Pale Robin

I haven't been this excited by new music in a long while. Pale Robin (www.myspace.com/palerobin) is the newborn side project of the wonderful Mars (accordion/vocals) and Caspian (res. guitar/vocals), both of Blackbird RAUM (www.myspace.com/blackbirdraum, a group I will be writing about often, I'm sure). I am waiting for the release of their debut album on the edge of my seat. It will be a long month.

Whilst Woodsploring

In the Redmond Watershed with Tom, treasures! Somebody had chopped down an old yew tree for some unfathomable reason or another and had left its corpse behind. Yew is a fucking sweet wood - it's super flexible while remaining very strong, making it a choice wood for this area's indigenous, apparently. Thus, after much hacking and swearing we salvaged limbs to make our own bows (naturally. You're more than welcome to grow up on your own if you'd like). It was fun exploring in a wooded area I haven't ever been before - we found a smattering of bear sign (but no bears) and lots of cool feathers.

Venture Capital

My half-assed attempt at edible mushroom cultivation! Birch logs, salvaged from a downed tree near Basset Pond, have been sealed with bees wax in order to prevent future contamination though I'm worried that they've already been exposed to wild sporulation (which would compete with my introduced culture). I really have no idea what I'm doing.

If all goes well, in 6-9 months I will have my first flush of Shitake mushrooms! Living the dreeeaam.

Spells Cast by Spray Cans

Craft days with Joe. This is the first stencil I've (allegedly) done in a long while. There are a couple around Woodinville if you're looking, though none of them were especially strategic. I can't say I'm very pleased with how it turned out - there was maybe a few too many fine details that just didn't come out, and overall the image isn't very sharp. It was a fun afternoon project, so there's that to be thankful for, may it curse the surfaces it now decorates. Allegedly.

Lost Histories

Sitting in my room is a pile of 50 or so old photographs found in a drawer in an antique store downtown (the Seattle Antiques Market, a great Mausoleum of history found across the street from the aquarium). Each of these pictures is strangely powerful, even (maybe especially) those that were taken by unskilled hands. There is something weird about the more candid images - they almost involve the viewer, perhaps because they're so personal the perspective becomes familiar. Like the old cliche, many of these photos serve as windows to a very fleeting moment long past. Some of the photos I'm particularly drawn to are lonely or seemingly empty, such as the first. I've uploaded a few of my favorites for one reason or another. Maybe I'll post more in the future - because these artifacts have been disowned, literally sold away, they exist in my mind in some sort of ownership limbo. They definitely belong to somebody, somewhere, but I'm not sure whom, so in the meanwhile let's be Peeping Toms.

On the origins of becoming a "blogger":

I feel obligated to make some preliminary disclaimer on the limits of an online identity in order to affirm my own aversion, but let's be straight - that kinda dogma is bullshit. That being said, at this juncture I am still very unsure of the intent of this blog, the seriousness with which I approach it, and the overall seaworthiness of the whole venture. I honestly don't know much about "blogs" and "bloggers", but I do know there are stories, excitement and obsession I wish to share and, given the world we live in, this perhaps is the best venue for my forays into self-involvement, as undesirable as it may be. I must also confess that I hope blogging will help me with completing my various projects (this will largely become a personal art blog if all goes accordingly). Still, with all of that hot air considered, I would much rather we convened in secret, between headstones or amongst the pines to conspire over campfires or to catch up with one another through notes hidden in dusty library books and scrawled on the walls of bus stops. That is to say, we should hang out. Chances are, I'm secretly in love with you.

Your friend,

I