owlcompany.com is now edgeofthesea.com
click here in the next day or two and i should be up.
The Calm at the Edge of the Sea
5.30.2007
lodge whips
so far april and may have been highly epic, although there have been super high, and downer lows. work is slow, although good things are on the rise. AKASA will be release fairly soon through TRADEMARK RECORDS. AKASA is Josh Benedict on everything and Camerin Kelly on vocals. Meeting a million people a minute, most to be forgotten in the morning which is the way i prefer things. I am highly stoked as in log cabin fire stoked by the fact Casey Barclay and I finished the final sound mix tonight. So energized by the experience that I wish I could find an after hours bar to drink myself to sleep, but then I would end up sleeping in till 2 in the afternoon, which is a habit I shouldn't get used to for my own social, financial, and mental health. Tomorrow hitting the hills with nunchucks and sweating out the last couple weeks.
Calm final sound mix - done
I am currently sitting in a mixing room with casey barclay up in burbank,ca. Techinicolor, where such great shows as lost, the oc and many others went were mastered. Well add "the calm at the edge of the sea" to the roster. We made the final touches, sounds amazing, and now we are conforming the the sound for dvd. Quality check. More on screenings coming soon.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
5.27.2007
calm is finished....
casey, brian, and i finished the final sound mix of "calm at the edge of the sea" tonight. well i should say casey did more than anyone else, but we sat in and listening in awe. oh my god, it's beautiful. beautiful. "calm" coming soon suckers.
5.24.2007
"calm" and richard brautigan
if anyone cares, and i know everyone does. this poem inspired "the calm at the edge of the sea". i read this poem at 17 and always wanted to write a screenplay based on the main character in search of love and coffee. well what didn't make the final cut of "calm" is two scenes in los angeles, taken verbatim from this story. the humor didn't work, the cinematography sucked(no kyle), and the no one seemed to understand what i was trying to get across. brian and i did, and maybe we failed at communicating, which we have often done in the past. well anyways. here is the original. this is where "calm" came from in my mind.
Coffee by Richard Brautigan
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.
-from Revenge of the Lawn
Coffee by Richard Brautigan
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.
-from Revenge of the Lawn
5.23.2007
5.22.2007
filmaker: forrest naylor - thoughts on the 2007 mendocino film festival
my brother Kyle Burns shot "Favorite Color Pink", a short film Directed by Forrest Naylor. "Pink" premiered at the Mendocino Film Festival. I guess the MFF really screwed them over. Here are Forrest's thoughts on the whole experience.
Hi Cameron,
Thanks for the email. -- Here is what went down that led up to me bashing the festival at my screening. Feel free to post any or all of it on your blog...
My rant to the audience about the festival was a result of feeling totally disrespected and alienated by a film festival in my own community. It started when the program and website came out and discovering there wasn't one logline or synopsis about the local films. There wasn't even a mention whether they were narratives, experimental, documentaries, etc. I had to contact the festival and ask them to change the website so it included at least a logline about what the films were about. They did change it, but it was a little too late, for the programs already went out with no description. (and as you know, most people choose the films they are going to see by the programs, not by the website) I had to call the local news paper to ask them to do a write up about my film so people at least had a little info on it. I was also told by the festival that they would print out fliers with a synopsis of the local films, which they did, however I was later told only a few were passed out due to lack of man power, even though I offered to do it myself.
Another thing that really troubled me was that the local filmmakers never received badges to wear around their neck which identified them as filmmakers. Only the filmmakers in the competition were granted these badges, which identified them as filmmakers, and it also got them into screenings for free, which the local filmmakers had to pay for. I remember Keith's opening night speech when he said "You will know who the filmmakers are because they will be wearing these badges around their neck, so make sure you go up and meet them." -- It was kind of embarrassing at parties and events because I had to introduce myself as a filmmaker even though I didn't have a badge around my neck, making me feel not as credible. (maybe sounds silly, but that's how it affected me) BTW - Isn't Shyam Balse a local filmmaker? What's up with that? Why was he the exception? Was it because his film had at least a twenty thousand dollar budget? (I think I heard something that it cost around that, maybe more or less, but I can't verify that) No disrespect to Shyam, because I love this guy, and even though I didn't get to see his film, I'm sure it was beautiful and worthy of receiving an award.
Rich Aguilar (who's been in the business as a gaffer and cinematographer since the 60's, working on films such as Easy Rider, Paper Moon, Postman Always Rings Twice etc.) found out about us not having badges and how we were treated, and was absolutely appalled that the local filmmakers were treated as such. He said he didn't know that was going on, and he went on to say we should have been in the competition whether we were local or not. And honestly, my frustration doesn't stem from not being in the competition. My frustration is from being treated like a second class citizen in a community where a film festival is taking place and I happen to be a local filmmaker. I could deal with not being in the competition, but I can't deal with not getting the same treatment as the other filmmakers. I know my $500 film can't compete in production value as the films which were chosen, but all I ask is that me and the other local filmmakers are not treated as filler in a festival held in a community where we reside.
The straw that broke the camel's back was at my screening where the MC didn't announce that my film would be playing too, just one film. I had to stand up and play the jaded filmmaker and let the audience know that there would be a second film following, which totally confused the audience. They had no idea. Subsequently I ended up loosing a good third of them. When they did get around to playing my film, they never took the time to make sure it was formatted right on the screen, and it was totally off. Another sign and example of the total lack of respect they showed the local filmmakers. They couldn't even take the time to make sure it was going to screen okay. No fucking respect at all. Simply, we were filler.
I never experienced such pretentious behavior first hand as I did at the MFF. It seems to me they are trying to be Sundance in their second year of existence, and in doing so they cast aside the local filmmakers in hopes drawing in bigger fish, just to simply feed their ego.
A fucking joke it was.
Hi Cameron,
Thanks for the email. -- Here is what went down that led up to me bashing the festival at my screening. Feel free to post any or all of it on your blog...
My rant to the audience about the festival was a result of feeling totally disrespected and alienated by a film festival in my own community. It started when the program and website came out and discovering there wasn't one logline or synopsis about the local films. There wasn't even a mention whether they were narratives, experimental, documentaries, etc. I had to contact the festival and ask them to change the website so it included at least a logline about what the films were about. They did change it, but it was a little too late, for the programs already went out with no description. (and as you know, most people choose the films they are going to see by the programs, not by the website) I had to call the local news paper to ask them to do a write up about my film so people at least had a little info on it. I was also told by the festival that they would print out fliers with a synopsis of the local films, which they did, however I was later told only a few were passed out due to lack of man power, even though I offered to do it myself.
Another thing that really troubled me was that the local filmmakers never received badges to wear around their neck which identified them as filmmakers. Only the filmmakers in the competition were granted these badges, which identified them as filmmakers, and it also got them into screenings for free, which the local filmmakers had to pay for. I remember Keith's opening night speech when he said "You will know who the filmmakers are because they will be wearing these badges around their neck, so make sure you go up and meet them." -- It was kind of embarrassing at parties and events because I had to introduce myself as a filmmaker even though I didn't have a badge around my neck, making me feel not as credible. (maybe sounds silly, but that's how it affected me) BTW - Isn't Shyam Balse a local filmmaker? What's up with that? Why was he the exception? Was it because his film had at least a twenty thousand dollar budget? (I think I heard something that it cost around that, maybe more or less, but I can't verify that) No disrespect to Shyam, because I love this guy, and even though I didn't get to see his film, I'm sure it was beautiful and worthy of receiving an award.
Rich Aguilar (who's been in the business as a gaffer and cinematographer since the 60's, working on films such as Easy Rider, Paper Moon, Postman Always Rings Twice etc.) found out about us not having badges and how we were treated, and was absolutely appalled that the local filmmakers were treated as such. He said he didn't know that was going on, and he went on to say we should have been in the competition whether we were local or not. And honestly, my frustration doesn't stem from not being in the competition. My frustration is from being treated like a second class citizen in a community where a film festival is taking place and I happen to be a local filmmaker. I could deal with not being in the competition, but I can't deal with not getting the same treatment as the other filmmakers. I know my $500 film can't compete in production value as the films which were chosen, but all I ask is that me and the other local filmmakers are not treated as filler in a festival held in a community where we reside.
The straw that broke the camel's back was at my screening where the MC didn't announce that my film would be playing too, just one film. I had to stand up and play the jaded filmmaker and let the audience know that there would be a second film following, which totally confused the audience. They had no idea. Subsequently I ended up loosing a good third of them. When they did get around to playing my film, they never took the time to make sure it was formatted right on the screen, and it was totally off. Another sign and example of the total lack of respect they showed the local filmmakers. They couldn't even take the time to make sure it was going to screen okay. No fucking respect at all. Simply, we were filler.
I never experienced such pretentious behavior first hand as I did at the MFF. It seems to me they are trying to be Sundance in their second year of existence, and in doing so they cast aside the local filmmakers in hopes drawing in bigger fish, just to simply feed their ego.
A fucking joke it was.
more coffee
sad emails, coffee, turned on the the tv and it was "the view". so much chirping from the spring birds, and the horrendous women of television, too much chirping. anxiety attack in sound form from birds and chirping woman of the view. back to bedrood. coffee in my bedroom is safe, safe without a scent of sound of chirping birds.
5.18.2007
prog rock of the week: CURVED AIR
i don't know a ton about curved air. they are psychedelic, proggy, folk rock with a female singer Sonja Kristina. the line up was always in flux, and contained eddie jobson(roxy music, jethro tull) francis monkman. not super heavy, but highly enjoyable and surreal. great driving music at times, with crazy simple prog breadowns. lots of insane electric violin, and synth parts. sounds like city prog or something. i don't know. it's rad.
CURVED AIR
Check out the song "Back Street Luv"
CURVED AIR
Check out the song "Back Street Luv"
5.11.2007
holy mountain
i just picked up a copy of alexandro jodorowsky's HOLY MOUNTAIN. abcko finally released a cleaned up version, previously available only in shitty foreign bootleg. the first time i saw the film it was on vhs. i loved it at the time, but now on my second viewing in beautifully touched up dvd, i am blow away. this film is a landmark for experimental-psychedelic cinema. filled with esoteric mysticism, tarot, drugs, sex, religion, astrology and death. when the spanish crusading fleet of frogs destroy the peaceful south american lizards you will weep. make a machine orgasm.
5.10.2007
Nunchuckers
Cam n Goz are back, with nunchucks. Coming soon flamers. I'm not chucking around.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
5.07.2007
ht
ht heartache, a friend of ours is opening for black rebel and the black angels next week. everyone should go. casey opened for ht at silverlake lounge a couple months back. it was swell. here's the info.
:::ht heartache:::
monday night 5/7 @ Bordello...
901 E. 1st street/downtown LA.
9pm.
& tuesday 5/8 @ the wiltern
3790 wilshire blvd/LA
8:15pm
(opening for the black rebel motorcycle club & the black angels)
:::ht heartache:::
monday night 5/7 @ Bordello...
901 E. 1st street/downtown LA.
9pm.
& tuesday 5/8 @ the wiltern
3790 wilshire blvd/LA
8:15pm
(opening for the black rebel motorcycle club & the black angels)
5.04.2007
prog rock of the week: LE ORME
le orme was and apparently and still is a powerful, epic, powerhouse of an italian prog band. similarities here and there to pfm and museo rosenbach, but more mediterranean in feel. poppy at time, but sometimes very dark and dynamic. check em out.
myspace music links.
"AD GLORIAM"
"FELONA"
myspace music links.
"AD GLORIAM"
"FELONA"
zf & black lodge preliminary artwork
here is a rough version of the art for the upcoming ZF and Blacklodge album, which is coming out on trademark later this summer.
5.02.2007
E.V. - gregorian calender
an interesting bit on "Era Vulgaris" from Frater J. Standley 777, EPL brethren since 2006.
What does the "e.v." I see after dates in Thelemic writings mean?
Thelema has its own calendar, but at present it is used largely for ceremonial purposes. In common with many religions, for many practical purposes we use the Gregorian calendar instead. In Christian practice, the years after the traditional birth of Christ are identified as "A.D.,” or "Anno Domini,” which means "Year of Our Lord." Scholars wishing to use the Gregorian calendar without that sectarian attribution adopted the practice of using "C.E.," short for "Common Era," instead. Some used the Latin equivalent, which is "E.V." ("Era Vulgaris"). Crowley established the tradition of using the latter form when referring to Gregorian dates in Thelemic materials, and this tradition has been maintained into the present day.
What does the "e.v." I see after dates in Thelemic writings mean?
Thelema has its own calendar, but at present it is used largely for ceremonial purposes. In common with many religions, for many practical purposes we use the Gregorian calendar instead. In Christian practice, the years after the traditional birth of Christ are identified as "A.D.,” or "Anno Domini,” which means "Year of Our Lord." Scholars wishing to use the Gregorian calendar without that sectarian attribution adopted the practice of using "C.E.," short for "Common Era," instead. Some used the Latin equivalent, which is "E.V." ("Era Vulgaris"). Crowley established the tradition of using the latter form when referring to Gregorian dates in Thelemic materials, and this tradition has been maintained into the present day.
metawitch examines the local skate scene snow boarding
about a month and a half ago, mike hamm, john ringer, and brian huerta took the 5 from chico to echo park to do some skating. we partied too hard the first night and thought we might be dead by saturday, yet we found ourselves at the infamous dagger ditch by noon.
dan-o-vision
hamm is raging bull
huerta
ringer
later that day we found ourselves in glendale hanging out with wassup rockers, tired, running low on fun, but trying our best.
dagger ditch gets 4 witch fingers for it's hidden location, hollywood background, spots to hide and drink, death defying slope, but the heat was killing me, plus it was absolutely babeless. not even a hide in bush blowjob babe within a mile.
glendale gets a 0. just a schoolyard, no ice cream, no babes. the only plus was the metal clad mexican boys from echo park.
dan-o-vision
hamm is raging bull
huerta
ringer
later that day we found ourselves in glendale hanging out with wassup rockers, tired, running low on fun, but trying our best.
dagger ditch gets 4 witch fingers for it's hidden location, hollywood background, spots to hide and drink, death defying slope, but the heat was killing me, plus it was absolutely babeless. not even a hide in bush blowjob babe within a mile.
glendale gets a 0. just a schoolyard, no ice cream, no babes. the only plus was the metal clad mexican boys from echo park.
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