Author: foxtongue

Walking back to the empty apartment, wanting very badly to have somewhere to be, someone I’m to meet and spend time with. I don’t want to step back into my hollow life in a room where he breathed. Walking back, I remember this from last time. Saying goodbye only to run into him again and again in the corner of my eye. Cities are rife with long men. None with the right angle of head, none with the proper voice to call me out. I walked away smiling, though I turned around and watched his red backpack out of sight with the eyesting that closes the throat. I could feel it in my teeth when they got on the plane. Fingers on the rests when acceleration hit. A moment when boarding when he looked at his shoes on the gray plastic floor. Back of the brain hallucination maybe, but it pushed me into me like reality.

this part never gets any easier, does it

I had nothing to read on the way back and nothing to write with. The bookstore gave me Memoirs of a Geisha. Thoughts of Nikki tied in with it, the hot-tub, the flowers, bubbles and Her. Patterning for my female desires. Next staying summertime. An after the accident walking with a cane, staying in the front room, living at Johnathan’s house, with Mike Schaldemose and Carrie. Being with Bill and missing him. Fitting that I take it away from this. First patterning. First with a lot of things. Painter lover and just realizing last night that I was underage.

It’s cold in spite of the bright sun. It’s too early for this. We’re going. He’s leaving. I don’t know what and the how of goodbye, but O can’t breathe already.

This hurts in that I know I will miss it.

So! New additions to the household today on my Gavools last day. A dead wren in the freezer and a live crow on the porch. Poor thing’s too young to fly and has twisted a foot falling from the tree. Anyone know how to care for a crow? Anyone want one? He, well, I call him a he, though I certainly don’t know, is surprisingly good when handled. He can’t perch for his foot, but is quite cuddly for something wild.

We were just out for dinner with Domnique. He leaves tomorrow, first thing.

Well, this is it. Last day. *grinning wicked* It’s been a time. I think we’ll keep eachother. If he doesn’t watch out, when I hit my settlement, I’ll commision him. Triptych: You, I, and us. Then, now, and capture my youth boy-oh or perish. He’s on the phone right now, seeing to arrangements. He’s flying stand-by. Ian is kind enough to drive us out there. The bed will empty and I won’t be sleeping over anywhere for awhile. This Saturday is Illuminaires and I know I’ll feel sad at the fireworks. Lost in trying to keep your face darling.

 

Off to morning coffee.

For those who care:

Poetry Slam tonight.

Cafe Du Soliex

9pm

we’ll be there, so should you

No explanation is forthcoming from my friend missing. If that is how things are to be, I suppose I must accept. I suppose, as well, that I have distraction enough currently to keep me worried overmuch. I hope it does not continue too long.

Gavool leaves Wednesday.

First night here I woke in the darkness rigid. Too early for morning light, there was someone in the bed beside me. Quick strict feeling of Wrong. I’m better now. I’m learning. We’re learning. Feeling sometimes like I’m trying to force something that isn’t there. Pushing against to find no barrier. I think that he does the same. Intimacy not quite, but acting as if. Not time enough to wait in, but time enough maybe to remember his face.

“This art is ABOUT”

Stretched out pale last night in the faint light from the window. Same size hands creating out of nothing. Curves, angles, a filled out form. Alabaster. My new favorite thing. Studying for sculpture, settling perhaps in for a painting. Frieze for you. Frozen. A pose. Nothing to hide. I won’t close my eyes when you look at me. Afterward, for a moment, surprise as you terrified. Figure study seduction darling. The absinthe on the table with the still life as we enact stereotypes. Next time, we should do this in France.

I’ve stumbled upon something beautiful today on-line. The Sad Song, by Fredo Viola. The video was created entirely using 15 second jpg movies from a Nikon Coolpix 775 still camera and reconstructed in AfterEffects. It’s awe that he’s made something so sweet from something so small.

 

I’m making Gavin dinner now. Garlic and ginger browning in butter. Sweet Gavool, he’s on the phone with his parents, talking about me. Mum: “so how’s the new girlfriend working out?” My comment, of course, “you’d think after five years, I’d be getting a chance to meet the parents.”