Author: foxtongue

how soon is love

My throat is thick with the stale scent of semen. He’s left, I’m alone now. Already the wolves are circling. His essence means nothing, the unborn children dripping into cloth between my legs doesn’t work as a ward over the internet. Primal, you fools. Think primal. Let me be for just one day, his smell is still on my tongue.

now I want to do more

So I tried and fell down. Can’t deal with the gravity of the situation. Your voice downloading on the headset chuckled. Bitch. Can I help it I grew up hovering? It feels weird to touch the ground and stay, there’s no velcro on anything. How does it work? In my head I know the basics – the math and physics, but my optics are telling me that I’m stupid. This isn’t how I wanted to meet you. I wanted to be slightly more graceful. I feel frumpy when my auburn hair isn’t floating. This is like living in meat.

I can’t remember when I first saw your face. There was a building, a tree, it’s all in pictures. It would take days in the archive to track you down, you’re so enmeshed in my life now. Tiny scuttling bots could do it in hours, but that’s cheating. Down the well for you. You saved me, now hold me.

inspired in part by strangemachine

strange machine : our hearts

Bwahaha. Even at four in the morning, am I both the only human on the planet who can edit to 200 words or use HTML because Holy Hell people, WE ARE INTERNET USERS – WTF?

Also: After being made of madness for a week, I’m laughing myself silly for having made the first post. It’s not what I stayed awake for.

—–

Gavin has left. About an hour ago I bid him goodbye at the door. I feel hollow now. I’ve come back into myself in time for him to leave. My piece came last night and freed me. I feel like my personality’s been downloaded back into flesh. I can feel my smiles. It’s like I’ve been robbed. It could have been a better week, it could have had love and affection and desire. We did what we did. We did well with what we had. I can feel him still, he hasn’t left the city. My mind sees him skinny by the road, his black hoodie up against the weather. The sky looks as if it’s been erased with a cheap rubber, dark gray smear as if there was once graphite text scrawled messily across cloud. It’s filthy rain today, nothing clean. He’s too old to hitchhike, but it’s happening. He’s on a bus now, maybe looking out the window. Out to Abbotsford, out to the highway proper. It’s over when I feel him gone. It’s over when he’s gone.

Over being a relative concept.

I can feel myself slipping into post-modern relationship. Time-share serious masquerade. The concept firmly implanted when I was too exhausted to argue. He does it on purpose, I swear. “No overlap and you’re fine”. Dominique’s going to pin me to the wall. “All he has to do is leave town” I’m thinking it’s a good idea. I’m thinking it’s what’s going to happen.

I’m thinking….. maybe finally yes.

seppukake : my submission : exactly 200 words right on time

Immortality tastes like dust. Our parents thought they were giving us gifts, fools raised thinking the future was any day. They dreamt silver rocketships, chrome screaming into the sky. The future is now, dull as water-smoothed stone. I found this place walking alone at night. Left over industrial zone from before the nontech war. No-one noticed when I moved in, hooked lights back up, took this graveyard of a disco to make my home. I’ve filled this empty place tonight. I’m alone on the dancefloor, my bare knees against gritty wood. I can’t see through the spotlight, but I hear them. I shake with their low respectful murmur. Nothing extraordinary but this. We implant fashionable kinks, there’s nothing holy, nothing raw. The sword in front of me I made myself. Hours spent learning to fold steel in the forge behind the stage. I didn’t take pills, I’m not in love tonight. They come, my lovers, one after the other to spill seed in my hair, on my face. There is silence as I explicitly slip it in. The tip of the blade perfect, my blood like light to drip to the floor. This smallest death of all, but finally real.

edit: There’s now plenty more in my journal that you are more than welcome to jab with a stick.

my intended is leaving town

Just to make this week stupid, Evaristo is in town from New Zealand. I’m a bit in shock, I haven’t seen the boy in *sudden realization* three years? Holy hell. It’s been likely more than three years… He’ll be joining us at the Van Art Gallery this afternoon.

I’m going to be ‘single’ in a day or two. Unpredictable, my reaction. It’s certainly agreed upon that passion’s playing Dodo on my sorry bed. Decanted malleable love, it’s powerful stuff. I don’t miss wanting him. Especially this week, where underneath the bland happiness there’s a hollow inside of me where my words should be. My heart is filling with molten lead to weigh my breathing down, to thicken the blood with poison. Tonight I need to write. Take my time, demolish the world and write. It’s been terrifying me, my inability to place my hands on the keys to begin. I sit, I stay, and this comes out. Not what I need, not what I mean to say. Banal everyday, I love you too. I want words to flow of microchips and silver fingernails edged with ecstasy inducing hallucinogen. All the better to slice into the small of your back, all the better to peak your high. Dream me in blood, desire dearest. Take my lips to whisper, take my tongue to talk. I’d wear velvet for you, drape my legs across your thigh. Pale like moonlight, white like the inside shell of the purest egg. Hatching machines like monsters that tease the inside of your skin like a thousand drifting feathers. Monofilament flash glitter in my eyes. I’m going to have you. Just You Wait.

did you know?

I am starting to realize that I should be less surprised when my friends list hands me the news sometimes days before anyone else gets it. I seem to have conglomerated a group of rather socially concious and interesting people. I’m blessed to have you all around me, even if only digitally. The last two or three weeks, I’ve known about almost every last bit of information that anyone’s brought up. I find out the day of that someone is dead or that the quantum computer is that much closer to being a reality instead of the three day wait the newpapers apparently have.

So here’s the morning spray from my friends list:

Nothing terrinly fascinating, but there’s still a full day ahead of hot-links, politics, and interesting yet to happen.