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Archives for posts with tag: america
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hit return hit home hit shift hit control hit end hit escape hit delete

September 20, 09 //
2
Narratives, Photography
america, deepsicks, fargo, home, minneapolis

The further I move into the future, the farther I am from the moments felt fleeting, deepsicks! perfect for the telling, give the tubes something to talk about, number ones and zeros something to digest. The further I move closer to the past, the more terror and timing serrate my heart. That wasn’t part of my plan, however tightly I abide. Move to the city. Make some money. Check.

Serrate is an interesting verb, see. It doesn’t mean cut, it means to make cutting, jag that shit up, give it teeth and a taste for the vicious. Viscous. It’s easy to mix those words up, too, easy not to notice. Easy to get away with, though either way, you pay.

I’m told my accent is an awesome Frankenstein of Fargo and West Coast Canada. I don’t notice. I don’t mind. In Vancouver I was exotic. Now I’m incomprehensible. Not the words that come out my mouth, just that I’m here, at all.

Minneapolis is old and new in ways I am too, and I’ve been seeking and exploring parts unfamiliar. Pubs and approaches, bike routes and catalpas. My windows face the back sides of other buildings, oil stains and pressure-washed graffiti apparitions. I’m close to Eat Street and its dozen Asian grocers, so I feel at home, whatever the hell that means. Food is crazy cheap, internet breaks the bank and more people ride bike than I remember.

Fargo had some thunderstorms, new strip malls, mortgage crisis say what? they can’t build houses fast enough. I saw where the flood went. The lush lowlands were outta control green, skinny trees all fuck yeah we stood here the whole time and I know it’s no lie, but it’s hard to believe. They put a dorm downtown. The new library gleams.

A bright, bad day, I went to where the Pits were. Thought the things I felt, felt the things I threw awayfinding overgrown trails trees forgotten youth totems, concrete mountains, rebar debris and the dirty little river, lumps in ghost throats, brain fevers and shivers, my school of the hardest knock on these woods. Hit escape, hit delete. Cross yourself and spin and spit and curse then leave yeah right I broke the seal op’t the box swallowed the key.

I still ride the back of the devil that dreams me.

2
 comments
 

recapped

February 10, 09 //
3
Narratives, Photography
america, angst, dancing, journeys, minneapolis, vancouver

It was safest to walk down the center of the street, Minneapolis iced up mulling deep the responsi-liabilities, post-Christmas economy crash cow it’s on us, you know. For worshiping idle, being economical, our faults, for knitting our own scarves to keep warm and our pennies, kill ourselves for loonies (MAD MEN!) how we’ll hang from this yarn. Hang onto this thread. Looking forward to our New Year’s hangovers.

American stores have the best merchandising, the most ironic irony. Vancouver has its moments, too.

I had fun in Fargo. I had fun in the Cities, snow to my waist and tearloose riding busses listening to Doomtree, feeling torn and interesting. Here’s the school I would have voted at last November. Here’s a little house unaware of its grace. Recall my swoon over Youth Moan? Its remains remain for those who remember. Bree made bacon cookies wtf, and Nic, Anna and I danced to industrial music at a gay bar like-old-times. In keeping with anachronicity, I showed ‘em good with an inspiring fusion of floorpunching, darksider stomp, tektonic, krump and jazz hands.

I might be really good at something. The best. I don’t know what it is yet. It doesn’t involve acceptance of uncertainty, I know that, I tried. I breathed real deep and sat real still and felt real fake and smoked and drank and stayed up late and made hot tea alone in quiet kitchens. Drowned myself in seven different bathtubs. Not long ago I had my last first day of school. Yesterday I raced off the 99 at Sasamat, rammed a book in the VPL dropslot, and got back on *the same 99* despite minimal new boarders to stall it for me, continuing my commute home straightaway saving myself anywhere from four to six and a half minutes waiting for the next shuttle.

I skip the sad songs on shuffle. I painted my fingernails blood red.

3
 comments
 

keeping my nose clean

November 22, 08 //
2
Narratives
america, angst, journeys, joy, politics

Though several days have passed since the election of the Next President of the United States, I haven’t updated since, and so: My guy won! Woohoo!

While most of the sappy weepy yet elegant historically significant emotions have stabilized, the high and hopefulness continue—but.yet.and so does my hesitancy to throw myself into full-blown optimism. S’bleak out there, man. With the collapsing economy and our ill standing among other nations, an environment oozing wounds and wars still waging, I temper my expectations, and not only because of the rough and ragged state we’re in. I have forgotten what it’s like to have a leader I believe in.

I feel like I’m escaping an abusive relationship. I don’t know how to trust, how to listen without assuming I’m being lied to, forces dark and heavy tied to every move this cretin government makes. The Bush Administration has made me paranoid, cynical and inherently suspicious, always trying to suss the secret agenda, the manacles behind the curtain, whichever way the wind blows the windfalls today, smoke up our assets while other wallets get fat.

Now out with the old and in with the new, or so it goes, or does it. I am an Obama supporter 100 percent, but still cautious in my homage and growing concerned about the swelling cult of personality, the seas of people seizing this black-and-white notion of history (ha! I’m so on my game) as though politics, society and culture were ever that simple. Black president = all better. Democrat = all better. All bitter = all better. Next stop, bliss.

I don’t fear Obama will turn into a not-so-secret Muslim terrorist Antichrist socialist. I fear he will become just a man. Imperfect, yes, fine, welcome. But susceptible to greed and corruption. Powerless against inflation and inflated expectations. Susceptible to sniper scopes, dashing hopes and dreams of unity.

Sigh. Oh well. I can’t help but look forward, take a helping of belief: things will improve. Not all at once, and not everything. But things will get better.

As an aside, this entire election season and especially toward the end, the internet was double-fisting awesomeness. Despite living in Canada I was able to follow online with relative precision the issues that interested me, from national contests to local referendums. Naturally I was into the Minnesota competitions (with the senate race still going on, heh), but it was cool to see more obscure races brought to the fore as never before. From campaign commercials and news broadcasts I don’t get in BC to some of the most wicked hilarious and creative photochopped and captioned reimagining of events, I felt… there. Included. Cheering and groaning along with everyone else. Thanks, Al Gore!

On a related note, my video “An American Abroad” was favorited by PBS’s Video Your Vote project and made it to the front page of YouTube for a couple of days, garnering me some short-lived goofball fame. It went from 350 views to 4500 overnight and leapt by the thousands from there. I’m currently grasping near 100,000.

While certainly an ego-trip in a general sort of way, it also feels plain good—and profoundly. I created the video chiefly to be silly and to celebrate voting, but also to channel my election alienation. As connected the internet made me feel, I was simultaneously isolated from the election experience. Cheesy but true: I wanted to express myself, sharing both my moping and uncontrollable excitement with my family and friends. To have this pool explode into a worldwide audience of tens of thousands of viewers has been surreal and affirming—for me as a person, an American, a Minnesotan, an expatriate new patriot and an artist crazy dancer.

My vote counted 96,609 times. Right now in Minnesota, they’re counting it again, both sides making a ridiculous mess of it, yes, but nonetheless… I couldn’t be more pleased.

Hooray for me! Hooray for Obama! Yay, America! Yay!

2
 comments
 

i went to the animal fair

September 16, 08 //
0
Narratives, Photography
america, angst, deepsicks, politics, victoria

The birds and the beasts were there. On the way in the winding car of colleagues, eager to see bunnies and farmkid arts and crafts (I’m a llama woman, myself), I was bitching out fantastic all my being an American. It was a few weeks ago, the Sunday before the RNC. The arrests riling, piling up. Palin just selected, starting to flail in our throw up. In bumper to bumper no-go traffic through residential Saanich, my fervor was other otherworldly, magnificent and deadly and I was aware of it. The hate and my outrage bordering on absurdity.

Anger is a prickly fiend. Hand on my shoulder I am with you, friend twisting me up, leaving, the tension behind tormenting, tight muscles seething in my back and neck. My shoulders ride high and my head strains forward, grotesque, I can’t relax. I am bent up, disfigured by current events and continuing to deform as I explain it to my friends: the status whoa, the reconstituted blog barf, hearsay hear, hear! and heresy otherwise known as the freedoom of speech, feeling ugly and sideways I’m being so negative but unable to keep it to myself when suddenly, the minivan ahead of us turning left slams into an oncoming scooter.

Slow speeds merge into further slow motion—the slowest fast thing I’ve seen in my life. The driver on the bike managed to stay on it, but the passenger behind him flew off, up, over the hood of the van, tumbling and sliding, limbs bowing weird, wrong ways and taking forever. A body become what it is—a squishy sack of bones, blood and fat, bendy and breakable.

At last she landed on the pavement, conscious, trying to sit up, shatter the spell of shock enough to start screaming. Strangers streamed from cars consoling, swearing, ambulance calling and chorusing oh my god.

It shut me up. Finally. I couldn’t speak for fifteen minutes, eyes huge and hand clamped to my mouth like a cartoon. This is where I am. Not in Minneapolis. Not on the internet. I am right here, shaken, and sick.

I went to the animal fair.
The birds and the beasts were there.

0
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