Last video of 2006. Agricola Street, Halifax, NS.

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Reasons why tonight’s show in Halifax will be dope:

:: One World is not a bar so the place won’t be full of all the drunken groping amateurs who come crawling out of the woodwork for one night a year. It will just be you and your drunken groping friends, all of whom are presumably party experts, if you’re reading swordfight dot org.

:: 9Volt will play a seamless instrumental set of 15 previously unheard tracks, 10 of which are going to make up the new A/V album. My new jams are slammin’. Mostly in 2006 I played dubby ambient sets with the 9Volt, well tonight I’m not even gonna bother plugging in the delay units. It’s just going to be a fist coming out of the PA and punching you in the head repeatedly at 126 beats per minute.

:: To clarify, for beats I’ll be rocking a TR-707, which I’m pretty sure is the same drum machine that’s all over the MSTRKRFT album.

:: Not sure what the midnight song will be but it will probably be a special tune about how you should never have to leave the North End in order to get laid.

:: I’ll have a sheet of paper where you can write suggestions for song titles for the new A/V album. You’ll get credit in the liner notes. “MORE A LESS V.” That one comes from Nancy B. of Corner Brook, Newfoundland.

:: Five bucks, really dudes, just come in and throw some loonies in the basket and party with us. You’re buying your boy some gasoline for Xmas and in return I will fuel your hips and feet.

:: I heard something about a band or bands who were interested in opening this show although I don’t really know anything about it.

:: Anyone know where you can park a car in the Agricola area in Halifax on New Year’s Eve? I am so spoiled when it comes to wanting everything to go my own way, if I get the slightest hassle from anybody this time, I’m just going to pack up my gear right after I play and drive straight back to the country.

Hey I’m having a winter carnival in Gaspereau Forks this year. Weekend of January 12-14. It’s gonna be a blast out here at my Barton Road estate.

OK see ya!

Get this, DJ Hawk shows up at Elwood’s last night, and one of his crates contains 64 different James Brown records. How could his set not be dope. Of course, superior firepower alone does not promise victory. A superior general must have strategy and tactics. The Hawk made it happen. A great set and a fitting tribute to the Man.

After the party we wound up back at Dan and Trish’s place to cook up a late night breakfast. And to indulge in a seasonal Canadian tradition:

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After we ate I was looking at the Internet and that is when I read about the execution of Saddam Hussein.

I’m not normally the type to empathize with cruel dictators; there is no reason why I should do so. But as I read the article, the details… it all felt very real to me. I could feel myself being led up the steps, feel the scratch of a rope sliding around my neck.

A man’s final moments of life. Nausea rose in my throat. A vein started to pulse in my temple with a headache heartbeat.

Consider the art of the hangman. If the drop is too short, the victim’s neck won’t be cleanly snapped. Death will be a protracted and messy affair.

But if the rope is too long, there’s a chance the convict’s head will be pulled right off. And I’ve always thought that if I had to be executed, that’s how I would want to go. Decapitation by an incompetent hangman. It would be like one big, final fuck-you.

Hurry up, you Hoosier bastard, I could kill ten men while you’re fooling around! –Last words of serial killer Carl Panzram.

When I woke up this morning my headache had turned into a full-blown migraine. I was hot and shivering, fists pressed into my eye sockets. My head impaled on a metal rod.

The air in the bedroom flickered with a silver scent, the metallic sweat of sickness.

Stick my skull in a bucket of ice. Save it for some future generation.

In a futuristic white laboratory, the scientists of Islam are doing experiments in an attempt to figure out what went wrong. They are trying to revive a lost art: to find the mind’s construction in the face.

I was looking at the calendar. Robin has been dead now for longer than we knew each other. But this is about more than that.

saint john, new brunswick… consider yourself warned

Augusta, Georgia, late September
One Mr. Brown’s hot tempered
This man’s possessed, he’s restless
He’s armed and dangerous, drugged and reckless

Mrs. Brown you’ve got a lovely son
But he’s on the run on a shotgun mission
“Listen here cocksuckers, motherfuckers, pay respect to my building.
It’s JB property and it could be the one you get killed in.”

—
james brown is dead but the hawk is just gettin warmed up

and so is dan jones-eyes

and 9volt sound system aka zulu philly and the discotronic force- a funky cross between mstrkrft and skinny puppy and a robot with a tr-707 for a brain who has listened to nothing but new order’s “technique” for the last 19 years and if you spend 1 hour dancing to this, you won’t have to take any of your antidepressants for an entire week

the get down, so sexy, it makes your tits pop out of a tube top as you run down the aisle on price is right

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—
all this is warmup for NEW YEARS EVE in HALIFAX: dec. 31 2006: 9volt sound system and a/v danceparty at the ONE WORLD CAFE.

wear those pants. the ones that make your ass look so good.

For the past two days I have eaten nothing but chocolate… NOTHING.

No, that’s not true. I ate a can of chicken noodle soup and some Kraft Caramels.

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Christmas is all about fun. And so is Uncle Philip.

swordfight-allaboutfun.mov [5MB QuickTime]

I make my home in a place of accidental death.

The old barn is starting to rot and fall down now. One wall has caved in; a long rickety slab of ash-coloured wood sprawls out on the ground. Brown grass pokes up between the slats. The whole area is slowly being swallowed up by bushes and weeds.

I’ve been cutting back the bushes. On a mild overcast November afternoon I hack away with long-handled shears, powerful snippers that can take down a small sapling between their blades.

I will clear a path. Up from the river to the back of the barn.

That is as far as my grandfather was able to make it. He dropped his pack, he dropped his coat.

“In those days,” said Harold, “people kept their axe as sharp as a razor.”