Month: September 2004

I’ve just been outbluffed. I sat back a minute. I really do wonder about this. My thoughts are uncertain, stopped. I don’t know if I have a reaction beyond “oh”. Frivolity has been whisked off like a cloth revealing a concept beautiful somehow in a darker way than I care to look at. Another step into my life being invisible. How is it that people talk about these things? There’s an epiphany and they pick up the phone. I only know it because I’ve been on the other end. Myself, I am left floundering. I suspect that I haven’t anyone to talk to in the right way. The water’s over my head and looking up to where the air meets the surface doesn’t help. No one has any clue as to what I want to talk about. I need names to be real, not only labels for the other person to file to the appropriate story. The people around me aren’t involved. Part of me hates being young. There’s not enough experience in my head, not enough learned. I need to build still. I need to Know.

Once when I was little my family stayed briefly with a pastor at Shawnigan Lake. He was a quiet old man who never walked with a wooden stick. When my parents had a gig in town, he taught me chess. During the day, he took care of a challenged boy sometimes, when parents were at work. It was one of the very rare occasions I ever met anyone around my own height so I was quite taken with the thought of spending time with him. I suppose he must have been twelve. We were out on the old wooden dock one middle of summer afternoon. The heat shimmering off the water, and looking around the lake, there are almost only dark green trees. Tall conifers with the occasional boat tied to them. We were on the end, leaning over as far as we dared, trying to see the bottom of the lake against the glare. Logic told us the sun would let us see the whiskery fish at the bottom that the fisherman would sometimes pull up. Suddenly, laughing, he pushed me and I went in. My corduroys greedily took the water and doubled my weight. Too young to ever be taught how to swim, I was unsteady, I was thrashing. I came up under the dock. And again. I could hear the hollow footsteps of the boy running away as I fought. Finally, I let myself drift to the bottom, where the sun lit the water brightly all around me. One of the whiskery fish swam past and I blinked, reaching for it. With my feet touching the silty mud bottom of the lake, I felt no panic at all. After all, having my bathingsuit on under my clothing made being in the lake alright. That’s what you wear when you’re getting wet. Letting go of my very last breath of air, I leaned peacefully backwards into the water to watch the bubbles gleam their way to break the surface. A white haired pixie looking up through water about to die. No one came running. No one ever saw. Now too many years of working with visuals say I would put a girl singing with a guitar over such an image. Then, it was the sound of water quietly against the shore and the deeper sucking sounds of the dock above me. My own moment and I saved myself by accepting everything. I would follow the bubbles. Struggling suddenly I leaped off the bottom and after the silver, almost leaving my shoes in the muck. When my hand hit the last slippery rung of the ladder I needed air so badly that my eyes had shut down. I tore myself blind out of the water. So desperate to breath that with my first inhalation came a pint of water. Everything burned. Alone on the dock wretchedly coughing, I decided I could stand before I could. I fell, smashing myself into the dock. When I could walk, I trailed water all the way up the shore to the cabin, where I found my mother changing the diaper of my brother on the hood. Looking up, I watched her heart stop. When I saw that she almost fell, that’s when I broke. Cried then, but not before. I remember helpless for perhaps the first time in my life because I couldn’t communicate to her. I felt useless to express how I felt about this moment and everything involved because she was not there.

I get that a lot these days.

I give in. You all win. I will never have another snarky comment on either Tom Petty or anyone remarking on my hat in regards to Tom Petty. Kyle, the blessed boy he most certainly is, sent me the video for Can’t Come Around Here No More, a piece of media that various sundry have been insisting that I see for about five years now. My reaction? Dave Stewart must be Mine. I will keep him under the bed in a specially constructed happy cage until he gives me every last Art Direction idea he has ever had. That, and damn, I’m going to watch it again now. Higher quality! Higher quality!

Just a tiny note. This is the second weekend someone has arrived without warning with food. You all must perish delightful deaths. I wish a thousand skilled concubines upon each of you. They have chocolate too, and strawberries, and whipped cream. Notwithstanding my loathing for mango, I feel like a guilty whore. You People have to stop being nice to me!! I’m not deserving!

Waking up panic striken because the phone is ringing and my clock says work starts in three minutes. The phone was for Gavin and it’s one more time I have changed the time on the clock trying to shut off the alarm. There was a message from Jacques, he called maybe somewhere around four or five. Damned Fringers. I didn’t pick up. Today I get to find out that gossip says we may be dating.  The most amusing  people have unexpected ideas about me. I can only think it’s because I got a ride home with him on Friday. Drunk people make interesting conclusions. It’s good to swim out of that final bit of sleep laughing.

This also made me laugh. Actually out loud. A man on the subway finally had enough of the evangelists and spur of the moment decided to sing show tunes at them. Showtunes won.

Blast. Work. The first child entered chat right this moment to the tiny sound of a snare drum. Would people be kind enough to save me a little from the monotony and send me new music?

Go here, enter my foxtongue shaw e-mail, pick something interesting, hit send.

 

I’m tired right now, uplifted a ridiculous amount and humming to pop music. Slightly out of place, but no matter. Spent an aimless evening with Alistair sketching pieces of our lives for eachother. In the car, go left, now north. Top ten in the charts of “we are young and we have nothing to do”. Went to Lynn Valley, but not to the bridge, went to the shore, but didn’t climb the Q. Instead we stood by the water. Perhaps water is calming a little because as a species we tend to stare out over it. Depending on the conversation, it helps to have a skyline on the other end. Something definite twinkling on the other side of that black rolling eternity. There’s a gap in the bars, wide enough to slip through without effort. I turn and take bars in each hand, pick one foot up and lean out. Insane moment I used to fight every time I stood there. That final splash would be cold like ice never will be. As a non-sequiter, he pegged me right damn and center. “You hold people close and far away all at the same time” Took him a week. In a quiet peaceful way I’m impressed. More so as he isn’t bothered anymore.

I’m not speaking very well. Little food and little sleep make for a dulled girl. I don’t know why I write as much as I do, I only know it’s something I do. Take away my books but don’t take away my pen. What would there be left to do then? I apologize that your friends lists are so flooded with nothing in particular.

Saturday is a day for death. The Baron has come calling. No one on-line and I am trapped by the monsterous spawning of ignorant wombs. I’m reminded of a dream I had years ago. I was pregnant. I could feel it moving inside me and as if that wasn’t horrific enough, the life sucking parasite had razor blade teeth. Sharp triangles of metal gleaming from it’s pink gums. I could picture the thing perfectly. Perfect little baby fingers, perfect little baby with just a little bit of fuzz on it’s waxy head. I shot up as I woke, choking a scream back. Terrified, I was in shock. The classic moment girls get in the horror movies. Blinking, newly in reality, I put my hands down from my face to realize the sheets and blankets were damp. No, soaked. Thinking I would have to change them in the morning when I was feeling a bit more sane, I let myself fall back in relief only to suddenly scream between gritted teeth. Pain unbelievable. Visceral hot and now. Fire burning flesh and terrible. My body knotted with it. Whimpering, I very carefully sat up and reached over to click on the lamp. Red. Red everywhere.

Turns out I tried to claw the thing out in my sleep.

Oh that was a nasty moment. Cigarette smoke in my hair from I don’t know where caught in my throat. The scent put water in my mouth, gave me a jab in the pit of my belly. I wanted suddenly to force my tongue into someone’s mouth and clip their teeth with mine. A sudden impulse that contrasts badly with my job. Digging my fingers into black denim jeans and shoving them hard onto my messy bed.

I would be horrified with myself if I weren’t getting used to missing my lover. I’d hate to imagine what I’d be like if I were the sort to listen to my body. Yes, I agree, knowing when to eat would be a bonus, but it’s enough deterrent watching hormones surge once a month. “Hey – kiss him!” and my brain replying, “WTF? Piss off! You’re insane.” Right there, yeah. I like having that two steps back from the physical. No wonder Mishka always thinks I’m strange. She’s plugged into hers. Her advice is wonderful in that it never wavers, as soon as the mention of desire comes up, it’s “You’re too complicated. I don’t understand. Jump his bones”. Reminds me of a page from I Feel Sick. Jhonen’s charactor Devi is ranting at her friend for always giving the same advice no matter what the problem. “I’m being attacked by killer bees!” “You should get out more!!”

My roommate is off in Toronto this weekend. Soft instrumental music drifting from the speakers and it’s so quiet that I can hear my silver pocketwatch ticking from the bedside table. My mind paints an image of standing on the tops of cliffs and staring over green sea, palely foamed with whitecaps, or better – sitting in a train, like I haven’t done since I was a child. Riding clickaclack clickaclack over the prairies, complete darkness inside the carriage, the only rare illumination when the highway veered closer to the tracks. Trainride lit by stars. I want that feeling, like outside is water instead of air. A mental picture of running my fingers down the cool glass and watching it ripple. I’m older. Letters and words shining lightly into focus in the soft quiet of the car. Being sent a picture from around the globe and laughing quietly delighted to myself as it shines against the ocean of sunless ink. “Oh darling, you’re aging well. Italy is good for you, I’ll be seeing you soon.” The image shifts, turning into his reply and I lean forward in the red plush seat to examine the painting he’s working on now. It’s a girl, with type setting lines all over her body in old style Arial. Antiquidated and it meshes well with her blocky computer key fingernails. Lights off and riding in the dark. Lights off and I love you. Click.

Gods flashlight banging on the car windows of my eyes. “Excuse me miss, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Horrible. Woke upon a couch in New West with my brain clicking on with a sound like heated porcelain. *tingtick* Get up! You have to go to work now. There are better places to wake up than New West. I can think of twenty without trying. Under a bridge, perhaps. Least I didn’t sleep in my corset again. Caught by the rain, this princess was not going to slog home freezing and so I was, yet again, as always, one of the die-hards. Last to leave.

Marks of a good party may include having to borrow to change before bed, waking at someone else house, leaving in said clothes, (hopefully from as many people as possible), and getting home just in time for something else. Better parties also have berry waffles in the morning or pancakes, but with the amount of drinking geeks can get up to, I wasn’t expecting such. Jenn passed out in the night, as did Steve. I attempted to leave earlier with Aiden and Nicole, but weather said it wasn’t happening. They actually arrived slightly before I did. Took me twenty minutes to take the hill while laced in. I showed up dying and suddenly my LiveJournal was the topic of conversation. It was slightly disconcerting. New world order, self evident. We share this media and it is ours now. This artist, that script, this little piece of programmed code bleeding into our livingrooms with the glow of the computer screen. It makes me happy. Watch the war, upstage the so called news to spread our own.

Step one: Check out the upper right hand corner. Step two: Applaud Harvard.

Step three: If you’ve more time on your hands or appreciate darker humour, Warren and William have both put up fiction today that’s worth a read. One of these days I have to learn how to shut off the part of my brain that’s decided I’m lying when I try and write the stuff myself. Also in the dark humour vein, if you don’t want one of these around, I’m not sure if I’ll be your friend. 

In other news,  Joey puts up a new Softer World every friday and they’re viciously pretty.

Last night was a riot of ridiculous moments. Yelling, jostling for position, they hold up placards with “DESCRIBE ME” on them in neon blue paint. I’m surprised there isn’t one in dreadlocks with a marijuana pattern t-shirt. I just live in that kind of city.

Aiden and Nicole had to cancel on me last night. She’s got a touch of something, so rather than spend the night here, it was implied that Aiden was spending time holding her long auburn hair out of the way. My heart went out to them, and I planned instead on heading out to Jacques play for eleven. I was surprised that the time between went so quickly. Unexpected saviour on-line. A ridiculous angel when I needed one to play Wit with me. If it’s true that somewhere a small child was shot brutally to make up for it, I’d still do it again. Maybe they were shot with candy. I know I was certainly laughing and happy, though attempting to type in a fishnet glove is a bit of a bitch. Live and learn lovelies.

Catching the bus, it occurred to me that I should have called ahead to reserve my free ticket. Too late now, I’m looking out the window at the junkies singing Bob Marley in the rain and wondering if there will be anyone at the hall that I know. Hiking through the underbrush from the alley, I could hear the traffic on Granville Street and I looked up to see a knot of people smoking outside the Venue. Worry proved useless, as my name was called out before I could get close enough to identify anyone. Placing the voice took me a moment, I needed to be ten feet closer before people came into focus. Will was there, looking red-faced and slightly inebriated, and Mark, trying to remember where he knew me from. We decided that at least once I must have met up with Will when he was sober, but we couldn’t think of once. Must have been when he was with Leslie however many years ago. I knew the rest of the group as well, though not so well. Not enough to have collected their names from memory. It’s been so long since I’ve stood outside in the dark with people talking and smoking cigarettes. There’s something about it that I miss. No matter where I am, simply standing in that outside the door pool of light feels familiar.

Inside, I walked in to get a ticket and the woman there asked “Are you Jhayne?” Immediately I shift my weight back trying to place the face and form. I’ve seen her before and she has my name. Turns out she’s AJ, the lovely lady currently attached to Adrian. I saw her last Saturday at SinCity, but I suppose with the mask, she didn’t place me. We stood and talked, with mentions to how it’s about time we met properly. In this town, it’s so easy to have many people in common. “Two degrees apart in every direction”. There’s even a mention of Triton. I sincerely hope I don’t run into him again. He’s not working Fringe this year, which is unsurprising. I heard he had a bit of a trouble with some girls last year, but it’s mostly unconfirmed. I know Daniel’s sister complained. When time came to go upstairs, I found a seat had been saved for me in among the cool kids. Six or seven of us taking up two rows. I stepped over the chair into air soaked in Rum and coke and Granville Island beer. Home again, home again. Lights down ten minutes later to come up on actors looking far too serious. Delightful.

Fringe club came afterwards. It’s getting too easy to put my arm around women. My mock sleaze seems to work and it bothers me slightly. Walking to the van to discover there was still two litres left of rum & coke, finished as we drove the five blocks to the Island. The club is held in the Granville Island Brewery, an open room full of wooden tables and gold light. We lucked out with a table and settled in to be loud noisy celebrants. “TWENTY YEARS! WHOO!” Everyone cheering with their milky plastic cups full of lager. There was a line in the play I didn’t understand, but now, oh yes I do. I asked what bedroom eyes were and was treated to a full demonstration. We attempted to practise them on one another all around the table and all but Jacques failed miserably. Next came paper airplanes that I successfully threw into everyone’s beer. Only twice did I have to explain my divorce and each time was because of Will spouting on about how unbearably attractive Bill is. “This is the girl who dated Bill Moysey. He’s damned sexy, just ripped and so talented. The man is wonderful, I love him dearly”. Someone asked if he was famous. I hurt and laughed all at once.

When the club closed, our group got out a white frisbee and started tossing it back and forth over the traffic. Yelling back and forth across the sodium lit street, the bridge looming over us, blocking out half the sky with it’s girders, it was beautiful. The cobblestones were wet with rain so a little slippery to add to the fun. Extra points if we bounced it off a cab. When there were less passer-by’s at risk of beheading, we broke into teams to play a game of tipping. Crashing into eachother and running into posts, we must have been a sight. Once we climbed onto the train caboose to fetch our lost toy. I don’t know if anyone else saw just how breathtaking our night was. It was a gift. The frisbee scraped the sky in a graceful arc to land, finally, on the roof of the Children’s Market.