Month: November 2004

silver sweep
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

Like you
I love you
This delicate beating wings of heart bound
______it’s joy and glory
forgettable persephone face

At some point sleep will have to happen. I work in six hours for seven hours. With children. The children of middle america in all their sex-starved television pap addled flag-waving glory. This is not looking very positive. The sky outside is an ugly orange bruise and I missed my chance at dancing this month.

Maybe I need someone to curl up with. A warm thing to hold me and breathe with limbs entangled, legs scissored together, hands caught in hair. I can’t claim it would help, but it’s the thought that slips under my eyelids when I lie awake in the dark tonight. The only change I can think of. It’s not that I’m not tired. I am frankly exhausted, but in spite of the pillows and the blankets and the twisted piles of velvet and silks that I’ve been filling my bed with, it still feels empty. There’s an absence, like I might reach out and feel fine desert sand where my sheets should be. Hollow spaces reaching to the horizons of my room with the voice of an empty heart.

I’m so cold tonight. I’m considering making hot chocolate but to leave my room would be to admit defeat. Chilled skin and stiff fingers, I’m curling in on myself to save heat. There’s plenty of blankets but no warmth. This could also be part of the problem, but I suspect it’s more symptomatic. I notice because right now I notice everything. The texture of the comforter, the way my earring catches on Prospero’s fur, the weight of my teeth, the taste on my tongue that tells me my body needs to heal and rest. It’s a peculiar feeling, being aware of the mattress depressing with the weight of this thinking meat. I don’t like it very much.

Alrighty – I am up at three:thirty in the morning kicking myself for forgetting it’s the second saturday of the month today. To make up for it to the folk who expected to see me tarted up earlier this evening, here’s some music. I’ve hooked my friend Bobbi up to Mperia. So far there’s only one song, but it’s so Cruxshadows as to be adorable. I had to put it on repeat simply for the hyper eigthies lyrics. I can’t imagine how many scads of gothlets must have thought he was dreamy around the time I was six. Peer pressure will make him put more music up, more recent music, I promise. Let’s get cracking – check him out.

I’m tired. Physically it feels like there’s been hot wires implanted into my muscles that snap when I move. I have to switch over a daytime schedule. I have to pamper my right arm so it doesn’t fall off during work. I’m starting to worry about syndromes and sicknesses. Trapped for seven hours on-line, I have nothing to do but stay there after and the tendons are incredibly unimpressed. They complain with swelling lines of fire. I used to wrap my damaged wrists when I was younger, I may have to again to keep myself from raised lines of carpel tunnel. Bind myself from using my mouse right handed. I watch myself get worse and then forget. Typing is starting to hurt.

It seems more people are reading though less are commenting. I’m beginning to be curious. How on earth can I keep track?

The times are a’changing. Silva‘s moving and so is Angus, they’re going to be living mere blocks from one another. More reason to leave my house heading east on Hastings. Ride towards the rollarcoaster, go into the light. My boy Alastair‘s been sending me a story seed from L.A.  Nanobots and coma recovery, it’s odd and sci-fi and I suspect he’s thinking about it too much. He’s taking it into places I can’t access. I hope to see him soon, there are vague machinations for a trip down in the works. James is settling in okay as far as I can tell, we and Ray went for dinner last night then failed to see a concert. Usual fare, really, for our luck. Javina‘s going to be spending December with us. An odd thread of the general tapestry of interaction, but one that might gleam more than not. People have been associating the two of us on-line now, so now there will finally be a basis for it? In January Joseph is slinking into town, the first person to blossom me back into human. I haven’t seen him in four years. I wonder if we’re still in love, I wonder how he’s grown and if I’m still his wickedness. We messed around less than a gradeschool romance because we never had ten minutes alone. I have a feeling I’ve grown into someone he could construe as severely intimidating. It will be more than interesting, it will be discovery. He just saw my purple hair for the first time two weeks ago. “That’s you?” And, yes, Bill hasn’t called back yet, but he might soon. I was fielding calls for him all day. If nothing else, he owes me for an old friend it looks like I might be putting him back in touch with.

As a general note: If anyone would like to take the ferret out for a stroll in the park tomorrow while I’m working, it would be greatly appreciated. I’ll buy you an ice-cream cone. He’s been vaguely neglected of late, I haven’t been leaving the house much. Skatia needs more exercise than I’ve been well enough to give.

It’s time to tumble into sleep, huddle in the trenches of dream and sleep.

I have recently made the aquaintance of the illustrious Dr. Smax, may heaven have mercy on his soul. In an obviously desperate ploy for attention, he made me this!

Isn’t it lovely? Does it not make your very soul shake with jealousy? Oh yes it does.

I also have been given by Larry, the boy genius who fell from the sky.

So far it’s been an interesting haul, sort of like a doodle hallowe’en but without the saltwater taffy.

Here’s how it works,

– Comment and I’ll pick one of your LJ interests and draw you a picture.
– You have no say in what I draw you! Or in how much it will suck!
– Put this in your journal. And the pic.
– Obey me!

My lack of both scanner or camera prevent me from particularly playing this game, but I think I did well enough when before it was a meme, when it was just me.

It’s a bouncy kind of misery when nothing goes right but you’re not allowed to cry. It shakes into you and makes you dance. Moaning saxophone rippling into a twirling wet skirt of sound to catch at your feet like walking through rain with a birthday party.

I can’t get the New Music West wristband off without cutting it.

When the englander folk start popping up on my messenger I know it’s time for bed, but I can’t help but stay up a little tonight. I sit and I think of a meeting between two people who’ve never met. A what if of proportions I can’t measure. I’m not used to this sort of thing in my head. I don’t know what to do with it, it’s too new. I know that one day I’m going to have to learn how to edit, the trick of coming back to something to make it worthwhile. Keeping the structure while smoothing the lines. It’s strange to think about as so far I can’t touch something old without losing it. Honestly though, so far I’m still amazed I have snippets to even write, period. Stream of finger-hand expression. Once it’s down, it’s lost.

I wake up with a headache pulsing through my newly solid skull. The prescribed meds have worn off, but catching myself in the mirror, I decide I like the shape, so it’s worth it. Science fiction, yeah, living here is good. I wash my hands in the bathroom and step back into the bedroom. The streets outside are empty, I’m in a bland hotel of a cubicle. The cutters paid for it, so it’s cheap but serviceable. Brown bedspread and cream coloured walls, like something from the nineteen seventies. The sheets are soiled now, I bled from the mouth in my sleep. I suppose I should straighten them, but I can’t care through the pain. It’s a bloody ache to stiffen my spine. Can’t clench my teeth yet, I have to wait until the freezing wears off else my new teeth will slip through my tongue and I won’t even feel it. I should check my reflection again. Tender self mutilation and I won’t even be able to save it hard disk. If I weren’t so happy I would scream.

“It comes down to what you’re willing to do for me”
“I don’t understand, I thought we’d made our promises.”
She looks down, away. “I suppose, but things are different. It’s like the movies, this is the bit where I look at you and tell you things have changed.”
“You know I love you.”
“You know that doesn’t matter here.”

They met just over a year ago. The summer was sliding into autumn, but slowly. The sun was hot through the window of her apartment, slanting down onto her like she was chosen by god. In a way, she supposes, she was. Not any god she would have picked, mind you, but a deity none the less. The dice rolled and he fell into her lap. Time to see what could be done with it.

“You don’t understand, I threw away your power.”

Today was Remembrance Day and I think to myself all I have are my memories. Reflections of times and places, things passed with no evidence. My lover called today and his accent sounded thick because I am no longer speaking it. No glasgay echo lass anymore but fallen back into me. Uninteresting and all I could do was wish I were a man so I could take him properly, the way I want to. Spread his legs and nudgeplunge in, suck his sounds back with my lips, my breath. I miss him today and yesterday and tomorrow and all right now, this boy is a memory and in spite of the objects left behind I can’t prove a thing. There is no ephermera for love or meaning or passions last gasp. I cannot conduct an orchestra here. I have no bow to bend.

Stiff fingers from the cold feel strange when you’re typing. As if you have to pay attention suddenly to negative feedback. A woman outside is shouting “You filthy little bastard” after someone in a ruined whiskey voice, rough and loud. My neighborhood is interactive. On my way home I was stopped countless times, the ferret a magnet for conversation, but never once asked for change. One scruffy patched hoodie boy said to his army fatigue girl, “What are you doing? She has wings on. Never ask a woman with wings for money, doesn’t matter what she looks like, she’s one of us.”

My morning was spent at first in denial of the time. Road workers set up shop outside my window at 7 a.m. with a !ZHWIM! gun. This woke the ferret, who then spilled an entire pot of cold tea on me in his eagerness to destroy whatever it was making the noise. My eyes were forced to peel open at that point and glare a little at the ceiling. My hand shot out and grabbed his furry body, this was not a loving embrace, mind, this was a I-Am-Tearing-Myself-Out-From-Beneath-A-Toasty-Coverlet-For-You grip, which was then followed by a shivering with wet feet walk to the door, where he was unceremoniously dropped into the hall. There was really no way to get back to sleep after that.

I unpacked slowly until the afternoon came. VISA things were dealt with and eventually Jenn’s was visited. Skatia came with me, he falls asleep on transit. Easy to deal with, a darling to transport. He walks the third degree hill faster than I used to. So many times now, I can feel how I’ve healed. It used to make me cry to scale that slant, to visit her building was murder one step at a time. Now I reach her place as the sun shines brightly. I know I’ve recovered this much at least.

We spent our day together, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Boys and wedding plans, girl things yet not even really. It’s like gossip but it’s all about us. Just catching up while Skatia bell tinkled around her apartment. Her basement laundry room is a fetish photographers dreamspace. Clinical and creepy, but well lit. I wanted a girl in black PVC and a camera so badly I could taste it. Make her be in a miniskirt and big nasty boots. Odd hair would help. Let me make some of those cliche shots.

Kim came home as we were packing up to leave, not soon enough for a proper ferret visit. I’d left my feathered wings and some media. Daytrippers in one pocket with the Heinlin, Smoke & Mirrors on the other leg, everything fitting into my various pockets. On the train she pointed out that our roles have reversed, now I look far more eccentric than she does. The woman who was asked if she does childrens parties has been visually out-weirded by me. With my black wings like they spring from my gentlemans coat and the white ferret in my lap, I could only agree. The difference between us being I don’t do it on purpose. It’s a pity I can’t find my hat.

Downtown Jenn was headed for the Commodore, but I knew the doors wouldn’t have opened so early so I dragged her over to Jay’s office space and we stood by while men carried gear up three flights of steep nasty ankle breaking stairs. He gave me a wristband for New Music West, as was the plan. It’s always nice to see him, however briefly. He knows me well and I know him well. Far more than anyone could possibly expect. It’s an odd tender relationship which means almost nothing. When he’s sick I take care of him, tip-toe around and do his dishes, let him fall asleep with his head in my lap, but when the time comes I never stay the night. He knows me for the way I sneak out, leaving him curled around a pillow or a book. One time soon I will, but not yet. We need to work another show together, I need to cement our one act play interactions a bit more. It comes down to showing face and the intentions involved with such.

I stood with Jenn in line until Steve came and the folk shuffled forward, counted by their plastic card ID. Afterward I walked to the Media Club, intending to meet back up with Jay, but there were too many people for the ferret to handle. Instead I called my strength down from the stars and walked to the Armory. I’d missed Bill, a pity. I guess I’m good at showing up after he’s left from there. I’ve been doing it three years in a row now. On my lapel is my poppy. I will not forget.