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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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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or is that “dominatrices”? Yes, technically it probably is, but the things we do when we’re dumbing down our blog for the sex trollers, eh?
So I was at a party some but not too many years back and I got into conversation, as one does. Now, this party was held by my friend Hermione, who is stylish, sharp, artistic, not a half bad writer, and, most importantly for party purposes, possessed of a wide and colourful variety of friends attained through the exploits conducted during her wide and colourful past. Not that her present is colourless, but relative to the bad old days it’s at least somewhat beiged-out in acceptable Canadian fashion.
One of her friends is a pretty well-known fetish designer, and it was this woman with whom I was chatting. She was much more interesting than the two Gaysian pretty boys who were friends of friends or said they were and who dosed my drink with roofies and sat around watching and giggling all night. Apparently I’m lots of fun when I’m wasted on the stuff, but how would I know if I hadn’t asked the person I woke up next to the afternoon after? Eh? How I located those long-lost earrings in the state I was in I will never know, nor why the furry scarf seemed like the thing to wear to bed. Nor do I wish to know, quite frankly, but I do wish I’d had some of the stuff around to dose myself with when I lost my lovely winter hat, as the superhuman accessory-location ability it apparently confers on me would draw me to the sadly-missed article like Greek playboys to LA celebutwats.
But enough of me: you want to hear what happened when Felicia hooked up with the fellow she met online. What happened was this:
She was in need of a little company, and being busy growing her own company single-handed, she didn’t exactly have the time to make the scene at Sin City every goddam night, even presuming Sin City was on every night, which it is, but only if you exclude 29 days out of every 30 or so, and that would be a very peculiar way to count indeed.
So she looked for love online.
Now, if you’re a fetishist of any experience you already know there’s quite the online community for just about any particular peculiarity, including but not limited to the look-but-don’t-touch underage Gothic Lolitas and the touch-but-don’t-look blackout scene. My own particular favorite example was one Yavanna told me about: a site on EZboard dedicated to restrictive Victorian clothing. This couple had set a webcam up in their dining room and living room and they’d come home from work, change into restrictive collars, ties, bustles, hobble skirts, etc, and then cook and eat dinner and watch tv and do all the other dull, everyday things that people do in their mufti, only they were doing it in these Petticoat Junction outfits, for money.
Seriously, I gotta get me a scam like that. Wonder if there’s a *looks down* overall and thermal undershirt and sneakers fetish market? Mebbe not.
So, Felicia went online, looking for love. Lust, actually. Felicia is a smart girl and she knows that asking Bill Gates to supply your soulmate when his own mother had to tell him to pop the question from her deathbed is somewhat unrealistic. But boy, can he connect you with the vast, horny multitudes for cheap, meaningless hookups, as countless VPs of various Microsoft customers can probably attest. Oh wait: those ones got the expensive LA hookers. My mistake.
And what did Felicia find there? She found a man who wanted to be abused. Oh, not branded, not the whole bloodplay thing. He just wanted a woman who’d make him feel like a complete doormat for a few hours now and again. And if there is one thing Felicia is good at (my friends and I, we have so much in common) it’s making a man feel like a doormat, particularly when he is asking for it.
So she emailed him. When you’re the dom, there’s no sense waiting for him to make the first move, right? Right. And he emailed back eagerly. And this went back and forth for awhile until she and he came to an agreement that he would show up at her apartment at a certain date and time and that she would do whatever she liked with him.
And he showed up, quivering with eagerness, and she led him to the hall closet, handcuffed him to the rail, closed the door, and then she turned around, took off the leather, put on jeans, a t-shirt and an apron, and cleaned her apartment.
She let him out the next morning and he could not wait to see her again!
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In a move that simultaneously thrilled fans around the galaxy and opened up a new revenue stream for the aging actor, Jeremy Bulloch , the original Boba Fett, crashed the wedding of Rose Coe and Jonathan Wollack. Wollack, who was costumed as Boba Fett himself at the time, was a good sport about it, at least as far as we could tell under the helmet. From KnoxNews, via Fark.
When fiancee Rose Coe, dressed as Sarah from the movie “Labyrinth,” approached the altar, Wollack simply smiled. Even the gaggle of curious onlookers didn’t faze the soon-to-be husband.
Midway through the Louisville couple’s sci-fi/fantasy-themed wedding, everything changed.
Ordained minister Corey “Atim” Miller, dressed as an Imperial Officer, asked if there were any objections to the marriage. From the back of the crowd, another Boba Fett yelled, “Yes!” rushed to the stage and pushed Wollack aside.
Then, to the astonishment of Wollack and the loud cheering of Coe and the audience, the intruder lifted his helmet to reveal his true identity: Jeremy Bulloch, the actor who portrayed Boba Fett in some of the “Stars Wars” movies.
Bulloch was among the celebrities taking part in the nearby AdventureCon.
“That’s a really big deal,” Wollack said afterward, “at least to a ‘Star Wars’ fan.”
And yes, the guests were all costumed fans as well, so for once not just the bride but everyone was dressed as a virgin.
No, seriously, you are not going to believe this one. A note-for-note perfect rendition of Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” redone as a white bible thumper anthem.
Baby Got Book
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raincoaster 