Author: foxtongue

The bus ride itself was painfully bouncy. We girls had to fortify ourselves against the relentless jolting and the boys laughed, but were kind. (As kind as we ever are in groups, I suppose). Ouur route didn’t particularly go anywhere, back and forth meandering alomost ever street in Vancouver, and the driver had an amusing tendency to make silly noises inadvertantly over the microphone. There was a little girl on board we all made faces at who waved us goodbye when we we decided to get off at the Bayshore for the Coal Harbour tourcruise. I think Sophie wants one.

We walked around the outside of the hotel, along the water, rather than cutting through. We were late for the boat, approching in time to see it paddle off, but we certainly didn’t mind. There was a park to go lounge about in, laying in the grass to eat our candies. Walking along the water is always more pleasant, though the water was brackish and terrible. There was such a layer of gunk that we were surprised to discover jellyfish in the water by the dock where we recieved our tickets. I’d never seen one before not in a tank. The tickets were amusing in a silly sort of way. The had Pedro and James’ names on them and the word escort on capital letters. Exactly the sort of fodder for our war of wit conversations.

Today was a wonderful day, full of people/trust/kissing/singing/love/secrets. I woke surprised last night by James, (a new moment, one that had never happened before. I suppose things have been shifting again lately, we mustn’t speak of certain things before dreaming), but fell asleep to be woken again this morning. I was tired, but not too much to bear. I knew I would burn today and I have. The white borrowed shirt with it’s attractively stiff collar didn’t protect my face from the fusion. Bright red angry skin. The cool cloth seems to tear me.

We met with Sophie at Broadway and Commercial and Pedro at Waterfront. From there we walked to the Pan Pacific, where I briefly imagined Andrew dying in his suit and tie, locked in a plain white room with nothing but seemingly expensive utilatarian furniture. We were luckier in our destination. There is a water fountain out front and there we parked, waiting for the double decker bus. I eventually kicked off my shoes and went from soaking my feet to full on public fountain wading, skirts hiked up my thighs and still getting the hems wet. I liked walking where you wanted to take pictures of me. When do I get to see them? You made me feel appreciated somehow in a way I don’t think about. Sophie splashed around too, though I think the photos will say I was likelier to get in trouble with the authorities.

When the bus came we sat in the back on top, taking over the entire section. The pairing for the day had begun, James and I on one side and Pedro and Sophie on the other. The tour began with pointing out “interesting” shopping opportunities and the “fascinating” architecture of other local places one could also spend money in. “On the left we see the only stone church in downtown Vancouver. Thier doors are open almost every day to anyone”. Sophie pointed out that due to the renovations there was DANGER TO ENTER tape up in front of the doorways. More than appropriate for a so-called house of ghod.

a meme used to track memes. This must be a good thing.

From back when I put time into writing:

2000

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Meeting then knowing for five minutes/forever inimitable unknowable always known knowledge deeply softly unmentioned understanding ~ Not knowing past yet aware of essence in situ of personal loss of self ~ Never defining, declining, the copperplate precision in dancing molecules of lightning fast empathetic connection ~ Flames blossoming on-screen amid laughter ~ Kamikaze technology ~ Granting unsaid boons unbeknownst to the receivers ~ Discussions of confusing clarity ~ Refusing to be sucked in ~ Don’t think of surrender ~ Refusing to lose control of an inner dialogue ~ Release is always so hard ~ Perhaps only for me ~ ~ ~
Breaking through to morning of times past…

Awoken by a typewriter of birds banging out sonnets in the rosebush outside my window, (And wilt thou have me fashion into speech DING! Line Space. Carriage Return. The love I bear thee, finding words enough DING! The birds hacking it out), with a name upon my lips that tastes of tainted honey. My mind still reaching for the dark feminine underbelly of dreamscapes freedom. The image of a man facing half away from me. There is a wind. A rooftop with an ocean of orange light. “When will that happen?” No mention of green plastic foreign made forks. It is yet to happen, as is the scene grasped and held, is still now cradled in the future.

Later dancing in black lace for my minds implosion. Sweetest was the effortless, the (un)forbidden touch while block breaking beats pounding rhythmically from the exbank vault deafen the highgilted walls. A small furry animals care in locking the bars softly assuring that there will only be the little deaths tonight. Knowing that the constellations of this step have been etched only over years, but the irony releases the wallflower to bloom in a tangled back seat. Ticklefighters caught embarrassed in the moment of being on top. Laughing inside my head at this embrace behind the door. Gleeful in possessing secret knowledge, I dance half hour more before ruining his ego.

Lights sinuously revealing equally jagged movement. Apples nectar fades to an old flash of pain in a car moving east. The warmth spreading, a hidden inner smile revealed in a cradled chin. A thank you never said for a moment of contact. Looking back on that day with almost pain empty in my chest. Regrets in mine head screaming to me that there’s a deep wrongness in any friend that could grow such hungry puerile demanding inside.

Remembering… {sighs} Always a painful endeavor. I have traveled to a place that I remember from my youth. Its glass citadels settling their shapes into a framework I did not know existed within myself. Flashes of being a child and still trusting my father. Riding in an orange van to an unknown destination with strangers met in the street not twenty-four hours before. Feeling safe, warm, and welcome. Healing those that require a touch in the dark and real name, whispered name. [Meeting then knowing for five minutes/forever inimitable unknowable always known knowledge deeply softly unmentioned understanding]

I had forgotten so much…

There is a joyful freedom in strength *(?)* recalled

I smile more now that I have returned. Inner voice uplifted. Scars are souvenirs that cannot be lost, yet now it is possible to thank them again for being a part of my form, for helping define the shape of the letters that burn in darkness on the inside of my skull.

Visiting often with my uninteresting would-be stalker. Never knowing that facts could tie an ice-cream truck to a SWAT team within my reality. Never knowing that such interest could lay behind the door that was ever closed. Blackbeards many wives coming to fore and winning inside the ancient corkscrew turnings of ignored horror movie scripts. Fuzzy logic and String Theory collide in a bed, soft with night tinted bedding with no screaming from the shower to break the silence.

Finding an old phone number in an old computer file and calling up with the off chance of an answer. Remembered busstop meeting from over a year ago tearing through a strangers psyche. Saying goodbye and being taken by surprise when she tried to steal a kiss. A slippery tongue against my closed lips proof of another lost to the charms that I must assume are mine.

Still always wishing deeply that the art of keeping a secret from myself has been buried and lost.

Meeting and finding interest hiding in a redclad stranger. The Norns enjoying the pattern embedded in flesh. Creating a year, a decade, and a century, all in a day. Simplicity bemused when written into a mythical will of whimsicalities. Never showing the surprise when egging on so easily wins a view of the city. Carrying joy in my company and no longer sad with seeing them fall.

Knowing it won’t be true for maybe never still

A moment snatched together at the top of the stairs. Everyone in green and only now beginning to end the game of trying to curtail the snake. Distracted laughter drunkenly drifting through the banister railings absorbed and ignored by our conversation. Revelations that we did not need to know bestowed upon fascinated ears. The rapture is coming in the time intervening, an apology half whispered couples violently with the kisses upon my neck. The uninstinct overwhelming with a silent shout of ‘mine’ echoing through my system.

Stonefaced angels caught in the raintorrent of singing. The beacon of my voice sweeping the graves while I stand atop where a marker once stood. Overlooking, blending in, pretending to be part of a russet lit plain filled with decaying personalities in wool twined business suits. Behind me, the maestro approaches the muse and gifts her with a glimpse of the gray galleon in which he rode the weather. Returning to the kitchen, stepping to the melody of mutual cooking, a glimpse of desire unnerving with the bloodpull upon me. Still wanting to fight my battle, yet uncertain of the consequences and how to win, I will temporarily decide to lose to unsurity and the moment of contact.

Instant understanding comes only to those who wait with intent.

There’s no learning curve if I never have to struggle.

James and I went out for cake last night. Wazubi’s was closed, so we went to the coffeebar next door. I love how small this city is.

I finally have what I want.

Nathanial was there. I caught him by the way he moves. The way his hands brush his hair behind his shoulders, his laugh and his nod. I was suddenly shocked. There was a swell of memory, washing away any thoughts. his face through the keyhole, the family photos working on, standing naked while he sketched, his knees on the hardwood floor. My heart kicked. I felt obscurely glad that my blonde clone was obviously no longer. cooking my feet playing hackysack in the alley, the marijuana I was growing on the porch, the man at the shop as I bought the condoms we’d never use (I ran into Chetan that day, and the sageman again, I waited at home for you and you brought her. I had never slept with someone so uncomfortable as gavin was that night.) As soon as I saw him I knew I would ask. As soon as I looked, I knew who he hadn’t slept with yet. I knew he knew the girl in the wheelchair better than he knew me. I knew that I would, if need be, take him by the arm and terrify him again. “there is no destiny, but you can still talk to me”

I’d forgotten how pretty he is, how handsome, how our interactions were so emotionless. I know he thought of me before going to sleep. I know he had a flash of those days too, but he hardly looks different.

 

 

Years ago, I was home sick from school, and being the lover of videos that I am, I had the channel turned to MuchMusic. One came on and I missed the title, but it turned out to be one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I scrambled for pen and paper but they didn’t put the name up on the way out.

It opens on a girl/doll sprawled on a chair in front of a backdrop. She’s painted gold and it is a simple wooden chair. The music starts and so does she. She dances smoothly and gracefully, with the movement of an automaton. The entire video is a shot of her dancing to the music.

If anyone could tell me the band or the song name or anything relating to it, I would be very very grateful.

Can anyone tell me what it is?

I think I’m evil for everyone, actually, but don’t remember this particular thing coming up

well, not with you perhaps

it may just be a theme of mine continuing along softly these days

I’ve been feeling very very lonely while being surrounded by people who care about me

It’s an odd dichotomy

and it makes me uncomfortable, but I remember life being a little like this before

before I had something to hide behind, I had a lover back east

now it’s just me, alone, facing people who want to hold sway. have dominion, share flesh and feelings

ah – but see – that us

I don’t know which us there is or wcould be or that I might even want or that you desire

I’ve been very uncertain lately. How many of my desires have been real or imagined. I’ve been deciding they’re all artifacts of the void. The not having someone makes me want someone.

I don’t think that’s fair to inflict on anyone

if it helps, I have these sudden urges to throw myself upon someone, to savage them and have my way with them, but, really – how much of that is true? Yes, there is that clenching surge of want, but I know it’s idealized desires.

you’re going to likely have a much easier time of it

at the moment, I can’t even know how to which extent I like people or desire them or anything even related to such interactions

how much is flirtatious fiction?
is there even anything to get caught up in?
I don’t know if I want to, I wouldn’t know if it were honest

Anyone have any clue as to why it seems all gamers who can, will grow beards??

 I left the house this morning to meet James at Main as he asked me too. My thinking Main station, when he meant at Broadway meant we didn’t hook up, though I certainly hope to tonight. I’ve spent a goodly time wandering downtown trying to catch him at work and failing. I don’t think I could bear one more day of it. *considers attempting to just be there for when he gets home*

Work was work. There were kids who disliked me and others who thought I was wonderful. I’m vaguely curious what it is they say of me on days I don’ t work, but not enough to actually ask. It seems to be arbitrary, and my job is just that. A job. I had an offer to go to Lazertag with Gavin afterwards and that sounded enticing. Running around picking off people with invisible ammo in the dark. The thought kept me bolstered through the last bit of haul. Wasn’t to be though. I’m stuck bored today. Injuries have flared today and so I’m basically caught. Trying to painfully limp out of the way of lightbeams sounds slightly too masochistic.

Someone outside is smoking marijuana. The thick scent is delicately tugging at me. I’m alone right now and feeling it. I want to be years ago, and changing what I did. Knowing what happened. Course, I’ve thought about jumping into people like that before. Being able to go back to when I first met someone, but with everything I know now. “Hi! My name’s Jhayne. You’re going to whisper my name one night and I’m going to hate you for it. You like peanutbuttercup ice-cream and I’m going to introduce you to your favorite movie. We’ll sleep in the same bed when I stay over at your place, and though you’ll want to, we’ll never have sex.”