Author: foxtongue

Angus is on the phone. I think he’s nervous. I feel evil.

It’s wet and miserable out, but he didn’t know it. He called me as soon as he got up. We’re talking hours of sleep and accident damage. Politics has come up as well, the scotsman uncertainty of poetry and republicanism. It’s been almost two hours. I’m still being referred to as having asked him out on a date. I’m so very in trouble.

Shane apparently last night caught word and referred to me as the “undiscovered country” where he “fell hard when he struck out”. The ice-queen aura made of sweetness and light and asexuality has apparently been re-attached to me through the poets.

I just looked at a clock I expected to read one in the morning. Instead it reads four. Misery, company, you know the equation. Here. Deal.

Tony Blair opens a new wing to an Edinburgh hospital. After cutting the ribbon, the British prime minister tours a ward, filled with patients who seem to have no obvious injury. He greets a bearded chap, who replies:

“Fair fa’ your honest sonsie face, Great chieftain e’the puddin’ race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o’a grace. As lang’s my arm.”

Blair — somewhat confused — nods, grins and moves on to the next patient, to ask how he’s getting along. The man shakes his head and mutters:

“Some hae meat, and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it, But we hae meat and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.”

Blair turns to a third patient, an older man in a tam, who cries:

“Wee sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an chase thee, Wi murdering pattle!”

Sweating bullets, Blair turns to the senior doctor accompanying him. “What sort of ward is this?” he whispers. “Are they psychiatric patients?”

“No,” replies the doctor, “It’s the Burns unit.”

this next one as posted by donkey_hokey, which is a strong warning name if I ever saw one

After many adventures in Pointland, Lineland, and Flatland, Ferdinand Feghoot waved goodbye to an equilateral triangle and began his journey home to three-dimensional space. Alas, along the way, his Dimensional Extrapolator failed, and when he stepped outside he found himself, not in his backyard as expected, but in a world occupied only by numbers.

Feghoot explored his surroundings curiously. Across the street, a 3/4ths played soccer with an attractive young 5/8ths, while a stern-looking 16/25ths watched in silence. Other numbers slid around the area, screeching about fractions that had recently been halved and screaming about friends’ plans to exchange common denominators. The cacophony was so deafening that Feghoot had to plug his ears with his index fingers.

In the sudden silence, he noticed the most amazing thing of all: A decimal point rolled down the road, followed first by one three, then another, then another, then another, creating a very long train of .333333333. Indeed, Feghoot realized, the threes continued out to infinity.

Feghoot unplugged his ears, approached the first three, and said, “Greetings! I’m a visitor from another world, and I must say, I find you fascinating. Are repeating decimals such as yourself common here?”

A mouth on the decimal point opened, closed, and opened again. Feghoot thought he heard a distant scratchy cough, but he couldn’t make out any words. Then the decimal point tumbled away down the street, followed by its trail of threes.

“My,” said Feghoot, “but that was very rude.”

The 16/25ths across the street heard him. She shouted, “What more did you expect?”

Feghoot cringed at the noise and plugged his ears again. “I had hoped he would answer my question,” he said.

“But he did!” Her five wobbled in anger. “You just couldn’t hear him, for he doesn’t speak very loudly.”

“Why not? All of the rest of you talk with, ah, rather adequate volume.”

“Of course we do,” she said, “but then everyone knows that fractions speak louder than thirds.”

Today has been an amusing day. I woke up to the ferret, the alarm, the phone, then the phone again, (which was really the last straw), and yet Ethan has the superpowers of a log. He slept through all but the ferret, (which goes to show the creature is just as insistent as I thought), leaving me to my computer for a few interesting hours. His eyes finally crawled open at two, at which point after much muttering and attempting to wake up, we went for breakfast and pie. The pie was a second thought and we ate it by hand in the park. Organic blueberries and Skatia asleep in my lap. When we stepped from my house, I immediately turned back, “No – today I need my camera”. It was crisp, it was ethereal and so real all at once. A mix of golden leaves and blue blue sky. I was organized. I was prepared. I had camera and film within three minutes of stepping in but I found that once I’d snapped in the film, I hadn’t batteries. Such is life. We walked toward trees made of Tim Burton films and Ethan told me simply to enjoy it. Didn’t help much, I wanted to show everyone. “Give it to the people who aren’t here”. The pie almost made up for it. We sat in the park with orange juice and bakery wraps until the sun went away. Two little girls came up to us and the more talkative one asked me the best question that anyone has ever asked me of my ferret. “Is he made of blood and bones?”

Another nicety of the day is something I found on my “friends” page:

Kyle’s doing. He’s adorable. Really. Multiplay is the arcade that Victoria’s family owns that both her and Kyle work at on the weekends. That is not the slogan sadly, but this proves to me once and for all that my photography isn’t half bad. Why would people still be playing with it a month later otherwise?

What will make this day memorable though, even more so than Kyle’s fascination with my breasts, was my moment of utter brilliance earlier tonight.

I asked Angus out.

I think on a date.

By accident.

We were saying hello after the bi-weekly Cafe Du Soliex poetry slam and as he gave me a hug I said to him, “Hello! I’m going to ask you out now. Want to go to a movie?” at which point the dialogue continued inside my head, “wait – you just used the word out. … fuck” as he lit up delighted. Yes, the glorious scotsman Miss Svelt. I am a bad, bad person. I love the man dearly, so I was glad to mayhap rescue myself with a bit of wit, “This isn’t a date thing, is it? I thought only kinky people went on dates”, but I think I’ve sort of tied a knot to hang myself with. Or at least one for his roommate who was rather in love with me. Yeah. I should learn this whole semantics thing a bit better before talking with humans. I’ve written something for his roommate now that I very much need to say sometime. Get up at the mike and speak. I don’t know how well it will go over. I can’t say what I’ve written isn’t tripe, as I simply do not know. I think I’m doing it anyway. Damn the torpedoes because before? Torpedoes were mines, not rockets.

in return for   making me,

which is so sweetly terrific that I actually blushed,

I’ve made

 

edit: and one for angrybunnyman

:

 

Like you
I love you
This delicate beating wings of heart bound
______it’s joy and glory
forgettable persephone face

At some point sleep will have to happen. I work in six hours for seven hours. With children. The children of middle america in all their sex-starved television pap addled flag-waving glory. This is not looking very positive. The sky outside is an ugly orange bruise and I missed my chance at dancing this month.

Maybe I need someone to curl up with. A warm thing to hold me and breathe with limbs entangled, legs scissored together, hands caught in hair. I can’t claim it would help, but it’s the thought that slips under my eyelids when I lie awake in the dark tonight. The only change I can think of. It’s not that I’m not tired. I am frankly exhausted, but in spite of the pillows and the blankets and the twisted piles of velvet and silks that I’ve been filling my bed with, it still feels empty. There’s an absence, like I might reach out and feel fine desert sand where my sheets should be. Hollow spaces reaching to the horizons of my room with the voice of an empty heart.

I’m so cold tonight. I’m considering making hot chocolate but to leave my room would be to admit defeat. Chilled skin and stiff fingers, I’m curling in on myself to save heat. There’s plenty of blankets but no warmth. This could also be part of the problem, but I suspect it’s more symptomatic. I notice because right now I notice everything. The texture of the comforter, the way my earring catches on Prospero’s fur, the weight of my teeth, the taste on my tongue that tells me my body needs to heal and rest. It’s a peculiar feeling, being aware of the mattress depressing with the weight of this thinking meat. I don’t like it very much.

Alrighty – I am up at three:thirty in the morning kicking myself for forgetting it’s the second saturday of the month today. To make up for it to the folk who expected to see me tarted up earlier this evening, here’s some music. I’ve hooked my friend Bobbi up to Mperia. So far there’s only one song, but it’s so Cruxshadows as to be adorable. I had to put it on repeat simply for the hyper eigthies lyrics. I can’t imagine how many scads of gothlets must have thought he was dreamy around the time I was six. Peer pressure will make him put more music up, more recent music, I promise. Let’s get cracking – check him out.

I’m tired. Physically it feels like there’s been hot wires implanted into my muscles that snap when I move. I have to switch over a daytime schedule. I have to pamper my right arm so it doesn’t fall off during work. I’m starting to worry about syndromes and sicknesses. Trapped for seven hours on-line, I have nothing to do but stay there after and the tendons are incredibly unimpressed. They complain with swelling lines of fire. I used to wrap my damaged wrists when I was younger, I may have to again to keep myself from raised lines of carpel tunnel. Bind myself from using my mouse right handed. I watch myself get worse and then forget. Typing is starting to hurt.

It seems more people are reading though less are commenting. I’m beginning to be curious. How on earth can I keep track?

The times are a’changing. Silva‘s moving and so is Angus, they’re going to be living mere blocks from one another. More reason to leave my house heading east on Hastings. Ride towards the rollarcoaster, go into the light. My boy Alastair‘s been sending me a story seed from L.A.  Nanobots and coma recovery, it’s odd and sci-fi and I suspect he’s thinking about it too much. He’s taking it into places I can’t access. I hope to see him soon, there are vague machinations for a trip down in the works. James is settling in okay as far as I can tell, we and Ray went for dinner last night then failed to see a concert. Usual fare, really, for our luck. Javina‘s going to be spending December with us. An odd thread of the general tapestry of interaction, but one that might gleam more than not. People have been associating the two of us on-line now, so now there will finally be a basis for it? In January Joseph is slinking into town, the first person to blossom me back into human. I haven’t seen him in four years. I wonder if we’re still in love, I wonder how he’s grown and if I’m still his wickedness. We messed around less than a gradeschool romance because we never had ten minutes alone. I have a feeling I’ve grown into someone he could construe as severely intimidating. It will be more than interesting, it will be discovery. He just saw my purple hair for the first time two weeks ago. “That’s you?” And, yes, Bill hasn’t called back yet, but he might soon. I was fielding calls for him all day. If nothing else, he owes me for an old friend it looks like I might be putting him back in touch with.

As a general note: If anyone would like to take the ferret out for a stroll in the park tomorrow while I’m working, it would be greatly appreciated. I’ll buy you an ice-cream cone. He’s been vaguely neglected of late, I haven’t been leaving the house much. Skatia needs more exercise than I’ve been well enough to give.

It’s time to tumble into sleep, huddle in the trenches of dream and sleep.

I have recently made the aquaintance of the illustrious Dr. Smax, may heaven have mercy on his soul. In an obviously desperate ploy for attention, he made me this!

Isn’t it lovely? Does it not make your very soul shake with jealousy? Oh yes it does.

I also have been given by Larry, the boy genius who fell from the sky.

So far it’s been an interesting haul, sort of like a doodle hallowe’en but without the saltwater taffy.

Here’s how it works,

– Comment and I’ll pick one of your LJ interests and draw you a picture.
– You have no say in what I draw you! Or in how much it will suck!
– Put this in your journal. And the pic.
– Obey me!

My lack of both scanner or camera prevent me from particularly playing this game, but I think I did well enough when before it was a meme, when it was just me.