calculatednonsense

2007-04-26T20:31:00.000-04:00

giggles.

i'm surrounded by giggles. not laughter, but giggles. giggles about absolutely nothing other than just that nervous reaction to trying to fit in. but it's gone beyond the trying to fit in stage. the giggles have continued and seem to be hiting new levels. it's not just one person (although one person's giggle annoys me more than i can state) it a choir of giggles.

i can't believe how popular i've become.

2007-04-12T22:35:00.000-04:00

it's true. i'm really really popular.

i'm thankful the jutebox reflects the changes taking place in me. while on phone calls to china discussing getting even cheaper deals, i have house music blasting as my back up singers. as this is going on i usually unbutton my shirt to expose chest hair and put my sunglasses on. it's our policy. we have a jute box at work. everyone can contribute. it's very democratic. a little bit of New Order. than some diana Crawl (like spelling her name that way). mixed in with sets of the newest of house music. standard classics. the two step. the 3 step. the 3.5 step. the -2 step for those in wheelchairs. we have everything. we have all of sting, i always appreciate that no one talks during his more somber pieces about gold in fields and wind blowing. people show respect... and that is good. if you speak during a slow song by George Michael its like slapping baby jesus.

so here i am

2007-04-12T22:13:00.000-04:00

i have this thought that writing to this blog is a waste of time. it doesn't make money, i think i get more raised eyebrows of concern and distrust by writing these. no one will ever lend me money or place bets on me like at horse races. i feel as if i have disguise myself with those fake glasses and nose kits we saw as kids while writing here. the puffy eyesbrows make it even better. i even sometimes even wear the wigs british lawyers wear during court cases. with that combination of disguises, i feel secure. or do i?

another story

2006-10-29T18:08:00.000-05:00

inverted situation.

the room was dripping. the bass was riveting through my body. i don’t normally dance but the entire crowd was. the environment was rather sensual, sexual and really intense. smoked machines made the air thick and slightly claustophic. one didn’t know which way they were walking making it easy to bump into people. the bass made me feel as if i had a second heartbeat. as i walked through it felt as if people were trying to grab my hand, whether or not it was intensional i’m not sure.

my hand brushed up against a door. so i pushed it open. i slide through its opening. i walked about 10 feet into the room that was also filled with smoke that the smoke machine created. i could hardly see in fact i couldn’t more than a foot in front. the bass seemed even harder. the energy in this room was more intense.

the smoke started to raise like fog does. i could see my feet but i couldn’t see at eye level too well.

i started to make out a few heads but they were all at waist level. actually there were several of these heads. i guessed everyone was sitting, but the heads were moving too much to be sitting. more of these heads started to come more into focus.

what the fuck.

there is hundreds of migets. all dancing. all freaking to the dj. fuck, the dj was miget too. what the fuck is this room. (sorry for the over use of the word fuck but i have no other word to grasp the situation) the room is very sensual, even more sexual and even more intense than the room i was just in. i was this towering giant in the center of hundreds of short people. their arms were in the air raised and swaying to the music.

should i get the hell out of here? i think i’m starting to panic. would i give off the wrong impression if i left? maybe i should give this a chance. so i started to move my body. my hands in the air. the bass pounding through my body. the small people were now jumping to the music while throwing the fist towards the dj. the dj was throwing his fist back. i didn’t know what was happening. i started jumping. throwing my fist. freaking out. this is awesome. the whole room was freaking. and so was i.

another short story.

2006-10-26T21:43:00.000-04:00

mr. lope.

he listened to the radio inbetween stations. it was like he didn’t notice. sometimes it was a country music tune interfered by the news, each outweighing the other at random. he turned it up but it didn’t seem to be anything specific he was listening to or for.

when he was stressed he’d karate chop the air and yelled heehaaaaa. i think he was stressed a lot.

he tapped his pen on his front tooth when thinking outloud.

his writing was unreadable. he crossed his g’s.

he did all his math in his head, tapping his pen on his tooth, talking aloud then followed by a karate chop to the air.

the paper he wrote on seemed to come with pre-coffee stained rings.

he hacked something up before he spoke, especially if it was slightly confrontational. his armpit was constantly itchy. he picked his bum when he thought no one was looking.

spent most of his money on the lottery, he’d make it big one day. you’ll see he would say right after the karate chop to the air: heeehaaaaaaaaaaa, then followed by the tapping of his pen on his front tooth. he turned up the radio.

the circus performer

2006-10-23T22:37:00.000-04:00

where to look

2006-10-23T22:23:00.000-04:00

josh

2006-10-23T21:56:00.000-04:00

josh clears his throat repeatedly.

starts quiet, slowly gets louder, than even louder. He seems to do it during moments in serious films. or during your favourite part of a song, when your trying to read. starts quiet, gets louder, than completely out of control. it never seems to stop, almost loops

is it intentional? no one knows.

he gargles coffee in the morning, says fuck off instead of thanks, but winks with a smile at the same time while clearing his throat.

he’s clever, he wears vests, he’s got power. his hair is thinning but only at the back, he has no middle name.

he winks, he jabs, snaps his fingers simulating funk tunes and sings along only when listeners don’t know what song he’s snapping. he’s go the knack of arm wrestling in inappropriate moments. he avoids white paper_he prefers cream.

all this while, he’s clearing his throat.

as you read this he’s clearing his throat. he refuses water, he says it’ll pass.

when he sleeps, kisses, whistles: he’s clearing his throat.

he buys cheap phones that crackle. while the phone crackles erratically, he’s clearing his throat.

america

2006-10-21T08:55:00.000-04:00

america
Originally uploaded by calculated nonsense.

susan kare

2006-10-21T08:10:00.000-04:00

pelee drive cottages

2006-10-15T18:50:00.000-04:00

point pelee cottages
Originally uploaded by calculated nonsense.

the state of photography (bizzare times)

2006-10-15T17:26:00.000-04:00

I'm sad about photography. Yesterday I went to see one of the best photo exhibitions that has come to this land, it came directly from the Deutsche Bank and showed work from some of the greatest german photographers since 1950's up to date. The exhibition included Bern and Hilla Becher, Thomas Struth and in general the Düsseldorf School: Thomas Ruff, Andreas Gursky, Candida Hoffer, etc. Although I loved it, and I very much appreciated all of the work I went out the exhibition with both a happy and a sad impression. Today I realized that my sadness was due because I felt for the first time that photography ran out as a medium, as a vessel that is no longer able to hold higher spiritual growth. I believe that it is not a matter of creativity per se, neither solely a question of representation, but about something more mystical; a new path the human spirit needs to take -and which is in fact taking-, where photography will not play a major role. Photography already did its amazing job but I feel it was over. It is very sad and i think we will have to overcome it soonner or later in order to find the new horizon our soul seeks. Maybe photography will come back again in the future, maybe transformed into something else, i feel.

by Alejandro Tamayo (former photographer)
Bogotá, Colombia

socrates

2006-10-12T21:49:00.000-04:00

socrates
Originally uploaded by calculated nonsense.

braille graffiti & socrates in his youth

Liberty Village, Toronto

2006-10-12T11:41:00.000-04:00

i work for a design firm. our office is located 5 minutes walk from the lake in Liberity Village, Toronto. if you asked everyone in my office of 50 where the lake is there would be sadly more vague answers in the vain of i think it’s that way. Well they’d know where it was roughly but they’d think it too far to walk to. they seem shocked when they find out that go there every lunch, how do you get there? the area that i work in is a booming area, except the fact that all green space has been taken over by parking lots. no one seems to mind, and when i make a comment about it i get a glazed over response. in an area that has approx 10, 000 workers, mostly design firms and film studios i may add (creative types?), i think i’m one of the only people that go to the lake at lunch. in my mind that is phenominal. in my mind that is what we’re up against. i don’t want to come off arrogant with the believe that just because the lake is something that is important to me it has to be for everyone else. but this micro situation in the office is quite macro, there is a freeway of 8 lanes, and a bvld of 6 lanes between the city and the lake. it’s no wonder people have such a huge disconnect. there is a fight in the city to take down the freeway but the oppostion is fierce. but the first step is to have people care, becasue at the moment they’re indifferent.

maybe one step is to double the price of parking, and double the price of gas. maybe that will get people out of their cars and actually learn where they are.

brickwall

2006-10-11T21:02:00.000-04:00

brickwall, originally uploaded by calculated nonsense.

my opening speech.

2006-10-11T19:49:00.000-04:00

getting a blog is much like someone handing a microphone to you suddenly. i feel speechless. hmm. promise this will get better.

this is my first entry. i wrote this a couple monthes ago. i change my mind frequently. this is both out dated and stupid.

enjoy (if you can make it thru it) with all the grammar and spelling mistakes!

i find myself stuck more than i want to be in terms of where i want to take my art. i can see some the obvious hurdles in terms of mastering photography techniques, and perhaps when this starts to happen in a serious way my outlook may change. the same goes for graphic design and illustration. the naive excitement is wearing off with the computer. the things that really excite me is the idea of infinite pixels. to be able to zoom in to infinite. that would be extraordinary. hyper reality to taken to a very new level.

i do feel in some ways hyper reality has both spoiled art and opened a completely new door for art. i’m torn. when i look at a lot of art that is happening out there, there seems to be this desperate grasping to some sort of art safety net. there is always things that will really stand out as remarkable and surprising but for a huge part it’s like we’re clinging to something of the past. i sincerely see hyper-reality as the way forward but that in itself is a end to a brilliant past. a brilliant past that we would all be sad to see go. i don’t think there is really any way around it though, as a society we’re being streamlined in one direction whether we like it or not

the context in the way we see art has to change i think the same way the direction of art has to change. art needs to in some way loose the personal touch. it needs to be void of a point of view. it needs to act only as a vessel of displaying reality not as a means of giving you the artist’s slant. this is very hard to articulate. the easiest way is to give an example is making the connection of smoking pot and listening to music. pot acts like a filter, a filter that can make one drop their guard to something they may or may not of hated. it makes you neutral. you can listen to and gain appreciation for a piece of music without very much effort. the music merely becomes part of the moment in which in which we’re part of. there’s a balance of contentness and curiosity that takes place when smoking pot; if one wants to explore deeper they can give more attention to it, if the moment is just good than keep it going. it goes as deeps as one wants to go. (much like the infinite pixels). but that same piece of music played in another context that same person may quickly protest, or cheer, what ever side of the fense they lean on in terms of musical taste. i think art should be neutral.

what lures me to caputre the moment is just a sense of unexplained clarity. the moment simply was awake, and more than usual.

this new era of art, although hard to explain, it’s even harder to adapt to. it goes against the common grain even though we move all in the same direction. our instincts is to hold onto the past, our instincts tell us to relive another era as if it had the truth. we feel confused and frightened today. we have no idea what is going on. we’re moving very quickly, too quickly and when fully realize this as we all do in short bursts we panic and retreat back to safety. it’s only natural to do this. i think artists who realize this new order understands this more than anyone becasuse it is the artist that always seem to embrace the newist technology whether it is through music or just in terms of new tools to use in everyday life such as in art making or communication. their a few steps a head in knowing what we (humans) are up upon.

i think the thing that is frustrating and inspiring is everything seems so temporary. there is very little in this city that feels like a base. in many ways we’re the starting place. that is what is so inspiring and frustrating. toronto is a city that feels like the oldest organization is from 1989. i know there is orgaizations that are from longer than that but for things i care about i’m lucky if they are anymore than 10 years old. it gives a lot of freedom to what you can do but it also holds no guidence. theres hardly a moment that you think that someone who changed the course of history was once sitting in you chair. most of the time i feel i’m part of a just frivolous trend that will end any minute. i’m very cautious of that and i know it effects my creativity, my friendships and general career moves. i’ve become far too cynical. this is not to say i expect love and peace everywhere. i do but that’s for another time.

the problem is that people have no problem with hope anymore. hope. it’s a four letter word that rhyrmes with dope. cope. scope.

what are you going to do about it? probably nothing.

and i don’t blame you. (you)

the mr. jackson arrives to the stage, he clears his throat and has a drink of water. stops and stares at the large crowd, a crowd that may be as much as 50000. it’s a huge deal here. mr. jackson hold many of our dreams. he’s a man of wordiness. a man we admire. his beard is very long. long and very red, almost apple red. braded hair done delicately, with rose petals tangling at random, in fact exactly random on this long locks of reddish yellowing hair.

he speaks:

“sometimes”, clears his throat, “most of the time i feel my writing holds no merrit. it’s not academic or particurly informative persay to the current topics in motion at any moment motion is alloted for. my writing is based on understanding, moments that exsist inside moments, but not on the same side but more the otherside looking over the fence at “you” (wink wink). crowd has a hardy laugh, almost an intense chuckle. “it can be a bit envasive at times but also rewarding depending on the side of the bridge your looking over, or as the country folded in neat piles might say, “the side of the field your looking at is changing fast”. it changes just like “that”. or thaght as they say in newfoundland’s most middle town.”

“isn’t he smart. he’s only getting started” says the indentical twins, except one was gay

“give it up for for mr. jackson!!!!!!!!!!” “!!!!” “?”
clapping started strong. intenisty filled the statum, pandamonia.
abrubtly stopped, followed by 4 maybe five seconds of silence.
suddenly pandamonia, intenisty and strong clapping for 10 seconds if not 11 than abrubtly stopped by a tap on the shoulder from the guy in front of the guy behind him.
a big question rose. a question that is still questioned today.

mr. jackson starts a slow but intensely sensial dance but his back faced to the back, his front facing the audience. its a nervous tic he has, that licking his lips counter closkwise disorder he has.

mr. jackson was never invited back. (weirdo)

(weirdo)

decades later, a new speaker arose. it took years to get over mr. jackson. he left a fridge.

Arose was, mr. japon, but pronounced japonne. he was quick, slick, and had a fantastic smile.

it did happen.

things change quick, really quick, his slickness we presume ended his career.

the next speaker was mrs. juddleston

no relation to mr. juddlestone.

she’s her own women. strong and free.
she makes constant eye contact, even when shes blinking.
she writes her speaches while at yoga in the ymca with the coach and three staff members. written clear and precise. no fuddling. straight from the heart.

enough of all the speakers. been going on far too long. far too long. said a blind man that was cleaning his ears. (“cant loose them he sad a while back

he tapped on the white glass table. his hair is white, so is his skin and teeth. he’s really fucking white. his pants were blue, shirt green, and shoes black. his jewerly was gold and brown. he carried a notebook with recipes for disasters he likes to say followed by a laughing fit, and coughing fit. he wore elbow pads to protect his elbows from all the sitting he does. he loves the word “futuristic”

he took to the stage. gave a sincere smile to everyone.

“Realism is like taking acid in flouresent room. the moment’s far too awake. that’s realizm. Realism makes you slightly nervous. it’s edgy, not because it really trys to, but the viewer would probably rather not talk about it. about what, if it’s just about realizm why would it be awkward? it’s awkward because when someone realizes their walking in the contemporary they usually tend to clam up. that brief moment that pauses nostagle can really freak people out. it’s easier to live in a bubble. far easier. “

some native drumming started but on a drum machine. (slowed down ever so slightly)

and that was that.

he sat there often. sitting, thinking and looking. when the thinking stopped he tapped, or tapping.

it’s too bad he said. the bench used to be yellow. looked better against the cement. the blue cancels out the cement. at least from my vantage point.

thoughts like this were revealed everytime someone came and sat with him. people usually left a dollar or two and ran off.

he didn’t need the money. his name was gordon just so you know. gordon with the “on” and not “onne”, he liked to make the very clear at the start. he had millions. no one knows how.

he collected anything that had right angles. he had rooms made to store all these items. it wasn’t newspapers or anything like that, it was more things like floor tiles, and frames and record covers. although, he carried a protractor and it wasn’t always 90 degrees, he watched out for the fakes. “fucking hate fakes” he said when approached by the possilibity of being tricked. he wouldn’t tolerate it.