The chances that anyone has ever shuffled a pack of cards in the same way twice in the history of the world are infinitesimally small, statistically speaking. The number of possible permutations of 52 cards is ‘52 factorial’ otherwise known as 52! or 52 shriek. This is 52 times 51 times 50 . . . all the way down to one. Here's what that looks like:
80,658,175,170,943,878,571,660,636,856,403,766,975,289,505,440,883,277,824,000,000,000,000.
12 November 2012
That Which Has Yet To Be Imagined: The Collapse of the Real
We walk down the road and the streetlights pop
It feels like our glow is turning them off
The cycle of our spirit - its ebb and flow
Time speeds up to frenzied crescendo
Fear gives way to acceptance and faith
Realizing the soul is eternally safe
Able to see clearly - all that remains
No longer fooled by internal games
Our true future - impossible to guess
It has never once been imagined yet!
It feels like our glow is turning them off
The cycle of our spirit - its ebb and flow
Time speeds up to frenzied crescendo
Fear gives way to acceptance and faith
Realizing the soul is eternally safe
Able to see clearly - all that remains
No longer fooled by internal games
Our true future - impossible to guess
It has never once been imagined yet!
28 October 2012
Reminder from the subconscious to be courageous and communicate.
Dreaming feels like some kind of automated function, meant to sort out my mind while I sleep. Last nights' self-programming-lesson reminded me how lucky I am to be able to express myself without the absolutely crippling fear of being misunderstood, different, weak or excluded. I think that's what makes me an artist; not just painting and drawing.
Of course it's not easy to risk feeling like a fool or revealing my frailty. Men in particular are 'supposed to be tough'. But if you think of it, what's tougher than emoting, admitting your weakness in defiance of all these things we're supposed to be?
And for that matter, what's the point of existence if you can't relay what it feels like? Our isolation is programmed for the interests of commercial materialism and control. I think telling each other how we feel, breaking from the "normal", breaking from the the isolation, might be an important part on our path to salvation as people and as a species. The internet is an extraordinary opportunity in that way.
The blog is an interesting/unique part of that phenomena. Let's keep it going!
Of course it's not easy to risk feeling like a fool or revealing my frailty. Men in particular are 'supposed to be tough'. But if you think of it, what's tougher than emoting, admitting your weakness in defiance of all these things we're supposed to be?
And for that matter, what's the point of existence if you can't relay what it feels like? Our isolation is programmed for the interests of commercial materialism and control. I think telling each other how we feel, breaking from the "normal", breaking from the the isolation, might be an important part on our path to salvation as people and as a species. The internet is an extraordinary opportunity in that way.
The blog is an interesting/unique part of that phenomena. Let's keep it going!
09 August 2012
06 August 2012
30 July 2012
"NUM NUM NUM!!!" Sketchbook #31
"NUM NUM NUM!!!" Sketchbook #31 (5x7 inch), 2H pencil (w/ a wee bit of eraser action), and Sharpie (FINE) Pen. "HEY YOU OUT THERE I DREW SOMETHING NEW LOOK AT IT LIKE IT COMMENT ON IT YOU YEAH YOU COME ON I KNOW YOU WANNA DO IT DO IT NOW THIS IS A PSYCHOLOGICAL EXPERIMENT TO SEE HOW PEOPLE CHOOSE TO REACT OR NOT TO SHIT LIKE THIS SO ON AND SO FORTH GO AHEAD DO IT NOW LMFAO NO YOU'RE CRAZY NOT ME WHAT DID YOU SAY HEY DON'T TALK TO ME THAT WAY HOW DARE YOU WHAT THE F STOP SAYING SHIT LIKE THAT NO WAIT COME BACK KEEP SAYING SHIT LIKE THAT BECAUSE I LONG FOR PEOPLE TO SAY SHIT BECAUSE SO MANY TIMES PEOPLE DON'T SAY ENOUGH SHIT COME ON COME ON COME ON COME ON AND TOUCH AS IN CLICK THE ENTER KEY BABY YEAH THAT'S WHAT I CALLED YOU DON'T STOP KEEP IT UP BLAH BLAH BLAH..." ~GO
©2012 GregOakes.com
25 June 2012
07 June 2012
22 May 2012
Gigantopithecus
I was making up a story about the re-emergence of Sasquatch. I was going to make them english speaking pacifists. Then a friend directed me to this. It's not exactly the same as the story I was working on, but interesting to see the similarities. My version is a comedy and involves dancing bigfoots. This one is just sad mostly. But in a cool bizarre way.
07 May 2012
05 May 2012
My New Website
It's "done"! Ok not really. I have a bunch of stuff to add still, and could probably format it a bit better, but so far here's what I have...
http://www.macridavid.com/
28 April 2012
27 April 2012
I'm inside now (old poem)
i'm inside now//
and i can hear my sister ironing//
in the room down the hall//
the iron//
hisses//
smoothing out//
clean cotton wrinkles//
preparing a straight face//
for tomorrow's travails//
i'm inside now//
and the wind won't stop howling//
just to think//
it's still february//
11 April 2012
I am now a meme...
One of my composition students has just made a pretty funny video about our class.
To explain some of the jokes you may not get... As part of our course work, we created a WordPress blog about a book called the Victorian Internet that we had been reading. Also, I made them watch a lot of cat videos, Justin Beiber videos, and just generally talk about the Internet and its culture, as well as offering free cats for correct (or even just interesting) answers in class.
So with all that in mind, my student (Eric) used the "Downfall" meme--
from www.knowyourmeme.com, here's a description of this particular meme--
Downfall, also known as “Hitler Finds Out…” or “Hitler Reacts To…” is a series of parody-subtitled videos based on a pinnacle scene from Der Untergang (2004), a German WWII drama revisiting the last ten days of Adolf Hitler’s life and eventual suicide in his Berlin underground bunker. Due to the film’s international success and Bruno Ganz’ haunting portrayal of the Nazi dictator, numerous segments from the movie soon fell fodder to hilarious parodies on YouTube, spawning hundreds of anachronistically subtitled videos of Hitler getting upset over topical events and trivial gossip.
To explain some of the jokes you may not get... As part of our course work, we created a WordPress blog about a book called the Victorian Internet that we had been reading. Also, I made them watch a lot of cat videos, Justin Beiber videos, and just generally talk about the Internet and its culture, as well as offering free cats for correct (or even just interesting) answers in class.
So with all that in mind, my student (Eric) used the "Downfall" meme--
from www.knowyourmeme.com, here's a description of this particular meme--
Downfall, also known as “Hitler Finds Out…” or “Hitler Reacts To…” is a series of parody-subtitled videos based on a pinnacle scene from Der Untergang (2004), a German WWII drama revisiting the last ten days of Adolf Hitler’s life and eventual suicide in his Berlin underground bunker. Due to the film’s international success and Bruno Ganz’ haunting portrayal of the Nazi dictator, numerous segments from the movie soon fell fodder to hilarious parodies on YouTube, spawning hundreds of anachronistically subtitled videos of Hitler getting upset over topical events and trivial gossip.
08 April 2012
28 March 2012
24 March 2012
Quelle grosse crisse de manif!
The crowd you see in this short video passed by, exactly this big and this loud, for over two hours. Apparently from head to tail it was nearly 5 km long.
They're saying "Crions, plus fort! Pour que personne ne nous ignore!" (Yell louder, so no one can ignore us.)
And everywhere the crowd passed it was like you see here-- people hanging banners off their balconies, cheering us on from bridges, standing on the side of the road playing drums, etc. Even some students at McGill, which is notoriously anti-strike, had draped Queen Victoria in red robes and hung a big sign around her neck that said "McGill en greve" (McGill on strike).
I mentioned that it was all students, profs, college and university staff, etc, but actually there were lots of members of the community at large-- kids, senior citizens, and workers from all kinds of walks of life.
Needless to say, I found it all pretty inspiring. I think everyone who was there did, even if they were just watching from their balconies.
They're saying "Crions, plus fort! Pour que personne ne nous ignore!" (Yell louder, so no one can ignore us.)
And everywhere the crowd passed it was like you see here-- people hanging banners off their balconies, cheering us on from bridges, standing on the side of the road playing drums, etc. Even some students at McGill, which is notoriously anti-strike, had draped Queen Victoria in red robes and hung a big sign around her neck that said "McGill en greve" (McGill on strike).
I mentioned that it was all students, profs, college and university staff, etc, but actually there were lots of members of the community at large-- kids, senior citizens, and workers from all kinds of walks of life.
Needless to say, I found it all pretty inspiring. I think everyone who was there did, even if they were just watching from their balconies.
22 March 2012
Non a la hausse!
Anglophones, francophones, allophones, young, old, professors and students and staff from colleges and universities across Quebec staged a four-hour long peaceful demonstration today against the rise of tuition fees. There were over 200,000 of us, and the crowd stretched over kilometres, with the front of the crowd often two full neighbourhoods ahead of the back. If you were standing on a corner watching, it took 2 hours and 15 minutes to pass you.
***
The people of Montreal waved red flags from their balconies and offered us their sons and their daughters in marriage. The young women blew kisses at the police, who smiled. People held hands and sang songs and you believed change was coming, a better world; you believed anything was possible.
***
The people of Montreal waved red flags from their balconies and offered us their sons and their daughters in marriage. The young women blew kisses at the police, who smiled. People held hands and sang songs and you believed change was coming, a better world; you believed anything was possible.
21 March 2012
17 March 2012
Notebook pome (16 mars 2012, 23h46)
They were playing your songs
every day on the radio now,
songs about echoes and letting go;
your painting was still in the window
by the skylight, next to the two plants.
It was two years later, three maybe,
and life had been good
to us both.
every day on the radio now,
songs about echoes and letting go;
your painting was still in the window
by the skylight, next to the two plants.
It was two years later, three maybe,
and life had been good
to us both.
16 March 2012
15 March 2012
Update 504
E-- Screw you Blizzo, and your new name, too.
March 8, 9:18 p.m.
R-- Is that a new poem you're writing? It lacks subtlety, but maybe that's what the critics like these days? Anyway, send me a copy so I can use it to compost vegetable peelings. You, sir, are a sot, and only the law (and perhaps a certain sense of decorum that you so notably lack) prevents me from biting my thumb at you.
March 8, 11:52 p.m.
E-- If you bit your thumb at me, would that be your most expert vision of your own critical faculties, that explains your fake moustchio as you haunt brainless slam poetry houses in the basements of the upper-classless, whilst at the same time you have moved the zombie a step forward towards the reinstatement of progress as strictly literal , and you will soon be eating your thumb in confusion, which, I barely need add, would be your foray into performance art, as you slowly vanish into the gasseous universe of your own chronic farting, that nominates you a musician as well? Fuck you, Roberts.
March 9, 8:54 a.m.
R-- Touché. You are probably the only person I know (and possibly the only person in all of human history) who would say something like "you have moved the zombie a step forward towards the reinstatement of progress as strictly literal" and mean it somehow as an insult. Jackass.
March 9, 11:26 a.m.
E-- I love you too.
March 9, 4:33 p.m.
E-- I actually do, which always makes me lose these things with you.
March 9, 4:35 p.m.
March 8, 9:18 p.m.
R-- Is that a new poem you're writing? It lacks subtlety, but maybe that's what the critics like these days? Anyway, send me a copy so I can use it to compost vegetable peelings. You, sir, are a sot, and only the law (and perhaps a certain sense of decorum that you so notably lack) prevents me from biting my thumb at you.
March 8, 11:52 p.m.
E-- If you bit your thumb at me, would that be your most expert vision of your own critical faculties, that explains your fake moustchio as you haunt brainless slam poetry houses in the basements of the upper-classless, whilst at the same time you have moved the zombie a step forward towards the reinstatement of progress as strictly literal , and you will soon be eating your thumb in confusion, which, I barely need add, would be your foray into performance art, as you slowly vanish into the gasseous universe of your own chronic farting, that nominates you a musician as well? Fuck you, Roberts.
March 9, 8:54 a.m.
R-- Touché. You are probably the only person I know (and possibly the only person in all of human history) who would say something like "you have moved the zombie a step forward towards the reinstatement of progress as strictly literal" and mean it somehow as an insult. Jackass.
March 9, 11:26 a.m.
E-- I love you too.
March 9, 4:33 p.m.
E-- I actually do, which always makes me lose these things with you.
March 9, 4:35 p.m.
Update 433
"I wanna find Satan and agress against him, for surely that dude is wicked." --- Alfa blog, c. 2007.
13 March 2012
The Official Barf Book
"Greg Oakes did the art for my biggest contribution,
ROCK AND ROLL HEAVIN', an irreverent section on rock stars
who...well...choked to death on vomit."
~Steven Thompson
ROCK AND ROLL HEAVIN', an irreverent section on rock stars
who...well...choked to death on vomit."
~Steven Thompson
from your favourite book store
(i have a bunch of drawings in it).
enjoy! ~go
...
08 March 2012
05 March 2012
04 March 2012
03 March 2012
Facebook killed the blog star
Remember when we all used the blog as an art/social utility?
Facebook has made me a little lazy, I've just lost the oomph for actual on line dialouge, the way we used to go rounds on this thing about art and life and each other.
Now I'm looking for the like button...I saw on the FB news that Quitmoanez may be quiting the book. I may be heading there myself...
Facebook has made me a little lazy, I've just lost the oomph for actual on line dialouge, the way we used to go rounds on this thing about art and life and each other.
Now I'm looking for the like button...I saw on the FB news that Quitmoanez may be quiting the book. I may be heading there myself...
26 February 2012
the Illusion of the sun coming up
those mornings of the
sun coming up over far-distant hills and the
drugs still running through your veins and your
eyes too well you thought they'd all last
forever, didn't you?, shirtless and smoking with a
group of strangers after the music and the
party it was the way the world had always
been and the way the world was
supposed to be it was like
the oak table in your living room or your
place in the family it was something that was
forever, something stable, inflexible,
nothing was going to move, this
was the world, after all,
terra firma, and the more firma the less
terra(r) you liked to joke, you didn't yet
know of these things that would creep in like a
poisonous fog things like the
death of a pet or your best childhood friend, a parent, or your favourite and most
meaningful band(the one who had expressed things
in the way only you understood, you and your generation,
the ways things were meant to be said and finally, finally someone
was saying them),
now starting to put out shitty, recycled pop music for IBM commercials,
you didn't yet know about
losing touch with friends from the old neighbourhood, that
place where the world began,
or the first grey hairs and the wrinkles around your
eyes your eyes just weren't seeing this yet, looking out
over-hill into sunrise and eternity you didn't know the
fact that the table in your living room hadn't always been there
or that it hadn't always been a table, that your living room hadn't
always been a living room, that it had been a forest, a
field of ice three kilometres deep, the bottom of a lake the
size of ten thousand cities, you didn't yet know you were
schrodinger's cat, you were a neutrino, visible in the
instant of observation, both there and not there, on
every point of the orbit all at once, that you were
already dying, already dead, entropy, the
sun was coming up you were high this was the
way the world was, the way it was meant to be, the
way it would be forever, you were
never more alive maybe than this perhaps and yet this
hill was a fiction,
your place was empty, the table in your living room
was already dust, a blip
too quick to measure, this moment a mirage,
over before its beginning,
the cycle complete, you were already dead,
you were smoking, shirtless, barefoot at sunrise finding
meaning, finding beauty even,
in the not-yet-known fact that your
space was now empty.
sun coming up over far-distant hills and the
drugs still running through your veins and your
eyes too well you thought they'd all last
forever, didn't you?, shirtless and smoking with a
group of strangers after the music and the
party it was the way the world had always
been and the way the world was
supposed to be it was like
the oak table in your living room or your
place in the family it was something that was
forever, something stable, inflexible,
nothing was going to move, this
was the world, after all,
terra firma, and the more firma the less
terra(r) you liked to joke, you didn't yet
know of these things that would creep in like a
poisonous fog things like the
death of a pet or your best childhood friend, a parent, or your favourite and most
meaningful band(the one who had expressed things
in the way only you understood, you and your generation,
the ways things were meant to be said and finally, finally someone
was saying them),
now starting to put out shitty, recycled pop music for IBM commercials,
you didn't yet know about
losing touch with friends from the old neighbourhood, that
place where the world began,
or the first grey hairs and the wrinkles around your
eyes your eyes just weren't seeing this yet, looking out
over-hill into sunrise and eternity you didn't know the
fact that the table in your living room hadn't always been there
or that it hadn't always been a table, that your living room hadn't
always been a living room, that it had been a forest, a
field of ice three kilometres deep, the bottom of a lake the
size of ten thousand cities, you didn't yet know you were
schrodinger's cat, you were a neutrino, visible in the
instant of observation, both there and not there, on
every point of the orbit all at once, that you were
already dying, already dead, entropy, the
sun was coming up you were high this was the
way the world was, the way it was meant to be, the
way it would be forever, you were
never more alive maybe than this perhaps and yet this
hill was a fiction,
your place was empty, the table in your living room
was already dust, a blip
too quick to measure, this moment a mirage,
over before its beginning,
the cycle complete, you were already dead,
you were smoking, shirtless, barefoot at sunrise finding
meaning, finding beauty even,
in the not-yet-known fact that your
space was now empty.
BARF
don't forget to pick up 'the official barf book' from your favourite book store (i have a bunch of drawings in it). enjoy! ~go http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/item/1604332433-item.html?Lang=en&cookieCheck=1
...
...
16 February 2012
13 February 2012
08 February 2012
04 February 2012
22 January 2012
18 January 2012
Newtown, winter.
For the first green river in the snow
turn left;
find it there--
back alleys
of fur-greasy
rats lying
dead outside the
finest restaurant in town.
The dishwasher is there too,
be-aproned and grimy, short sleeves in
mid-winter and
smoking a
cigarette.
Habs are playing tonight, he says.
Big game. Big game.
I think
we're gonna win.
turn left;
find it there--
back alleys
of fur-greasy
rats lying
dead outside the
finest restaurant in town.
The dishwasher is there too,
be-aproned and grimy, short sleeves in
mid-winter and
smoking a
cigarette.
Habs are playing tonight, he says.
Big game. Big game.
I think
we're gonna win.
Wikipedia Blackout!!!
█████████████████████████
██████████████████
███████████████████████████████████████
███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
████████████████████████████████████████████
██████████████
Wikipedia is ██████████████ for 24 hours, in response to the ██████████████
making their way through the U.S. ██████████████. ██████████████, in the name of restricting Internet piracy, will actually ██████████████ our ability to access (and share) free information.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:SOPA_initiative/Learn_more
██████████████████
███████████████████████████████████████
███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████
████████████████████████████████████████████
██████████████
Wikipedia is ██████████████ for 24 hours, in response to the ██████████████
making their way through the U.S. ██████████████. ██████████████, in the name of restricting Internet piracy, will actually ██████████████ our ability to access (and share) free information.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:SOPA_initiative/Learn_more
13 January 2012
Saturated Landscape
My vantage point for some time now has been Montreal, third floor apartment, on the edge of a street where all the buildings are connected. My building is set on the top of a steep incline that descends into old Montreal, the Fleuve, and is adjacent to Park Lafontaine. There are rats sometimes below my pinnacle at night and squirrels during the day. The sky is always visible from my balcony.
On Remembrance Day, 2011, it was 7 degrees and partly cloudy. I was looking out the window from my third floor apartment. I saw the dark clouds hanging low overhead, and the grey sky blended in with the cold grey concrete. A saturated landscape that left a background where only melancholia and house chores seemed to fit in. The trees whipped around in a wintry wind, and although they still wore their gold leaves, without the sun they seemed menacing and dark, reminding me of the imminent cold that would soon envelop the city.
Only a few days earlier that week it had been 15 degrees. The sun had given off a delightful warmth in the afternoon even though it traveled across the sky in a low arc, visibly closer to the horizon than it had been all year. It shone through the yellow and red leaves of the maples giving Park Lafontaine a warm ethereal glow. I had basked in the sun that day, lying flat across the green grass letting its rays penetrate me with what felt like pure heavenly greatness.
Later, four days before Christmas, that day was but a distant memory. It was still balmy but the snow was competing with an icy rain. Orion was out in the sky in its full glory, coming higher and higher in the sky each night around nine o'clock when I'd sit on my back balcony and smoke.
Orion is a marker of the cold weather to come. Crisp clear winter nights are complete with its presence, like an old reliable friend. The stars in the constellation, although light years away, form a symmetrical arc seeming to be Orion's sinewy limbs outstretched, leaping through the sky. The Hunter fighting Taurus the Bull.
Then, later on in mid January, the snow fell and then fell some more, obscuring all visions of the cosmos. The trees are now sleeping, and I am trying to keep my feet warm, outside on my balcony. Sitting here with the peace of knowing that each season will return again and again with time.
On Remembrance Day, 2011, it was 7 degrees and partly cloudy. I was looking out the window from my third floor apartment. I saw the dark clouds hanging low overhead, and the grey sky blended in with the cold grey concrete. A saturated landscape that left a background where only melancholia and house chores seemed to fit in. The trees whipped around in a wintry wind, and although they still wore their gold leaves, without the sun they seemed menacing and dark, reminding me of the imminent cold that would soon envelop the city.
Only a few days earlier that week it had been 15 degrees. The sun had given off a delightful warmth in the afternoon even though it traveled across the sky in a low arc, visibly closer to the horizon than it had been all year. It shone through the yellow and red leaves of the maples giving Park Lafontaine a warm ethereal glow. I had basked in the sun that day, lying flat across the green grass letting its rays penetrate me with what felt like pure heavenly greatness.
Later, four days before Christmas, that day was but a distant memory. It was still balmy but the snow was competing with an icy rain. Orion was out in the sky in its full glory, coming higher and higher in the sky each night around nine o'clock when I'd sit on my back balcony and smoke.
Orion is a marker of the cold weather to come. Crisp clear winter nights are complete with its presence, like an old reliable friend. The stars in the constellation, although light years away, form a symmetrical arc seeming to be Orion's sinewy limbs outstretched, leaping through the sky. The Hunter fighting Taurus the Bull.
Then, later on in mid January, the snow fell and then fell some more, obscuring all visions of the cosmos. The trees are now sleeping, and I am trying to keep my feet warm, outside on my balcony. Sitting here with the peace of knowing that each season will return again and again with time.
12 January 2012
11 January 2012
this morning
you are a bright pink blur
as you move accross the soft white snow
trudging to school
and I sit at the window and watch you
with the cat
waiting to pounce
at any moment
as you move accross the soft white snow
trudging to school
and I sit at the window and watch you
with the cat
waiting to pounce
at any moment
a poem by Frank O'Hara ("Mayakovsky", from Meditations in an Emergency)
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.
09 January 2012
03 January 2012
HAPPY EFFIN NEW YEAR!!! :)
HAPPY EFFIN NEW YEAR!!! :)
first sketch of two thousand twelve (dim lighting conditions)
first sketch of two thousand twelve (dim lighting conditions)
Sketchbook #31, 5x7 inch, HB pencil (w/ a wee bit of eraser action) :P
©2012 GregOakes.com
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