I was able to roll it out of the way quickly enough. I was also only a block from work. Perhaps my car is a part of the plastic sub-counterculture and began it’s silent rebellion in the only way it knew how: self-destruction.

…to write the lyrical picture I wish sometimes I could simply capture it as effectively as Diane Arbus: here and here.

in January must be symbolic. Nature doesn’t feel like driving anymore? I myself feel like I can only move in left turns until left becomes circuitous. Or maybe they are right turns in the first place and the spin misplaced leaves me realising left? Realising or believing? One and the same?

It was raining on the internet tonight too, one site after another dropping down my screen. Maybe you know about this, (and if you do, you will understand my sunbeam on a rainy January eve), but I’m bouncing off the snow with each downward scroll, thrilled to find such reading.

…today’s counterculture is plastic. Plastic-style theatre seating in smallish classrooms. Perhaps this choice of seating arrangement can be easily explained by the choice of film in the first class of Contemporary Film: Easy Rider. (Not).

Check out the new addition to the side bar. I thought I would try something different for a couple of weeks. I saw this on another blog and had fun with it so– try it out. Let me know if they are worth keeping.

This was the line-up last night at the MNP reading, though not in this order. Clockwise from top left: Rhett Soveran, Dan Tysdal, Kris Brandhagen and lastly, me.

MNP Reading Series #201

Friday Jan 6/06

Mysteria 2706 13th Ave
7:30 pm

Readers:

Kris Brandhagen
Rhett Soveran
Dan Tysdal
Tracy Hamon

Join us for some lively poetry and refreshments.

…are what I’ve been dealing with for the last hour or so. I don’t normally get them, but when I do they last a long time. Everyone has a cure, but tonight I’ve sat at my computer writing and my computer couldn’t care less. In fact, this is one thing I feel certain I’m alone in trying to cure. Funny, but I’ve never realised the extent a writer is alone until I’m faced with a case of the hiccups. And there is this: the struggle with trying to end this state quietly, simply. Also funny: it’s just the hiccups (but in my mind it’s always something bigger, what if it’s this, or this, or even just simply this…). What then? Hiccups make us mortal. Or is that immortal? Actually, who can tell when the screen keeps rising, and, just as suddenly, setting? Or is that settling? Or simply it is all this: unsettling.