Day: March 8, 2005

a damned heavy feather drenched in hemlock

Four hours of dead anticipation. I called, part out of worry and part something hollow which has no name, “Sorry, love, someone needing me, I couldn’t avoid it.” and a tiny voice inside me sing-songs, no that – was yesterday no you – when I cried – yesterday to hear – your voice – and it didn’t – matter. There’s a show tonight at Cafe Du Soliex that I’m considering going to. From past experience, I know that if something doesn’t happen, if I don’t bury myself in distraction, if I don’t get out of the house, I’ll be something worse tomorrow when I open my eyes to an empty world. I want to open my soul to some sort of light, I want to have fires and a reason to continue living this life I seem to be wearing because I have nothing better to do.

Does anyone have a song with the word affliction in the lyrics?

He’s here now, asleep with his shoes on, stretched out on my bed. Skatia is clambering all over him, nosing for somewhere to burrow as the covers and pillows have all been pushed to one side for a few days. I’ve only been using a very tiny corner to sleep in, barely enough to count as a quarter, barely enough to painfully curl my bruised body into itself. silenceleigh is getting married to her married lovers, and that cheers me. That unconventional relationships are being meted out some happiness gives me hope, it lets me pretend that my chapter of this too typical story might have an ending without a poison cup thrown against a wall. I’m tired of counting tears, of holding oceans in my hands, collecting them in the folds of my clothes beneath my bowed head. I don’t do that anymore. I refuse but for weakness. I deny in spite of misery. I need you more than you need me, but in spite of it I would be nastier and far more cruel.

He shifts in his sleep as I type this. His hands pull a heavy fold of blanket closer to him, and he mistakes it for me, whispering, “I need you”. Somehow that simple thing stings my heart, it closes my throat. I’m going to try and take his shoes off without waking him. Considering the ferret’s path of exploratory perambulation, it shouldn’t be a task difficult, but I still hesitate. My secrets are things like I want to be this man’s safety. I want to be his home. We sat and stared out into darkness once, scanning the water without really looking, and he said to me, “You know it’s reciprocated.” and I understood. The darkness let us hide, like solitude does, but it didn’t make these things lies. We cut with our truth.

Larry posted something sensual with my name on it, which helps a little. After all, how many times does a stranger girl get to be associated with someone like Slinka?

Good now make your time because you have no chance to survive.

I’ve had this conversation minus the alcoholic involvement on my end. What especially amuses me is that I’m fairly sure the every recipient has walked away with unresolved decisions in spite of the fact that my motives are explained as entirely innocent. This may be further evidence in Kyle’s assertion that I am Selina Kyle and that I have an air of mystery, but in retort, I have the fact that in the three blocks back from walking him to the bus-stop last night two different men in cars mistook me for a prostitute. There is no depth to money for sex in my neighborhood, not at all. I know when the woman downstairs has a client when the lobby is flushed with cheap perfume.

My hands are dirty today, there’s soil underneath my fingernails and my palm lines are etched in earth. A glimpse in the mirror, I fell asleep this morning with a metal foil fern still stuck in the middle of my forehead. False natural third eye placement, it glitters when light hits it. We have no sun today, it’s sheathed, brilliance hidden by clouds, water vapor protect us oh. My lover might visit today, to me he is limned with fire like knives, and enough to eradicate the weather.

Dee sent me this enchanting film last night, this morning, our eight hour difference. He’s winning to me, the red haired ferret writer. I told him that his dancing is worth moving across an ocean, that to cement our time like a movie memory, serene with the cut glass clarity of “we have never met before, but we get along fine.,” he should have kissed me at the train station when I sent him from L.A. to Chicago. I sing, Strip for me, don’t stop making me think of a red light night club and playing pool in a princess dress. I’m laughing. If nothing else, it would have made a fantastic story.

tonight like a bullet bitten, I called and heard

I’m worn down tonight, ground down to my last layer of skin, the thinnest wall to break before hitting blood and raw flesh. I cried earlier, wracking torn by careless nails clawing down my back, calling my name. It’s strange to feel not happy after so many days of it. It’s really a return to norm, but it feels so utterly strange and crushing, like parts of my soul are bruised to match my weary wrecked body. I need sleep.

I feel like a straight man

As a sincere apology for the last post, I give you Norwegian Performance Art Total Eclipse of the Heart.

Their name is Hurra Torpedo. They’re apparently one of many bands formed by the music collective Gartnerlosjen, (which translates roughly as The Fraternal Lodge of Gardeners). The lead singer, (Kristopher Schau), is also the singer of a band called Cumshots, which I’ve heard of though never heard. If anyone has some, I would like to try it out…

Also, for those who missed it the first time, Greenskeeper, (a band I only know because they’re close with Jay), released a video on-line a few months ago which spread like wildfire among a very certain sort of person. I’ve no idea how popular it was on the net as a whole, (or if anyone has ever heard of this band), but it’s sincerely one of my favourite peices of media. I feel obscurely touched that I was one of the first ten people to get it and even more thrilled that I get to pass it on.

Put the Lotion in the Basket.

To perhaps convey my personality a little more concisely to the world; I sing this in public.

Loudly.

While dancing.