This one was kidnapped at midnight, stripped naked, dedicated to Hypnos and Persephone, and posted far away from its origins here.
Take that in any form you’d like. You could be a DJ, you could paint, you could write, you could even code. Still, you hold whatever you do as Art. You are passionate, and you can also try too hard.
Created by ptocheia
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In the fine tradition of sulz’s postcard project, we present the New York Post’s Postcard for Paris. Download it from them here, for printing and mailing fun! Up to you which still from One Night in Paris you use for the reverse.
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cross-posted from runningthroughrain
Remember sulz‘s postcard project from last month? Well, we registered right away and it’s arrived and we finally got a scan for your delectification. Yay, we’ve got a penpal in Malaysia! Unfortunately, half the text is in Malay and my Malay is just the teensiest bit rusty. Can anyone help a sister out?
The text on the reverse reads (at least I think it does: her writing is very neat but the postmark goes right over parts of it):
Helo raincoaster!
Apa khabar? Bagaimana dengan statistik blog hari ini? Ada makan sos mumbu baru-baru ini tak? =P
Terima kasih banyak-banyak kerana menyertai projek blog saya!
Dear raincoaster,
Have fun figuring that out! =)
I’ll toss in one more:
Saya harap postad ini tela meyerikan hari anda!
Which means, as far as I can make out:
Hi raincoaster, how’s it going? Are your blog stats doing well? Have you eaten any bum sauce lately? Thanks for participating in the postcard project. Now I know where you live, fool! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Upper Yankistan, here I come!
Or something like that.
You can see our post about the project here, and her original post announcing the postcard project here. Officially it’s closed, but if getting a postcard from a total stranger in a foreign country would brighten your day a little, this might be just the thing…or it might inspire you to do some postcarding of your own. sulz has used the WordPress.com contact form so that people can post their information and it remains confidential, going straight to her private email. Don’t ask people to put their addresses in your comments section, because you just never know who’s reading it; confidentiality matters.
Think about this the next time you look at your stats and see nothing but a gaggle of numbers. Each of those little blips is a person, some of them people you’ve never met (maybe ALL of them people you’ve never met), each one with a beating heart and a hope that reading your blog will inform, entertain, educate, or cheer them. Don’t be afraid to get real with them; the postcard project is a great way to start. Didn’t Griffin and Sabine start this way, after all?
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T. Paul is a legend in Vancouver, and the city is smaller, damper, darker, and far less colour-saturated without him.
Last year, when he had an aneurysm, the Shebeen Club hosted a benefit for him which raised the altogether life-altering sum of $100, but he just said thanks, it’ll buy groceries, it’s the thought that counts. He was a true gentleman and lowlife of the finest kind, and I cannot do better to honour his memory than to steal the words of his friend Napalm Dragon from T. Paul‘s own website:
On Thursday, May 31st, the Iconic T. Paul Ste Marie passed away at the age of 41.
He leaves behind a legendary struggle to make the most of life, while embracing and fostering the creative spirit of anyone who dared take themselves seriously. He was a friend to the emergent Artist, and a mentor to many. He opened doors, and he will be missed.
If you knew of him, you liked him.
If you knew him personally, it was a rare glimpse into a Man who persevered though monumental struggles, to find his place and create his own success. “I Can’t” did not exist in his vocabulary.
T. Paul Ste Marie, was best known for many things.
Among them:
• Opening the doors for many emerging and eccentric musicians and
performers
• Pioneering the contemporary Slam Poetry Scene
• Managing and Promoting some of our most beloved performers of the
Vancouver Underground and Sub-Cultural Community
• Being a slick hipster and Cigar Box Artist
• and taken anyone who dared take themselves seriously… Serious.
• He was a mentor to many.
• He gave Vancouver spice and Savoir Faire.
• and for those of us who LOVE burlesque, he was there in the
renaissance.
He lived his life on stage, struggling in private.
He will be gravely missed and remembered by anyone that met him, and
all of us he fostered.
We owe much credit to him, he lived the life of legends and made the
most of what he had.
——-
The next drink is in his name.
For those of us that want to say our peace, and share in remembering
him, there will be a tribute. (and what a party that will be)
Good bye T. Paul,
Safe journeys (where ever that is).To you I tip my hat in honor of your fine and Passionate Invocation….
INVOCATION
We need
PASSION
to put words into context
to formulate a pretext worthy
of our cut-and -paste verbalaching to be heard
thunderclap blurred
quake-shake that thundering word herd
to
play those changes
that rearrange us
rain down rhythmic rhyme-time
jazz-jazz-jazzy clime
axe teases
in the licks chaotic
brrrrap-bap-bap-0-matic
PASSION
bring on the axiomatic
round sound midnight drumroll fury-
ocity
velocity
squeeze beat angel wings
’til they sing sweet
drink the bebop sax
the wing drip wax
of them that flew too close to the sun
fillin’ holy souls and tongues
with the ever changin’
always in the now
manic minds eye milkmaid
leading the tongue tied
to the teat that paid the fare
with their jailtime press
and their pain was not in vain
they were paving the wagon train ruts with gluts
of tarry thick ideas
fresh with bloodsweat extract
doin’ that literal literary lowstick limbo
into the next generation
of word play sensation-
alists
like us
thinkin’ ’bout
what to say
and how to say it
that beat in rhyme
and time to play it
We need
PASSION
to bask in extremes
to set our wet absurdist dreams
in flight
through tarpaper night satellite kite crowded skies
where our white noise pen toys
spin spiderweb thin
sinewy monkey limbs
limberly groping at new poetical chins
our fingers licks spittle
thick with ripe hype glory
pricks the juice-blown words
tasting flying syllables
invisible chords tying them
to howling celestial forms
storm voices that are
politic / lunatic / heretic
our kinetic kites collide
in starry night skies
with leaky loud electric pens
ur ecclectic process begins
where it never left off
sound richness
rhythmic hitches
content stitches
together
pop-pop-poppinn’ a hole
in the whole of time
art serving purpose
continues expansion
in the Universe of Rhyme
We need
PASSION
to invoke the everyday
everyman
tin pan alley trashcan huckster scam
slam sing-song banter
that is simple
sinful
with those blam blam blam gunshot phrases
that glazed ham
canned heat
edge of your seat
repartee
because we learned from those who told it
who origami folded visions
selling passers by
wordy purple fishes
from their oceans of sand
We’ve got to
EXPAND
on this vocabulary
form a mental constabulary
arresting ignorance at hand
because knowledge
IS
power
the sting bee in the flower
that pollinates and seeds
with concepts overgrowing
the weeds of conformity
building bridges of wisdom
over the dull beige schism
torn by sitcom mentally
and wisdom culminates awaiting cultivation
by our visual cortex
spiritual vortex whirling
helix twirling out
the answers to our prayers
and the spoken word blares
from invocation
to creation
occurring within
the process
of lookin’ for words to say.
AND SOME DAYS THEY SPLIT ATOMS
AND SOME DAYS THEY KICK STONES
today they find our voice.
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First the facts, then the theory!
Yeah, this should really help the tourism industry, eh? Snap above, from the neighbor of the photographer, story below (link in previous sentence) from Canada East.
Marine scientists in Canada and abroad are puzzled by bizarre photographs that appear to show the skeleton of a large mammal jutting out of an iceberg that recently drifted past Newfoundland’s east coast.
The six pictures show what looks like a brown rib cage and spinal column, slightly bent, sticking out of a crust of ice.
But researchers throughout Canada, Greenland and Norway are unable to determine the origin of the skeleton, said Garry Stenson, a marine mammal scientist with the federal Fisheries Department.
“It’s definitely unusual,” Stenson said Monday. “It’s not something that I’ve encountered before.”
His colleagues have been debating whether the carcass belongs to a bearded seal, a walrus or a beluga whale. But without the actual specimen in his hands, Stenson said he can’t resolve the mystery.
“It would be really nice to get a copy, a sample, a hold of it, but at this point we’re not quite sure what it is,” he said.
The photos were taken near Newtown, in Bonavista Bay…”If it was Photoshopped, it’s a damn good job,” he said. “The way that it’s laying there, with what looks to be part of it underwater, looks authentic.”
Stenson said he was told the backbone was roughly 2.4 metres out of the ice, leading him to believe the spine belonged to a large mammalian creature.
But he is uncertain whether the animal would have fallen into a crevasse in an iceberg and then got stuck, or if it simply died on an ice floe and later became embedded by other pans of ice.
“It could be a walrus, for example, that died and is laying on its back and the pressure of the snow and the ice has flattened those ribs,” he said….
“Sometimes a lot of my mysteries never get solved,” Stenson said with a sigh.
Oh man, I hear ya. If I had a dime for every time I said that I’d have enough to go on cruise to Newfoundland.
Despite suggestions from the unruly mob that this could be the corpse of a bucket-mourning, suicidal lolrus, we at the ol’ raincoaster blog are in fact quite certain that these are the remains of the Byakhee that was reported missing over the Plateau of Leng more than sixty years ago. Would the owner please come to the information desk at the Kadathian Lost and Found to pick it up, preferably before the warm weather starts.
Newfies would be ill-advised to mount a scientific expedition at this point. VERY ill-advised. Not that we don’t love scientists: why, the last ones were delicious…
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