Theater of the Absurd

The saddest part is I am not in the least surprised.

This does not discredit the anger that I feel, or justify the happenings of the weekend in any way shape or form. In fact, it only serves to add to my feelings of frustration and desperation. But what does one do with these feelings? Join the hordes of protestors, whose sole function is to prove how reproachable, and ultimately futile the system is? I have the utmost respect for anyone who has the will and fortitude to join the ranks and give the powers that be a communal “fuck you” and demand to be heard. But in the end, it seems like one giant joke, only without the humour.

Freedom of speech and the right to assemble have become superficial at best. Where is the freedom in 3.5 km worth of concrete and metal containment? More than 5000 police officers and private security guards? Where is the right to assemble in specified protest zones? How was a billion dollars spent on security for this circus? Harpers pledge to donate 1.1 billion towards maternal health is just a slap in the face, as he smirks creepily justifying the summit expenditures by pledging a mere point one billion more than already spent superfluously. How easily that investment into the health of the worlds mothers could have been raised to 2.1 billion, if only telephone conversations could be photographed marketably, with a pristine Muskokan sunset in the background, or perhaps an enflamed police cruiser, recently (and arguably, intentionally) abandoned.

Over the course of the four day summit, more than 600 people have been arrested. There are numerous reports of police brutality, unlawful search and mass detainment, amongst other horrifying infringements. In any protest environment there are going to be some who view violence as the only way to be taken seriously, but this is by no means a majority, and it in no way validates the theft of enshrined rights, guaranteed by the charter of rights and freedoms.

Maybe I’m just naive in expecting that our own democratically elected officials, and tax payer employed police are there to represent and protect the people. But it fills me with bile and tears to witness this theater of the absurd. How is it possible that these fellow human beings place themselves on such a Godlike pedestal? The fear they hold towards us has guilt and elitist protectionism written all over it.

To say I’m frightened is an understatement. To say I’m angry is futile. To do something, well, hopefully I’ll figure that one out, because I’m sickened to death by this display.

Arrrrrgggggghhh…

whisk(e)y birch bark

They lay there intertwined, womb -like in their fetus dreams, only without the incest.

The wind carried the unfortunate marriage of pine and turpentine. A necessary evil in the removal of the nights acrylic adventures...

Involuntarily she twitched, still conscious, her new intentions shadowed by the nights meager light. Separating silhouettes. The moon still spoke the truth.

She stared into his eyes, as he focused on the stars she asked,

"are you afraid?"

"Of what?"

"Anything...?"

"Anything and everything, fear and excitement are so easily confused. But what scares me most is truth, or lack thereof, what scares me most is you."

hst and insomnia tees

It was a day like any other, or so it seemed this Friday morning. The birds were chirping, the sky was blue, i put one foot in front of the other as I sauntered outside for my joint caffeine and nicotine fix. I have a habit of checking the mail, sometimes several times in a day, a dwindling hope that just maybe what lies within is something other than overdue bills or the local newsletter I'm pretty sure nobody reads. Every day, I open the mailbox, with non-committal anticipation, hoping for hope. Perhaps a letter from a friend I haven't seen in years, the stationary smelling sweetly of pine and mud as he recounts his adventures out west. Or maybe a long lost love, penning her regret for our unfortunate end, using a weary sweater she once borrowed as an excuse to get together.

But this Friday, the mailbox that's been met with so much disappointment gave me a different kind of hope, the temporary kind, the monetary kind. $100 courtesy of Dalton McGuinty himself. While this may not seem like much to most people, whilst in dire straits, you take what you can get, and smile ear to ear.

So, with $100 in my pocket, and restlessness on my mind, I hit up value village and picked up some thirftwise supplies. Next stop, Michaels, I need a new fine tip paint brush and some paint markers. I havent used those since high school, back in the hooligan days when I couldn't be charged as an adult, and vandalism took the unknowing place of sexual pursuits. A six pack of Old Milwaukee and a pack of budget smokes and I'm ready for a night of insomnia tees (aka handpainted/screen printed t-shirts, tank tops and bandannas).

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I'm posting pictures of a few of the designs from last night, unfortunately I had no model readily available, just me and my viking of an elder brother here, and suffice to say, he wouldn't fit in any of it. He enjoys being behind the camera anyway. Thanks Ry ;)

Message me if you like any of these styles. More coming soon.








(I used cut up cucumbers for the geometric shapes)