Author: foxtongue

This is Ziggy from the week I just got him off Crow for Ray. He’s quite a bit bigger now, so it’s nice to have these few pictures. He lived with me for almost a week. Too much energy, the poor thing, and I don’t stand children well. Somehow it’s alright when they have fur.

In spite of myself, I’m fascinated. It’s like gamelan, this ripple of technology weaving notes into a complicated person on the other end. Vapour trail of tiny notes. Letters turning into words, letters turning into a conversation between them back and forth. With the last sound I get the distinct feeling that I’m caught. Hooked on this tiny music, snared. I wish you dreaming of silk.

I booted off the boy who wanted my company this evening. Told him pipe dreams aren’t allowed wednesdays. The wind-down effect is still on though. We’re messaging over his phone and I’m out-lining what his night gets to be. Taking the weight of thinking off after ten hours at the office being in charge of sheaves of crew. I decided today it’s time to go through the distressing pictures. I’ve pulled out the scanner from under the movie shelf in the livingroom. My roommate has handed me over the webcam, though I’m not certain why. I suppose this means I can try my hand at creating images again. Vignettes for the world to stumble onto. The tech is creeping into my room, hooked up to my glowing life.

I’ve run out of Flickr space this month and Fotobuilder is glitching again. Bastard things. I think I’ll use Multiply, as it seems to work, though Warren and I managed to break it yesterday. Watch me find a bloody limit on how many pictures it will let you host. The hands of angels can’t keep up with my multi-tasking some days.

haven’t taken apart these scans yet

I love meeting people over the internet. There’s something inherently different, something new in it that I hope some day will be taken for granted. It’s different from pen-pals, there’s the option of geek bonding. Sending letter, then links, then pictures. I’ve got a webshot picture sitting in the corner of my screen now and I smile when I look at it. That image was just clicked thousands of miles away and whisked with a button over millions of miles of wires to sit on my desktop and make me grin. How surreal. How wonderful. How utterly this needs to be thought of everywhere.

EDIT: Alrighty – I’m in sick trouble. *laughter* Being wished an full english-accented dark goodnight from across the planet wins.

Sometimes I think to myself that I accept too much. That I should argue less and about different things. These gray skies days tell me nothing. One after another they reinforce the end of summer. There are no girls singing when I walk by the houses at night. The cloud cover smothered them and stole their voices. The wind has them now, it’s off sweetly singing to creatures in Nepal.

Woke up this morning not quite rested. Occasionally my friend stays awake too much, his hands thinking about me. I wake up with the breathing changing and the feeling that somehow I’ve given back teenaged youth to a man in his forties. There’s a mutter in the dark, I appreciate using communication to avoid sexuality. Shut that off. Snap close case close, end that bloody thier desire thing. It’s a pressure and it doesn’t bode well for dreaming. I don’t mind though, because really, what have I got happening today? I dropped off my film before noon and that was my only errand to run. Sleep when I drop, when I can no longer type, no longer write. Sleep when the world has gone to bed.

Walking to his house last night, it was warm and wet. Air thick and I let my coat drop to my waist within a block of my house. I took off my shirt, rolling the velvet up to tuck into my waistband. Too pale these days, as always, I glow in the dark. So lovely to feel the rain sprinkle on my skin. I had to change my route to avoid the still open shops on Commercial Drive. Felt strange to be outside walking before midnight. People were still sitting in the coffee shops. A street back and I almost didn’t see anyone. Only a pair of almost elderly italian who gentleman bowed to me as I walked past them. They said something to me, but I don’t know what. I’m going to choose to think it was on my violet tophat rather on my lack of reasonable clothing. They were to gracious to be talking D-cup, right?

The ocean is trying to claim Vancouver by sky. It’s hard coming down, step outside and it hits. There is no mistaking this for anything but water. I said yesterday that there is no glory in this rain, it’s only wet. Well, it’s worse today. This is rain that would depress Susan Vega. I love it. Drenching, but not in torrents. It’s possible to see the knife edge of every drop. I don’t know what’s shifted, it could be there’s an alcoholic in my genes, but I want to be loud on a beach with a bottle of something. All I have is cherry kirsch and that’s just nasty. It’s the booze that diabetics use to suicide. Not appropriate for shouting at the incoming waves in the slightest. Not even appropriate for drinking, really. Plus I’d rather a bottle I could slip a note inside and toss spinning into the ocean.

{insert acoustic guitar solo here}

There’s to be a jam at wreck beach this friday night. Cellos and violins on the nudist beach. Mishka wants me to sing, but I think I’m going to decline. It’s going to depend quite a bit on the weather if it even happens at all. I may volunteer my apartment box and attempt to piss off the neighbours with rowdy wine-drinking artists, but I also may have another Global Freeloader on the couch. Another young woman and I’m liking the trend.

because a good meme… who likes me enough to say

I’m feeling a little like an amateur magician whose tricks have come real. My mailbox is a battered black hat from which I pull out little glittering treasures. Somewhere there has to be a catch. I look at the time and it’s hours later than I thought it was. The sky has been the same pale null all day so there’s no shift of light to warn it’s evening. I jumped when the buzzer hummed. Who would be coming over? My boxmate back from work already. I meet him at the door to warn him the ferret is out and consider how many hours have been sucked away by a surprise from the other side of the planet. The internet strikes again, lashing out to amuse. Synchronicity. Speak and the demons will appear. Called into being with chance words. Why are all the charming men so very far away?

Shaw is offering a months free cable and so as Gavin is a telly watcher, I’m writing this as the cable guy prods at the back of the dying set. Internet is down for a few minutes. Scaring the ferret as well, no doubt. At some point I really should turn off the Madras orchestral music I’ve become enamoured of today and leave the apartment. Get some real clothes on and simply walk out of the box. Ferry my latest film to the developers out in Richmond. Sooner than later as later I know I’ll be using my energy in deflection. Two of the fellows are hoping for my particular talents tonight. Winding them down after work, I should almost start charging. Kneading out the knots they get from thier long days. Whomever calls first, I suppose. I don’t know who I would prefer to spend time with. The frenchman actor knows better but plays persistant and the tomcat director’s just discovered me. He doesn’t know any better yet than to like me.

teeth

claws

I need to get shoes whose entire purpose is to look incriminating when carefully left in the lighting. I’m thinking red.

My morning is looking far less bleak then at first glance would say. James crept out on me this morning, keeping in tradition with the boys who’ve been staying overnight lately. Except the actors, they hang around for breakfast like the girls. I suppose it’s from working in the Arts. It tends to leave you a bit hungry. The local talent will always come down for the opening or the closing, hardly ever mid-run. There’s no plates of tidbits mid-run, no lubrication alcohol. Groups standing by the tables, chatting it up full-square. We’re all a bit cheap but sure we’ll support your show. Really loved the sets. I’m just going to nab some of this chicken, thanks. You did some great work, could I get at those carrots?

they only want you when you’re seventeen, when you’re twenty-one you’re no fun

The sky lied to us yesterday. No hollow rainclouds, just sun to warm our coats into something heavier than they were. Reunion of nothing in particular from the outside. If it were possible to create an animation of the two of us together for the years, we would be walking towards the fourth wall. His hair would get shorter, the cut and colour of his coats would change and I would get taller. We walked down the Drive to my box then transit took us to Miriams. The evil empire Starbucks has bought the building, so they’re closing September 6th. Get your pie now. They’ve been in the business 17 years, so they make good ones. Avoid the coffee or bring rum. Add to taste.

they take a polaroid then let you go

We sat at English Bay watching all the want to be pretty people. There was a photographer on the beach taking endless pictures of the horizon. The clouds destroyed any chance of sunset and the light was wrong for anything else. I would look up from picking at my crumble to discover her walking to yet another place to put her tripod. There was never a chance to ask her what she was doing. She left before we did and when we eventually wandered off, it was in the other direction. The sun set by the time we left our bench, leaving us to walk into the orange glow.  I jumped off the seawall halfway to the Burrard Street Bridge onto a curl of rocks trailing off into the water.  The two of us, not-so-cool, standing on this lick of stones at the tip-toe end.  I wanted a camera then. Frame him as a microserf, being by ocean and city light and I wondered if I too made such a picture.

say they’ll let you know

We went for drinks at Carlos & Buds. James was surprised, but I didn’t think it so odd. It might be, I couldn’t say. On the ferry back from the Island there was a boy by me smoking marijuana on the upper deck. Too young and obviously an idiot. His left wrist was broken and he was too proud of his white logo baseball cap. I had a sudden impulse to go up to him and steal the joint from his lips. “You’re too young for this”. I would do it with impunity. We’re not that legalized yet. I took two steps of the three needed towards him and stopped, realizing that if I did so, I would walk away smoking it myself. I wasn’t sure if I wanted that. Suddenly realizing I didn’t know who I was anymore. I felt heavy and fey. The beautiful sullen view warped me into something I’m not usually. Heavy and silver, like the candlestick used to kill the Doge.

so come on

I’m on-line now with my lover and Warren Ellis. One’s here in November and one’s here in January. I’m to wear stocking for both of them.

we only want you when you’re seventeen

when you’re twenty-one

you’re no fun

 

To Ethan, Ian, Victoria, Dan, Matthew and Ryan:

   Whichever of you left the shirt behind, thank you. I do however have quite a collection already of other peoples clothing and as the shirt is still with it’s tags from the store, I am assuming you have not even the pleasure of wearing this item. If you wish to retrieve it, please say so and I will put it aside for you, otherwise I shall claim it as it is big and comfy and black.

 

How often do you feel on fire lovelies? I’d like to ascertain the normalities of desire. The need suddenly to be around people. To hear a voice simply talking. Turning off the light futily at four:thirty in the morning, I wanted to get up and go for a walk last night but I was afraid of whose house I would end up at, because it would not have been mine. I would have gone to Marcs place maybe, because it’s safe there. Kept him up all night talking about nothing and everything. Complaining about my sexuality kicking in probably and computers and what I want to do with cameras. I could have slept there, but in the early morning when he untangled his arms out from under me to get up for work, I would have felt guilty for not letting him sleep. I would end up at the kitchen table with dear Gerry, his roommate, and maybe Christina, or Paul partner, feeding the baby Macalli and looking more sheepish than sheep. My hands around a cup of something warm in the cool morning and embarrassed a little at being there. The likelihood of being let in is far lower than at other houses, especially later at night, but he’s one of the precious immune-to-jhaynes. Instead I lay frustrated in the dark. Brows furrowing and an emptiness at my back. Tiny involuntary sounds and twitch. Sick and miserable with tight flame.

I sincerely couldn’t find sleep last night. I wanted to talk with people, not lie abed with my brain moving too fast. Be up and hear voices. If I was going to stare at a ceiling, I wanted to be listening to someone. I went through a list of people who would let me in at two in the morning. I was caught in my own brain too much. I wanted to listen to someone else’s thoughts. I think somewhere my brain picked Marc this morning when I got up because he’ll simply talk. It was weird to look up and read what I’ve just written. Then, of course, the idiot impulse “I’m going to send this to him” *laughter* Welcome to idiot impulse. Please don’t take it badly.