Surge: Act II (Pre-Surge Intermission – On The Deck at Wilser’s)

So there we were on a dark and stormy globally warmed day in May, gathered around a table at Wilser’s before heading over to Surge at the Art Center on Charlotte Street.

Our barkeep was a beautiful young woman named Picaroons. She had a great talent for keeping full glasses before our drink-hungry eyes. Remember, we had just been wined-up in the name of art at Art+Concepts. We were a motley crew of writers, musicians, artists … not a respectable soul among us. But Picaroons never flinched; in fact, she smiled.

After which, we ordered many fine and frothy beers and stomped our feet in joy so hard that we nearly brought the deck down. But Eric rushed to the rescue and grabbed the railings and held them in place.

We were so grateful, that we drank his beer for him … himself having his hands full of railings and all, you know. Some old fart with a severely hair-challenged head looked on at the merriment and mumbled, “Wouldn’t see nobody drinkin’ nobody else’s beer in my day. No siree.”

Matte said, “Shut your fucking mouth, you relic has been from the 60s… you could’ve gone to Woodstock but you missed it, you fucking loser.”

Andrew and Mark were disgusted with the old fart. Andrew said, “Yeah, man, what’s that all about? Missing Woodstock. I’ll bet you missed the Monks as well. How do you live with yourself, man?

Joe showed the old fart a picture he’d just taken and said, “This is what somebody who missed Woodstock and the Monks looks like. Maybe you should just push your head into your beer and drown yourself.”

Deanna said, “I’ll draw a picture of you, you old fart. And show you how the rest of the world sees you.”

She grabbed Joe’s notebook away from him, bit her finger, and drew this likeness of the old fart in blood …

Yes, I know … there’s only a bit of red in here for a drawing rendered in blood. It’s one of those artsy-fartsy things involving exchange of ideas, rock n’ roll, and flashbacks to the 60s. And you might even be wondering if the old fart really looks like this.

Well, probably not. You see, the vast lines of this drawing actually conceal the truth of the artist’s true intention … to kill the subject of the study, as can well be seen when you look closely at what’s hidden between the lines …

Do you see the old fart’s skull? Yes, murder she drew … murder on the deck on a dark and stormy day at Wilser’s.

Next: Surge: Act III (Life in the Strange Lane: A Camera Goes Bad)

Extra Note: Don’t miss the readings from 6 till 9 at Wilser’s this Saturday as part of the NO LIMITS 12 Hour Read-a-Thon. Matte will be there. Mark Jarman will be there. And there may even be a gaggle of paddle poets.

Silverfish on the Rocks

It was a quiet day in Freddie Beach. Sun and summer seemed to have arrived with an undercurrent of permanence that had not been felt since the last time Freddies shook the webs from sandals and shorts, only to be walloped by another damn snowstorm. But I digress. It was a quiet day in Freddie Beach, a Friday, a beautiful sunny Friday, not a payday Friday, but a Friday nonetheless. And the sun was shining. Birds were chirping. Freddie Beachers were singing and dancing in the streets. They were dressed ribbons and bows and happiness. The sang of sprouting life and melting snow. They danced the dark dance of death to the Winter chill. They ... hmm ... I'm not doing a good job of getting to the point, am I? OK ... here's the scoop ... Silverfish, the Freddie Beach collective of the most talented photographers on the planet (and if you disagree ... take it up with my 250 pound psychotic gay cat Pico who's a big Silverfish fan) staged a photographic exploration iof geological forms, near and far, at the Charlotte Street Arts Center tonight. It was pretty damn impressive. But, not one to be an art critic (like Pico), I won't talk about the art. I'll talk about the event. It was cool. There was punch spiked with LSD and Manna from Heaven. There was roasted boar and Peking Duck. Lambs and Vestal Lady Bugs were sacrificed to Fred, God of Beach. The wine was fermented from the blood of a thousand sweating pine nuts. And there was ... WhiteFeather and Lori. Unfortunately, their heads were trapped in the staircase and they missed most of the exhibit, even though Lori had two excellent photos that made rock come alive with earth meaning. This is what Lori looked like after the staircase drained the color from her body ... Chris Giles, old friend who picked me up at the hospital after my brain transplant, stands before one of his works. Notice how the entire section of the Arts Center has been drained of color by the staircase? This is why I avoid stairs, and you should too. This is Marie ... She avoided the staircase but drank several glasses of the LSD-laced punch. She won't remember being at the exhibit, but three days from now, she will remember where she parked her car. Maybe.

A Walk With Li

I've worked with Li Wang (pronounced Wong) in there different companies for over a decade. They were all IT companies. This, some would say, is our curse. But today, the sun was shining, it was almost warm (except for the wind), and there was a Spring-like scent to the air. Li and I went for a walk around the campus of the University of New Brunswick and this is what we saw ... We saw a hill with almost no snow on it just days after a snow storm that all but crippled the city ... We saw Lori Morse at the UNB Arts Center just a day before her exhibition with Silverfish - a collective of Fredericton photographers - at the Charlotte Street Arts Center ... We saw an art exhibit in the making at the UNB Arts Center ... It's called ... We saw art by Keirstead Hall ... a very weird place indeed ... but good art from this angle ... ... and this angle ... ... even from this angle ... And then we went back to work.