Author: foxtongue

I never would have guessed.

This morning I feel like a typographical error.

Today I’m to see my lawyer. I wish I’d known that when I went to bed. Bless the three hour time difference, else I might have gone to bed even later. 9 a.m. I was to be there, he called at 9:40 asking after me. We’ve re-scheduled for 2 this afternoon. I’m going to soak myself in heat and hope I can properly walk by noon. It would not bode well to be crippling my way into his office. It would be bad news indeed.

My settlement is on Thursday.

He said to bring my file, but I don’t think I have one. Receipts, he said, but for what? I can’t think of any accident related that weren’t my cane and he has that one. I feel like hanging my head in uselessness. Almost three years and I don’t know what to do. I have no file, I have nothing but his letters. I want to call Bill for help and solace, but I don’t know if I dare invade his life. He (angrily? I do not know) vanishes when I take a lover, but perhaps it’s alright now they’re all away again. As I was discussing with both Michel and Jay last night, people usually aren’t quite real when they’re far away. They’re made of idea and concept, not so much flesh. Michel had an interesting observation, how it’s very catholic, part of the ultimate separation of soul and the body carrier. Perhaps that can count as my contextual loophole, they are real to me, but less so to him. Names only, possibly I can make them matter less than myself so that he’ll talk with me. I miss him.

Divine, this world still holding on. Interruptions from various gods don’t seem to matter, gravity continues to tick along paying us no mind whatsoever. It’s like believing in a teapot. My phone number isn’t very hard to find. The truth is always far too single. My hands open emptily and I can’t taste your eyes on me anymore. My most floral print baggage now is the unshakable belief that the people I like won’t want to see me. I’ll come to their homes and I’ll be rejected, shepherded out of the house and into the rain. I have to remember that that was only one lover. These people won’t leave me to bleed. I can place your hands on my neck and let you. The shimmer in my bones says I trust you. Security confidence, don’t lie to me or yourself.

Blood touches your heart like I want to. Slick salty fingers licking the inside of your flesh. Hands curling together in your hair as if to pray. The words that leave my lips are in whispers, they are in a language everyone knows. You name is here, caught between my teeth and tongue. I said it, just now. Did you hear? Backseat driver taking your hands as mine, my sweetness sinking into you like you forgot you existed as anything else. This bait taken before conscience operated with a guilt scalpel knife.

I would have asked a week ago, but it continued to slip my mind. Not high on my importance list, sorry. Someone forgot a hundred dollar bill here. Was it anyone here? I thought it would be claimed sooner than later, but no-one’s been stepping forward. I’ve put it on my desk for safe keeping, just tell me where I found it. I’m going to ask around a little, but if it’s not claimed in any reasonable length of time I’m claiming it for myself and giving it to Javina.

a russet just right in the light it’s gold it’s gold

It’s easy to think all the seasons look the same when you live here. Gray skies freeze in place sometime late October and stay until January. Walk along chilly rain and wet leaves clogging the gutter. I know there was sun, I remember heat, light and summertime. Look at this, this is transient, fleeting. It’s darker here than it used to be, the days like the nights, drifting into long lonely times that deserve fires in the grate and laughing friends with wine. Burnished light catching ruby filled glasses. I walked downtown the other night and the windows were already full of christmas. The weight of the world pulling down the branches of treacherous trees.

My brother Robin has joined the family. I’ve given him a name and am going to insist he writes. It should be good. He’s rather literate in spite of being trapped in a clumsy teen boy. My mother would be appalled, I’m sure, but I’ve told him to friend Warren for a good introduction to our networks. Is there anyone else who would like to put in a good word? Larry, I’m looking at you. Plus anyone with art.

edit: My Mother posted! Take a second for her?

Ripped from dreams by a nerve tearing alarm-clock wasn’t particularly nice, but shutting it off was. I was too tired to bother attempting to wake up. I was still too tired when it went off the second time. I knew I had a good hour and half before work, so again I shut it off and fell back into dreaming of streets and people. The third time, however, that I woke up, I looked at the clock and discovered it was exactly the time I need to sign into work. It wasn’t panic that set it, more of an “oh bloody hell” self irritation. Nothing spectacular. That bit came when I was rather forcefully reminded that I can’t actually put any weight on my left leg when I hurriedly tossed my covers off and attempted to bounce over to my computer. I will fully admit that it was a moment of unabashed stupidity. It was also a moment the dogs a block over could likely hear.

I am not going out tonight.

You have your caped crusaders with their epic wars and little guns, but this is my smoking weapon. There’s something in me that wants to write tonight. It could be that I’m stuck at home. I can’t walk right now, a cripple for a day or two because my dancing is hard on the body. I don’t know what the reason is, but there’s things inside my head buzzing. A thought about the girl you told her you loved her, but you didn’t. Was it lying if you thought it was the truth? We’re all lonely, you know. It’s my epiphany, knowing that. I’m in control now of all of you because I’m beautiful. Words and words and words, unconnected by maybe going somewhere. I don’t know what to do with them and I’m tired. Something’s melting in my head.

It feels like a resistance to something, something I don’t know if I can take. I need to be aware at all times of the reality of what’s going on. There is no slipping into reverie. I can’t let go, it’s wrong to. Pragmatic in all, I don’t get fantasies, I don’t picture scenes when I’m reading. I’m not sure why I’m writing this, but I’m dulled by pain and exhaustion. Defenses down and I never talk about it.

I’m terrified of losing control. I usually blame my father but it’s so much more. Every time I grab a lover by the wrist and pin their arm above their head I think how easy it would be to break their arm. Insanity runs in the family, it’s generations of seeing ghosts and demons. Our genetics sing violence. I want it to not be me, but what if it is? I should be fine for now, but what when I head into thirty? I need to be solid. We have a temper, we do. Thick and red, it acidly eats the hearts of our enemies, it stabs and kicks and scalps us of sanity. Mine is so far thrown down that I wonder if I can touch it anymore. I can’t be dangerous, I won’t let me.

Tomorrow I will read this and wonder why. Let me sleep.

‘Cross the street from your storefront cemetery.
Hear me hailing from inside and realize that

desperate youth, bloodthirty babes came with a bonus disk; New Health Rock. It’s a lush surprise. TV on the Radio covering Modern Romance makes me wonder if I should download some Yeah Yeah Yeah. I knew Benn would have a nice write-up of the concert, so I waited until I could link to it. Just a matter of time, like I know these people’s names? No. I just read their blog.

I am the conscience clear
in pain or ecstacy
and we were all weaned my dear
upon the same fatigue

Rumours are saying that there are less reasons to visit Vancouver now. I don’t know how to find a confirm for the information I want. It’s almost enough to worry me, but then I don’t. I’m not a worry sort of girl. Consumation reclamation, things happen when they want to.

we’re staring at the sun
oh my own voice cannot save me now
Standing in the sea it’s just
one more breath
and then
I’ll go down

Riotlounge says:
It is so odd talking to you over IM – you’re such an abstract concept on LJ sometimes
Riotlounge says:
I feel like I am talking to a book

“hippo-po-mon-stroses-quipped-alio-phobia”

She turned and looked up to the ceiling. “Sometimes work just never ends”, she thought to herself. One last drawing and then she could justify nipping out for a slice of banana bread with coffee. The sound of rain on the windows has been lulling her to daydreams since the early morning. She shook off the water off her coat and sat down fully intending to get work done today but the window has been continually catching her eyes. Absently she makes patterns out of the the sluicing waterfalls, drips connecting to make lines that form faces and dragons.

Shaking her head, she looks back to her page and focuses her eyes on a sheep doodle. “Another one?”, she thinks, “I have sheep on the brain. Should just go to Dover and get it done with.”

Six more days until vacation break. No more halogen lit hallways full of uninteresting gossip and too much paperwork. No more advertising blaring from her ceiling to wake her at obscene hours. Instead she’ll wake up as late as she likes. Slowly and luxuriously clamber out from under her feather duvet and splurge on some real maple syrup in the mornings maybe.

Alright – so the couple who had sex using me as a wall wasn’t so good, but the dancy man – he makes the world worth it. I’ve been downloading The Faint all day and flashing back to what the did with his feet. Pounding ankles, tight blue jeans leading straight curling crossed above the keyboard bowing. It’s making my day better. I woke up too early for my box of oranges. I look at the clock today and it’s always only (insert time here). It feels like more time has passed, it should be nearing darkness. City with it’s head under the covers, reading life with a sodium flashlight. Time falling into shadowy butterfly kisses of sneaking out before bedtime.

I miss my lad today. Not enough distraction. Blankly staring at a chatroom screen. The kids say my name over and over. I answered to Foxtongue on the street the other day. Add it to the list of my names. Lady Porphyre Jhayne, sweet Foxtongue Dreampepper. The ice-princess of memory lane, soda pop nostalgia bottled to go but bitter.

I’ve been spending a bit of time with someone lately. Another far off land, lucky as I can’t cut out their tongue. Another angelic epiphany bird, another dawn light symphony of this again. I worry when I like someone and they tell me I’m pretty. Preference states judging on merit, not genetic shuffle handout.