October 3, 2010
infrequent posts make the heart grow fonder? is that how it works on the interweb?
August 17, 2010
Joaquim Phoenix in a Dream Honouring Robert Bolaño
Joaquim was sent to escort me, in a black Peregrino,
to a triple-tiered desert complex. It rises from the sand,
he tells me, like a periscope of smoked glass, and inside
a South American paradise fit for a business man: many
chandeliers of kaleidoscopic resin, an open bar, young
women with caviar and soft roe painted across their naked
breasts as a delicate offering. The appropriate music always.
We’ll both get paid. I’m the only girl in the car, snapping
chicle with my teeth by the minute; unfolding someone’s
lost Jacob’s Ladder toy at each Exit. I’m still struggling to
understand how I got here. I wonder why I’m the only girl,
but I understand his instructions never to leave the car.
Despite the Peregrino, he looks awful. Joaquim Phoenix’s
head sits above his shoulders on a dull pivot. Like a man
in a bear costume, he has no neck. I can’t imagine him
naked, even abandoned in dreams, instead wrapped in his
waist-long dreadlocks, felted into moldy flannel. As we
drive, I see teenaged rancheros exhume a grave. I see
chunks of toilet bowl strewn across the shoulder. I see
empty Industrial Parks. I can name them on my fingers.
I see Joaquim aim two fingers at a passing car and shoot.
I close my eyes, and open them again to a grove of clouds
miming a treeline. I see an arch of amber lights blink at
the car; beyond that, the low tower.
PHILIP K. DICK’S NIGHTMARE (THE ROMAN EMPIRE NEVER ENDED)
by barn owl, 2009 dead medium records.
video shot and edited by JON MARCK
lead vocals/rhythm guitar: JARED BOTH
harmony vocals: ZOE ALEXIS-ABRAMS
percussion: PAT PIPER
bass: ERIC BRAUER
violin/effects: JON MARCK
keyboards: MICHELLE DREW
fun fact: yes, the vibrato-crazy female vocals are mine. but (!) the girl in the video is michelle drew, the band’s current keyboardist. i was unable to make it to the video shoot due to a conflicting project.
April 21, 2010
zoë m. alexis-abrams, 2010
paper, acrylic, watercolour, archival material, glass, wood.
(higher quality photos soon.)
not for sale.
April 3, 2010
SCIENCE FICTION, 2010
by NATALIE LOGAN and KATE McEDWARDS
composition by JACQUES MINDREAU, recorded by TEN THOUSAND CREATURES and DEAD MEDIUM PRODUCTIONS, toronto
JACQUES MINDREAU, NEIL CAVALIER, PAT PIPER, DREW TAYLOR, ANDREW DZENIS, JOEL ELLIOTT, GRAHAM CAVALIER, ZOE ALEXIS-ABRAMS
March 24, 2010
MirrOrriM (Mirror Mirror) is the 1st exhibition at the new Whitehouse:
Rebecca Fin Simonetti
Installation and performance by:
Jennifer Chan and Sebastian Koever
Jessica J. Cimó and Misty-Dawn MacMillan
Jen Hutton and & Bel Pierce
March 24, 2010
1. when you play a harmonica through an amplifier on a new orleans street corner, quote william blake to your lover, or to no one in particular.
2. when you are too harsh, get someone to help you.
3. when you are engulfed in flame, call the psychic hotline to request a year-long forecast.
4. if you are lydia davis, work out the logistics of staying out late and waking up early.
5. when your job makes a glorified babysitter out of you, grapple with your transgressions over a pot of tea.
6. if you suffer from hysteria, throw a dinner party to forget “it all”.
7. when you “go to town”, surf the ‘net for related clues.
8. when you eat a handful of dates, cross the street at odd intervals.
9. when you are taken hostage, write a letter and press it into a thimble-sized shape.
10. if you like break-core music, trace the shape of the moon on a window with a bar of soap.
March 20, 2010
December 22, 2009
Andreas told me he’s lost the will to live.
I was glad for him, as he was laughing
at the time. After breakfast, we dressed each
other, met our respective spouses at different
Walmarts. He has galvanized fingertips, gloves
coated with zinc: an ironman never wants rust.
Hard consonance. He shunts into each breath:
every organ shuttered with accordion folds.
For every joint on his body, a ganglia of oiled
springs : a knot on every nerve. As a gift, I gave
him a matchbox laid with cotton and mealworm
eggs. Days later, darkling beetles clotted his lungs,
shadowed my bedsheets. I regret the gift. I don’t
like touching him.
His body made of two soup cans both bisected:
last bastions of vegetable, full servings. Copy.
Andreas. Science makes me feel weird because
of him. Who knew we’d ever be so modern?:
Electronic wheelchairs and sweat-wicking
windbreakers lead me into a tiny matrix, his
hands. It’s like he’s chasing me through an
ampitheatre, my scattered steps sounding
across halfdome. But, no words: the thing
of rotten languages.
special thanks goes to kayla matson, jimmy mcinnes and scott martin for some of the source lines that we generated during a rousing round of “exquisite corpse.”