Author: foxtongue

stupid thought that made me giggle: “He’s moved right by James”

It seems Bill has moved. Found a place at Fraser & Broadway above a store. Two weeks ago. New number and everything. He didn’t tell me. I found out because I called the Deorksons trying to get ahold of him. I wonder when I was to be informed.

… I don’t know how I feel about this …

I am a fool. I called the number she gave me.

Well that hurt. This hurts. I want to cry right now and I’m doing my damned best not to. He sounds happy on his answering machine. I haven’t heard happy in almost a year. Just that lilt of voice I want to hug. My speech caught only a moment into my message. It broke, I know it did. I hope he calls me back in spite of it. I hope he was going to call me today anywas. I hope a lot of stupid things. I hope that one daya book will be dedicated to me. I hope one day that I’ll have inspired some art in a way that I’m in it. Silly selfish hopes. Why don’t they just go die?

Failing to inform me that he’s moved and has a number is slightly extreme. I am an idiot with those I love. One day I hope I learn to stop.

EDIT: I called back to the best phonecall we’ve actually had. I haven’t had him laugh yet, but now it’s alright. Things are okay, which is better than they were. I’m now really glad I called. *content*

they say nothing

All these beautiful people around me and they don’t mean a thing to me. I feel a bit bad, because I can feel these horrible moments where they would really quite like me to kiss them and I ignore it. I feel like I’m being impolite or something. Hah. I miss you. Complicated rhythms of ‘you aren’t around’. I’m reading your book, the broken spine on my fingers tells me that you’re out there breathing. Like I’ll roll the window down at a corner and you’ll be standing there waiting. There’s a tear in the fabric of my favourite dress and it’s you. The chaos is missing an element of tongue. Pull you down beside me for a sweet dark kiss. It’s a bloody week but I’ll taste the same. Two days left. Two days of waking to sudden red fishnets standing. Spiral colour hitting the shower, red, plum, together black into the drain. I want to take handfuls of this colour and throw it against the sky to stick. Arching back bow curve upwards and watch it slick slide drip down as rain leaving wet wet trails. A kitten lapping milk from the bowl. To make it perfect, I’d need red hair. Dark red, dawn red. Scarlet to match the drenching tide. Longer than it is now. Rinse these sheets in cold water. Bring them to the bathroom and soak them clean. I don’t know how to do pure, I don’t know raw or limitless, but I can learn. White sand on those beaches you dream of. Standing life drawing. Sunlight. This bend and that delicate curve. Vintage poses, dancer, raver, daughter of someone, the one who’ll lick you clean. There’s an exchange.

Touch.
You’re it.

I laugh at myself, but I’m still confused

It’s sunday and I can hear my watch ticking the seconds past. People start coming over 6pm for the party. Depending on who comes, it’s going to be an odd crowd. The age spectrum on my friends alone will create some interesting patterns of interaction. *laughter* The ever present oddity of the social situations makes me happy in spite of the awkward.

Last night I went to Drag King Roller-skating with Beth. I’d forgotten how much effort there is involved, my lungs felt full. Supreme fun. I put on the fairy wings and dressed girly and moved boyish and it was great. Confused the hell out of people again. Yay! An acquaintance of mine was there who double-taked to find me at Dyke Night. I know that this news is going to go straight to a friend of mine who I denied being a lesbian to. It’s going to be interesting and lots of laughs when it hits all the way back to me. I tell people about Gavool and the news slips from their brain as if I never said anything so it’s more than possible that I’m going to end up a lesbian again to a group of people. It sways.

One of them as on-line last night, but he knows better. Plus, he was pissed off at his girlfriend. He’s never actually had one before, all his experience is with one nighter, two nighters and so.. get this.. he’s never dealt with a menstruating woman before. *chuckles* Guess what? She’s a “don’t touch me!” type around now. She’s also the kind of radical feminist I would like to hit over the head with a rock. *sighs* I had a long three hour chat with him that made me feel oh so much older than I actually am. It makes me feel weird a bit, like I shouldn’t have more knowledge of people. “No – you don’t get it. She’s on blood, so she NEEDS something. She may not even KNOW” “Of course she’d know” “NO SHE WOULDN’T” Arguing him out of stupidly lashing out from being hurt. I’m uncertain how comfortable I am knowing more. Pulling experience out of a hat when you’re my age? My head says that’s SO not allowed. I think in part it’s not so much because I’ve been in relationships so much as I’ve been in them with people who’ve had lots of them. *flutter* All those experienced older men.. *smirks*

this should be a bit more than amusing

Tonights de-tox from wretched children:

 ROLLER KINGS
***(All Ages)***
SAT. AUGUST 21
10:15PM-12:15AM
Cost: $5 2-$3 Skate Rentals
Stardust 10240 135th St Surrey

 

I had the page up all day vaguely considering going, then Beth popped on-line just as I was despairing a little bit at the only-oppressive-because-I’m-alone gray evening outside and voila! a plan! A scheme! I’m so not going to fall down as much as I think I will!!


mini edit – this has to be a perfect song to get ready for rollerskating to

every word a link : also -> every page of transmet.

I love the internet. Everything ends up here eventually. It is possible to go an entire day only finding new things. People make up this digital world and people are strange and wonderful creatures, full of odd twists and turnings. Passions unknown and sated with strange curiousities. Why would anyone want to live anywhere else?

 

the kids are playing truth or dare

I love that good friends twice my age will greet people on the phone with “Yay!” It tells me somehow that I have the right friends.

I re-discovered The Birthday Party today. I was lucky enough to be pointed thier direction when I was living in Toronto. The quiet joy of knowing musicians. They were just starting out in 2000 and they were called Imajica then, which is why I lost them. It’s quite precious music and thier site is beautifully put together if certain death for dial-up. If I had a credit card, I would buy thier albums rather than pirate.

Which reminds me, if anyone knows what happened to the Jonah Complex, I would quite like to know. I caught them once at Lee’s Palace and fell utterly in love. They could be a dead project for all I know, but I sincerly hope not.

In other news, Jeff has finally updated. More tiny snippets of life in Japan, though for that in specific I strongly suggest you visit the journal of Momus. He’s on a music tour of right now and gifting us with rich entries full of culture and recordings of fascinating snippets of life. There’s sound clips and video and his writing is simply superbly informative. I learn something interesting and new every time he updates. Links between ancient Greece and Japan with links to essays; the particular robes young girls wear to watch the fireworks with the delicate sound that thier geta make on the stone streets; recording history and art and people and pictures. It’s multi-media experiencing, intellectually glorious.

i hope it helps true

Two hours of words eaten by a crash. Serve me right attempting to multi-task full throttle on a machine that randomly crashes whenever it’s heavy java. Even not mentioning that it hasn’t been on for days. *shakes head* It went smoothly for a full three hours. *whines* All my little letters… ees and queues and esses. Into the void. *laughter* Serves me right. Whiny pissant girl.

Arrived home to a gritty odour warning that perhaps the ferretlove may be in trouble. I have no allergies yet my eyes want to shut against the air. The roommate has failed. I think my fish may be dead and the answering machine politely informs me that I missed Darina’s wedding at 2 pm this afternoon. The box is full of poptart boxes and empty pop bottles. He is not home for me to wax wrathful at, which is odd, because we’ve come in at 11 pm. I suppose tomorrow he dies. Roommate malfunction in sector two-oh-one. I’ll mother him if I have to get the guilt glands running. Wax whatever it takes, actually. The moon will fall and drown in his damned sorrow if my little one is hurt. Poor lovely ferret was SO happy to be out of the cage that he was bounding into EVERYTHING. Walls, ankles, self, other walls. Obvious the darling hadn’t been out of the cage all week. A little furry tube of springing joy. I said to Ian and Ethan as they packed endless cobs of corn into the fridge that I was a bad mommie. Ian said, “no – it’s daddy who’s bad” and I had a split second where I caught myself thinking, “no.. daddy’s in Ka … damn brain..” He’s out there asleep now. I have the oddest suspicion that the roommate is actually not going to be coming home, though ghods only knows what he could get up to that would require him staying the night somewhere else, so I think I may let the ferret run out for the night. I may not though, considering the scary mess the box is now in. He may choke on some random bit of Oreo box plastic that’s scattered on the floor somewhere.

The book my lovely Gavool sent me arrived. He sweetly sent it overnight. Papillion. His bible is an escape from prison.

My LJ friend Dys wrote something today I quite liked:
there is no justice in desire, no satisfaction in wanting, no mercy for unrequited hearts; that is why these words exist. moods shift based on the simplest of wishes: two cups of coffee at a late night dirty diner, your lipstick on my collar, a shared taxi; the chemical formula of lovers. i have to ask: there is no selfishness in these, is there? i might as well ask for the world, only to find out that there is no such thing as a simple wish. atheists are born on nights like tonight.

deadpool log

mon: Up too early to non-existant ice-cream. ian had lied. he is now first on my list. the odds are swinging into my favour. we drowsed on the ferry to vancouver island. ethan asleep was a target, but perhaps he still might be useful. keep that one for later. on the highway, safe in the back of the car, I took my nap. finally at denman, the tent is set up and the cabin explored. there is not much here. treees, some water, same as the city, really, minus the things to do. we visit the main store and choose a terrible movie. we are in like mind on this one, none of us are awake enough for anything requiring thought. we chose perfectly. the latest james bond movie is not only improbable every minute, but contains scenes like the lazer disco fight sequence. this is not a bad movie, this is teh flim. has to be seen to be believed. don’t do it. save yourself. aie.

tues: we take a walk out to sandy hook island. it used to be a military base. perhaps there will be useful weapons. the crossbow is an option, especially as I have been waking before everyone else, but somehow, it is the obvious way and so therefore the least interesting. it is a long walk over water and desert all at once. the sand flats are odd. the island less so. simply and island full of camping non-entities. ians father has come upon the scene. everything shifts as we find a common enemy. he is now the one to go first. in the evening, we watch the ring.

wed: I am snubbed by a llama. this makes me sad.

wed: we walk through trees to eagle rock. the seashore is amazingly interesting. there are animal living in among the compressed stones. bright purple sea stars attached to the underside of vast climbing monolioths of sedementary rock. the water was green and rich, inviting, and beautiful. eagle rock is like a rock sculpted by a madman. the water has created holes and lace in the raw rock with salt deposits glittering randomly. Later we set out in the canoe. Ian could have been pushed in, but the effort of dragging the canoe out with only the two of us seemed too much to be worth it.

thurs: tensions are rising slightly though father is gone. I suppose disposing of such things increase stress.

remember : it’s also my hormone week

So I’m hearing from Ian that Victoria and Kyle are running a deadpool on the camping trip. I simply had to ask and apparently, Kyle is betting that Ethan and I kill Ian, whereas Victoria is betting that Ian survives, I’m maimed and Ethan is dead.

I think Kyle’s theory has a bit more humor in it and that Victoria’s a bit more Hollywood.

What are your thoughts?