Smoky Tiger

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9twSOcG8FX4&t=4s

She is here in spirit

Hey its that time again! Now is your chance to live in your dream home Casa del Nij. Cheap rent, magnificent cats. Free laundro and wifi! First come first serve. Dm me

mary

fortress of folly

Bush stuff

This one is almost to good to sell but im desperate. Its wall sized unstretched canvas. Make me an offer!

Couple twin paintings up for grabs. Spring warrior goddess with the sigil of archangel micheal. Im brokesville, anything helps. Will ship!

New Smoky Tiger album drop!
El Camino de la Luz
Very timely uplifting record focusing on the relationship between jesus christ and mary magdelaine

Pay me 20$ you cheapskates

With guests tj blair, crabskull, and amazing vox by Cassidy Houston

Link in Bio

New Smoky Tiger Album DROP!
El Camino de la Luz
Very timely and uplifting album focusing on the relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdelaine.
20$ get it while supplies last!
With guests TJ Blair, Crab Skull
and amazing vocals by Cassidy Houston

El Camino de la Luz, by The Smoky Tiger 10 track album

The etherial beauty of the chicas strolling down the beach here, painful and shocking, oppressively breathtaking, like a swift punch in the gut. I sip pulque on a stool, cumbia in the background, observing the street, and delve deeper into my book. Quite the find actually, a treasure trove of insightful snippets, essays and documents spanning the entire kaleidiscopic history of Aztlan. 15th century Franciscan monk descriptions of Aztec rituals they gleamed from the subjugated indigenious. The aztecs would conduct these ritualized ‘flower wars’ with the neighbouring cultures. Cyclical religious war games with the goal of taking captives. Warriors adorned with feathers and jaguar skins, wielding clubs with obsidian edges. Captives would be brought home and an elaborately violent, sacrificial pageantry would begin. Climaxing with the captives having their still beating hearts plucked from their chests a la temple of doom. As if that wasnt enough, the captives would be eaten by the whole family and then flayed, and bro would have to walk around wearing his victims skin. Gnarly. Finally the skins would be tossed into a pit, like corn husks. Literally. The entire ritual is symbolically attached to the cultivation of corn. And when the warrior wears his victims skin, the predator becomes the prey. Indeed its very likely one day he will suffer the same fate. Its easy to see how the pious monks would view all this as barbarism, preferring to kill the people slowly through disease or intense manual labor, at least they could harvest the souls for jesus. Maybe its the pulque that makes me view all of this through the lense of soul transmution. I see the predator/prey relationship persist everywhere, even in the cuteness of the street urchin trying to hock their empanadas on me. Or the garish prostitutes learing at me and presenting their bums like fishing lures as i scoot home late at night. Even jesus said something about making the apostles into ‘fishers of men’. Im content with the seafood for now and found some dirt cheap fresh filets and shrimp. Im no anthony bourdaim but i am making my own ceviche now, which is actually a significant step in my lifepath.

Rereading all this, like the burning man diaries, im loathe to digress into some sad confession of self pity. Its just that this narrative of loserdome is what defines me. Ironically, knowing thyself and in a quasi Scientology process of ‘coming clear’ thats why im doing this journal. Hopefully you are still entertained. Anyways phil and me still searching for pulque couldnt find it and were parked at this little tienda. Lo and behold bro rolls in, trying to sell us whale tours and i mention the pulque, he opens up like a shaman ‘the panchan mama felt compassion for the human race and bestowed apon them pulque, like a milk from her teet’. Later i found my british pict informant again, hilariously named ‘steve’ who told me that yes, the lore states that the panchan mama (mother nature) has over 400 seperate t***s, each delivering a different flavour and sustenance and sometimes entoxicating deliverance to us pitiful mortals. I sat and got to know steve better. Bro born british, with a huge tattoo of two speakers on his heart chakra has been here for 5 years. Part drunken hobo, knows everyone in town, living in a hammock day to day, wandering perpetually drunk, occasionally makes a measily income constructing palm rooves. I tell him bros like him in india are considered saints. I ply him with mescal and smokes and he shows me where the live music is. Ma*****na soaked cumbia, cumbia to my ears like a siamese twin to reggae. This slightly different rythem that for some reason white dudes cant play, but as soon as it starts everyone starts to dance. Fascinating to my musicological ear, so simple yet so different from the standard sound of our northern world but most importantly, so seductive and hella infectious. I went swimming in mezunte today, doing some water yoga s**t and something brushed up against me i thought it was a sea w**d and actually it was a mo*********ng snake. This big brown sea serpent slithering through the waves. I wasnt certain what it was until it raised its head above the water and gave me a little nod. Fricken that singular event would have traumatized my ukrainian grama and aunties for all time but i was just amused. Maybe this is evolution?

This new hacienda in peurto Angel rivals frecking Rivendell. Constructed by some elfish mexican Eldrondo out of concrete, bamboo and palm fronds, perched precariously on a cliffside overlooking a 500 ft drop to the tumultuously churning dishwasher pacific, with winding stairwells leading to terraces, iguana patios and epic boggling vistas, overflowing flower gardens and hungover oversized winnipegian, scorpian fearing hobbits passed out in hammocks. Tiny and ancient zapotec gnomes wearing ball caps gardening with machetes the cactuses and even doing our dishes. I bid them ‘beunas tarde’ as i make my way to the composting toilet. In the bookcase I discovered this epic arcane tome detailing the historia, politica, cultura de mexico and im catching up on my fanatical obsession w pre-columbian civilizations like some deluded Bilbo. When HernanoCortez and his belligerently crafty army of bloodythirsty as***le prick conquistadors first beheld the dazzling and magical floating city of tenochitlan, they were totally blown away by its oppulent magificience. They all gushed greedily and raved about it in their 15 century spanish diaries. In particular the fantastical open air market, larger and more bountiful than any in Europe, bursting with life, color and abundance, ancient pinatas and aztec taco stands. And then with a psychopathic genocidal zeal, perhaps never rivalled in history, they satanically tricked Montezuma and rapidly reduced the whole thing to rubble brick by pyramidical brick and systematically enslaved and decimated an entire civilization all in the name of poor old sandle wearing hippy jesus for crying out loud. 500 or so years later im still pretty stoked by the market in pochtula where i frugally purchased some avocados and chorizo from a portly senorita who blushed and giggled at my idiotic spanish. Perhaps my perogy and vodka guzzling ascestors not bestowing me with sufficient pillaging zeal, and instead of galleons full of gold and silver i usually arrive home practically destitute, other than colorfully vague memories, a bunch of practically worthless coined pesos i forgot to spend, sand in my shoes and a bad sunburn.

Im actually super obsessed about the virgen of guadelupe. Poor uncle phil is just an innocent bystander to my psychotic episodes and i roped him into giving me the deets of his birth time and place so that i could thoroughly analyze his astrological chart. Trying my best to avoid being vain or conceited i admit to being a kind of talented seer and at times gifted mystic. I pinpoint this autistic awareness to some major bonks on the head i had as a child. Further induced by experiences, deliberate or not, with the spirit of datura, the thorn apple, jimson w**d, devils trumpet, atropine. A plant i foolishly consumed after reading some carlos casteneda and the shamans gave me in ecuador a trip that i may never have came back from and a window that may never be closed. Regardless, i read Phil’s chart and it was accurate enough. For a time i was entranced and also explained with some lucidity my theory of astrology, how the heavenly bodies have a relative gravity on the embryo as it unfolds. How the finest energy that makes up our consciousness is the most susceptible to the relative gravity of the planets and the plasmic cycle of solar storms. And on our terrace during the sunset i held court about how our modern scientific paradigm might be inferior to the ancient cosmic vision of our ancestors. My lengthy convoluted diatribe complete, we ventured off and payed a last visit to ceasar the pulque maestro and i gave him a stick of paulo santo. We raged to a jungle bar where buddy was hosting an open mic. My mojo peaking, forced myself onstage and absolutely slayed with NorthWest Passage. The crowd clapping and cheering me, many canadians, offering free drinks, fist bumps etc, perfect ex*****on. I flexed on winnipeg hard. I suck at almost everything in life but when i went to india i found a holy baba and was bestowed the boon of a Devine voice no jokes. Sounds weird but bro its true, i can change the world with my voice its a curse because other than that im mostly useless. Anyways then i came home and im making an album here on the terrace. Nobody cares about albums anymore but im still making one and it will blow your mind if you pay me ten dollars on bandcamp.

The familiar and consistently morose reckoning. A lifetime devoted to false ideals? The glorification and celebration of intoxication. A rebellion? The constant and perpetual bewilderment of the senses. The incessant striving towards self destruction. Is this a spiritual path? Do i have a choice or is this whole thing like a projection, with I stuck on this shameful railroad? These underlying existential thoughts plaguing me now and forever. As phil and i feast on ceviche. I have a passion for pulque, a kambucha- like alchohol derived fresh from the agave cactus. We find a Pulqueria, and a pulque maestro Ceasar. Ceasar illucidates about the sacredness of pulque, nectar of the gods. The beverage is slimy and thick, an anscestral beverage. Like dyonisuis or jesus, im an avatar and conesoiur of drunkeness. We arrive at beach dance parties and i flex. Dance, some kind of redemption. A release and paying of dues. Wait, arent i a king? Arent i the master of this dancefloor? Doesnt my perception control and influence the world outside myself?

Winnipeg winter weak and full to the brim with a morbid malaise, broke and weary, pale and dour, i brazenly booked a two week expedition to the oaxacan coast. Counting down the days as my EI painfully ran out, reluctant but steadfast, hearkening to the sage advice of a previous version of myself, saying that its worth it, bro no matter what its worth it, i hopped on a westjet flight accompanied by my burning man sidekick Uncle Phil, to Hualtuco Oaxaca. Anticipating, and then viscerally experiencing like a tidalwave of nostalgic dragon’s breath, that first oppressively hot wave of tropical Mexican air as we step off the plane on to the tarmack. Mf Flashback city, old dank memories painful and ecstatic, memories strange and primordial. Long forgotten and foundational. You see, ive been coming down here my whole life, but the experiences form an existence unto themselves, separate and disjunct from my relatively mundane canadian life. With that hot breath i momentarily i become once again that naive and wide eyed wanderer, alone or sometimes accompanied by some stunning young love, now long estranged and departed. This time i am middle aged, seasoned, heavily jaded you might say. Sad, and a tad winter pudgy but determined and noe i can at least kind of speak more spanish in a hesitant gutteral way. The language and ways arriving unconsiously but with satisfaction; an old unused reflex. Somewhere along the line i decided that this Oaxacan coast shall be my final battle ground. No more thoughts of europe, bali, vietnam, ibiza, Oaxaca is it for me in this lifetime. Its a focus point. With middle age comes a reckoning of potential, a survey and mathematical deduction. Ive done this much in my life, rationally where can i put my energy for the rest of my life to maximize my enjoyment, or at least minimize my karmic impact. And thus the adventure begins. . .

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K4qxBsKzVAc&ab_channel=SmokyTiger

INTOMYARMS Smoky Tiger cover nick cave song 'into my arms'

The "Rules-Based International Order" Listen to a reading of this article (reading by Tim Foley): The “rules-based international order” has allowed the incineration of Gaza, and the bombing of Yemeni forces who are trying to stop it. The “rules-based international order” allowed hundreds of thousands

TONIGHT!!

New Smoky Tiger album -TIMEBLIND- out now on bandcamp. Link in bio.

Smoky Tiger self righteously delving into society’s problems, could almost call it an attempt at a protest album if it wasnt so irreverant and crass. As per usual riffing haard on everything winnipeg in all it’s narracistic and self-loathesome mania. Sad clown lyrics about addiction and conspiracy, tent camps and burgers. Perhaps el tigre’s worst and most unlistenable release to date. Perfect stocking stuffer.

Hey you tens of smoky tigro fanz out there. Yay another new album Timeblind. check it and toss me 20 bucks

timeblind, by The Smoky Tiger 9 track album

Congratulations to Jezebel on her third litter of 5 kiddenz. Bringing the cat population record at casa del nij to a new record of: 7 cats!!!!