Monday, December 28, 2009



:: note :: ... walking by the river encountered a jogger with dog ... the innocent eyes & curious gaze captivated me ... " Wish I were a dog", I exclaimed ... partner responded "You are - You are!" ... finally found myself ...

Sunday, December 27, 2009


He turned to jade and left the world.
He danced death outside to no secret.

He closed his blind eyes tightly shut
and invited some close friends over.

The friends lost their way somewhere.
They reappeared inside the deep dark.

Since his soul snapped and sunk,
they held a magnifying glass inches away.

:: note :: ... a pillaged poem ... Strangers by Annie Finch ...

Wednesday, December 23, 2009


On a hot summer day, a country in mourning, we each went our way to the very end.

Awaiting her return, the day after winter solstice, anticipating footprints in the snow I close my eyes to perceive the airport kiss which like vapour disappears forever illusive.

Have just replaced the calendar, surprised that 1998 matches 2010, acknowledge the ignorance of time, comforted by the ignorance, a better part of beauty, in the briefest of times charms the magic of the moment.

Are we sharp-witted fools sacrificing cold blooded existence to a studied cultural fanaticism, artists out of desperation barricading ourselves from catastrophe, self-disciplined martyrs ruthlessly pursuing danger, exploiting the chance, the last compassionate chance towards a fatal & ambitious ideal nonsense.

The mirror reflects the look of a wild man. Switch on the coloured festive lights as a beacon. How will she look? You don't have to be with a person in order to feel bound to them as to no other. Cross the threshold wondering whether cross-border narratives overwhelm absurd laughter to denounce, scandalize and shake the chains of passionate ambivalence with unassuaged anger dissolving into muckraking cathartic attacks.

Our desires are only realized when we are totally concentrated. Wait out the intense devilish curiosity to the point of life ability exhaustion. You awoke ridiculously early & sleep pulls at the eyelids of despair unable to look through them to give thoughts free rein.

Into the cold dark night, later than expected, rejoicing the wonder of our love till the very end.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Skit Skit

The Urban Dictionary defines skit skit: "to cum or to want to be cummed on by either sex" and yet SKIT SKIT is a Saskatoon, Saskatchewan-based sketch comedy troupe composed (this time round) of Ashton Francis, Kristen Holfeuer, Matthew Keyes, Ed Mendez and Tara Schoonbaert.

This wonderfully skilled group last performed @ The Refinery December 17, 18 & 19th. Cam Fuller of The StarPhoenix wrote they are "a big hit with the audience" & their Facebook page affirms this. No small feat in a genre that puts a high premium on novelty.

A mix of video clips around Heritage Minutes & Sexy Singles flows seamlessly into live SNL type sketches boldly & exuberantly performed at a carefully crafted pace. The writing is paradoxically broad & concise at its best when they follow the comedy edge of making serious stuff humorous. Where the troupe shines most are their provocations at the arts. Matthew Keyes does a priceless Nichelback parody, Tara Schoonbaert's opening "Welcome" sketch playfully pricks the pompous, pretentiousness of the "rich" modern theatre and the whole ensemble closes the evening with a delightful rendition of So Long, Farewell, Aufweidersehen, Goodbye from The Sound of Music.

Here lies the rub. Anne Bogart writes in and then you act:
"The classic recipe for effective theater is threefold: 1) you need something to say; 2) you need technique; and 3) you need passion."
Skit Skit are passionate & accomplished actor/writer/directors. I invite them to reflect more on what their material may have to say for therein comes greatness - continue to make us laugh & maybe cry but don't forget we need to learn with work that will disarm with laughter and with wit impregnate. Skit Skit.

:: note :: ... did miss the presence of a couple of their founding members ... & from my favourite radio comedy (no longer) show Dead Dog Cafe: stay calm, be brave wait for the signs and leave the good news alone ...

Wednesday, December 02, 2009


With warning
as lightning heralds thunder
love rumbles my heart.

Textwork is a practice, not a product.

It is praxis, part and parcel of the critique of the everyday creative life act.
It invites something out of nothing. A source.

TextwUrk is not a metaphor, not metaphorical. It is creative work. A passion.

It exists precisely in the obdurate interstice between body and voice.
It exists in the arrow - the connection. It is memory. It is invisible to illuminate.

It is not a set of procedures or perceptions. It is the crisis noise in the system.
It is not the encapsulation or object of the crisis noise or the system.

It is continuous; it is parasitic; it is thetic. It seeks obstacle.

It is of no interest except as cultural residue: it is of great interest to the actor's studies.

It is nothing more than the continuous reification, territorialization and rendering of the
actor's work/etude - as if the etude were always already cleansed, available for the taking -
as if the etude were already transformed into living action.

Textwrk is demonstrative, a demonstrative fragment, an experiment, partial-inscription,
partial-object, the automatic prior to its presentation, the linguistic kernel of the pre-linguistic.
TexTwork is the thetic, the gestural of the demonstrative.

It is the gesture that never quite takes. It is the noise inherent in the gestural.

To TextWork is not to produce text; it is to create a study on the pre-level of living action;
the irreversible spew of cellular automata is TextwOrk, all the better if the rules of vibration,
support, range, position, character, voice and repetition are noisy.

The cultural production of tEXtwork abjures intensifications, strange attractors & descriptions
such as this. The hunt and reception of impulse & association is TextworK. Creators on the edge
are circumscribed by textwork. Malfunctioned psychoanalytics & scatologies are dissolute,
partial, always already incomplete: the differend is Textwork.

Be wary of the violence of the legible text. Beware the metaphor which institutionalizes,
the text which defines, the text of positivities, not negations, the circumscribing text,
the inscribing text; beware of the producers and institutions of these texts, whose stake
is in hardening of definitions, control, capital, slaughter: Texts slaughter.

Textwork slaughters texts.

:: note ::. ... used What is Codework? as template for this statement towards What is Textwork ... apologies to Alan Sondheim |sondheim {AT}| (Tue, 16 May 2006 08:46:55 -0400 (EDT)) ...