Author: foxtongue

I found today in waking that I don’t need sleep as much as I need food. Part of me is dizzy while the other is railing at my attempt at excess. I was aware to see dawn today, I was aware when I left scarlet lines down his body in complaint. Before I leave the house I’m going to take a shower and brush my teeth and wonder about stem cell research as it occurs to me for the thousandth time that I should scrub the grout from between the tiles, every black speck a new colony of something alive. It’s what I do in the morning, in spite of the fact that it’s almost noon. I’m assuming that we’re sentimental enough to be forgiving. I’m assuming a lot of things, least of all that he’s alive still, that he hasn’t bled out. I think about the marks I left with a sad dose of heavenly pragmatacism. I could draw lines on this body without any effort. It would be too easy to create scarlet spires and cities on such pale skin. I never would have guessed that alone. Disappointment is harder to carry after surprise. Think on the words let down as if one had been carried before, buoyed up above the shoulders of something strong, and had then stepped to the ground. This was voluntary, of this I’m aware. I shook off the hands and fell to the floor, landing lightly out of habit. This is a familiar nation. They’re not a spy the way I am, they didn’t automatically have a passkey. Feet up on the windowsill, I look at trees and a sliver of sky and I think again about how the lines created at my fingertips. There’s a metaphor there somewhere.

My friends page flaunts its rockstar status today as coffeeshakes, theremina, kylecassidy, and evi_13thchild all spill about thier lovely time as photographers at the NIN/Dresden Dolls show last night.

In other news, the piano man may have been identified. I’ve been enthralled with the story, it’s given me a magic rush of wonder and joy. I want to hear him play, I want a recording of his fingers on the keys. There’s not a lot to make me genuinely happy lately but this? This has been a heartbeat to hold me still in one thundering clap.

(Then again, there’s the antitheses, the man in Holland who skinned his mother. He was seen directing traffic in her skin and dressed in one of her dresses as he recited texts from the Bible. That’s as wondrous, but the damned other direction.)

Last night was the first lightning storm of the year. The first I’ve seen since taking Gavin out of Calgary almost a year ago. I stood on the Burrard street bridge in soaking Italia rain and drank with my eyes. How time spreads it’s wings over me, it’s a little scary. How will I feel about this in a year? Last year this time it was like the stars were descending and bathing me in silver light and now I’m subtly changed again. This happens all the time, but how often do I notice? Going home was good for me. I found that I knew the streets better than my own life lines, that I was dancing without thinking about it when I stopped for a red light. People tried to give me change when I was waiting for the subway to lightly rumble into station. They gave me change. They gave me conversation and their smiles. The air is different there, like it’s different in L.A. It’s not the pollution count or the change in greenery, either. It’s something more to do with how I taste places, how Los Angeles carries an unidentifiable sheen of new product scent, like every bit of cloth you’ve ever bought from a store before washing has been atomized and sent into the sky, but Toronto has a satisfaction to it, like the buildings are self aware and content with the creatures that scurry around thier solid rectangle feet.

404 baby

404 blackhole

I wonder at myself, that I have been living half in memory this whole month.

Blog Monopoly Board

human sized Monopoly

Sometimes in the evening, I feel very young. The sky drops its light and I close my eyes against it. Then again, in conversation, I’ll speak a spectrum that encompasses more than it should by all rights allow. It’s as if the years in passing have grabbed my head in their hands and forced tongue upon me when kissing their daily blessing.

Melissa brought me out tonight, darling woman that she is. We compared histories, romance fallacy upon romance fallacy. I think we come out close to even, though I’ve yet to properly lose friends over any choices, only lovers that I might have discarded in the long run anyway. It was interesting, hemming the realization into everything that here is a new person I might talk with, hold hands and sit in sand with, our feet splashing in allegory and mythology and amateur music. The Fugitives were the night’s entertainment. CR and Barbara and Brandon and Mark Berube pounding words into us, throwing piano man rhymes at the audience like a net to catch our hearts with. Song and music, beat box and microphone yelling. It was good, they’re always good. There’s a glut of brilliance on that stage, I thought, and I can’t imagine how many people of this caliber talent must be playing little restaurants and tiny little coffee-shops all around the globe even just tonight. There must be thousands. It irritates me that these are never recorded, I said, and my nails scratched the tabletop before I looked up and started to sing along. I knew almost all the songs, all the skeins of poetry made available to us, the performer’s glory familiar and hard/easy to hold.

If you only watch two video this week, make it these:

McCouture for Women
McCouture for Men

The way that other cultures re-mix ours is simply delightful. Also, the brain, it balks.

50 nifty ipod tricks

50 x 2 years of vegas

50’s, on becoming a woman

Listen

with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridge to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water looking out
in different directions

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you
in a culture up to its chin in shame
living in the stench it has chosen we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the back door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks that use us we are saying thank you
with the crooks in office with the rich and fashionable
unchanged we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us
our lost feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster and faster then the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us like the earth
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
we are saying thank you and waving
dark though it is

~~ W.S. Merwin

x-rays of piercings

x-rays, what kids eat

x-ray art photography

How erased can one life manage to be in one week? I was under the impression that I had some sort of job security. I thought I was a rather invisible citizen, someone who was rained on in the evening, but not a person of any note or worth to the eyes of the law. I had a lover, but I could be a recording now, a phone number with no one to ever pick up the poisoned phone. Three zero two… This is a bowed back week, a mortal weight that presses my eyes like hands. Instead of girlish reactions, I’m gathering tears in my lungs, little water droplets that need to be spit out. I suspect I need some laughter. I’ve skinned my knees on the blacktop this week, but I don’t need to be kissed better. I need to tear up the playground and let grass grow. Something new and a different texture.

Does anyone know of anywhere hiring?

This was my reply letter to my now-former employer,

It seems more than reasonable that a period of employment lasting over a year would be granted more notice than “effective immediately”. If the job I performed was under review, I would have preferred to be informed of this especially considering that this is my primary employment. While the terms of this employment seemed contractual in nature, and therefore no notice is technically required, given my long standing positive relationship with this company I expected more than four days notice.

I feel I must comment as to the inappropriate and discourteous nature of this termination and believe it is more than reasonable to expect some form of severance pay to cover my expenses until the end of the month.

My received answer,

Jhayne. I feel that my notice to you was very courteous. As a contractor there is not any termination policy. We regret that things did not work out for you here at Kidzworld.

Good luck in the future.

Regards,

Allen

Far too rote for my tastes, but that’s where it ends. I have been lucky enough in that Adrian has sent me a KW schedule that has my name on it, giving me proof of employment, (which otherwise I would not have), and I fully intend on photocopying the cheque I’ve to pick up still.

Would you believe arrested and fired in the same week?

Jhayne. I am writing to let you know that we will no longer require you to be a chat monitor for Kidzworld on the weekends. Changes within the company have led to our making some personnel changes that unfortunately do not include you.

We thank you for your past efforts of behalf of Kidzworld and wish you well in the future.

Regards,

Allen W. Achilles
President
Kidzworld Media