I was walking down the street, minding my own business (for once) when, right at the corner of Richards and Hastings, I saw this. I had to have it. And since I don’t have a camera capable of photographing it well enough to capture all the text, I ripped it off the hydro pole on which it had been pasted, and took it with me to type it all out. So here it all is, laboriously typed out by hand, so I hope you appreciate it.
Thus saith Michael the Captain of the Lords Host,
The year I was born, they joined the Big League, and waited patiently for Me,
They didn’t play for last, no more two line pass, bring on the Holy Spirit Gas
To bring it into submission, you must surrender to a God, and agree on the vision
Good Grief, I love My Beloved Leafs, but Vancouver I desire to give the cup to thee
REVELATION 19 THROUGHT 22; EZEKIEL 9: DANIEL 12
I am Stanley’s Lord, drink from My cup, after the parade we will sit and sup
I AM the Man clothed in linen, with Trevor Linden, saying the Devils ain’t winning
Game 7, a loud trumpet sound, a musical ride gathered around
Oh Canada, don’t you see, New Jerusalem a virgin bride dressed for Me
Hebrews 13: Thessalonians 4:16-17
Skates of Fire, Stars on Ice, entertaining angels is it not nice
In 89, Al MacInnes stood on the line, Patrick Roy ducted every time
Lanny McDonald, I Am the Golden Arch, I began My shout on the 19th of March
Don Cherry, I Am the vine, you Me and Ron the Devils will whine
Matthew 24L Mathew 18:19, Daniel 12:1-4
Davey Crocket and the Richard Rocket, I have a cup, in My pocket,
Bobby Orr he shoots he scores, I AM Michael, I hold the oars
I row row row the boat, I Bless the Humble, and oppose the goat
If you want this gift from Me, get on your knes in My Name Jesus say please
Mark 13; Matthew 24; Luke 21
Uncle Steve and Wayne the future I see, Luongo, will stand on his head for Me
Hey twins call Sundin up, and tell him to come, and sip from My cup
Surroundd by the cops, the crowd weeps, and the tears will drop
The crowd will roar, the Master is home, as Roger packs the Thunder Dome
Revelation 14; 1st Thessalonians 4:16-17; Daniel 12:1-4
Scotties tissues, a tournament of hearst, as I tear her walls all apart
To her shall the Archangel sing, about a Seven Carrot, Diamond Ring
Hey B.C I aAm the Lion, I am Orion, and you are standing on Mount Zion
Before Christ, this is the blan, I long to give you the cup from My hand
Revelation CH 6 through CH 13 understand the silence Aug 26, 2011
The Pacific Rim, the Ring of Fire, all prepared for cowards and liars
A three game sweep, a three game come back, Michael and His Angels lead the attack
The Devil and his angels, all cast down, 7 trumpets and they will gather around
Gates and the Pope I will capture, the rest marked, and headed for disaster
Isaiah 11
Born to be My Baby, she gives love a bad name, The New Jersey Devils concede the game
Little Girl Airheart, I tore her world apart, IAM destined to win right from the start
Across the oceans her claim to fame, she is taking, My New Name in vain
In your hands, I command you to lift her up, Zion’s Daughter must raise My pup
Love OrionMichael Prince “MY NEW NAME” Rev 19:11-16; Rev CH 2 and 3
Email Michael_Prince777 AT yahoo.ca with questions and comments
Seriously, you call THAT a spa? Actually, I’m intrigued by the concept of a day spa for “Lady Orchids” that offers massages, and can definitely see where the confusion arose.
Georgia O'Keeffe should get that inflamed ladyflower to the gynecologist STAT
Did you have a good Valentine’s Day? Was it filled with the company of one who adores you, flowers, choccies, and expensive baubles in tiny velvet boxes? Yes?
Well, fuck you.
Ah, Valentine’s Day: that time of the year when smug couples magically up their smugness by a factor of twenty but somehow, appallingly, you are still not allowed to garrote them with the tawdry pink ribbons from their bouquets. The world is not yet just, as Immanuel Kant could have told us. HE wouldn’t have lorded it over singletons; HE surely wouldn’t have ragged on Jesus for being dateless every damn February 14th.
Which brings me to my point: me. Well, I certainly can’t complain about the company I had for Valentine’s Day (me) and unlike most of those couples, I was never for a moment in any uncertainty whatsoever about whether or not I was getting laid that night.
Which reminds me of the time I was at the drugstore buying, get this, Virgin Springs mineral water, and I realized it was Valentine’s Day.
But that was so long ago now…three years goes by in a heartbeat.
In any case, because Valentine’s Day posts are mega hit bringers in this day and age where you may not care enough to send the very best, but you care just enough to send an e-card, here is a roundup of the very very bestest commemorative Valentine’s Day thingies I saw on the internet yesterday.
Read ’em and weep.
A ten tentacle salute to love!
Because the thing about stock Valentine’s Day cards is: not enough tentacles. Hat tip to MistressCowfish
I DID get a Valentine of sorts in the comments on Gawker:
TWO headlines and one picture (headline chopped off) is all the new format allows me to see in the sidebar. TWO headlines. How the fuck is anyone supposed to read Gawker that way??? Don’t you know how many people you lose with every forced click??? You lose eighty percent.
Jesus Christ, when even raincoaster is driven to a) comment elsewhere b) refer to herself in the third person, you know you’ve alienated people.
I still like the look of it. I just cannot use it. BRING BACK THE ENDLESS SCROLL FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.
Wow, nice to see a familiar face (since there are fewer and fewer here). Have you realized that Denton, based on his published remarks and leaks, is actually trying to reduce comments?
Five days in, and the absence of most of the critical social intranetworking tools (hearting, messaging, and comment notification) speaks volumes.
This post (“Welcome to the New Gawker”) has been removed from the front page of this new newspaper. And I hear the death rattle of the former, enjoyable brouhaha that we knew as commenting.
I can’t comment at all now. Doubt this will go through. Every time I try to go to Gawker.com I get redirected to ca.gawker.com and FUCK THAT WITH A CHAINSAW.
I love the clean look. I just cannot use this shit. Also, I appear to be banned again, as all my comments get “Post failed” notifications. Reducing comments? If he’d banned me last year, he would have cut back on them 50%~!
You don’t appear to have be banned. In fact, your screen name in your reply to which I am replying still bears your star. I think that the coding problems are still around and might account for your difficulty with posting a comment.
I know we weren’t especially close, but it seems like only yesterday we were connecting effortlessly every month or so. I recall a story about your meeting William Gibson, I think, but it would be so difficult now to go back through the comments and find it. It’s so odd to have lost so many connections so quickly.
I still come back here from time to time, I think because Gawker played a big part in my life for a while. I haven’t read any articles because it’s such a different approach visually and maybe editorially. If I want serious content, I am going to go to a major newspaper site like economist.com or unplug and read something pressed onto paper.
PS Gawker has really gotten you worked up–I’ve never seen you scream in caps before. You’re gorgeous when you’re angry.
If I had known this was a date, I would have washed off the trail dust and brushed my hair with a frying pan. Maybe you’re earthy, though, and okay with it all.
Here, love, I took my Bowie knife and carved a slice of Logan bread into the shape of a heart just for you.
Awwww. Are we sure this isn’t Gawker Dating?
Welcome to the Satellite of Love
Geek Valentine’s cards! A whole gallery of Time Lordian and Han-shot-firstian goodness.
A little love song from Tom Lehrer: I Hold Your Hand in Mine, Love:
Valentines for those who have stopped pretending, from MyConfinedSpace:
The confined space is between my ears
Valentines for Hopeless Realists (I’d actually send these)
I am ALL OVER the baseball one
The social media fallout of an iconic romantic moment: This chick is SO not getting a backstage pass.
I never would have gone out with that mope in the first place
Sissydude Valentines! I think this brand has a lot of potential.
Isn't that cute, he sent his valentine to a pony. I think???
A Valentine from Godzilla:
Does anything say Love In Post-Modern Japan like Haiku and Godzilla?
When you think of passionate romantic attachment, who do you think of? That’s right:
Noam Chomsky.
Alone Noam Moar!
Something for cat ladies:
and your Morrissey albums. There's that too.
The New York City department of Health just launched an iPhone app that shows you where you can get free condoms:
Now THAT is servicey!
This Valentine is…touching.
The Human Centipede Valentine: From your lips to ... never mind, don't think about that part
For the bookish, there are NPR Valentines:
This Valentine was brought to you by National Public Radio, and by listeners like you
The New Yorker brings you a selection of dirty pictures with intellectual pretensions, so it’s okay to look if it’s by Ellen Unwerth, etc. Here’s Nan Goldin’s image, perfect for the one who plays Nancy Spungen to your Sid Vicious.
Be My ... collateral damage
A roundup of the most uncomfortable screen kisses of all time (and yeah, they even got Howard the Duck in there):
Ben Kling does nifty series of dictator valentines, including the least flexible dictator ever, HAL:
The linear-thinking National Post presents a flow chart of how to buy flowers for Valentine’s Day:
If you need this, you shouldn't be having sex in the first place. You might reproduce
Salon brings us Valentine Candy Hearts of the Stars.
Or it would have been, if he had exact change
Here’s to Valentine’s Day!
Bottom's Up!
If all of this has you bummed out and feeling hopeless, HAVE I GOT AN OPPORTUNITY FOR YOU!!!
If you’ve read this far in a Valentine’s Day post posted the day AFTER Valentine’s Day, I know one thing: You, my friend, have a deep and abiding interest in romantic pursuits, or at least cheap sex. Wouldn’t you like to support a cause that combines them both, plus patriotism? Sure you would.
What’s this about? Take a heart and turn it upside down, and that’ll give you a clue:
I heard on Vancouver is Awesome‘s 100.5 The Peak segment this weekend that a campaign is underway to save Beaver Lake that would see an investment of $100,000 for dredging and restoration by the Vancouver Park Board. Without these efforts, the Stanley Park Ecology Society says the lake could dry up within the next decade or two.
As some of you may know, I’m still stuck up in P-town, that cosmopolitan megalopolis of the Interior, and am stubbornly going to remain here until I can get a free ride home. The way my luck’s been running, if I tried to catch a plane I’d be groped by some cranky TSA droid and let fly at him, at which point I’d be sentenced to life in prison for castration without anaesthetic, and if I tried to take Greyhound they’d seat me next to an escaped mental patient from Winnipeg with a knife and anger management issues. And I know way too much about serial killers to hitchhike or take the Craigslist route. If, knowing as many people as I do, I can’t get a free ride, nobody can, and then we’ll know the Recession has hit rock-bottom.
So, here are some lovely pictures of the burb to which I am trying to return: Vangroover, home of the Canucks and the Canadians, and where Marc Emery was once named Businessman of the Year.
Vancouver False Creek at Dusk by akameus
All together now: It’s a small world after all… Actually, every neighborhood in Vancouver is a small world, almost entirely independent of its neighbors. There’s one block on Cambie that is deeply hipster, and has been since before we knew what to call those people, but only the pub across the street is hipster, while every other storefront/bar/restaurant on that side of the block is pure DTES. Even though it’s technically DTWS. And then you turn the corner and it’s something else again. Forget the lack of freeways; it’s this “Islands in the Stream” quality that is most discombobulating for tourists. You can see them along East Hastings, looking puzzled and somewhat frightened as they frantically page through their maps muttering “gaztown, gaztown, czhinatown…” and if I’m well-dressed I try to help them. If I’m not, I just walk on by on the general principle that if someone DTES-looking approached them and began to speak, they’d probably break into a run and then god only knows where they’d end up.
Which brings me to this:
Gastown sign in the Diamond
Even though the Diamond (which is a delightful place, moreso because it’s hidden, and don’t try the veal: try the Vietnamese sub) sells $12 drinks and is constantly full of models and photographers, it’s still on the Downtown Eastside, and I can only ascribe that horrendous mistake on a very expensive sign to the desire to Keep it real, yo.
I’m slowly getting back to a regular posting schedule, and you know what that means: TENTACLES! So here are some suitably decked denizens of the deep to put you in the holiday spirit.
raincoaster 