I see where Coast Weekly has referred to me as an “enigma.” Ahh, that’s not true. I’m just an enigma to people who don’t know me.

I showed up at the Marquee for work just after Pegasus Plus and Slow Lover had finished soundchecking. Mike Slow Lover said, “Hey… were you making out with a cute blonde on the commons last night?”

It is hard to be evasive when faced with such a direct question.

It got me thinking about what a small city Halifax is. And then I read this.

Andrea, your post was very romantic except you left out the part where I said “No” and then she called me an “asshole.”

I was taking voice lessons for a while but then I stopped going. I don’t think I want my voice to get prettier. I want it to get uglier.

~ Spinoza – Allies In Effigy (1.9MB mp3)

~ We’re still alive. Last words: we’re still alive. Allies in effigy, we’d die on our own time. The darkness cuts, but our blood was good enough. We feared no one and nothing could touch us.

The city is a furnace; the street, a stake to burn us. Despair–the sickness unto death. Smoke swallows steam, the sirens screaming. Another spark has gone out forever.

“If I flinch from the pain of the burning, believe not these words I have preached.”

Last night I dreamed I arrived in the big city and there were Nazis all over the place, picking fights and stuff.

I crashed at the house of a guy I sort of knew. In the morning he gave me his phone number on a ripped-up five dollar bill and said, “Good luck finding a place to stay tonight.”

Went outside and someone had stolen my bike’s wheels and seat and handlebars, stripped it right to the frame where it was chained to the stairs.

And then some angry vegan guy started yelling at me for wearing a leather jacket. He shoved me so hard, I stepped in his organic herb garden; so he yelled at me some more.

I thought “This place reminds me of Toronto or something,” and I looked around and it was.

my ‘worst behaviour’ is getting worse and worse.

“could you turn down the bass a little bit…” sheesh. what is it with you white people.

one sentence in tuesday’s post turned out to be a lie.

Tuesday evening. I’ve already been asleep and quite comfortable with my cat sleeping on my stomach but we were awakened by my roommate shouting obscenities at the television in the basement rumpus room. Got up and left the house to slice up wet streets on my bicycle. There’s a glow over Dartmouth and spring is empty.

In a few minutes I’m going over to Hell’s Kitchen to perform a Spinoza set, I’ve decided. Rock never sleeps in the city of Halifax. Tomorrow night I’ll be back there again, playing entirely different music as the 9Volt Sound System in the midnight hour. Maybe the rain will cease and it will be hot and the dancefloor will be full of hot, sweaty women. Our motto: “If you can’t get laid at a 9Volt show, you’ve got no business owning a dick.”

Maybe this cursed rain will cease. I was almost blown out to sea on my way to work at the studio today. Gritted my teeth and put in a long day of work.

On Thursday night in what is becoming a familiar routine I get off work in Hell’s Kitchen and race down to the Khyber Club, this time to play some abstract ambient electro mood music. No one is getting laid on Thursday night.

I’ve been asked out on a date tomorrow evening. This, despite doing my best not to cause any romantic misconceptions. A date with a beautiful woman… I pledge to be on my worst behaviour.

Saturday night I dreamed there was a war going on in the neighbourhood where I grew up. No one knew who they were or why we were being attacked but we all knew that we had to fight back or die. Running for cover I was being fired upon and chased by a couple of assailants and I was wounded in the leg. Then I dreamed I crouched down and took out a handgun and, aiming very carefully, shot both of my enemies in the head.

“It’s because you’re battling a cold” was offered as an analysis of my dream. And this makes sense; what I didn’t mention is that when I shot the two guys, the bullets flew towards their faces, then stopped dead right in front in them for a moment before flying up their noses and causing instant death. So I thought, maybe it’s telling me I should stick an echinacea capsule in each of my nostrils and see if that helps. I’m trying it right now. It feels kind of funny.

War is the second most common theme of my dreams, after explicit sex.

And after all these nighttime fantasies of mayhem and murder, I called up my mom to wish her a happy Mother’s Day… because that’s the kind of guy I am.

MOM: So how are things going, dear? Any new acquaintances?
ME: …Acquaintances?
MOM: You know, any new love interests?
ME: Ahh, mom… I’m pretty much a confirmed bachelor.
MOM: That’s what everyone thinks, until they meet the right person.
ME: Well, then I guess that’s what I’ll continue to believe.

A lot of late nights lately. Late nights, but no action–my latest exquisite affair ended a few days ago. I’ve been a little bit heartbroken and I’ve been staying up all night. I ride my bicycle all over town, through empty streets and intersections with flashing red lights. Down to the end of Quinpool Road and back. Now I’m tired and a little run down from work but ready to move on.

It’s amazing that you can meet someone and have that kind of connection. No arguments, no head games, just lots of laughter and beautiful sex and please, keep talking because I love the sound of your voice. At least I’m fortunate in getting to meet special people, even if they are just passing through. I think I need to travel more.

Thursday night at the Marquee: “You’re the A/V guy, right? I don’t understand why someone productive would stay in Halifax.”

After work it felt like one of those magical Halifax nights so I loaded my synth and TR-606 drum machine into a shopping cart and went for a cruise. Eventually I wound up at the Grand Parade where I plugged a Peavey amp into a lamppost outlet and played some moody, minimal techno for drunks on their way to the Liquor Dome.

“Yeah man, that’s what it’s all about man, Montreal man… the scene here is five years behind, man.”

And then the magical Halifax night turned into a magical misty Halifax night, and I packed up my gear and busted my ass back to the North End because science doesn’t take to moisture too well. And maybe neither do I.

Another sound is dying.

Got up this morning at 11 and had breakfast at the North End Diner. Ate a fine meal, made googly eyes at the serving staff, you can’t beat the Diner… half a block from my house. Returned home and abruptly fell back asleep on my bed.

I napped hard, really hard. My brain woke up while my body was still asleep. I felt like I was paralysed, or that my spirit had detached itself from my body. Sudden intense naps are usually a sign that I’m in the market for a bad cold. Sure enough, upon regaining consciousness I could feel my throat starting to tighten up.

Stopped coughing long enough to check the phone. A ten-second voice message made me fall on the floor and roll around and I couldn’t stop smiling. I think I’m in love again. Ahh, I’m just in love all over the place. I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling for a long time.

As I was leaving my room at 2:30 this afternoon, Dusty Sorbet appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, groggy and dishevelled. “I’m late for my photo shoot!” he said and stumbled into the bathroom.

Dusty must have heard me coughing. “Holy shit Philip, did you start smoking?” he called downstairs.

“Yes,” I shouted back. “I work at the Marquee.”

A bunch of hippies used to live in my house. We still have an old shelf in the kitchen that contains many bottles of herbal remedies. I went to the vitamin shelf, and I took one of everything on it.

“How did you get home so fast?” asked Vickers.
“I flew,” I said.
“Yeah right,” said Vickers. “Let me guess, you just grew wings like a chicken.”
“Bok bok bok,” I said. “Wait a minute, chickens can’t fly.”
“Exactamundo.”

I left Hell’s Kitchen tonight to come back to the studio and play some music, and god I’m having a good time. Getting ready for next week’s 9Volt Sound System show. It’s looking like I’m going to unleash an electro version of Buffalo Tom’s “Velvet Roof” upon an unsuspecting public. I’m tired right now, and I’m starving to death, but I can’t stop playing these riffs over and over.

Been working so much, it seems as if my main creative release lately has come from finding new and interesting ways to blow all my money on pretty girls. It feels good to get back on the gear again.

Damn it, I might just have to make a record. I remember making records… it was fun.