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woes.

November 8th, 2011 § 0 comments § permalink

I sheared off my left eyebrow with a nail clipper because I couldn’t find the scissors & now I have a really awkward Dylan McKay.

Soon my Saturn will fully return.

On my last river walk I came across a Jewish Cemetery & took a piece of a broken gravestone dumped on the side of the fence home with me.

i will not tell you

October 30th, 2011 § 0 comments § permalink

My friend Safia writes/composes/dreams up these incredible worlds of perception and sensation.

(i will not tell you)

my skin rips
at the mention of your name
find your scent
across cities
see red
for days after
we touch
arms bruised
from carrying
this
question
s.s.
i imagine my body as the ocean
hips propel movement
waves gather
rise up
climb rib cage extend
foam hands that
colonize throat
heart bobs like a stubborn ship
avoiding whirlpool fate

as my entire being is
pulled like a marionette
by the loving moon
s.s.

just ask a woman

oh

the secrets women hold
they are in her hands
the black of her eye
they travel down her spine

s.s.

Music is Math

October 29th, 2011 § 0 comments § permalink

Last Thursday, I joined a Maths workshop with Sha Xin Wei at the Topological Media Lab & now everything has changed. I have ostensibly never shown aptitude for mathematics, or any related discipline, including science. But high school’s pedagogical interface seems so antithetical to how students should actually engage with/in work so it’s no surprise?

I was intrigued by mathematics and rigorous scientific inquiry, but I couldn’t find it. I mean, the way science was presented to me was ‘the scientific method’ and Cartesianism and that there is a right and wrong in the world and if you just account for all the variables you can prove your hypotheses. This never made sense to me, and enraged me because I couldn’t believe in such a rigid structure of the world. I couldn’t believe that bodies were just the sum of their parts. There was more happening everywhere and it was not a transcendental Kantian perspective either. But without the language to articulate this n+1, this “more than”, I took to music that I could body slam and mosh to (the abject growing inside me then?), poetry, photography and depression instead. No one I knew like this was into science & math. For many years I was anti-science, anti-everything really – a suitable ethos for switching from English Literature and Cultural Anthropology to Women’s Studies in undergrad. But then I met this beautiful boy & fell in love with him & he studied math at U of Toronto & he excelled in it & science & it gave him the rigor & potential to see the world more openly than me. But I was young & unconvinced that my brain could ever operate like (t)his. Instead we devoured drugs, strange cult films & literature. But there were numbers & letter signifiers between us, many of them – formulas of love.

We were talking recently, and he was ruminating on why he dropped out of maths because he was so good at it & why he’s doing social work, in which the type of intellectual rigor that gets stimulated is so different & operates on such a lack (for him). I am so impressed. That is to say I am impressed with a mathematical mind, and math has significantly impressed itself upon my Being. I know it is just the beginning (of this workshop & of me attempting algebra), but there are already moments of euphoria I have never experienced. It’s not better than, but it’s there & it’s happening. I wonder if I could ever ‘get’ math. I have to figure out how to tame it, how to be inside it, and how to re-articulate it for everything I am becoming.

Soon I will be opened up to differential topology.

Should I be self-conscious at such an immediate excitement?

Shortly after the second workshop on Thursday — sitting on the metro uncertain of reality, flushed red, with a diaphragm of vibrations that emanated from every pore in my body, so intense that a crystal positioned in relation to me would express all of my heat as a rainbow of colors — the image of the container came back with acute precision. At that moment I realized that there’s something beyond the cracks in the container. I knew the cracks were happening, but all I could perceive was darkness, a sort of black negative space*. This started in the summer of 2009 and became a constant part of me in 2010. The feeling of being a container, being in a container and wanting to know there’s something happening with/in the cracks but unable to get there. I wasn’t ready to get there. I still don’t know what, why or how but I can feel cracks, the openings.

The vibrations, they’re everywhere.

* Mitsu wrote this to me last year: What’s outside the container isn’t something which is not-you: it is something which is always already you, in a larger sense, but you didn’t identify it as such before. So the search isn’t for something external (the external/internal, outside/inside dichotomy is itself questionable), but for something which is both and neither, beyond that binary. So you’re right, you do need to go inside yourself first, but if you go far enough inside it is the universe.

where do you fit in?

October 17th, 2011 § 2 comments § permalink

from 2003-02-04:

&, 8mm, activism, ampersands, bathroom poetry, being famous, being in love, being inspired, being intoxicated, being real, boys on skateboards, bran van 3000, british accents, camembert cheese, camembert cheese on baguettes, capturing love on film, carl jung, cats, chemical reactions of love, classic literature, classical music, crying my brains out, denmark, dirty nyc hip hop, discosis, dreaming of dreams, drum n bass, early morning txt messages, ecko sweatpants, electro kisses, falling, falling stars, feeling alive, feminist desire, feminist representations, feminist theory, fragmented lines of poetry, fuck freud, ghetto fabulous, how european of me, ididnt meanto hurt you, indie porn, indie rock on vinyl, intellectual intercourse, kathleen hanna, kissy lips, le tigre, le tigre all day, living my so-called life, love, love letters, making love, margot tenenbaum, max fischer, men who dreamof love, mixtapes, ms dynamite, my freedom, my kitten, my pumas, my so-called life, nappy roots, obsessing, organic, picnics, picnics in high park, poetry slamming, poland, queering heteronormativity, quoting branvan3000 lyrics, radical feminism, radical feminist zines, regina lund, saul williams, scandanavia, scribbled notes on pillowcases, sex in bathroom stalls, sleep deprivation mood alteration, sonic youth, spinning records, state of emergency, staying up all night, strictly intellectual relationships, subtitled foreign films, sunday nights, sunlight on skin, swedish anything, swedish films, turntables, underneath it all, unsent letters, unshaven, vincent gallo, vinyl, your love cliche, zines.

Searching for Montréal’s Provost River

October 9th, 2011 § 0 comments § permalink

I am part of a long-term project focused on re-articulating/reviving the old river systems of Montréal. Today I started the walk to acquaint myself with the area of where the Provost used to be (and is now underground), or rather the first small part of where it splits off from the River St-Martin. I will try to document and map as much as possible before the snow fall.

Along the way starting at Parc Outremont:

first month in Montréal

October 6th, 2011 § 1 comment § permalink

Hi.

I am living in Montréal now, in the St-Henri neighbourhood in a beautiful pre-war rowhouse. The woman living below me was one of the women that influenced Gabrielle Roy’s Tin Flute. There’s only two of them left and everyone else is dead. My doctoral studies have commenced and I’m not sure what to make of it yet, other than the superficial, oh wow, it’s great, my supervisor is too-good-t0-be-true, the food is great & I’ve made fast friends with people in the Film Studies Department and not my own. I’ve been obsessively updating my Instagram and focusing on color and perception and immediacy.

I bike a lot everywhere and eat cheese and speak broken French in a terrible Anglophone accent.

Lately, I’ve started really missing my brother. A LOT. I wish he hadn’t been so stubborn. He wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn and applied to Concordia for Studio Art instead of just being focused on Illustration at OCAD. He’s 18 now and we listen to the same music and like the same things and generally have a similar outlook on life, although his is filtered through the angsty suburban teenage gaze and mine through a gone-through-too-much-school-too-fast ‘am I an adult or a kid still?’ PhD gaze. I fantasize about us going to shows together, and me showing him off to my friends and him fitting in here much more, and being able to live, because everything is so cheap in Montréal, and Concordia has so many initiatives that you can take advantage of if you’re willing. I have access to a free delicious vegan, and often wheat-free lunch when I’m at SWF campus.

I remember my first year in university. I was on sex and drugs, so self-absorbed that only bass moved me. No future. I need my hair done. I’ll feel better. Next week I’m coming back to Toronto for my Masters Convocation. I’m disproportionately excited for this institutionalized spectacle.

A collection from my iPhone from my first month here.

ps. several of you asked me when I would update this! OK! I’ve not had much to say, words, taking up space, when I am writing and talking, it’s about issues of perception and symbolism and #occupywallstreet & everything else that subsumes me. Maybe more like drowning in the ineffable. Is it possible to have a relationship with the ineffable? Activate a correspondence with it? With a yet-t0-become/yet-t0-be-signified? – the activating of the molecular level of radical empiricism.

pps. I am working on a large several-year project reviving the lost rivers of Montréal.




When John Maus played this at Il Motore last week, tears came down all over me and then I started screaming until I lost my voice and was full of cramps from thrashing my body – the abject becoming the sublime.

Magda, Mistress of the Arts

August 25th, 2011 § 0 comments § permalink

This is what one of my former professors and generally amazing person Barry Wellman called me after I went on shouting MASTER MAGDA MASTER MAGDA from rooftops of the rain-soaked Toronto yesterday. It’s a much more elegant title. Would go really well with my Isabel Marant tweed jacket. Ha! Yesterday, Wednesday August 24, I managed to pull through and defend my thesis project. Then Sara and I went to eat Japanese at Japango. Go there! While walking in Kensington a bird pooped on my head – I didn’t even notice until Sara started squirming. That’s never happened to me before. What a sign! Then in the middle of the thunderstorm Toby came to pick up to take me out to Pizza Libretto right before close and we nearly died in the lighting crashes! Today was lunch with the bff Danielle at Amaya. I’m eating the world! And then this antique shop on Bayview had this free poster amongst their treasures. Whirlwind! What will happen tonight I wonder?

Here is me all magdalena dramatica after I realized receiving the title is nice and all but there’s so much to do on the documentary still.

the cool free poster / will go well with my MoMA one.