Month: March 2005

I like that clowngod has the website of a commercial photographer yet reveals wickedly delicious art in his Livejournal. More proof that this is the place to be. I want to show the world such pretties. I want to share with everyone every last candy piece of art I stumble across, but I lose links too often, I can’t post enough past my failing computer. My hard-drive needs a complete back-up and wipe.

Running, it all starts with running. The jar in the teeth when one foot hits the ground, when the other foot follows it. When the moon is full, I think in movement. One hand trailing across his belly, another hand caught in his hair. In my blood is the beat, heartbeat thud, of the feet. Asleep, he’s asleep, which is good, he’s resting, but I’m going to wake him if I’m not careful. The softest skin, that body inertia. Think a moment when you’re in the air, flying. No support here, up on one elbow underneath me. Between steps, my lips, the hair softly falling out of my way. The heat, the wet heat, I can picture it flowing from my mouth like dark wet vapor. I want my hand to flow down like water to find the hidden lines, the places light doesn’t find so often. Chaos theory, depth, assurance of need because I can call this and claim this and he shifts a little in his sleep, hips moving. Warm skin and sweat, exertion running. Cadency breathing, hard pressing muscles moving, it’s piston shift, one foot after the other.

We have fan art by Andrew Dimitt, the creator of Drockleberry.

This is news which makes up for my recently stolen laundry. As I have been towel-less for a few days now, this is saying something. My cold wet mornings and dripped puddles of wet hair are no match for this little piece of smile. I’m surprised at how cheering positive feedback can be.

edit: I do not follow Nicole’s theory that the lady of the night downstairs is currently enjoying my towels, else I would still be bothered, yes indeed. I left a note on the wall downstairs today and tomorrow I knock on doors. Blech. What a way to finally meet the neighbors

By the way, if you’re interested in grace or movement at all, then steal this.

“From the people who gave you the Internet Archive comes Ourmedia, a place for grassroots media to flourish. Upload anything, maybe a video, some pictures, your custom applescript, and it gets hosted for free, for life. Drupal is hosting the site, and the Internet Archive is providing hosting and bandwidth for the files.”

I’m having a hell of a time signing in properly, but I’m hoping this will be as advertised.

There’s quiet little springs on contentment pooling around my feet. They’re pale liquid and dream of one day being the ocean. Large dreams for little puddles, but they’re happy with them, so I don’t mind. Word on the street is a heavy thing to see when it’s revealing secrets that nobody is willing to voice. Myths of Prince Charming never mentioned that he was always out with the hounds or hunting with too much to drink. Born under the year of the bitch just gives me an in. As I’m cleaning, I’m putting aside the relationship drawer. That first foothold empty space that says you live here too. It comes with a toothbrush and access to the bed.

Tyler and Matthew and I went to a piano recital at the Orpheum last night. We sat in the nosebleed section and watched two small figures bring forth bubbles of powerful notes that pressed through the skin to aerate the blood and stop the heart. Pounding moments of crescendo and false signature changes. I wondered that in among all the rococo gold gilt, cream and tan, we humans somehow managed to make beautiful cages for this sound before we knew how sound traveled, before we could see the waves and their movement. How did we construct these shells without the engineering? The set-up for theaters hasn’t changed anytime significantly in the last two hundred years, I think that’s fascinating. The Orpheum has a few modern additions to design, but they are barely noticeable. Panels hung from the ceiling that bow outward to combat the original design curve upward toward the chandelier, for example. Curiously, minus the clear plastic bounce shields above the stage, the additions match the visible flow which was already present. There’s something marvelous how the original architects must have blossomed these buildings in their minds without tools that we would require. What were the skills then? How were the thought processes different? I imagine thought palaces, dreamscapes of memory of verse locked in mental image. I imagine standing and listening, trying to create the proper shape. Golden Mean, gold lining the casements, red velvet curtains dusty to touch but vibrant under candlelight.

I’ve got some ideas rattling around my head. The voices of angels, what they would sound like as raw feed information; explaining my theories on hotel rooms and the gideon bible; the differential inherent in friends and chosen family. I suppose I should explain why I woke in such a dreary mood the other day. When I say I woke with a nosebleed, what I really meant was that I opened my eyes, choked, and watched red fountain arc parabola up then splatter down on me. In spite of being quite the interesting visual effect, it wasn’t a pleasant way to greet the day. Sitting up, my mouth flooded again and again cut off all the air. More bloody mess. By the time I’d barefooted my way to the cold bathroom, I was less than impressed with myself and the blood dripping through my hair, caught in my eyelashes and down my thighs. I felt like a badly cut scene from a horror film. Well, the special effects were pretty, but it wasn’t enough to rescue the acting.

Speaking of atrocious cine, as part of yesterday’s twenty-four hours of Tyler, we sat through the sequel to the Ring. I say no, do not do this. There are a few moments where it’s like they collared a local arts major into directing a few shots, but they’re not pretty enough to make the other hour and fourty-five worth the price of admission. We, however, were lucky enough not to pay for our random moments of vicious deer attack, as we’d met up with Matthew for lunch and he sent us off with a movie pass to help while the time between his wanderin’ off and his wanderin’ back for our evening of Elementary Introduction to Six String Samurai.

Tyler and I get along exceptionally well. It’s like we’ve stumbled upon another one of Us. We, the sane, do hereby declare that the aforementioned isn’t a trick, but honesty. We have a shield of worth and we’ll walk all over you by accident. It’s fun this way, walking down the street arm and arm, skipping loudly to the 7-11 for a slurpee, feeling it in the teeth. I respect friends who bring their own pyjama pants when they invite themselves to stay. Today we’re going to bicycle around on a quest for decent cinnamon buns. They have to be gooey to count. Now if I could only find my underwear, because gods only know where they went last night in this mess.

It’s one of those days again. Over and over again the water droplets comes down like knives thrown into the ground, rain without end, amen. I was scared to leave the house, he had to hold my hand. He looks apiece, his coat and hair and fingers all matched in one certain picture. I have never felt so much like I wanted to be someone else. I can’t help but wish I could explain to my lover why I feel robbed, how it is that something smashed. My heart was beaten over and over again at the wedding, until I returned home feeling tender and let down. Vows, pause, repeat, vows, not mine, but thiers and yours. It’s not a real party unless I come home the next day after breakfast with light in the sky, unless I come home the next day having fallen asleep on a couch or taken over a guestroom. I’m feeling like I need to be wanted more, like somehow I need attention paid to me. I’m not used to it, it took some deciphering to understand. Every letter of want was shifted one over, world war two in a minor key, singing blandly and tiny in a shallow mind. Since when was I concerned about being pretty without irony?

I didn’t make it to Sunday Tea today. Crying myself to sleep didn’t leave me in a state of mind that supplied motivation against the horrid hill that he lives atop of. Instead I went downtown and dealt with some things which needing sorting. One foot after the other, eyes glazed purchasing of pre-planned presents. (tikiking, I have your return package ready.) Someone stole my laundry that I left overnight in the washing room, but I haven’t replaced my towels yet. I woke early after going to bed late with my mouth full of iron blood, and warmth streaming down my face. The sun was just rising when I went to spit it out. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt like cockroaches must be living under my skin in an alternate reality. Blank eyes in a pale uninteresting face smeared with crimson. There’s nothing behind those eyes, I thought to myself, I can’t find a person there.

I have two hundred plus pictures to go through, and I’m putting it off until when I have nothing better to do tonight. I would tell you the wedding was beautiful, but I don’t know. As I was only two feet away from the bride, I couldn’t see the event much as a spectator. They’re on honeymoon now, Powell River I think, or another similar place up the coast a few hours drive away.

I knew about the walking down the aisle to the theme of Jurassic Park, I was not, however, told we would be walking down a second time and then to the theme of Star Wars. I suppose it was inevitable. I should have seen it coming.

Today it was hard to leave the house. I had to have company.

Sleep is whispering at me that she hates me. I kicked her brother in the belly at the beach and elbowed her grandmother in the ribs at the grocery line-up. I stand on stage in under twelve hours as Steve and Jenn say their chosen pledge words though I have yet to sleep from yesterday. However, I’ve been informed that I’m expected to arrive in ringlets and some sort of face-paint and I’m almost certain that in a few hours those sorts of places open. I’m half torn that I arrived home to an empty bed. I might have slept if there was someone in it. I got back at two:thirty in the morning, it was a possibility. “It’s not like I lock my door.”

People were so happy tonight. When I see everyone smile, it’s like a light clicking on. There was something about Jenn’s expression as she walked toward the stage in her jeans and little white shirt that made it special, even as a rehearsal. I could taste her joyful anticipation. She’s in love with him. She’s so very in love with him. Standing tip toe on the top step of a warped ladder, plastered against a wall to place thumbtacks full of tulle wasn’t on my expected list of things-to-do, but that made it worth it. I’m walking down an aisle and trying to place meaning on it, but that might have to simply be it. They’re in love and that means something again. I understand aspects of wanting to spend the rest of a life together. Over dinner we, the entire table, made fun of my married state with a married man. I can’t catch the bouquet, that would be depressing. I would cry. – Yes dear, but so would Rick if he caught it. It was acceptance in a rainy sort of bright sunshine, it was sweet. Almost everyone present had spoken vows. In an obscure way, you count as married, don’t worry about it. Then we went onto our more usual conversations of spatial theory, (Kalev and Consuela tried to explain fourth dimension objects to me with Derek scribbling factors on a napkin), the pop psychology inherent in the placement of Gideon Bibles, (I’ll have to get into this deeper at some point, because I think I have a rather valid point), and some generally complicated bits of language. (I paused when I realized that I was keeping up with these people on no sleep, “where is my foot and why is it not placed in my mouth?” but then dessert came and cleared all thoughts away because with dessert came fire). It’s known that in my heart we’re kept.

It’s going to be a mix of oddly decent people; it’s going to be embarrassing moment and people doubling over in laughter. I’m not worried that I’m going to trip because I turned to my aisle partner and solidly informed him that If I’m Going Down I’m Taking Him With Me. They gave us glasses with our names engraved; there’s so many details to this ritual which never would have occurred to me. It’s blinding the amount of planning, the sheer number of details to keep track of. Tear down will be simple, I made certain of it. Dishes may be the only thing to be concerned with, gathering the empties to leave it back in pristine condition for eight Sunday morning. Even the tables must be back in their exact positions. In me there’s surprise that these events don’t come with a stage manager.

This is going to be entertaining, Angus claims, and I believe him. This will be an experience of a sort perhaps never to be repeated. These two people should not marry anyone else, the arrangements are so unique that they might piss off anyone else. We’re walking to the stage to the Jurassic Park theme, Jedi robes are banned until the Reception, and the tables are labeled with the names and colours of Family Houses from a space opera that they both love. I’m impressed in so many ways that I can’t find the words to describe them so close to five a.m.

Holy Hell – it’s five a.m. Ray arrives at noon.

I suppose I should toss that sleep coin again. To be productive and filmy later and rely on my vampiric social tendencies to keep my alive or to collapse from my fingers to my toes into a hard bout of sleep? Is there anything I can wait for with any decency right now? Likely not. I’m going to set an alarm for three hours farther down the road. That fourth dimension thing, but not in geometry, in literal consequence spilling from my tired lips. I can build a structure judging by eye, but I cannot rebuild my own cells by concentrating. Not yet.

I am curious as to the steps required to make things happen. I’m hoping for undefined creativity, I suppose. Adventure and excitement and spinning the world around on the tip of a finger. I have no goals in mind but to find somewhere else to live, to find something I might like to do. I’m one of the young with no direction, no reason much for anything, and it chafes. Nicole dropped on-line the other day announcing that she’d found painfully cheap airfare for one week in London, all expenses paid, but for March 23rd. Not enough time for us to get our passports, but now we have a bit of a push. I’m sending letters to the lawyers today, getting a line on more work, more hours. Paperwork dominion, pushing letters down on a keyboard for a screen for fifteen bucks an hour. It’s repetitive, but he’ll sign the passport photo and I always get a hundred dollar bonus.

I took a photograph earlier to see how many party-goers I could catch in frame at once. The answer is apparently seventeen, and that was merely the livingroom. (We are cuddly people and comfortable with one another). In one respect, I was reminded of SinCity; I forget, occasionally, that it’s possible for me to know that many people in one place. There are names and faces realigned, assigned to people again. I have a bad habit of making more of an impression on people than I receive due to the sheer number of people I encounter. The wedding on Saturday should be a bit of an adventure. I was informed that I am no longer to walk the aisle with Kalev, as we would be too likely to scheme some amusing joke if left to our own devices together, such as skipping down the aisle or creating a make-shift explosive bouquet.

I also forget just how much girly, therefore drinkable, alcohol arrives with Jenn‘s guests. There was holy hand grenade liquer, (a thick raspberry mystery), and Angus handed me something from his utili-kilt that tasted like cinnamon hearts. As an example of just how many strange drinks must have been mixed, let me just say that at one point Anthony was on his knees extracting Navi’s brassiere from inside Matthew’s pants with his teeth and they were the sober people.

It seems that there’s a party tomorrow night as well and hints that Saturday’s wedding may bleed into Sunday Tea, (this week held at Derek‘s place), so for all the odd clothing and strange ritualized behaviour upcoming, this is looking to be a pleasantly sleepless four day weekend. At this point, I’m hoping that people will remind me to insert food, because looking from here to then? I already know I’m going to forget.