Author: foxtongue

days of leisure

I start to doubt myself when he’s away. I think about how I think of him as well as simply thoughts of him. Over analyzing, I see the vast amounts of what I assume. Assuming is dangerous and stupid.  *chuckles* Bloody logic. I’m using it far too much lately as well, combating the feeling of contagious insanity that my fathers letters give me. “If I do not grip reality until I bleed, I too, will be as this.” His notes hold promise in a delicate touch. I can see him sitting in that peculiar too tall for the chair curve with fingers pecking out the words, artlessly concentrating on finding the letters. It makes me smile behind my eyes. I feel a weight vanishing, the earth no longer dragging me toward its graves, but pushing me up.
 
  Yesterday I was off fetching ferret supplies. I still have yet to find a suitable name. I’m trying to remember what Scaetia means. Almost sounds like Scotty. Sort of. Very old word. Google doesn’t find it in any english pages, only Scandinavian. Food, toys, treat/vitamins and, importantly, a leash with harness. Today I think I take him with me to the park and if that goes well, monday he’s coming to the slam. I went with Ray, my friend Bliss and her boy. Course, being out with Ray means dinner and after was a movie with my friend Dan over at his place. Jacques had given me a call earlier inviting me down to an actors party at SkyBar, so I dropped in on that to find no-one there I knew.
Tonight I’ve a play to go to in Ladner. (yes, Ladner.) I’ve got unlimited comps laid by, might as well use them. Plus, well – if it’s an opening, there’s snacks. Can’t turn down snacks. It’s something written and starred in by some friends of mine, Reno DeKaos and Tracy Olson. Jacques involved there somewhere too. Heh. Weird history with these folk. If anyone knows Sarah Rodgers, they may know Tracy, but as I can’t know how well any of you know the vancouver theatre community, I can’t venture to guess. I’ve got some of Reno’s clothing and her Serving It Right card, I don’t think she even knows, (Shhh – sometimes I use it to play bartender), and Tracy was Dali in a horrid show I was stage manager years ago. He was mesmerizing, but it was the one where I hid drugs before show on the lead and we didn’t cover five pages on opening night. A production that painful is a bit of a bonding experience. Like a tiny minor warzone moment. Limelight shell-shock. (Now I’m wondering when the next Shameless Hussies show goes up…)
 
It’s greedy of me with him exhausted, but I hope I spend time with Gavool today. I wish I could drink too much tonight. Be the kind of girl to pull out the bottle and dream of him still around. It’s more than the idea being tantalizing then the reality. I like the ideas of things often more. It’s like sex. Course, if I could do anything right now, I’d like to be able to sketch him out. Instead of a bottle, a magic pencil that would give me skill. Draw what he looked like as a length in his bed five years ago. Crunched up on his side with the covers around his waist the one time I got to only stand and look at him. When I stepped in through the sliding doors, the floor quietly complained of my weight and his hand reached out for me next to him. He frowned a little in his sleep not to find me there. I crouched down, briefly touched the foot that was closest to me and the crease between his eyes smoothed away. It was morning just barely. The birds had just begun their calls and it was cold so early, the light was buttery ice. If I could capture that on paper… If I could make a photograph in sketchpad lines… *smiles* I must be a masochist to love people who have the abilities I crave so much.
 
Miaow.
 
I wrote this today as a comment in a friends journal:
They’re like the cult-leader couple you meet as your new neighbours that are the first bad sign. The day you meet them at the door you begin to hope Rod Serling will step out from behind a bush and begin a monologue, just to make the neighbourhood that much nicer.
 
I don’t know if you know, but sometimes these letters span over hours. I creep around the world and internet, coming back with new thoughts. I seem to have given away the last Burroughs I actually owned. Fool me. I finished my book tonight on the bus home and now I’m without anything to read as Ian accidentally stole the Mervyn Peake. I bought Memoirs of a Geisha at the airport when dropping off Gavool. I read it a long while ago and have some odd memories tied to it. First time I ever heard about it was the night a woman named Nikki patterned me likely for life towards a particular form of female. *laughter* Slender like willow, with long dark hair straight flowing to her waist. A certain european cast that’s hard to find here. She was in a white cotton nightdress with ivory lace and long feathery wings from L.A. Nikki had almond shaped eyes and not a clue what she was doing to my mind. We were in a hottub half towering full of bubble-bath surrounded completely by vibrant silk flowers. Fuchsia and orange and yellow and the dress was see-through when wet. She was talking intelligently about culture and the new book she’d just read. The topic made thinking just that much more difficult. I don’t imagine I had three words to say. Hah. I just took a look at the forenote copyright information in the book. This puts it at 1999.  I didn’t think it was so long ago. I can’t remember anything to do with when but it wasn’t summery warm out and her iris were dark like gold coffee against her pale pale skin.
 
  I’d never felt any emotional likening to boys before that, but now I understand. It is possible for the brain to simply TURN OFF. *shakes head* There’s another girl who can do it. Mari-Anna. I want to put them on pedestals and have them talk to me forever. Every once and awhile I’ll come across someone who looks right and ‘bing!’ I went to a concert at the Railway a few months ago and one of them sat down with her husband slightly in front of me. I don’t believe I heard a single note after noticing her. If I ever end up in Portugal, I’ll be struck dumb for life.
 
     I was given a ring that night by the mistress of the house. A minute ago I could remember her name. Her and her man Doug. Her father had given it to her before he died, but it had never fit. I don’t know why she thought of it, but it was a Right moment that she give it to me. I carry it on my keys. There’s no better place for it. Every time I slip my hand into my pocket coming home, the ring slides onto my finger and I feel them present there. I like being reminded that trust rewards. *wicked*
 
It’s all part of a long story of an unexpected weekend where I went home with the band.
 
There’s a few of those, all perfect. This time I want to go home with the painter. Let him take me home after flirting in the white walled gallery and play me music, offer me wine and show me his work. Tell me he’d love for me to sit for him and then delicately unbutton my shirt, “like this”, with a hand slipping under to the skin of my breast.

Who knew bathing a ferret would be so easy? I’m used to cats, with thier four out of five pointy ends. Loud yowling murderous complaints. Instead, I have a slightly damp ferret wandering EVERYWHERE through my room. I don’t imagine he’s none too pleased with me, though the water was warm. He sniffs me and then goes away. It seems I have a fairly ferret proof room. Damn – except behind my computer. That will have to be taped up somehow. Lucky I have a Spoooky. Squeaky toys have him running out from whichever cranny to come investigate. He shares some traits with cats. If there’s a bag, he must crawl inside.

So how does one get a ferret happy with you if he’s turning down outmeal raison cookies?

one of the moments

Soap, water, ring ring.

Damnit! “Oh not again… Leave a message! I’m not dripping wet naked for you.” Don’t you hate it when the phone rings when you’re in the shower? I’m expecting three calls, none I particularly want to miss, one a maybe from Calgary.

Do they leave a message? No.

Does #69 work? “The user you are asking after does not recieve calls at this number. Thank you for using Telus”

How altogether frustrating.

 

 

edit: Ray has a cell.. *shrugs* Who knew he ever used it?

the drowning of st christopher

I was late to the fireworks and it was a pity, as they were quite splendidly done. There were some I’d never seen before. Pale washed out green, they look like they were exploding in slow motion. My ghodmum, Silva, had dropped in on-line just as I was leaving. She’s very new to messenger. Just today was her first day. In stopping to chat with her, I was late and caught a bus that let me off halfway down Davie street at exactly ten o’clock. I ran flying down the hill, all the way into the thick crowd at Denman. I had been given clear instructions as to where everyone was, but certainly I was not to find them in the mass of distracted humans. Ten minutes brought me as close as I could to where they were to be, searching faces in the flash bright of the sky. I gave up rather soon on the hopeless cause and sat in a free space right at the water. I’m starting to think that as long as I have people to meet afterwards, maybe I should go to events alone. Toes in the ocean, leaning back into the sand. No idiots until afterwards. I was standing on a log, yelling out Victoria and Kyles names when someone swatted me from behind. Once I’ll let go, but the second time I turned around and whipped my nails across his back. I certainly hope he has a girlfriend. Hah. Right across the shoulder, as incriminating as garters on a mini-skirted secretary. Later, after everyone else finally arrived at True Confections I cleaned the skin out from under my nails in the washroom. Vague worries about contamination in these days we live in. I sat with Victoria, Kyle and Dianna‘s brother, a non-stop chatterbox of an offensive teenager boy with girlfriend. I supect the other table fared slightly better conversation. True to word, I got the tiramisu cheesecake.. So did Kyle after he asked about it and I described it as “an On button. Have some and you will suddenly be wittier, more awake, alive, intelligent and more charming. It’s an exquisite woman in a slinky black dress, champagne in hand, licking your tongue after drinking honey“.

I suppose I should mention that afterwards, while we were walking down Robson, there was a period where I took my shirt off.

blessings, sly boy, come with your kiss
those lips draw smooth patterns
if I could wish on them and oh how I wish
I would draw down innana to illustrate your beauty
take her moonlit sword and draw how I feel for you in the sweep of it

The link was discovered. Both Iraq and Al-Queda have the letter Q

Gavool has parents that are cute. This is what they send. I think it also said something in that I was handed the e-mail addy’s of the entire family with it. Guess it’s official now. Heh.

Subject: Beware of Al-gebra

At New York’s Kennedy airport today, an individual later discovered to be a public school teacher was arrested trying to board a flight while in possession of a ruler, a protractor, a setsquare, a slide rule, and a calculator. At a morning press conference, Attorney general John Ashcroft said he believes the man is a member of the notorious Al-gebra movement.
He is being charged by the FBI with carrying weapons of math instruction.

“Al-gebra is a fearsome cult,” Ashcroft said. “They desire average solutions by means and extremes, and sometimes go off on tangents in a search of absolute value. They use secret code names like “x” and “y” and refer to themselves as “unknowns”, but we have determined they belong to a common denominator of the axis of medieval with coordinates in every country. “As the Greek philanderer Isosceles used to say, there are 3 sides to every triangle,” Ashcroft declared.

When asked to comment on the arrest, President Bush said, “If God had wanted us to have better weapons of math instruction, He would have given us more fingers and toes”.

“I am gratified that our government has given us a sine that it is intent on protracting us from these math-dogs who are willing to disintegrate us with calculus disregard. Murky statisticians love to inflict plane on every sphere of influence,” the President said, adding: “Under the circumferences, we must differentiate their root, make our point, and draw the line.”

President Bush warned, “These weapons of math instruction have the potential to decimal everything in their math on a scalene never before seen unless we become exponents of a Higher Power and begin to factor-in random facts of vertex.”

Attorney General Ashcroft said, “As our Great Leader would say, read my ellipse. Here is one principle he is uncertainty of: though they continue to multiply, their days are numbered as the hypotenuse tightens around them.”

shines through like make-up

After spending a lovely day wtih Jenn, I ran into Bill on my way to the Poetry VS musicians thing at Cafe Du Soliex. I was walking with Robin and he was at J.J. Bean talking with someone I vaguely recognize as a local sound tech. I smiled to see him but he wouldn’t let me touch him. Ah well. C’est La Vie. I’m not angry and there’s not a lot of hurt left to tweak, so whatever. Jenn’s responce to hearing about the phonecall was “You are the ONLY woman alive who wouldn’t be angry at this, but glad to hear from him.” I wish dearly that we were alone when we met though, I might have just been cruel for the laughter I could get out of it. I don’t think I’m the ONLY person, but I do think I may be the only one to think for a flash second of using our past sexual experiences as a serves-you-right weapon.

Walking back home after I tried to return Jacques’ things and get my own back, but there was only a note on the door saying that if I liked, I was welcome to wait inside. Instead, I flipped the note over, wrote a reply and kept walking. He found me not two blocks from Venebles. I fell asleep during the movie. Fairly certain I made it at least halfway. I returned this morning to another letter.

danny letter six