Campbell River

In Uncategorized on 30/12/2011 at 10:43

Woke up on the couch this morning at around noon. The vapours of the most sidereal dreams evaporated like the window’s sweat. Small droplets like stars glittering in sunrise. Dreams and condensation are like the stories of Gravity mounding atoms into heaps. Piling atoms on atoms until they explode, igniting for a while, then dissipating back into the universe. Drops of rain on window panes are alot more like stars, sinking away from the explosion of the universe. And sleep perspires from the fragments of the day onto the planes of our bodies. Now dreams of space sink away from me, soaked up into my conscious body. And like the vapour on the window, I let my dreams return to that sky where all dreams come. Our bodies in the morning are like tidal-zones. Between the sky and the land for some brief minutes the sea and land are revealed to be joined together. Our minds emerge like primordial fish from our depths, cross this space from dreams to conscious life, and continue into the firmament well remembered from the day before. Like amphibians we sleep and mate in the sea, hunt and eat on land.

The conversation of the morning included discussion with uncle J about the coffee industry, pricing, and grading. We committed to hiking up a hill that rises behind the town, but rain complementing a slight gale deluged the family’s enthusiasm. The weather seemed volatile and dangerous, so J and I took his boat sailing. ”Chase Me” is a 28 ft 1986 fiberglass flatdeck with a rolling foresail. I’d never sailed a flat-deck before.

We also tried out a new GoPro 1080, which collected disturbing footage of my pocket’s insides, whose cryptic depths have never before been filmed! We sought some pretty wild fetch out past Green Point, south of PR, and had a good time surfing it back into port. I wanted to dive the harbour and inspect J’s hull, but the ferry arrived abruptly and on-time, which was unusual considering the crew’s apparent disposition for cancelation.

The hours on the ferry were spent browsing Sun Tzu’s “Art of War” on a new Kobo Touch. I am happy to be reading it now, as I have often considered it. I also recommend a book I started this morning, Claude C Hopkins’ “My Life in Advertising and Scientific Advertising” , lent to me by Aunty L. It seems very readable, rich, practical and its first pages are loaded with excellent advice for this high-paced, high-stakes, high-as-psilocybin industry.

Speeding is perhaps my strongest vice and once in the van I enjoyed a brisk race to Prince Rupert, where I was welcomed by my sister and brother-by-marriage, A and S. I was hungry, and therefore grouchy, and it was good to slup some homey cabbage stew in my belly.

I took the van to the rez gas-station, showed my papers, and was flustered when the attendant rejected the status-confirmation sent to me by the dept of Indian Affairs declaring my new status. His east-Indian origin, my white skin, and curly hair might’ve contributed to his bewilderment. I’m keen to get my photo ID.

Today I was introduced to Becky’s friend, Levi, a marvelous joker and connoisseur of wit. He stayed over and played a round of Dominion with us.

Went through some pretty wild music today w/ Alana, including fervent Hungarian flamenco, surreal Bulgarian traditional, gallant Mongolian throat singing (which I discovered through this very excellent Mongolian movie, now with a new version I might watch. if you don’t like blood, then just watch this one. I own it and will lend it to you), fun Inuit throat singing, hypnotic Balinese Gamelan, and this controversial footage. All this lead to the most amazing footage captured by special cameras place in the wings of WWII RAF planes, intended to capture snaps of Nazi stuff exploding, to simply relish in their boyish delight and raise moral morale among the brave citizens during the bombings. Which calling is higher would be difficult to say. If you watch that last link, mute the cliche soundtrack, and listen to this classic norse war poem instead.