Thursday, October 29, 2009

The Great Scotch Tasting and Then ze Pints!



My fearless friends and I embark on a safety first, get the night rolling, pint before heading to the oh so posh and snazzy Yorkville for a Macallan Whiskey tasting event.



We learned all about Scotland and nifty whiskey making, and sampled some 10-18 year old single malts which certainly got the room a buzz. Or perhaps just your humble narrator buzzed.







My favourite little fact was finding out that the alcohol that evaporates in a sealed bottle over the years is reffered to as 'the angel's share.' How cute is that. And as an added bonus I received this genuine evil magic crystal ball to thwart my enemies and/or to strike them down with all my vengeance!



(Joking, 'tis an ice ball they made in case you like fancy monstrous ice balls in your booze.)

And then onwards to more adventure and many pints and fierce debates and heavy laughs along with way too many smokes on a patio nearby, where we met some lovely fellow tasters who joined our table of mayhem! We plotted evil world domination plots long into the night! Soon the invasion will begin!

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Killer Cat Attack




DEM FISHIES IS OUTA LIFE!
(A scribble I did while waiting for the guitars to get sorted yesterday at rehearsal)

Monday, October 12, 2009

The Great Unscented gets Scented Car Crash Experimento Supremo

Not since being a teenager have I ever wore any kind of scent at all. I remember being thirteen and plastering it on with abandon, no doubt to such a degree as anyone approaching too close would be blinded or suffer similar reactions to mustard gas attacks of WWI. Ahh, youth.

And so, it just never became my thing. Especially after those first several casualties. I have avoided cologne and visiting their graves ever since. But, I always wondered what could have been. I mean, a life in tandem with cologne was permanently lost. What would fate have put in store for me if only... Well, the demons must be faced, and questions answered!

Therefore, having obtained a bottle of the new Calvin Klein 'Free' I have endeavoured to set out to prove whether no scent or scent will win out, or basically, if anyone will notice or comment. Of course, I won't be drenching myself in it, like that poor, misdirected thirteen year old that caused so much untold tragedy in the past. Lessons have been learned.

What will the result be: positive or negative, indifferent? Oh, let the marvellous adventure begin.



Day one:
Having the day off, there is not much chance of meetings and confrontations. But this is a good day for me to get used to this new scented world order. Though I like the scent, it is hard for me to get used to it. This goes for my cats also. However, am I walking about the apartment with a certain higher degree of swagger? Answer: No, I am not an idiot.

A brief foray into the exterior world led me to the beer store to return empties. Did the gruff and tumble, rather hung-over and unpleasantly motivated beer store employee notice my new scent you ask? Answer: No. And thank ze Gods, as if he had really liked it, and liked me, I dread to think of the result as he was rather large and of a generally frightening nature. In short, he had the cold, dead eyes of a killer.

After this, a trip to the grocery store where the lovely and cute and young check-out lady might have sniffed the air, and did smile. Though I think they get electric shocks if they don't smile at everyone now a days, so I guess this doesn't
really count.

Day two:
Hmmm, I am starting to get used to being scented. It is not so bad. And for today a trip to China town and Kensington market. Hopefully I won't be run down by the mobs of people who will now want to sleep with me since I am a tactically cologned up Car Crash!

First stop Library: And from the librarian?... Nothing.
Chinatown: Chinese medicine lady who sells me my green tea: Smiles, but nothing. I say 'Xie, xie' anyways, as I rock.
Kensington Market: Burly cheese store guys: Nothing. (Thankfully.)
Cute bakery girl: Nothing. (Unfortunately.)
Sushi people: Nada zipo.

Of course, I didn't really expect people to say anything. Except maybe the librarian, who I sort of chat with. However, while was I was walking, I went through the University of Toronto and managed to get three smiles from three very cute girls. This might be because I was myself looking very cute in my turtleneck sweater, however. And being outside you couldn't really smell me. Therefore, scientifically, the three girl smiles cannot be allowed to count. Why I didn't talk to any of these beautiful creatures, or fake an injury for their attention, is driving me to distraction right now though. Oh, but I have yummy sushi, so, who cares. And I smell good.



Day three:
The gang: Four friends come over for drinks, music, conversation and of course, the cock fights. (Just kidding about the cock fights. Poor misunderstood roosters!). Friend one likes the scent, but finds it too sweet. He informs me it suits me though as I am generally not sweet enough. His partner, however, gives his nod of approval during a passionate declaration that Kylie puts on a way better show than Madge. And my other friends are also non-violent and reasonably keen. But this is a small part of the night. We end up at Clinton's for some super retro 60s dancing and romancing. While I do manage to tell a girl she is beautiful and she responds that I am beautiful, she is subsequently whisked away by the fates and three friends and I never see her again.



Here ends the great experiment. In short, I like it, and things pretty much happened in the expected manner.
Car Crash out!

Advice when applying cologne: Don't spray it in your eyes.
By: Daniel Smallegange

Friday, September 18, 2009

We Are Artists

We are artists of love
We are the architects of our own
Irresistible end
Our hearts lined with scars
Our eyes filled with battles
Fingernails bitten to the quick
From worry and want and wasted thought
From all the long campaigns waged
All the dreams engaged
Razor light passion and hand grenade kiss
We are the carriers of heavy duty armament dreams
Our calling card is want
We are
Slips of moaned desire drifting along the breeze
Be wary of our
Dark and dangerous lips and curves
Lust bitten tongues seeking slow salvation
Hard love and warm touch
We architects of desire
And tragedy and hope and need
Our hearts heavy lined with scars
Our eyes filled with memory
Tragedy and tiny shards of bliss, also
We, the artists of love
Shall desecrate the earth
With our pursuit of you
By: Daniel Smallegange

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

A Letter Sent

So, I am really a bit drunk.
I feel like someone stabbed me in the the guts and the knife is you.
And it is twisting.
And I just want you.
Give me five days, and I will be over you. I swear. But tonight, I am
Sad about you.
I really liked you.
I so really fell for you.
Please forgive me for writing and being sad.
Tonight is the night I get over it.
I'm so lame.
I can't help but write....
I am so lame.
I know you have your things to push me away.
Tomorrow, I will be stronger.
Tomorrow, I will be strong.
I hate being weak.
Sorry, to bother you.
I will be better tomorrow.
I am actually strong, and amazing, and funny and charming, and
Good.
I just liked you.
The knife is you.
By Dan Smallegange (from an email letter sent)

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

New Fiction from Chapter 9: Falter by Daniel Smallegange

Dawn is a strange and alien event.

Outside and standing in a bathrobe and nearly nothing else. It's blue satin and Felix's and I miss him, staring off into the wastes and watching the winds at play, stirring up trouble, among other things. Something Felix was best at. Feeling now both elated and crushed, alive and dead, awake and entombed, feeling free though we walk fettered in heavy-thick-dark chains. They go well with the bathrobe and I look handsome in the dawn light. Cutting it against the grain and smoking on a cigarette.

Hard blinking and Corvina is there and an embrace and I am lighting her a cigarette now. She looks good too in the dawning light. She is brunette, petite, and quite charming with her long eye lashes and short bob-type haircut, elegant with those sharp, squared bangs framing her pale, freckled face. Her lips are magnificent, as is the steel in her eyes and the curve of her frame.

We have not slept in three days. The steel in her eyes is beginning to rust.

She comes up and we embrace and kind of cling to one another as the winds pick up and whip around us and dust flies away, everything flies away from us, moving along those winds that are cool in the morning, not yet hot enough to do anything but cool us and whip us, though they do scare us into the shelter of the house.

'Worry not about gods, or they will worry about you, and that, if history is accurate, can only mean bad things.'

'Bobby, you shouldn't say things about God, or Gods, or anything. It makes me worry for you.'

'Not to worry. It's just talk. I told you, I killed all them gods already in my travels, in my dreams, like David with a sling.'

'And I am telling you, you shouldn't blaspheme so, Bobby.'

'No, no, I shouldn't. But I do. It pleases me. A man after all needs enemies. How else would he know he exists?'

'Ha, you need enemies. Try every waiter and bartender in the state.'

Another fleeting embrace, this one awkward.

'Hey, I tip well.'

'Sure, then you puke on their shoes.'

'That only happened once...'

Time moving fast like the spectre of death approaching, and time's got better things to do, places to be. A few days passed with the lovely and beautiful Corvina, though her love and her patience is eroding. It's those damned desert winds.

We are on the outskirts, out of the city, at a friend's place, Pascal's, who lives most of the time in Montreal, being some political guru or some such nonsense. But he is alright, for a Canadian.

Boozing and laughter, but our time is limited. We are not of kind or kindred, but alien. And she is wilting and she is burning, and so soon must she leave or else. We need and seek and wish only, to set her free, let her be, let her live.

This is no world, and no place for living.
By: Daniel Smallegange

Sunday, August 9, 2009

The Scorpion

There is a scorpion dwelling
In the inner sanctum
The inner reaches
Of my heart
Curled up and crouched
Protector and defiler
Waiting
Silent and deadly
The scorpion
Both messenger and message
Beauty and vengeance
Violence and peace
Ever cold the scorpion
At home in the fiery centre
Waiting immobile to catch
You, the thief of hearts
You, the transgressor of
Mind and body and soul
The infiltrator come
To taste my heart
To taste the vision
Granted from the scorpion's sting
In the inner sanctum
The inner reaches
Of my heart
By: Daniel Smallegange