Month: November 2004

Alright – this meme has shown up in more people’s journals than election discussion, so obviously it must be getting some sort of interesting response. (I’m waiting for laundry).

This is the problem with LJ, we all think we are so close, and we know nothing about each other. I’m going to rectify it. I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me, something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about. Ask away.

Then post this in your LJ and find out what people don’t know about you.

See, I wonder where it started. Who is it that wrote this paragraph sweeping through our wierd little corner of internet? The phenomenon began somewhere, but the credit’s been lost somewhere along the way.

To keep to a theme, here is something you never, dearly did never, need to know, just to keep it even.

I’ve been upset with my writing lately like a pressure under my skin. I sit and words spill out twisting with fiction. There’s nothing different in the delivery, the process of not paying attention to the words is the same, but now there’s something being lost. My eyes feel too tight in their sockets, I hit post and almost want to cry when I properly see what I’ve written. My letters are beginning to have more than one recipient. I Don’t Like It. I can feel that I’m not the sort of girl who can let more than one person in at a time. No one can get less than half, this is hurting me somehow. If I am to write to my Painter, then my other lovers have no business creeping into my words. These people are too precious to blur, to lose definition is to betray them. In my blood, it hurts.

Today the first steps to leaving the country have been made. Paperwork begins accumulating and I am this much closer to freedom. I have to stay for the Jenn plus Steve equals wedding in the early summer, but then there’s nothing keeping me here. This means getting bits of information off my grandmother, but perhaps if I talk slutty enough she’ll respect me more. She is a bit odd that way. Ineffably english but very very loose with her affections, if we can call them that. The woman amazes me. She expects me to commiserate with her schemes to get laid as often as possible because, “well – you’re at that age dear. I’m sure you lie about your age all the time to get the men.” whereas I am continually surprised that she has yet to catch any lethal STD.

It occurs to me as I write this that I may actually have to visit her to get this arranged properly. She’s not known for being on top of anything that isn’t male. She owns a house in The Beaches, but there’s no possible way I could stay with her. I suppose I’ll find out in January if my open door home is still available in Toronto. I know there are still jobs waiting for me. I worry that if I go, I’ll go for a few months, spend the summer. Get caught in the happiness of living in a city again. I would want to stick out the winter rather than arrive in time for the England rains. It’s always nicest to come to a place in Springtime. Celebrate a birthday then leave.

No. Not leave.

Arrive.

Heaven is falling, burning with light heartless fire. It is cold and white voiced, the saints are losing their wings to the flame. Angels wept to a chorus of screaming, but they harmonize all the same. Soaring, crying with fists shaking, they can’t help but remain beautiful. Their feathered stumps dripping silver, tarnishing the cloud beneath, still remain breathtaking. Enthralling in form and perfect in grace.

do your little thing you do, roll the globe across your fingertips, yeah it makes me hot baby, when you set everything spinning, power turns me on, show me what you’ve got, incisors gleaming the way I want them to, like a needle in a jar, bite and tear baby, show me some action, show me just a little blood and wild tame murder

This is what happens when the magic dies. This is cruel to watch, but your mortal destiny. You wrapped the twine around your wrist, you pulled the ribbon from your darlings neck to see her tick, you broke the rules. Physics binding no more now than fairy charms. All the people around you, all the treasures of the worlds, lay discarded now. Descartes curses you as the earth weeps in agony. That was the secret. Nothing functions and the angels cry.

Living with procrastination, I can taste it like damp cardboard over my heart and tongue. I’ll eat my last orange, then put my shoes on. I’ll re-fill the ferret water, then put on my coat. I’ll put my things in my pocket, then walk out the door. This is the theory, this is the thought. Heavy stomached need for food driving me out, but slowly. Self destructive apathy again. Need toothpaste, mundane things, tomorrow I take the garbage out. I should leave before the better shops close, leave before my evening company comes on-line. Better than time spent elsewhere, I won’t mind once I’m there. It’s chilly outside, I will feel it on my skin like your breath on a cold icy night we have yet to have. I’m thinking of Montreal in winter. It never seems to me like there won’t be a meeting, the somnalabists assumption. Talking with fingers only, it’s like curling up to you in sleep.

It’s not lazy, it’s lying down in traffic.

Every day I want to be there, slide down into depravity with you all. Man the sinking ship and maybe get drunk once or twice. Heave ho and torch the place a little when you have to leave. All that slick sweetfire jazz that aches in the belly, that weakens the knees. Opportunity moved, somebody followed with it, dying every tuesday that they can’t see my face.

The city heights scrape stormflesh from the eager sky. I walked downtown yesterday and suddenly looked up as I walked, my eyes glued to navy blue. This sky is our only sky, it is large and vast and immeasurable. The wild cloak we unrepentantly breathe into our bodies every last minute. Virus are known to be immortal, this breath was a breath that Mozart sneezed back out, his lungs rejecting it. There is always a last minute, but not for the immutable sky.

This hangs over your head too, you know.

I never would have guessed.

This morning I feel like a typographical error.

Today I’m to see my lawyer. I wish I’d known that when I went to bed. Bless the three hour time difference, else I might have gone to bed even later. 9 a.m. I was to be there, he called at 9:40 asking after me. We’ve re-scheduled for 2 this afternoon. I’m going to soak myself in heat and hope I can properly walk by noon. It would not bode well to be crippling my way into his office. It would be bad news indeed.

My settlement is on Thursday.

He said to bring my file, but I don’t think I have one. Receipts, he said, but for what? I can’t think of any accident related that weren’t my cane and he has that one. I feel like hanging my head in uselessness. Almost three years and I don’t know what to do. I have no file, I have nothing but his letters. I want to call Bill for help and solace, but I don’t know if I dare invade his life. He (angrily? I do not know) vanishes when I take a lover, but perhaps it’s alright now they’re all away again. As I was discussing with both Michel and Jay last night, people usually aren’t quite real when they’re far away. They’re made of idea and concept, not so much flesh. Michel had an interesting observation, how it’s very catholic, part of the ultimate separation of soul and the body carrier. Perhaps that can count as my contextual loophole, they are real to me, but less so to him. Names only, possibly I can make them matter less than myself so that he’ll talk with me. I miss him.

Divine, this world still holding on. Interruptions from various gods don’t seem to matter, gravity continues to tick along paying us no mind whatsoever. It’s like believing in a teapot. My phone number isn’t very hard to find. The truth is always far too single. My hands open emptily and I can’t taste your eyes on me anymore. My most floral print baggage now is the unshakable belief that the people I like won’t want to see me. I’ll come to their homes and I’ll be rejected, shepherded out of the house and into the rain. I have to remember that that was only one lover. These people won’t leave me to bleed. I can place your hands on my neck and let you. The shimmer in my bones says I trust you. Security confidence, don’t lie to me or yourself.

Blood touches your heart like I want to. Slick salty fingers licking the inside of your flesh. Hands curling together in your hair as if to pray. The words that leave my lips are in whispers, they are in a language everyone knows. You name is here, caught between my teeth and tongue. I said it, just now. Did you hear? Backseat driver taking your hands as mine, my sweetness sinking into you like you forgot you existed as anything else. This bait taken before conscience operated with a guilt scalpel knife.

I would have asked a week ago, but it continued to slip my mind. Not high on my importance list, sorry. Someone forgot a hundred dollar bill here. Was it anyone here? I thought it would be claimed sooner than later, but no-one’s been stepping forward. I’ve put it on my desk for safe keeping, just tell me where I found it. I’m going to ask around a little, but if it’s not claimed in any reasonable length of time I’m claiming it for myself and giving it to Javina.

a russet just right in the light it’s gold it’s gold

It’s easy to think all the seasons look the same when you live here. Gray skies freeze in place sometime late October and stay until January. Walk along chilly rain and wet leaves clogging the gutter. I know there was sun, I remember heat, light and summertime. Look at this, this is transient, fleeting. It’s darker here than it used to be, the days like the nights, drifting into long lonely times that deserve fires in the grate and laughing friends with wine. Burnished light catching ruby filled glasses. I walked downtown the other night and the windows were already full of christmas. The weight of the world pulling down the branches of treacherous trees.

My brother Robin has joined the family. I’ve given him a name and am going to insist he writes. It should be good. He’s rather literate in spite of being trapped in a clumsy teen boy. My mother would be appalled, I’m sure, but I’ve told him to friend Warren for a good introduction to our networks. Is there anyone else who would like to put in a good word? Larry, I’m looking at you. Plus anyone with art.

edit: My Mother posted! Take a second for her?