Author: foxtongue

I talked to Bill this evening and it was like being welcomed home.

People crept quietly on cats paws raised
in defense of noise in defensively
the film reel will catch hesitation
basic betrayal in the street car line

I have key words I need to expand. I want to stop falling back on blood, bones, breath, water, and shimmering stone. The sci-fi entwined in the concept of self to the point where I don’t have friends anymore. Cool sweet strangers, I love thee like pixelation, sweep me off my feet. It’s worse when I see them on the street. My eyes telling me that that god-damnit is how they would move.

Honey intentions, it’s alright. This is therapy, love. I take this word and that question and make it my own to heal you with. I don’t have to get involved in your little joy. I don’t intend to. The two way street is horrid in it’s simplicity. It is sublime to be wanted and not needed later, if only for ten minutes. Kiss me, but don’t make it mean anything.

There’s a kid in chat who writes me stories and I can’t write anything back. I get caught in my need for a story and my elusive penchant for creating rather adult interaction. I don’t know how to write stories, I don’t know how to make a beginning, a middle, and an end. The plot thing escapes me. The theory and plan that live inside me are so inadequate for stories that it’s laughable. I feel ridiculous for even claiming the word writing, no matter that this is made of words.

The wave of heat blasted into them after the air-conditioned plane. They blinked, unable to focus their eyes through the wavering air rising off the tarmac. “Of all the places in the world to visit, I chose this city.” A painful glare coalesced into an approaching white mini-truck on fat orange tires. “Dear lord, they must be kidding.” The driver stepped out, ignoring the passengers for his headphones that had apparently slipped out of place, his long braided hair caught in the wires.

you’ve met, but breifly

Elegant pretending, talk to me again about your thoughts at night.

You have come into town unexpectedly. We stay up until four in the morning talking, when dawn comes I am exhausted with my head in your lap. I’m sweetly unconcious when you hear keys in the hallway lock, the shimmery jingle and hard clunk of the bolt turning. You falsely assume it is my roommate. When my door slivers open, you are surprised but quiet. The man in the doorway was expecting to creep in, undress, and slip into bed with me. Instead, you are here and I am asleep, a question mark form with your hand on my head. “Shh,” you say, “She’s asleep. Come in.”

I don’t know, but I think that night I sleep alone on the couch.
You two are adults, you figure it out.

like a horror movie where everyone is your best friend as long as you have the right connections

I don’t know when it becomes real that I’m leaving this city. Do I take a tiny step somewhere that transforms reality? When I swing my feet from the bed to rest on carpet a moment before standing my weight upon them, is that it? When I sit and close the car door behind me with a hollow slam or when the doors automatically swish closed behind me at the airport? Is it that final irrevocable click of the airplane’s blue seatbelt? Where is the change between might be and is? Where is the moment between wondering and now?

Everyone tells me they hate L.A. How the air is a brown stew haze of the lungs shallow graves and the people are vacant on the inside of their eyes, but I like the city. There’s a burgeoning cultural morass that solidifies under the pressure of thousands of creative human beings. I can respect that, however sordid the personalities involved. If I luck out, I can glory in it.

I know how often the airplanes crash, I know how truly dangerous flying is. The statistics the companies let out are very carefully selected. I think it adds to my thrilled machine enjoyment of the things. A gleaming metal cylinder that flies with people in it tongue ties me with a sci-fi thrill, envy we that we have this tube sloshing with gasoline that can show us the tops of clouds.

I am bored while outside Zeus frolicked in a million minds. Yes, keep me here, hung above forever.

you look at me and your eyes flash fire, a feral gleam coloured green like a cat.

I require care

Miles of my nerves withstood dissolution yesterday, but eventually they cracked under vile pressure, shattering my hold on composure. It took her five hours, but she made me cry. I wonder what happened to her to lack honour, like the hatch was opened and heart taken from her. When it was done, I left feeling bathed in hate, hostility had soaked into my hair, my flesh, this impermeable wash of attack. When it was over.

It’s over.

I walked home the long way, catching the train from Granville to Broadway, because I was needing people, needing family. Devon waved to me, walking the other way along the platform. I’ve never seen him with his hair back and it lifted me a little, just a smile carving my face into friendliness. I need my home to be people again, I feel single and sick.

Keely was outside J.J. Bean chattering with a sweet blond woman whose name I already have forgotten. A giant bear hug of a girl, Keely is cheerful and welcoming. I went along with her grocery shopping and we caught up on everyone I never see anymore. I laughed when I found out that everyone’s slept with Ali and that everyone complains. Our old group lays in ruins now, people vanishing or drug fucking themselves out of being people. We sat in her livingroom and played with the cats, trying to pinpoint the day when the the old world lost it’s face. The old night still runs but we never go. No-one ever does. I remember when our ravers were happy, when there was something happening there that was special. It’s a little like little Sean and tall Micheal, they were the Angels of the House of Slack that we still search for. If we’re lucky we’ll find them one day. Walking down the street, they’ll call out our name and we’ll turn to face the glory of the personal god Joy.

I need to sleep for more than three hours every night.

She walked me almost the whole way home, music in my soul. Our hands and feet show us as happy people, weaving patterns in silly swirls down the river street. Water conversation, rippling through shops and pet food and organic fluctuations of on-topic fate. I’ve missed being with people so free with their form. I miss the people who cuddle as an inaction, like I do. I left her in the courtyard next to Sweet Cherabim, the both of us singing After Midnight as we faded out of earshot. Robin was outside looking cold when I walked up. I don’t know how long he’d been waiting, but James was inside. Friends were on-line to open chatwindow arms in welcome. Concern chained to keyboards, I fell into my chair exhausted, glad for once they couldn’t see me. Ray arrived, and everyone said I looked sick. I was, I am. I felt like I’d walked into the Oven that Nebuchadnezzar built. His name means tears and groans of judgment. His name had been carved into every inch of my bones like the name of Rama in the white monkey.

Ghost in the Machine helped. Innocence devouring me whole, I’m beginning to suspect that I’ve developed a mild fetish for good sci-fi. Aiden and Ray and Robin and I went to Taffs first, Aiden requiring an escape as his girl Nicole was across the street at the Tea Party as the soundguys ex-girlfriend.

Now I go to meet with Silva for the evening. De-toxify the pains of nasty interaction with love and bakery.

Looks like Monday I leave for L.A.