Month: August 2004

My morning is looking far less bleak then at first glance would say. James crept out on me this morning, keeping in tradition with the boys who’ve been staying overnight lately. Except the actors, they hang around for breakfast like the girls. I suppose it’s from working in the Arts. It tends to leave you a bit hungry. The local talent will always come down for the opening or the closing, hardly ever mid-run. There’s no plates of tidbits mid-run, no lubrication alcohol. Groups standing by the tables, chatting it up full-square. We’re all a bit cheap but sure we’ll support your show. Really loved the sets. I’m just going to nab some of this chicken, thanks. You did some great work, could I get at those carrots?

they only want you when you’re seventeen, when you’re twenty-one you’re no fun

The sky lied to us yesterday. No hollow rainclouds, just sun to warm our coats into something heavier than they were. Reunion of nothing in particular from the outside. If it were possible to create an animation of the two of us together for the years, we would be walking towards the fourth wall. His hair would get shorter, the cut and colour of his coats would change and I would get taller. We walked down the Drive to my box then transit took us to Miriams. The evil empire Starbucks has bought the building, so they’re closing September 6th. Get your pie now. They’ve been in the business 17 years, so they make good ones. Avoid the coffee or bring rum. Add to taste.

they take a polaroid then let you go

We sat at English Bay watching all the want to be pretty people. There was a photographer on the beach taking endless pictures of the horizon. The clouds destroyed any chance of sunset and the light was wrong for anything else. I would look up from picking at my crumble to discover her walking to yet another place to put her tripod. There was never a chance to ask her what she was doing. She left before we did and when we eventually wandered off, it was in the other direction. The sun set by the time we left our bench, leaving us to walk into the orange glow.  I jumped off the seawall halfway to the Burrard Street Bridge onto a curl of rocks trailing off into the water.  The two of us, not-so-cool, standing on this lick of stones at the tip-toe end.  I wanted a camera then. Frame him as a microserf, being by ocean and city light and I wondered if I too made such a picture.

say they’ll let you know

We went for drinks at Carlos & Buds. James was surprised, but I didn’t think it so odd. It might be, I couldn’t say. On the ferry back from the Island there was a boy by me smoking marijuana on the upper deck. Too young and obviously an idiot. His left wrist was broken and he was too proud of his white logo baseball cap. I had a sudden impulse to go up to him and steal the joint from his lips. “You’re too young for this”. I would do it with impunity. We’re not that legalized yet. I took two steps of the three needed towards him and stopped, realizing that if I did so, I would walk away smoking it myself. I wasn’t sure if I wanted that. Suddenly realizing I didn’t know who I was anymore. I felt heavy and fey. The beautiful sullen view warped me into something I’m not usually. Heavy and silver, like the candlestick used to kill the Doge.

so come on

I’m on-line now with my lover and Warren Ellis. One’s here in November and one’s here in January. I’m to wear stocking for both of them.

we only want you when you’re seventeen

when you’re twenty-one

you’re no fun

 

To Ethan, Ian, Victoria, Dan, Matthew and Ryan:

   Whichever of you left the shirt behind, thank you. I do however have quite a collection already of other peoples clothing and as the shirt is still with it’s tags from the store, I am assuming you have not even the pleasure of wearing this item. If you wish to retrieve it, please say so and I will put it aside for you, otherwise I shall claim it as it is big and comfy and black.

 

How often do you feel on fire lovelies? I’d like to ascertain the normalities of desire. The need suddenly to be around people. To hear a voice simply talking. Turning off the light futily at four:thirty in the morning, I wanted to get up and go for a walk last night but I was afraid of whose house I would end up at, because it would not have been mine. I would have gone to Marcs place maybe, because it’s safe there. Kept him up all night talking about nothing and everything. Complaining about my sexuality kicking in probably and computers and what I want to do with cameras. I could have slept there, but in the early morning when he untangled his arms out from under me to get up for work, I would have felt guilty for not letting him sleep. I would end up at the kitchen table with dear Gerry, his roommate, and maybe Christina, or Paul partner, feeding the baby Macalli and looking more sheepish than sheep. My hands around a cup of something warm in the cool morning and embarrassed a little at being there. The likelihood of being let in is far lower than at other houses, especially later at night, but he’s one of the precious immune-to-jhaynes. Instead I lay frustrated in the dark. Brows furrowing and an emptiness at my back. Tiny involuntary sounds and twitch. Sick and miserable with tight flame.

I sincerely couldn’t find sleep last night. I wanted to talk with people, not lie abed with my brain moving too fast. Be up and hear voices. If I was going to stare at a ceiling, I wanted to be listening to someone. I went through a list of people who would let me in at two in the morning. I was caught in my own brain too much. I wanted to listen to someone else’s thoughts. I think somewhere my brain picked Marc this morning when I got up because he’ll simply talk. It was weird to look up and read what I’ve just written. Then, of course, the idiot impulse “I’m going to send this to him” *laughter* Welcome to idiot impulse. Please don’t take it badly.

It seems Bill has moved. Found a place at Fraser & Broadway above a store. Two weeks ago. New number and everything. He didn’t tell me. I found out because I called the Deorksons trying to get ahold of him. I wonder when I was to be informed.

… I don’t know how I feel about this …

I am a fool. I called the number she gave me.

Well that hurt. This hurts. I want to cry right now and I’m doing my damned best not to. He sounds happy on his answering machine. I haven’t heard happy in almost a year. Just that lilt of voice I want to hug. My speech caught only a moment into my message. It broke, I know it did. I hope he calls me back in spite of it. I hope he was going to call me today anywas. I hope a lot of stupid things. I hope that one daya book will be dedicated to me. I hope one day that I’ll have inspired some art in a way that I’m in it. Silly selfish hopes. Why don’t they just go die?

Failing to inform me that he’s moved and has a number is slightly extreme. I am an idiot with those I love. One day I hope I learn to stop.

EDIT: I called back to the best phonecall we’ve actually had. I haven’t had him laugh yet, but now it’s alright. Things are okay, which is better than they were. I’m now really glad I called. *content*

All these beautiful people around me and they don’t mean a thing to me. I feel a bit bad, because I can feel these horrible moments where they would really quite like me to kiss them and I ignore it. I feel like I’m being impolite or something. Hah. I miss you. Complicated rhythms of ‘you aren’t around’. I’m reading your book, the broken spine on my fingers tells me that you’re out there breathing. Like I’ll roll the window down at a corner and you’ll be standing there waiting. There’s a tear in the fabric of my favourite dress and it’s you. The chaos is missing an element of tongue. Pull you down beside me for a sweet dark kiss. It’s a bloody week but I’ll taste the same. Two days left. Two days of waking to sudden red fishnets standing. Spiral colour hitting the shower, red, plum, together black into the drain. I want to take handfuls of this colour and throw it against the sky to stick. Arching back bow curve upwards and watch it slick slide drip down as rain leaving wet wet trails. A kitten lapping milk from the bowl. To make it perfect, I’d need red hair. Dark red, dawn red. Scarlet to match the drenching tide. Longer than it is now. Rinse these sheets in cold water. Bring them to the bathroom and soak them clean. I don’t know how to do pure, I don’t know raw or limitless, but I can learn. White sand on those beaches you dream of. Standing life drawing. Sunlight. This bend and that delicate curve. Vintage poses, dancer, raver, daughter of someone, the one who’ll lick you clean. There’s an exchange.

Touch.
You’re it.

It’s sunday and I can hear my watch ticking the seconds past. People start coming over 6pm for the party. Depending on who comes, it’s going to be an odd crowd. The age spectrum on my friends alone will create some interesting patterns of interaction. *laughter* The ever present oddity of the social situations makes me happy in spite of the awkward.

Last night I went to Drag King Roller-skating with Beth. I’d forgotten how much effort there is involved, my lungs felt full. Supreme fun. I put on the fairy wings and dressed girly and moved boyish and it was great. Confused the hell out of people again. Yay! An acquaintance of mine was there who double-taked to find me at Dyke Night. I know that this news is going to go straight to a friend of mine who I denied being a lesbian to. It’s going to be interesting and lots of laughs when it hits all the way back to me. I tell people about Gavool and the news slips from their brain as if I never said anything so it’s more than possible that I’m going to end up a lesbian again to a group of people. It sways.

One of them as on-line last night, but he knows better. Plus, he was pissed off at his girlfriend. He’s never actually had one before, all his experience is with one nighter, two nighters and so.. get this.. he’s never dealt with a menstruating woman before. *chuckles* Guess what? She’s a “don’t touch me!” type around now. She’s also the kind of radical feminist I would like to hit over the head with a rock. *sighs* I had a long three hour chat with him that made me feel oh so much older than I actually am. It makes me feel weird a bit, like I shouldn’t have more knowledge of people. “No – you don’t get it. She’s on blood, so she NEEDS something. She may not even KNOW” “Of course she’d know” “NO SHE WOULDN’T” Arguing him out of stupidly lashing out from being hurt. I’m uncertain how comfortable I am knowing more. Pulling experience out of a hat when you’re my age? My head says that’s SO not allowed. I think in part it’s not so much because I’ve been in relationships so much as I’ve been in them with people who’ve had lots of them. *flutter* All those experienced older men.. *smirks*

Tonights de-tox from wretched children:

 ROLLER KINGS
***(All Ages)***
SAT. AUGUST 21
10:15PM-12:15AM
Cost: $5 2-$3 Skate Rentals
Stardust 10240 135th St Surrey

 

I had the page up all day vaguely considering going, then Beth popped on-line just as I was despairing a little bit at the only-oppressive-because-I’m-alone gray evening outside and voila! a plan! A scheme! I’m so not going to fall down as much as I think I will!!

mini edit – this has to be a perfect song to get ready for rollerskating to