inspiring...

MUTEK Mexico announces the dates of their 4th edition in 2007: October 8th until the 13th.

I have taken on the Producer role for this year's MUTEK Festival website...

MUTEK is one of the premiere electronic music & digital arts festivals in the world. Musos from all over the globe meet in Montreal for five days of music, visuals, workshops and festivities, with an eclectic programme that features performances from a wide range of Canadian and International acts. MUTEK hosts satellite festivals in Chile, Mexico and Argentina, and has toured throughout Europe, China, Brazil and Columbia.

Richie Hawtin (aka Plastikman) has said of MUTEK, "I can only explain it as the most interesting, the best, and the most inspiring thing - that I have ever seen – that had anything to do with electronic music."



myspace.com/mutekfestival | mutek.ca

i really want to help promote this compilation.
fkkn hott (and so are the artists)

support the experiment...
thedesigneddisorder.net
myspace.com/designeddisorder


[ info ]--------->

'Autonomous Addicts', is now available worldwide on CD in Tower, Virgin, Ameoba or your local record store. You can also download it from the website or on iTunes.

The full-length CD (also available for download) comes with 6 page foldout artwork from T.L. Smith and 12 tracks from featured artists including a completely new version of Richard Devine's 'Per-Cer' which is not sold on the website.

dD001
Autonomous Addicts, a compilation featuring:

Tipper
Lusine
Richard Devine
Twerk
edIT
Anon
RD
Deru
Ben Milstein
Hologram
Logreybeam


[ some reviews ]--------->

"..a comp boasting a robust line up of veteran and neophyte Intellegent dance music talent." -XLR8R Magazine

"The talent pool here is impressive and those into progressive electronics & bleeding-edge sound design would be well-advised to score a copy.." -Meanstreat

"Autonomous Addicts will revive your faith in unconventional music." -DJmixed.com

.."interesting and essential." -brainwashed.com

Just produced a game for HBO -- a 3D game built in Virtools so you need to grab the plugin to play.

Play poker against some of the characters from Deadwood:
hbo.com

Doods.

this week = drama

first, i get a phone call that "my identity has been stolen" and "my account information had been compromised". words everyone is anxious to hear.

somebody affixed a portable scanner in front of the slot on the bank machine i used and downloaded all of my information, then proceeded to drain my account of $1000 (my max daily limit). there is a big identity theft ring going on up here in Quebec and Ontario. the bank shut down my card immediately.

then, i go to check my email at my own website and notice that there is porn all over my screen. i no longer own my own domain..somebody in Ohio has taken it.

there is THAT past 10 years of my life is over. i originally had girlie8.com in '97, and then it morphed into girlie8.tv when the dot tv extensions became available. it's been a way for my friends to keep in touch with me since i've done so many moves and it's hard to keep track of my latest contact info.


wahoo! i have absolutely no control!!
bummed.


so i have a new URL now, which is my name (what a novel idea). it's not an exciting site by any means... i never really thought it was... but it's there in the invisible ether for my own validation that i exist and i to remind me of the things i have done in my life ths far. i just wish i could get my former URL back. it makes me sad to think that my old friends who visit me virtually from time to time will find me gone.

can you let them know i'm not gone? i've just "relocated" (again).

-------------------------------
Date: Jul 25 at 6:45 PM
Subject: the weekend.

girlie:

i could have sent you a much better poem. i probably should have, but that poem just sat there like that, staring at me. i thought that it contained a certain sympathy, a certain understanding for the difficulty we all experience trying to execute the small matters of the day -- such as anonymous correspondence. you see, it is my opinion that you should write me back. of course, you may not share this opinion.

i don't know if you noticed or not, but last week the moon was perfect and eternal. it hung low and huge in the sky, a fuzzy wordless colour, and anybody who looked up at it wished that they could fall in love with the person standing beside them. right that very second. right that very second they wanted to fall.

i hope that you had a fun and mostly excellent weekend. mine was largely dedicated to a friend who, on her 39th birthday, left her partner (the father of her child) of many years and moved into a new house with her three and a half year old son. as you might imagine, she had mixed feelings about the whole enterprise.

i brought over a bottle of wine and played with the boy, making dagmar--the house painter who was wearing knee pads--jealous. after i shook his hand, he slunk off, defeated. i simply radiate alpha maleness, girlie, it pulses off of me. it turns out that i am not all that dissimilar from a four year old boy. we have the same instincts. kill bugs. throw crab apples. make mud. hit one another with sticks. i wonder how hard i would have to press my palm into that nail to make it bleed? at one point he (the boy) made me have a time- out. i had to sit at a chair in the middle of the yard, but i did it like a slacker, like i was at juvenile detention. i straddled the chair, projecting all sorts of alpha male cool. he loved it. i had taught him a new way to sit. his mother covered her eyes and shook her head while next door, her new and odd looking neighbour (bill, a 55 year old man who wandered about in shorts) played classical guitar from his balcony. i do believe that he thought he was serenading us. after the time out was over, jackson said that he had to go to the bakery. the bakery was a cluster of three trees in the side yard. he brought me a bunch of leaves and twigs. "here's your dinner," he said, "chicken and frisbees. enjoy."

later we went to the colonnade for piazza. we pretended to be a happy family unit, making catty remarks to each other about all the other couples. she looks like she is very bad at her job. he likes golf. that's all he thinks about. golf. golf. golf. they hate the christmas gifts they give one another, just hate them. she got an apron with a depiction of garfield thinking about lasagna on it and he got tickets to a baseball game. on a monday night. in february. against florida.

and when she drives me home, jackson says "the world goes blue when you move higher up." we are driving through trees, ascending.

girlie, did i tell you that i think you should write me back? i do. write anything and anyway you want. come on, tell me something about yourself, share a detail.

mm

To: girlie
Date:  Jul 22 at 9:29 PM
Subject: sunflowers in a field (oh. i didn't write it.)
    

girlie:

i hope all is well and prosperous in the various places that you inhabit. i leave you with a poem and wish you all sorts of surprising moments of delight, those both large and small.

Sunflowers in a field.
Goldfinches everywhere.
They gorge on seed. They rise
To rest along the power line, then fall
Like drizzled lemon drops, like lozenges
Of candied yellow light.
Two weeks a year, goldfinches
Gather on sunflowers here.
These evenings after supper,
You see them in the honey-soft glow
As if they'd trapped and somehow stored
The rapture of September's sun.
You see goldfinches flicker
Among sunflower lanes,
Through mortal tides of light,
Through streams of apricot and chardonnay,
And you resolve to live
Your life with greater sympathy.
Sunflowers bowing their char black dials,
Their petals twist and writhe
Like fires, like silk coronas blazing west.
How inconceivable, then,
The pewter cold-front clouds,
The shabby settlement of crow and wren.
Though no one hears the oath,
You shall, you tell yourself,
Forgo deceit, increase the tithe.
Atone. Forgive. Embrace. You watch
Goldfinches and sunflowers both
Begin to fade. By subtle green degrees
They shed that bullion luster of the sun
Until the finches ricochet
Like flints among the drowsing flower heads.
Perhaps, as I have done,
You'll pace the darkling half mile home,
Intent on picking up the telephone
To reconcile with long-lost friends.
You will apologize, concede.
You'll vow to never, ever, ever let
Such distance grow again.
But then you reach your door and find
The day diminished to a thin blue rind
Of light above the township silhouette.
How nice a hot bath sounds.
Dessert. An herbal tea.
Perhaps you'll read the Arts
And Leisure pages of The Daily News.
With every stair you climb
Sleep settles just a little more behind
The knees, beneath the shoulder blades.
The calls, you tell yourself,
Perhaps some other time.

mm

To: girlie
Date:  Jul 13 at 6:37 PM
Subject: a gift, to see who these men might fall in love with...
    
girlie:

i realize that i'm not going to receive very many cool points for admitting this, (actually, it could be that you don't award cool points, or that you don't recognize them, or that they don't even actually exist), but i've been involved in a fantasy baseball league for about ten years. it's a sports pool.

last night we had our annual "all-star break" meeting at the [------] by the canal. girlie, it was very hot in there. very fucking hot. a sweat box. i think my glasses might have steamed up when i walked into that humid, motionless room. i have digressed. and swore. i have started this letter by admitting a geeky past time, and then i swore and then started to complain about the weather. me. one. class. act.

my point is that i don't know the men who participate in the pool. i see them twice a year. i don't know anything about their lives. when i see them, we only talk about baseball. i don't know if they're married. i don't know what they do for a living. i don't know what sort of car they dream of driving. and the truth is that i've always imagined that i've lived a very different life than these men, these men who are all older than me, these men with bellies and t-shirts they bought from stadium rock concerts, these men who seem to know quite a bit about golf, but who knows, who knows...

it's a funny thing, this type of male relationship. by no stretch of the imagination are we friends, but we still depend on one another in a way. it's a safe zone. coded speech. you just talk about baseball, the clutter of our lives pushed to the side, no past or future or judgment, just baseball. a feeling of belonging that requires no effort. a default setting.

anyway, i really enjoy finding out about these men whenever i have the opportunity. to see them from a different angle. last night there was a woman. she was sitting beside jeff. she was wearing a yellow dress and had enormous breasts. she was drinking a glass or red wine and fanning herself with a coaster. ( did i mention that it was hot in there?) as far as i could tell, nobody introduced her to anyone. she was just sitting there amongst the wash of baseball chatter.

i began to speak with her. she had been to see zz top. she said that they were getting old. she was married to jeff. i had no idea jeff was married. i did not imagine that he was married. i was startled to find out that he was married to a red head with enormous breasts who looked ten years older than he did. stunned, girlie. suddenly, the baseball jeff i never knew (always thought he had a fine baseball mind) was changing, was becoming complex. they were going to niagara falls and toronto next week. they own a condo in [-----]. she was a numerologist. does life mapping for a living. wow. that is who he is in love with. wow. neat-o.

i'm not expressing myself very well, and i'm probably boring you, but it was just fascinating. this voice, the face of baseball jeff that i'd been seeing for the last ten years, was suddenly given a context, a home.

last year some of the baseball tribe got together to watch the world series. the red sox won, breaking a very long and tortuous tradition of not winning. paul, the larger guy who is vain about his long, curly hair, was elated. he turned to me, "i'm going to the highlander! i'm going to ask out that waitress, if the red sox can win the series, then anything can happen!" and then he was gone.

last night i shared a cab with him. he asked me to drop him off at the highlander. i don't think that he ever asked out that waitress. i think that he attends every baseball function, i think that he's lonely and really enjoys finding a default setting, finding companionship in its simplest flavours.

busy girlie, why don't you tell me something about some of the people you spend time with? 

mm

To: girlie
Date:  Jun 28 at 6:50 PM
Subject: swordfish.
   
girlie:

i lived in california many years ago. i was four years old and people wandered the streets without their shirts on, holsters strapped to their hips. my parents packing boxes, watergate on television. i thought it had something to do with the ocean. i wanted to be a fish. a swordfish. i would cut through the waves, i would stab all the sharks and play with the huge, misunderstood whales. thats what i would do.

in san fransisco ducks hung in windows and street cars clattered. at the swimming pool in the hotel, vietnam veterans did their therapy in the water. men with long hair and tattoos, men with grudges who were scarred both inside and out, men who had lost limbs. and i wanted to go swimming, even though i didnt know how to swim. my father would take me into the water and i would sit on a big, inflatable swan. he would guard me. i was fearless. i didnt care that I had no idea how to swim. i was going to be a fish, a swordfish, it was just a matter of time. but my father was nervous this time, he thought i might be scared
of the strange men without arms and legs, that i might embarrass them, but i didnt even notice, and we all splashed happily about, the vets tossing me each to each. a story my father still tells to this day.

one day myself and the neighbours daughter decided to go trick or treating. i have forgotten her name but i remember her secret. she liked to eat dry cat food. that was her secret. she did this in her garage. her father lost part of one of his fingers to a buzz saw. when we went out trick or treating we did not bother to dress up, we did not bother to check the date. two four year olds on a summer afternoon who thought that strangers would always give you candy, that that is what the world was like. the first door we rang revealed an older woman with white hair. we said trick or treat. we didnt even have bags. she invited us in and gave us lemonade as she patiently explained the concept of halloween to us. i remember that the house was cool, that it smelled alien and safe.

that was california.

mm