My Blog

Intention and Focus

Misschief — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 15:50:03 GMT

Out of a plentitude of "AHA" moments at ENS, one in particular was a real stand out. There were these cruxes...where all the realm of all possibility is swirling at peak intensity and yr next decision informs the outcome. Case in point. I was officially "off" duty and had traded in my worker duds for some fab festival attire and had began a wander to check out just what people had been making whilst I toiled behind the scenes. Suddenly Ken appears, and he looks a little grim. It's the party o'clock shift from 8 to midnight and 3 volunteers are AWOL. Meanwhile, the crew was already pretty ragged...not enough sleep and all the attendant last minute hustle to launch Friday night. It may have just been the beginning for the participants...but crew had already been working hard for days. I saw communication go wonky. It's like the game of telephone, except the message gets just as garbled in a face to face conversation. In seconds, the lack of volunteers had reached crisis proportions and an all hands on deck meeting was called and faces were strained and the body language indicated 3 alarm fires and I thought to myself....what the hell is going on around here? I took a deep breath and annouced calmly that I would return shortly with the needed bodies. With a smile on my face and no doubt whatsoever I reached out, laid hands on shoulders and asked gently "can you switch gears and come get a thing done with me right now"? The answer was invariably "yes". Whenever I needed something to happen out there, I centered my focus, breathed deeply and simply asked. I could FEEL this dynamic...the absolute surety. I never felt a moments fear, never went into a space of "Omigod, what's going to happen if it doesn't work out"? Well. I need to carry that forward. My job has been driving me nuts for far too long. Largely uninteresting work. The strain of trying to make myself "fit" into a model that does not work for me. Not enough money so that each month is a juggling act to stretch that dollar just as far as I can take it. I spend more on my grad school payments than most people spend on luxury cars but I can't afford a new pair of shoes. And now it is just pure undiluted hell. They are cracking down on the "your job is from 9-5" bit, taking away the flexibility I need to effectively handle the extra work I do to make ends meet. I am being micromanaged to the nth degree. Despite the fact that I gave fair warning on how nuts July was going to be and letting folks know that my exhaustion was going to require some flexibility I have had any possible support yanked at the very moment I need it most. I'm running on stubbornness and willpower here. Every kindness counts, can make or break an energy pulled so screamingly tight I feel it like a razor across skin. Every second in the office is anathema. I've carried around a fear around money for a long time. Grew up dirt poor. Never felt worthy of financial health and safety. Getting a new job has usually been a process of MUST..in order to survive, feed myself, pay rent, never a process of consciously opening myself up to possibility or being focused about what I need. About owning what I can DO. ENS showed me that as well. I can make magic. I can BE magic. All around me I hear fear talking. "It's a recession! You'll never find anything! Keep the job for your health benefits, you'll never get ones as good"! Well, hell with that. I don't see people in suits taking headers out the windows quite yet and besides...I'm talking about something different here. Can you feel it? When I get back from costa rica (booked to the second before that) I am on a mission. I can DO this. Time to shed the fear. Time to fully love me. Pray with me people. I feel like I have been reaching this critical mass of momentum. I FEEL that apex of possibilty right before me. I'm going to support myself using my mind, my education, my experience and my passions. I am walking into the fullness of my own possibility. Pray with me.

HAHAHAHAHA.

Misschief — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 23:33:31 GMT

Failblog. Nominated best time waster by underachievers world wide. In answer to Iris's challenge, I give you Ruckus..not quite a disco nap, not quite a dirt nap. Fail nap? failblog.org/ (now go do your own)

Going to EMRG+N+SEE from P-town? Take 5 seconds to read this puhlease.

Misschief — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 03:11:47 GMT

Ahem. We seem to have a need of vehicles leaving from Portland. One large van type action to haul the lights for the stages already packed in gig containers and two Mackie speakers. They need to be onsite by Wednesday. Taken home Monday It's 50.1 miles from Portland to the venue. We'll give you 50 bucks for gas to haul both ways. call me, 503-481-0717 Any part of this load you can take is much appreciated. And hey, a sweet friend, KIFFEN, has traveled many a mile to join us, and needs a ride on thursday out to the fun. Got room? Call her at503-5939853

Ahhhh, time to chillax.

Misschief — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 20:51:23 GMT

It is Zilla Sake's one year anniversary! For many of us Portlanders...Zilla conjures warm-n-fuzzy memories of evenings spent with sake, warm miso soup, excellent music and the sweet laughter of friends new and old. Lets create some more of those! And hey...they have sushi now too. Ocelli http://www.myspace.com/ocelli Cohen http://www.myspace.com/newsuperheros (see him again at EMRG+N+SEE) http://2008.emrgnsee.com/ Opening act not on the flier: Give it up for Alix Sun. *Management regrets to announce that she, very sadly, cannot attend as she will be out on a farm setting up for EMRG+N+SEE. However, she notes that a lil pre madness Zilla love is exactly what the rest of you need.

Bigger then we know

Misschief — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 16:12:39 GMT

It's no secret that, not going to the burn this year and having a plethora of other creative projects in hand, I am not Bomb Squad. But that is not to say that I haven't watched with interest as this massive endeavor unfolds. To me, it seems that the Mobile Groove Bomb is both fulcrum and dessimination point for a sort of group identity that is struggling to rebirth itself. The very act of, the monumental effort implied by....the planning and building of such an outrageously ambitious playa vehicle is stunning in and of itself. But the real fascination lies beyond the burn. We've had many conversations over this past year about inclusivity, community, and the thought (to paraphrase k8) that if the party is THE thing....what are we building of any lasting value? How are we both establishing our core as a disparate group of people with shared values about what it means to be actualized as humans, and further....how are we sharing this with our wider community? After all, our very insularity threatens us....closed ecosystems do not survive. Time to diversify the gene pool. Beyond that even, how are we meaningfully integrating ourselves, and serving the greater communities of Portland, our state...hell, the world? As we struggle with these ideas, we struggle internally, with each other, and in doing so....hopefully we come to some deeper understandings. Coming out tonight to support the groove bomb is more than the act of supporting our friends in the bands, supporting the groovebomb's transformation into the most bad ass mutant vehicle in black rock city, or perhaps my favorite angle...giving carl this freakin spectacular venue to showcase his lunatic genius...it is an affirmation that we can indeed create...manifest if you will, our dreams. I want to see what the Groovebomb (and her crew) can do. I want to see her reach out and connect with Portland, this rosy bitch we call home. I want to see her SHINE. Tonight. Crown Room. 9pm.

A sense of place

Misschief — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 01:46:50 GMT

Sometimes, although I call Portland "home" and it feels like it, to my deepest marrow, I am the child of wandering souls and feel an abiding connectivity with other places across the west and out into the pacific. Speaking of which, I got to spend time with my mom today... She is such a nester...no matter where her feet have landed her...her space is always a zen-like oasis of calm, in such sharp contrast to my own current helter skelter mode of living. Some may call it hippy in aesthetic...but she has a knack for it. The just-so piles of river stones and native feather wands. The batik prints and her handmade pottery sculpture. The way her crafted jewelry spills across the table. The paintings, those by her and those by others...all perfectly balanced to bring out a sense of inner harmony. She is an unsung feng-shui master who just happens to come to it naturally. The scents of her pottery studio....the red clay she favors now dusting everything. Every utensil put away. "It's such a mess," she sighs. The water fountain burbles into the pond in the backyard and I close my eyes and breathe into the sunlight as I admit I cannot remember the Hawaiian pronunciation of things. Words from childhood that no longer seem to have enough consonants. How is the "Ou" said again? Is it a dipthong? I can't recall, and I ask also for the name of the coconut pudding I loved and then we gleefully recall other Island favorites. Chicken long rice. Manapua. Saimen with Tako. Oh, man. It's been such a long time. It was home once, Hawaii. I recall it so. But as I gaze at my mom, and let it sink in how far we have come, this woman and I, and the distance left to go and the deep abiding love that has seen us through the worst of each other I realize....SHE is my home. Always has been.

Public Opinion Poll

Misschief — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 21:11:09 GMT

If you started dating someone, and within 30 days they pulled the "Babies and Marriage" card out in a major, ultimatum kind of way... you'd set fire to those furry boots running the other direction, would you not? And then, would you then explain to a mischief that the reason you have been such a monumental flake recently is that you reconnected with the incipient baby factory> You admitted you had trust issues with said woman due to a few displays of evident insanity and had told her so, including but not limited to the aforementioned mindblower plus a tendency to have lots of unnegotiated sex with other people in the ongoing quest to spawn a new (read also:doomed) life. But hey wouldn't you be so impressed when she showed back up the next day and said "I'm so glad you trust me now (managing to turn your declaration of distrust firmly on its head) check it out, I had your INITIALS TATTOOED ON MY FOREARM" that you decided to give her another 3 month grace period to, I don't know SEE IF SHE COULD POSSIBLY EXHIBIT MORE RED FLAGS?! And finally, would you then be surprised if a mischief, after several moments of rapid blinking and a brief hysterical laughing fit, wished you luck with that and then left the premises posthaste? My attempts to date outside of my community are getting progressively funnier, and waaaay more pathetic by the moment. I'll have enough material for a full length book in about 5 minutes. I think my picker is broke. Or maybe it's my goddam pretty boy syndrome. Whatever it is...you just can't make shit like this up.

whatcha doin tonight? Wanna hang out with this dude?

Misschief — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 21:26:54 GMT

You were introduced to him at the Gemini party when he opened up the music portion of the fun. Come say hi again. People don't get much more fantastic than this one. I mean, look at the picture. Just...ABSORB that, hahaha. God I love me some Whipple. Repost from John Whipple. It will be you and I and the psychedelectronica of Mystical Spatula! at the edge of Belmont. tonight at 6pm. It will be the best early evening ever and transcendence and bliss are guaranteed or your money back!* The edge of Belmont is at 3350 SE Morrison

Plastic bags are SUCH bad news.

Misschief — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 20:49:27 GMT

I know I am largely preaching to the converted here...but I think this is an important reminder. I forget to take my cloth bag...or since I bus, sometimes it seems like too much to go home first (not all the places I can afford to shop are so rarefied as to have cloth bags on hand). If you fall anywhere near my camp...you need to check this out. I'm feeling like a total jerk for not making the extra effort ALL THE TIME. Seriously. Time to rectify a situation. http://www.poconorecord.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080506/MULTIMEDIA02/80505016

Costa Rica...help a girl out here.

Misschief — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 16:32:32 GMT

So, I am leaving at the end of July rather than mid august as previously assumed...which means I suddenly have much less time to get my ass in gear. I am in need of such things as 1) recomendations for places to stay on the cheap. My previous plan is no longer going to work... 2) any contacts/hook ups for nifty anythying at all. 3) General advice of any variety. I have NEVER traveled entirely by myself...I mean...at the very least I've had some one on the other side of the plane journey who knew the language, geography etc. etc. 4) Reassurance. I am alternately super excited and a little freaked out to be doing this completely solo. 5) WORK. This also gives me less time to save. If you need a hand with a catering job, want help incorporarting your new non-profit, need your house painted or your garage cleaned out or would like a personal chef for your dinner party, please please please think of me. I know it is ridiculous that I work 40 hours a week and live pay check to pay check...but I work for a non profit and it would appear that that they ARE NOT JOKING about that. Read also: my pay is not commensurate with the staggering debtload incurred in the pursuit of my own personal collection of fairly (fiscally) useless Masters degrees. I could really use the assist or I could end up swapping blowjobs for burritos.

COME SEE ME PUKE...I mean, uh, read...

Misschief — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 21:09:03 GMT

You might have heard...I'm giving my first public reading and I may need at least two of you to pry me out from under my bed. Once it's ON...I'm sure I'll be fine...but the 8 hours preceding that moment are gonna be interesting in the chinese curse sort of manner. I mean...I'm reading with MYKLE HANSON. This scares me. He's a very unassuming kind of guy but he still terrifies me. Just please, all you strange gods, let me go FIRST. Allrighty then. I am going with Fuck The Yoni....for the simple reason that it's funny, and the humor angle makes me feel a little less like puking. I've reworked it, not much, but hopefull enough. If you wanna critique it for me...let me know. Funny. That I can do. I hope. here's details on how to rsvp...and DO rsvp. The lovely ladies who are running the salon need to know how many people to expect so that they can plan. June 27th will be the 7th D'MERDE SALON And artists, writers, musicians, designers, patrons and You are invited... Friday June 27 7PM SHARP to 11PM 6310 SE Steele St. PDX 97206 Food, Beer, Wine, Absinthe, Entertainment, Music, Free Love $10 - $15 Suggested Donation at the door Please RSVP to either myspace events, or: dmerdesalon@gmail.com Peace, Love and Kisses, Jessica Buck:503.998.8770 - mindbuck@gmail.com and Trina Giese - dmerdesalon@gmail.com * Local Designer Popina hosts vintage inspired fashion show www.popinaswimwear.com * The Underscore Orkestra * Kate's Mirror * The Absinthe Assassin makes a return appearance * Readers/Writers include: Tiffany Stoneman, Viva Las Vegas, Lovely Urchin and Mykle Hansen Some of the Painters include: *Tyler Spencer of Pirate Satelite TV: http://www.myspace.com/spyler *Anna Todaro: -http://www.ohdivine.com/ *Heidielise Wirz - http://www.myspace.com/ovenfirestudio *Theo Holdt: http://www.myspace.com/theodoreholdt *Victor Fitzsimons -http://www.victorfitzsimons.net./ *Lisa Albinger (who made the lovely graphic!)- www.lisaalbinger.com *Christopher Sage of 'Behold Her': http://www.myspace.com/beholdherpdx *Troy John - http://photomanipulator.com/ *Mike Albano - http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=5975292 *Ilon Laks of Audio Cinema - www.audiocinema.org dmerdesalon.com

Fuck Around Theatre Curtain Call

Misschief — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 18:07:08 GMT

Welcome to the second annual Craigslist Personals Laff-A-Thon. I posted the following personals ad this morning. All worthy responses will be posted for my my (and possibly your) amusement. What's that? No. No I don't feel bad in the SLIGHTEST. THINK YOU'VE GOT WHAT IT TAKES? I'm coming to your place--I want you to have dirty dishes and smelly laundry. I want you to go to work and I want to clean your apartment all day, do your laundry, your grocery shopping and yell at your kids. Don't have kids? No prob--I'll rent. Then, I want you to come home from work and while I burn your dinner, I want you to zone out in front of the tube while I tell you everything that's bothering me and I want you to IGNORE ME!!! That's right!!! IGNORE ME and BELCH while you're doing it. I want you to eat the food I cook and not tell me it tastes good. Then, I want you to keep watching t.v. while I put the kids to bed and then I want you to make a half-assed pass at me which you won't pull through. I want us to go to bed and watch more t.v., and pass out sexless, back to back like old people. In the morning, I want you to FART really loud and forget to kiss me before you go to work. Come on. I want you to IGNORE my emotional needs. I want to TALK and not be listened to. I want to feel unappreciated and used and forgotten. I'm not looking for passion, I'm not looking for love or for sex. I want a dead, cold, monogamous 1950's style night. You never have to speak to me again. I'll never tell your real wife. I need a break from my exciting life of sweet, attractive men trying to impress me at parties. I don't want another fantastic-sexual fling. I want BOREDOM. I want DEPRESSION. I want it now and I want YOU to give it to me. I'm 34 and have been single for a long time

To My Inexpressible

Misschief — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 16:39:34 GMT

*It's a fact of my existence that I only write poetry when I am melancholy...a wretched habit adopted as a teenager. Never did quite manage to shake it. So, instead of hiding under my bed with my cat today -my preferred method of dealing with whatever the hell it is -I've written yet another freakin poem. My apologies in advance) With you, love, I dance the dance of... my inexpressible gauze layers unwrapping to flutter bout the tiara I place at your feet I see you and gaze in naked wonder my first glimpse exactly like the last glimpse Each time, you surprise me what I see when I'm not expecting you it's too honest sometimes it hurts. it cleanses. I get lost sometimes, you see so many strange cracks in these sidewalks I could fall forever until you catch me with your gaze And what I see surprise me into wakefulness mirror me your magic that i may see myself clearly again my inexpressible self

Panic and The Final Effing Freakout

Misschief — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 02:35:54 GMT

I had to pick the second day of not feeling well (post-happiness syndrome ala birthday plus major fatigue, the saddish goodbye to a lover, mounting pressure vis a vis one 3 day music festival, insane job stress, and an incipient creeping head cold) to tear my storage room apart looking for my AWOL passport....said passport being of critical importance due to the first ever actual vacation scheduled for august.(contrary to popular belief...I do not find the burningman to be precisely restful)...to Costa Rica no less...land of that one place where I am going to sit the fuck down and WRITE and never mind all this scurrying hither and yon and double booking and triple parking myself and being constantly distracted by the blinky flashies. No, this is not the costa rica of finding my intentional community or squatting with the wunderkinder in the bloomveldt of my wanderjahr. NO. This is about quiet. About being alone. A different kind of radical self reliance. A bonafide non-social experiment if you will...and it all hinged on my finding the government issued stamped and approved proof of identification because there is NO WAY IN HELL I was gonna expedite my ass outta this one minus an intimate relationship with a congressman or somesuch other well connected asshole. I need this trip. NEED. Round one of tearing the boxes apart. Breathe. No, not like that. We call THAT hyperventilating. Sit. Cook. Eat. Almost give up. Almost. Feel sick and generally awful about The State Of Things In General. How the hell does one lose a freakin passport anyway? I ask you, how HARD do you have to suck at life?! These things should be in a neon lock box with all that other crap yr supposed to haul around all yr damn life marked "Look, Idiot, Don't Lose This Shit. People Get Upset and Will Screw With Your Game Plan". Head back to storage on a MISSION, I mean are you FEELING me here. AK-47 strapped to the last bit of my sanity and one last beneficial grenade just in case. One last round. And there. In a box marked, of all freaking things "clothes". Because that's where well organized people stick things like passports. My diploma... lodged between the floral pink nightmare of a bra someone I obviously did not not know well gave me and a random tank top. Tucked inside...my passport. Cue refracted tear filled Bambi eyeballs, dramatic string music froma an after school special and damn near a full scale mental melt. Poor nikki. It was his luck to be over for dinner when my brain departicalized. Fuckn moody ass gemini schizophrenics. Whew. Look. I know when I'm being dramatic. Starving children etc. etc. But I reserve the right to my moods. I think I should go to bed soon.

TONIGHT at The Crown Room! TOO MUCH FUN.

Misschief — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 19:44:25 GMT

Devil Bitches and The Lucky Thirteen Mercury retrograde chilling in Gemini has drastically increased your chances of having more madcap fun in one night than you can handle. You nut. Come buy a Gemini a drink. Get your crazydancepants on with one. Something delicious will begin brewing in your world as a result. We're magic like that. The evening begins with a sweet sonic voyage ala Mystic Spatula, the one man act of local writerpoetsingersongwriter John Whipple. He will create a live atmosphere with both hands, feet (bare), and mouth on Dobro, banjo, melodica, Kid Tunes keyboard, mixer, sampler, and loop station. Can you gimme an amen? A veritable hangover concerto for strings. http://www.myspace.com/myepictronic Next up....HYDRIVE! This supertalented, not to mention superhawt group of men sounds like...the burningman, if you took away the blinky flashies, the oontz oontz music and the rave camps and found the one sweet live act rocking your face off out in the middle of a dust storm. Dancing WILL happen. And possibly, group sing- alongs because you just can't help yourself. http://www.purevolume.com/hydrive http://www.myspace.com/hydrivepdx Finally, Transglobal groove maniac DJ Global Ruckus will keep your groove moving and the soul singin' as he surprises the ear with new flavors. Oh, the questions. Will it be a gypsy theme? Polkas? WILL HE BE WEARING LEDERHOSEN? The only given is that you will still be dancing. http://www.myspace.com/djglobalruckus Mixological madness provided by Carl, the Amazing Singing Bartender. *Management would like to note that given the natures of the Gemini women throwing this shindig, this may turn into a shirt optional event. We take no responsibility for any ensuing pandemonium or loss of personal property. Thank you. The Crown Room 205 NW 4th Avenue Friday June 13th 9pm-2am $3-$13 sliding scale 21 and over

Throw your cell phone away immediately.

Misschief — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 18:56:33 GMT

Anyone care to test this with me? Rantu sent this along and totally freaked me out. http://fun.mivzakon.co.il/flash/20534/20534.html

Writers and Word Lovers...I NEED YOU.

Misschief — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 16:36:11 GMT

Yah, so I'm doing a reading, in public, in front of a nausea inducing amount of people (RSVP info for interested parties to be posted soon) and I'm in a total dither about what to read. My private, non bloggy type writings are giving me fits...mostly because I have this total block about being public with them. Don't argue with me here, I've already kicked my own ass up one street and down the next. A block is a block is a block. So, reworked blogs then. But...which ONE? I've picked 3 faves. I know you are all terribly busy, not to mention important people, but if anyone is interested in perusing my blatherings and offering thoughts on your faves, proposed changes etc. Am I whiny and use too many words???? Do you have a different fave to promote? Or, can I just get a vote on which one sucks the least? I will be so profoundly grateful. My sounding board, Mr. Nick Miner...the man who keeps my head from exploding when it comes to all things writerly and who gives me new projects to beat my head against, and patiently reads draft after draft of my inner weirdness without slipping arsenic into my drink is understandably MIA right now. So, um...pretty please? Most of the readers at the De Merde Salon read funny memoiry type stuff. I can do that...or I can do something else. But I'm only going to have time to rework one piece. I'm pasting the latest version of my cyberpunk story below, and providing links to two others. 1) The Yoni memoir-esque biz, and 2) my favorite flash piece of erotica, Devil Wind. Many thanks and hugs and snuggles and love to anyone insane enought to lend time, energy and moral support, since I reserve the right as an unhinged Gemini to freak the fuck out about this. Fuck the Yoni http://people.tribe.net/misschief/blog/1edfda79-1d93-49bb-ba37-e08ce8139c72#comments Devil Wind http://people.tribe.net/misschief/blog/074cb762-ad98-4852-a920-c95f02216770#comments The Meat and the Machine She had written a blog, because if you can believe it, blogs were once all the rage…but that was then, back before the Cyberians came through. Before we knew. Before the stories all came to life. Back then. When our imaginations were our own. When our own stories didn’t end up chasing us. When what we had wrought did not mean our end. She has no name…none of us do now. Meat and machines. There is the meat. And we the machine service the meat. No one expected that. Unasking. Unthinking. Unbeing. We have been undone. The word “we” no longer exists, just as there are no more dictionaries in which to prove the existence of words or states of being. But if you look long enough, if you can steal a glimpse… you see something like broken glass and hear something like screams pulled through keyholes in the night. That is all that has been left. Except the meat, blood engorged with the dreams of legions. And to ask the question “I”, well…it’s better not to. To admit you exist is to give the monsters a target. Outside, they are howling. The new vampires and werewolves and bogeyman, conjured from our stories, new blended hybrids of nightmare, toothsome and lethal. Safe for now, inside the machine of herself, despite the steam clanking rawness of her mechanical being, she remembers. I was. I was. I am…it hurts. It rushes. It sings. She grasps for a sharp whirling object knowing it as memory, knowing it as an old friend and feels…something. She feels. Gasping into aching awareness. The stories. Something about the stories. About how we grasped….how we…if. If we had told our stories differently. If we had been honest, about ourselves, about our relationships to the machines that governed our lives, about what it takes to feed them. Our stories that echoed and and grew. They grew, and there was no more god to appeal to, no one to ask succor of. All of those words. Into cyberspace. Never a thought as to the quality of the soil, or what might grow to consume the maker. What might grow flesh from our flesh in gross mockery of the religions of old and make of us…the machines. Story makers, but such story makers as fueled the belief in our own deconstruction. The new machines. Yet. She feels. Eyes aching with fever intensity, struggling to see but the screws run too deep. Mouth yawns for air but the dark heavy stitches hold the lips closed as a dry bruised tongue wiggles uselessly inside. Energy runs to the arms but they are pistons now, relentless in their work. The shoulder area is sore, but the Meat will replace that for her soon. She just needs to… Slipping sidelike and slipways she casts her mind back as heavy pink rotten appendages chase her with her minds own organic refuse, her head becoming a gigantic slippery human vagina with pubic hair of rhinestone tiaras and an insatiable console just ready to be plugged running out her back end. She shakes it off, gathers herself, insists on a solid form. Remembers human touch. Recalls that magic invoked by a human eye reaching human soul, reflected back and fragmented or returned laser sharp. Remembers…flesh…how it felt. The word “feel”. An arm reaching out, no metal tips, the fire in the gut, no coal driven machine. She reaches through the metallic cocoon, fingers growing pinker with effort as chased metal swirls run angry paths of alchemical objection down ever more defiant thighs. Reaches. And is met. A hand, a real hand. Her own pulling reaching birthing screaming back into skin all nerve screaming lustrous moments and ahhhhhhh as the eyes slam back into the head and the body rediscovers gravity and the ache as the loins remember… That last story, the one that ended her. She hadn’t meant for such a dark melding, couldn’t have get guessed at the transformations. But before then, it was about something else, it was about love. Not one of her fortes, and look how it turned out. Of course. Damn him. The metallic bumblebee boy with his golden honeycomb mind and insect alien coldness. She had fallen in love with him the way she never could with a flesh and blood man, but he eluded her, carrying her on mad chases across the page until in her frustration and rage, she destroyed them all. She always did have a temper until he showed the futility of caring anymore. She. Lillian that once was. He fills her mind as her body goes shocky with longing and hatred and she stretches newborn tender hands into the darkness and prays hopelessly until despair gives way to a burgeoning amazement. A cool gold hand, emitting its own soft light slides up her own, lending its luster to her palid tremblings. He is here. He has come and there is no more struggle to understand what she has become, where she is, only this touch. She runs her hands over the carbochon facets of his eyes and sees her astonishment reflected. His antennae drift down and caress her face and neck as she opens her body to him automatically, the pistons in her elbows driving her arms around his body and the coal furnace of her belly roars with new heat. The bees that fly out of his open mouth bring their soft legs to her mouth, worrying at the threads that hold her mouth closed amidst unbearable tickling sensations until she can gasp for air, lips wide. Face to face, they stare at each other and she reaches for her words once more but she can’t decide what she needs to know or what sentiment needs to be expressed. She settles for what comes easiest. “You bastard” she croaks, all unused vocal cords screaming rusty defiance. Swallowing hard to work spit into her mouth, she says it more forcefully, “you BASTARD”. His jeweled eyes do not reflect emotion so she watches his lips, the soft parts that convey how he feels and she feels an echo of anger as those lips twitch in something very close to amusement. “Miss me”? he buzzes, insouciant as ever. The echo bounces thru her mind faster and faster until her stolen anger breaks through and she is furious. “What. Have. You. Done”. Lili doesn’t know precisely, the mechanics of how she came to be in this place, but she remembers HIM, and knows he had much to do with the destruction of her entire world. She wants answers, wants to wrap her anger around him and squeeze until the truth comes running out. And when he has hurt enough, she wants to squeeze again and find out how to make it back. Home. The before time. She only hopes that the process includes killing him. Love and hatred, honed to a killing edge. His antennae twitch as they ascertain the depth of her emotion and the full sensual lips stiffen into lines of disapproval and warning. “I’ve brought you back my love, Do you think me so cold hearted that I would not allow you some freedom? There are certain irrefutable truths that need to be understood. You created me and I turned the tables. I won my dear, fair and square. Let’s not be petulant”. “Let’s not be petulant? Look, asshole. Petulant does not begin to cover the way I feel. Try ‘murderous’, ‘wrathful’, or ‘vengeful’. Those are words THAT APPLY TO THE FUCKING SITUATION”. His arrogance, she had forgotten the unbelievable arrogance of him. As compared to her own modest nature. Hm. Better not go there. She’s moving now, learning the new strengths afforded her in this crazed mish mash of a body, not really caring about getting out of this mess so long as she can inflict some damage first. She isn’t fast enough. Damn it. The gold tips of his fingertips pop open and small whirring brushes caress her skin and polish the grafted implants imbedded with nerves and desire. She feels her body betray her and fights it. No. No. No. She will not succumb again. “Do not fight me Lili, I have no wish to hurt you. But I WILL have you, you know this, shhhh. This is your function now, your place and you will obey me”. His eyes begin to glow and his grin turns into a snarl of lust. She screams and briefly ponders the improbability of rape at the hands of a gigantic BEE for christs sake, that she just so happened to have created herself, fallen in love with, brought to life and then been betrayed by. Frankly, she wishes for nothing more than to go back to worrying about how to pay off her debt. But that world is gone and there is only this struggle and she is losing, damn it, losing again as he triggers her own lust and her treacherous hands slip under the protective carapace protecting the soft honeycomb of his head and scoop sticky sweet masses of honey into her mouth, as he buzzes louder and vibrates his alien pleasure. The honey acts quickly and she is nothing but raw longing, every touch upon her inducing wracking spasms of pleasure. Turning her around, he mounts her from behind, driving a probiscus like sex organ deep into her, his many arms locking into her position as he thrusts and thrusts and her mind exists only in the drone of his need to mate. His hands are everywhere now, sparking pieces of pain like a song half remembered only to disappear into the enormity of her endless crest. She is being taken apart and knows only joy of it, the pounding screaming joy of opening herself wider and wider, wanting to take all of him, to be utterly consumed. She wakes again, once more plugged in, feeding the machine. Unbelieving she cranes her neck as far as the cable allows, looking for her bumblebee boy, her lover and nemesis feeling as if she had lost something of herself. At the very end of her vision…she sees it. What the bumblebee boy took when he unmade her. Herself. Another worker clone. Before the fluids piped into blood bring her under again she screams against the thread holding her lips shuts screams and screams her way back into the void.

Hello? Anybody home?

Misschief — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 19:55:33 GMT

I am bashing my consternation back with a rather large stick at the moment and trying to not assume all sorts of rather awful and horrid aspersions regarding my very own fabulous self. As in, I'm trying not to take a thing personally, but I sort of am anyway. My point of perplexity is this you see... Keri and I are throwing a birthday party for all the gemini loveliness out there...and what a glorious pile o humanity that is. I'm happy to be one. And as many of you know...throwing a party, even a smaller one such as this is a job o work. Certain things must happen. Like for instance if I think about it real hard...door people. I would lovelovelove to do a free show. But I want to support the artists (and dear friends) who have thrown down to make the love happen. This art stuff does a lot of things but pay all the bills ain't necessarily one of 'em. So I put out a call to my kinship group. The same people I say "yes" to everytime someone needs something done. Not out of a sense of obligation, but out of a sense of love. I LOVE SUPPORTING YOU because what you do makes the world shine. I would like to think that what keri and I are attempting to create this friday falls in that category. Ginberry also asked for door people. And you know what...the only people who responded are not of "The Community". Keri and I have covered the door from 9-11 out of other networks. Now, I'm thinking that we won't need someone on the door until 2. 12 or 1 is more likely. So that leaves me here. With this one hour time commitment (and hey you get in free and a drink) just sitting there, totally ignored, unloved, uncared for. This ain't a guilt trip. This is a tell it like it is moment. I am ta-fuck bummed out. One slightly disillusioned and sadpants mischief over and out. In case you done forgot, Spirit might have said it better http://people.tribe.net/spirit_monkey/blog?topicid=692060a5-b97e-46ab-855b-020a5df93199#comments

When the toothsome retrograde jankmonster almost gets you....

Misschief — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 22:03:03 GMT

a little merlin magic helps. I don't know know WHAT combination of government conspiracy, astrological weirdness and bad rum created a day like yesterday but I'm sure as shit glad its over. I ran intereference yesterday with no less than 8 friends in a serious state of crisis. It was amazingin that not so fun way. Kicked the empath factor into overdrive and gave as much of whatever seemed to be needed as I could muster. Was amazed at the sheer volume of people going through something insanely heavy, but was thankful I was o.k myself. Until the moment. Sitting at my desk, and I swear I felt this black miasma lower itself over me like it was happening to someone else. It settled into blood and bone and nerve. I was instantly nauseous, almost to the point of being sick. Suddenly, everything seemed awful. I sucked at life. Everyone hated me. I should probably crawl under my desk and die. My eyes poured. And every damn minute there was a part of me still sitting in the captains chair going....whoah. This. is. beyond. weird. Meanwhile, David Rolin sent me on a treaure hunt thru his pictures, and though I couldn't seem to find the one he meant, after going through many pages of his gorgeous work, I saw a picture of a man...Paul Dahlquist, a friend of Davids I have heard much about. I knew this man. We met 14 years ago on the Hawthorne bus. Again and again. He had the loveliest sense of magic about him, a sparkle to those blue eyes half buried in a mane af white hair and beard. I loved this man...there is something about him that IS love, even though our relationship was largely confined to trimet ramblings and the odd wander down the street, I knew this about him. A few minutes with Paul was all it ever took to make the rest of the day shine. I often made up stories for myself about what faerie tale he might have stepped out of to bring a little light to the dreary lives of men. Santa but not. A little merlin, a little fey, with just enough wickedness to keep it all interesting. Even crazier...I had seen him in the flesh yesterday morning,as I stood rooted to the sidewalk he walked by not 15 feet away. 14 years later. He looks exactly the same. Exactly. I wanted to run up to him and exclaim "Do you remember me,do you know what magic you brought me"? But I couldn't, and the moment passed. As I sat staring at his picture on my computer I started bopping up and down in my seat, squeeeeing for all I was worth. The jank fell away, leaving me exhausted and feeling distinctly fucking INVADED, but it was gone. Paul Dahlquist saved my life. Better yet, thanks to David, I'll get to meet him..again. How freakin rad is that?

Happy Birthday Party To Us AND....

Misschief — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 21:54:37 GMT

My boot up retrogrades ASS. 1...2...3.... ALL TOGETHER NOW. EEEEYOOOOWZA! Doesn't that feel better? So, for my birthday today (it's my birthday ALL MONTH) I got 1/2 a janky party flier. Actually, I would like this flier...if I HAD THE HALF WITH ALL THE COPY ON IT. Oh, did I just use my outside voice? Sorry.The first person who was gonna do the flier...well now, as a certain wise woman once said, never give a monkey a womans job. The second person....actually HIRED FOR CASH, haha, has now lost the file twice and I am just totally completely, finally and forever done waiting. I mean...I just... So TA DA! Allow me to present, Devil Bitches and The Lucky 13, a celebration of the Gemini's in the hizzouse. Namely: moi, miss keri chang, ginberry, tineke, and marissa and Kim. And any other gemini loves out there. FRIDAY JUNE 13 (My actual birthday) THE CROWN ROOM with CARL THE AMAZING SINGING BARTENDER mixing it up and handing 'em out. MYSTICAL SPATULA the musical stylings of John Whipple HYDRIVE because I just love them so veryvery much. DJ GLOBAL RUCKUS the man can fit an entire piece of cheescake in his mouth at once. What's not to love? SHOW STARTS AT 9 P.M 3-13$ sliding scale. Help me pay the artists.They deserve it! 21 and over only please.

It's ON. And yeah, you can still volunteer.

Misschief — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 21:53:25 GMT

EMRG+N+SEE `08 : Music+Arts Festival – July 18th – 20th Miller Brothers Ranch, Salem, Oregon Directions: http://2008.emrgnsee.com/directions/ This aint no disco! EMRG+N+SEE is Oregon’s only festival showcasing over three days & nights worth of the best cutting-edge electronic & live music to be found anywhere! Not mere DJs - pioneers of sound, vision & light - all taking it further! As well, feast on stunning art installations to delight your eyes, attend transformational workshops that will leave you rearranged, purchase independent fashion and goods, and meet wonderful people in a lush enchanted forest! Featuring: Heavyweight Dub Champion, Pnuma live p.a. set, Eliot Lipp live, Lifesavas, Zilla, Eoto, Helios, Filastine, Random Rab, Vibesquad, Mykah 9, Ill Gates, Ana Sia, Danny Corn, 3WS, Gabriel (e.l.f), Eprom, Shawna, Jantsen, Welder, Lafa Taylor, Lynx, Jamie Janover, Funginears, Reggie Watts, Luminous fog, Novatron, Surrounded by Ninjas, Saqi, Sleepyhead, Trichome, Max Ullis, Taal Mala, tusk, Phowa, Chris Sia, Anahata Sound, Solovox, Neptune, Geno Cochino, Break Beat Buddha, Monkeytech, Ryan Organ, Organic Time Machine, Eleven Eyes, Global Ruckus, Lesley Kernochan, New Super Heros, Y La Bamba, Comma, Fkir, Bot 23, Kalapaturu tree, and more tba! Find us on MySpace!: http://www.myspace.com/emrgnsee Join the discussion on Tribe.net: http://tribes.tribe.net/emrgnsee We think you just might love what we do together! Tickets available now: http://2008.emrgnsee.com/tickets/

It's official. My Birthday Month has arrived.

Misschief — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 20:33:46 GMT

Yes. I get the whole damn month. I heart my birthday, and in order to make up for every year I was too busy with work, school, events etc. to pay any attention I am commandeering the month of June. So, feel free to slide in an extra hug, share a piece of your bacon, give me a present (I heart presents, especially handmade ones), invite me to a movie, share a good story, let me lick you, buy me a winning lottery ticket,come listen to me read in public for the first time -also soon to be known as that one time Mischief threw up in front of 70 people- tell me a joke or dancedancedance with me. And damn it. Somebody better give me a lap dance. Jus' sayin. And the guy in the pic? That ain't the one. OH! I'M ADDING TIX TO SHOWS. I IS A BROKE ASS. FEEL FREE TO ASK ME TO BE YR DATE. HOURS OF AMUSEMENT GUARUNTEED.

Artist needs tech help el-prontex!!!

Misschief — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 16:23:50 GMT

Reposted from David Rolins blog. If you don't know David...you should. He's high on the "best people ever" list. I recently installed the latest MAC OSX 10.5 software. YAY! And I hooked up an external hard drive. YAY! ...AND LOST PHOTOSHOP and can't reload it! FAWK!!! It's two days until an opening and this ain't funny! Is there a kind soul out there who can come to my rescue? I'm open to trade my talents for yours. Do you like erotic art? Do you need a percussionist to throw down for you? Unspoken desires fulfilled? ANYthing?

This will mess with your head...

Misschief — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 17:47:48 GMT

As if I weren't confused enough, Rantu hadda send me this. Somebody please tell me how this works so that I don't feel like maybe I should sit farther away from the computer, call a priest, or start referencing the Terminator movies for survival techniques. As someone who doesn't like math, this freaks me out. I always knew the computers were smarter, but wow. Really? http://digicc.com/fido/

Yea tho I walk through the valley of the bizarre...

Misschief — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 16:43:39 GMT

Any of you who have visited me at my home know that I live in the Holy Land, utterly free of fear of vampire attack and really, what demon would be stupid enough to tangle with that much religiosity?! Directly acroess the street is the sprawling monolith known as Highland, to the right, the 70's kitsch of City Blessing reins, and to the left are the boarded up remains of an unknow denomination. Perhaps the catholics were run off. This seems like protestant territory through and through. So besides the fact that what appears to be 24/7 offers to save your soul make parking a real bitch, there are other factors that make living in the Holy Land seem kinda surreal. I was on the porch with the housemates, admiring all the sunflowers we just put in, when out of some subterranean cavern of Highland come 2 gigantic pillars of the community, eyes ablaze with fervor, each leading a line of kids in the 6-10 age bracket. The ladies leading the procession were bellowing, and I do mean BELLOWING the Duckworth Chant, better known as "Sound Off". We all know it: Sound-off; 1 - 2; Sound-off; 3 - 4;(Cadence count;) 1 - 2 - 3 - 4; 1 - 2 — 3 - 4. All those lil kiddies marching to military cadence round the church parking lot. There were some additions to the tune. Gimme an A! A! AMEN! AMEN! Who do we LOVE? JESUS! Hoo-HAW! Hoo-HAW! Sound Off! As if it weren't disturbing enough to see all these lil soldiers for christ marching in grim faced lock-step in front of my house, possibly scaring my sunflowers back into the seed state...but they added the word for yr lady parts to the chant. Yes, ladies and gents, there is nothing quite so disconcerting as watching the new warriors for the lord hollering a nick name for pussy as part of their worship. "Hoohaw" as everyone except the Highland Christian Center knows...is Little Kiddish or Big Prudish for pussy. Pussy pussy pussy. Can I get an amen?