Author: foxtongue

The world is my giant huggable friend. Dominique came and spent time today, when I got to Sukkot it was winding down, but still interesting, Silva gave me a bicycle that was made by someone brilliant, and I rode home with green grapes and nectarines to   in my in-box cracking me up. Plus, it seems that I still have a little candy left from Ian. I’ve got Death Cab for Cutie on mixed with the Pixies and Pulp, and I think I’m going to be able to sleep before 3 am. Riding a bicycle after an almost three year hiatus was slightly exhausting like I feel my lungs are about to cease to work any minute now but perhaps my heart will burst before that, leaving me to wonder if this is such a good idea after all and holy hell I’m finding out that the back brake isn’t as tight as the front just as I’m hitting this incredibly tall hill. Oh look – I can see the other side of downtown from here and that? That is a drunk driver. Too late. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee. Fluttering past, sitting upright in a tailcoat and a tophat, I wonder what I must have looked like. I know I almost died hauling it up the stairs, light as a stick as it is. Apparently I’m still recovering. I think I can do better than I can, but I don’t care. I’m mobile now, Beware. I forget that a truck is a rather large object to be hit by. Still, it’s going to be three years come January. My settlement mediation is in November. I’ll finally be able to pay back all of you who’ve been too kind.

edit: another happy – my player finally supports .ogg. I finally get to hear William’s drunken choked up thank you. How beautifully surreal. I want all your voices now.

With who and what am I doing Monday?

Oh dear god. The worst has happened. I have crossed the line from geek to nerd. I not only answered someone’s saying “Groo?” with “No cheesedip”, I also didn’t blink when they then told me they meant it as an onomatopoeic. This while carrying on a conversation in another window entirely in archaic language.

I think it’s the cheesedip what damns me. Next thing I’ll be dressing up like Linsners Dawn and swanning around conventions with people dressed as stormtroopers in lingerie. The thought gives me the Fear. Maybe I’ll be lucky and only catch the edges of postmodern sleaze. Cross fingers, knock on wood. I am more than satisfied with pictures of such events. I’m sure they’re fun, but as I don’t drink, there would be nothing to take the edge off my awareness. I think I would need that.

I think….. Actually…. I think it’s the kids today. They’re far worse than usual. Two of the girls have discovered that saying they’re bleeding all over thier keyboards from cutting gets them attention from the boys thought of as “cute” in the chatroom. (The deciding logic of who wants to date who escapes me). Particularly annoying to me is that the head “cute” boy is a severe fundie. So chat runs mainly today between the cutters and the fundies interspersed with the usual mind scraping talk about teen celebraties, pokemon, and in-chat dating. I’m tongue tied. If I say even one of the things that occurs to me in such a situation, I’m sure I’ll lose my job.

Bring me gelati before I die.

There are words made of letters unwritten and letters made of the most transparent words. Some of them are praiseworthy, but most of them are only amusing to ourselves. The architecture of communication. Spires and arches, darlings, spires and arches.

Today is Sukkot. After work I go to Silva’s to celebrate. She’s all that ties me to religion. It must be comforting to believe in something. Somehow I think I have a lack, following nothing. There must be something missing. Then my humour pops in saying “yes, brainwashing”.I respect Silva so very much that I respect her beliefs, though somehow not the beliefs themselves. My disconnection doesn’t stop me from loving the singing, from learning the prayers for their beauty. Sukkot is what is left of an old harvest festival dedicated to the Goddess. About an hour ago, the celebrations began. By the time I get there, the sukkah will have been built, (a harvest hut, made of branches and flowers and produce), on the back porch, and the kitchen door will have been taken entirely off so that the kitchen is the sukkah extension. Candles will have been lit, and I might miss the potluck. I’m allowed. If I was slightly more organized, there would be a pie in the oven as I write this, but alas, I have nothing yet to bring but my voice. I should put music on to sing along to, so my voice is warm when I get there. It would be nice to read the book in richer tones than I’m used to. We pass it around and tell stories. We’re all educated in various ways, we all know of Lillith.

How heavy are angels, I wonder. What is the weight of divinity?

Morning people. I woke to discover that Mckenzee‘s posted up asking if anyone can help him. It would be appreciated if you could toss him some coin or even pass on this request. He’s very worth your time. Thanks.

 We are suffering a severe cash flow problem. I am not legally eligible to work in Paris and my telecommuting gig has been dead for months.

No, I’m not going to post a Paypal button here.

Instead, I make the following requests.

 Like my photos?
Buy something here. I take requests if there is a recent photo you would like on a T-shirt. Unfortunately, most of them are low-rez, so they wouldn’t look that good.

Like my comic?
Buy something from Sinister Merchandise. Personally, I like the coffee cup. I get a dollar or two for each thing bought. Send Sinister Christmas presents!

Like my writing?
Check this out and join Wired Fiction . I’ll get a cut once the site starts showing a profit.

I take requests.
Want an icon, short story, Sinister Comic created from your photo? Any other suggestions?

Oh my……. That’s really all I have in my thoughts right now. Again into the theatre, I’ve been hired again. Knew I would be if I hung around, it was a risk I was willing to take. Reno and Tracey. What a fantabulous pair. Actors with actors can be a good thing or it can be horrid. In this case it’s so very fun that I think I got a contact high. Alistaire came along as well, and after dropping Robin off on a bus, we helped with teardown afterward. He left when the socializing started boiling down to family. Gary & Linda, Reno & Tracey. I hope he found his friends.

oh I can taste the smoke

It’s been so long since I’ve been to the Firehall. Terrible memories. The Firehall is where I first realized that Bill was shutting me out of His Show. Bull in a China Shop, reviled be thy name. More important than family, than a dead child, than a We, an Us, a Me. That’s how long it’s been. Right after the Towers fell. Tonight was sweet though. I’m giddy with it. Closing night show, a slow start, but building into something powerfully amusing. A woman slips from her wedding to drive randomly, collapsing finally in Alaska. A slight premise and one that would only work elsewhere as movie of the week. Flawless.

there’s something about it

Once the applause died, I had to continually bite back the urge to set everything right. Stage Manager to the fray. Twice I told myself out loud, “This is not my show. What am I doing?” Fashioning authority from air. Too good for my own good, again. Black dressed young men assuming I know what I’m doing. Fools. I can haul things again, though I can feel that I shouldn’t quite. My shoulders not as up to par as I would want. I’m still broken from the accident. It’s a very small hell, one that burns self love to cinders that simmer painfully. Tender words heal all though. Re-connecting with Reno and Tracey is golden. They’re brilliant and insane. I’m low key, but I match a little. I fit enough to be happy in their company. Reno dove out of the theatre into the hall at me. “I heard you laughing” Exuberance, her hair has changed. It’s been forever and a day since I’ve seen her. I was so surprised she recognized me right off, but pleased. I’m not lost. I’m not left behind anymore. Tracey launching in immediately about how I saved our show eons ago. The Kevin Conway disaster. Putting things into the dressing room box, I felt like kissing them both. Outside, when everything had been put into the vans and we all sat with drinks on the veranda, I felt somehow home again. In Vancouver, only the theater folk smoke. I mentioned to Gary how strange it seemed to be in such company without Bill and he told me it was certainly quieter. The Chu’s haven’t seen him since sometime in the summer. I told them I miss him, and Linda assured me that he’ll come around eventually, but in spite of it, I snicked in place without my missing piece. I’m my own person again and recognized for it.

it makes my mouth water

Such a small city I live in, such a small world. I will always love this. Sitting with actors who are gloriously ON, being the sole audience of a two person show. Back and forth, sparks and my attention given equally between. Endless parade of spectre and emotion. To know I can do this, that I’m not longer a shadow, is to no longer assume the lesser part of the equation. I’m even, I’m aware. Wry smiles at my self realizations, because I never thought to be remembered for my work. Theater back when it was a dayjob, a nightjob. What We Did. Back when I was sleeping in theaters. That people miss me back, I never would have guessed. It’s life again. To stand up to the praise and take it square, knowing that I will hold it up, because I will. I swear I can, because I will learn how, because of this. I never thought of myself as one of Us. Under this is a hard solid place to stand.

kiss me with this on your tongue

This has been certainly a day of interesting beginnings. Deeper into truth.
Push it past me, push it more.
Give me more, world.
Please?

and you’ll keep me forever right that moment

I just found out that Richard Avadon died last Saturday.

Moment of silence to maybe catch the echo of the final click of his shutter.

Opening shot: A screen: first of all no offense to gay ppl,but there is no posible way ppl could be born gay it is not like they were gay their whole life it is just a dumb excuse i think and anyways if god made ppl gay dont you think he would have made a way for gay ppl to have babbies just my opinion

Dissolve to the girl. She’s sitting with an open book in her lap. An open field. Head is back, she’s screaming. Pan back to reveal a CG nightmare of swirling text. Sound: fade in slow on loop. “The children. They’re killing me”. Baffles blur the edges of the words. Let her arms hang down, lifeless.

Relationships have contexts. Patterns of self-esteem and interaction. Particles spin, wave-forms collapse. Wrapped in this sari of dark fuchsia silk, tied on with a gold edged knot. This is all I have as a protective band wrapped around my desire. A brocade blockade of word, broken by distance. Fade out, but not to black, to something different. The substance of breath.

Did I just do that?

Work has come crashing.
Sample-snip drum ‘n bass clipping text. Burr hum, sitting in nothing but a few pieces. Sleep, dreaming, thickets. Child, no, don’t ask me these questions. Thickness like a swollen tongue. Wisdom laughing, impure thought. Dance now, feet catching the fall. No grace here. Grace is for those who care about how they move. It’s time to get a little groove on. Mark the names down at the door in the dark ink. Flicker flash on, strobe black bright. Let everything loose, they’re just dirty little snapshots. Let your body find the skin.

Overhead off. There’s no saving face. There’s only you and the floor and the lights. It might help if you close your eyes. Hips rolling into rhythm, ess curve electric shocks. Play the music, recordman, keep us heavy. Feels like water, the hardest spots. Strike you down with this. Too pale and purple. Feeling it all from this bedroom throne, I’m spoiled. Complicated cheap shots. White cloud trail behind the littlest plane. The day it comes, I’ll be watching.

Apocalypse.

Last night I was reminded of the Submarine Channel. Haven’t been there in at least a year in spite of my watching films from it just about every work weekend. I was naughty, you see, and nabbed almost everything they had. There’s quite a bit. I dropped in on it to find they have interviews with people like Sigismondi now. The tricorn hat is pulled out again.

Awhile back someone put up a handy to download list.

care to join me plundering?

Skipped on dinner to afford seeing Hero again. It hurts my heart to see such things. A physical response, my sunday sweetheart best. I hold my breath and my teeth grow cold. It gets harder to breathe. It is this exactly why I keep on. My mother never told me about this when I was younger, no-one ever has. Blood catching it’s breath, everything the very last image. Clouds of rippling colour falling, pouring onto the floor. Crimson and gold, let it never end. Let this fill my mouth with the taste of everything pure. Sweet torture.

Sure, I’ll whore myself for Art. Take that slick blade with it’s sussuration between my pale ribs to feel that knife edge moment of This Is It. Creation, the dance, forever right this minute. I’m flooded. Sticky sweet caramel alone with you. The thought of it makes me want to bite my fingers. Let me touch it with an uplifted tongue. Anyone can take a pretty picture, it doesn’t matter. There’s thousands of us. I need the beat. The passionate ones. Kill them for me, my soul, I want to touch the heart of it. The vibrancy drying on canvas. I will always love you.

Icons.
Ikons.
from eikenai, to be like, seem.

It’s the closest to orgasm I’ve ever been.