Author: foxtongue

For those of you who know what it means, Gavin and I were going through the Straight yesterday and I found another advert of my fathers.

DANNY HOLMES – Hall of Fame
Would like to meet/educate my kids in music/art.

I’m only slightly terrified. He’s 50 now. There was an e-mail addy and I think I’m going to answer it. Create a false address with no link to any of my netnames. These have been showing up every once and awhile in the Straight for about 2 years. I’ve seen two before. One looking for a young female musician for ‘an upcoming project’ which I SINCERLY hope no one ever answered, and another looking for us. Mum’s in the phonebook these days but I can’t imagine he’ll ever call again. It didn’t go over so well last time. The Filth stomped him pretty hard. I suppose this means he’s still in Van. I’m going to attempt to word my letter in a way that doesn’t say I’m here in Van still. I may try to outright lie and give him my address in Toronto.

The sounds are different with every body. The movements, the whisper sound of hands on paper. I didn’t think that would be something to miss, but seemingly I do. We smile when we look at eachother. I think there’s many moments of not knowing what to say. He’s eaten more life than I and so rescues words with a grace I can’t yet achieve. I’m lost, halting. His eyes are a colour I don’t recognize.

Calgary doesn’t seem very far away now. Only a step outside and to the left. The mountains don’t exist, only the road and the path and that simple breakfast above in a bookstore. I need to be more alone in the city. Tornado weather on the way out. Sudden hail half a foot deep, white and green hiding the blinding sun. The highway invisible in the middle of July ice. Every night fireworks. Light crash and the cityscape. Purple red and green falling over the sparkle of the amusement park rides. I could like it here. I could never get lost. The feeling of knowing that never dies properly, but fades slow.

He turned to me with a paintbrush in his hand the night of Deans birthday. This Isn’t Mine, though they think it is. Sweetness and Marissa sleeping on the couch. Her fifteen year old friend Rachel, obviously out of her depth. Gavin and Dean fixing Ians shoes with chemicals and a nailgun. Uncomfortable with these strange people full of the creative.  Lucky she wasn’t there for the potatoe cannon out the front. Certain she didn’t see me watching her discomfort, my eyes full of Gavin. I caught him watching me perched on the car door our first day. I’d left my book behind at the studio in my morning exhaustion. The twelve hour drive accomplished in eight. The door was stuck when I ran in. I thought it was Dean who called come in. I slammed it open to realize I’d sent glass hurling towards a steel door. Twirling, I caught it to turn in a wave of black and velvet. I don’t know who was more surprised. Trembling adrenaline.. 

I’m in Calgary still. The studio becomes more eerily familiar the more time I spend here. Tonight is likely going to be the end of walking on paint. It is dark outside and chances of dinner are slimming with every minute. I was curled here with Gavin, talking of nothing in particular and glad of it. Our voices are more our own when we are alone. He’s left a canvas on the wall from last night, ready and waiting and tempting. Yellow and something to resist. I likely would if it were set on the floor or lower. Flowers, though it’s midnight and Deans birthday is over. If I knew the city better I would have known where to get him something interesting. Alone for the first time since I left the city.
going to drown my sorrows, like there’s no tomorrow
Dean and Shauna are sitting in thier room watching Donnie Darko. The only room not a riot of colour. The door is shut, but I hear the music. I can understand missing this place, wanting to stay. There is an expression here that I’m not around enough. A feeling of being able to jump, it’s not even fire, but water. I like that their sounds drift muted through the door.
The place we stay in is cold. The basement freezing in the middle of the summer nights. I woke once to the sight of my breath above me. Lighter shadow in the incomplete darkness. This morning I could not sleep for other reasons. Ones more amusing and personal. There is a grotto attached to the building of colour, burned and firegutted. Desecrated ground home for the pigeons, it was beautiful. Razor wire and no ground to trust. Gavin destroying, creating a gate so that I might see. A gift I said thank you for. After the stairway of brick, I wanted to touch him then. Standing highest above together, with lightning flashing. The spark, arcing, likely just me.
We’re too polite in this third wheel syndrome.
We need fireworks, and lightning and other party distraction. I can only hope I mean as much in so little a time, but he turned when I wanted him to, met me when I didn’t ask. Complete with eyes closed and explosions. An appropriate first time for everything. Again. He’ll be coming to town until only Thursday. Work needs him and vice versa. That endless grind and toil. The canvas is set, and it is half an hour later now. Any more time and I will have to play. I can imagine them somewhere mistakenly attempting to give us time alone, not knowing that he’s hours gone.

Busy as it was, yesterday was right. Everything that was to be done got done, everyone visited was visited. New people were met and I ended my night dancing. Well, actually, I ended my night sharing a cab with a boy I’d met at a useless bustop. We walked back to the club together and we waited outside. He was attached to Evad and crew, and we rode together to Commercial and Hastings. More of that meeting people thing.

The potluck was nice, Mishka came along and we brought pie, though fairly foodless for me. Met the friends from back east of Matthews, though only remember the names of Rowan and Jeremy. There was frisbee in the backyard until the Glick Garden was at too much risk. Playing in the dark with a black frisbee with a blind girl. Yeah, we moved inside. Plus – mosquitos. Mosquitos suck. *ducks*

The party at Alicias was busy. Watermelon and lots of people wandering around in bedsheet togas. People had come out for Vic whom I haven’t seen in half an age, though I mostly sat on the couch with Tim and Mishka, drinking scary peach bilini’s that Vic insisted on giving us. It was nice to see friends having fun, and just as nice to have Mishka meet them.

She had a gig this morning so she wasn’t up for going dancing afterwards, though she wanted to. I think her ex was there though, so it’s likely for the best. She dropped me off and I ended up in the tiny line around midnight. I met an english boy through lending them my jacket, pinstripes matching, and we pretended to be a couple to get in faster. There were fewer people there that I knew, but I’m not used to coming in so late. When inside, I just hit. Straight to the floor and hard. Johnathan was there, drunk and so far more friendly than usual. I’ll forgive his hands and teeth because I’m like that. He didn’t leave any marks and I got to laugh and grab his hands.

When I got home I was soaked through from dancing. Taste of salt and honey. I’d danced on the side against the wall, a bit with the english boy, but mostly by myself. A successful night when people compliment me without expectation. The people who asked me to dance, I all turned away, though I have a promise from the European fellow that he’ll ask me to dance next month. He held my hand after I winked at him. We get along. We talked outside while flagging down cabs. “Beauty before age.” Inside I was laughing at myself so hard it hurt. I’ve already forgotten his name.

*superexciteyjhayne* I’m getting a FERRET!!!!!!!!!! She’s going to spend my week away with Bliss. *love* I want to rush through my week now. Run past the hours and minutes until when I can meet her little furry paws. She’s about 8 months old, and I don’t really know anything else yet. *swoons* FERRET!

*happy*

and yay! Jaques is making me breakfast! Then to work, where I call Calgary, then to Silva’s for evening wonderfulness.

I love the world.

That gunbang crash of thunder just set off some car alarms.

*joy*

Everything is coming together. I’ve been missing some people lately, but I’ve been snatching hugs off them on the street when I see them, I suppose I’m alright. Ian and Mishka are getting along fabulously, as are Gavin and Ian. Mishka’s not connected enough to the chat interface to be able to properly use it to talk with anyone. We went out to dinner at Wazubi’s yesterday and we explained to her how it’s possible for there to be culture memes that exist soley on the internet that sweep the entire planet. *grins* Media sharing itself in even one line. “badger badger badger” “All your Base” It’s a ping of information in real time, in experience. We don’t have to explain it to one another, because we bond through media sharing. We can’t properly sit and talk wit someone in Venezuala, so we send them a film clip we like. “Mah spoon is too big!” And they bleed out in to the world. It’s wonderful.

Lately I’ve been hooking people into Livejournal, explaining it’s the only network system I’ve ever found to actually work. More reliable than the random chance I-met-this-guy-at-a-party-that-could-tell-you. Communities under the surface of the city and growing. It’s a pity almost that hardly anyone goes to meet-ups. To meet the other people that allow this to happen, to KNOW when you pass them on the street. Gavinroomie and I suspect that there is a LiveJournal user in the building, and we wonder who it is. Bruce Sterling wrote a short story once, Maneki Neko. In it there is a purely network community, (bluetooth similar), who effects things in realtime all the time. A barter system and a gifting. I’m not usually a fan of Bruce Sterling, but the ideas are wonderul. The network swallowed into your life creating a richer community, a better place to be living in the world. Favours and words out on the net. Friends not even known, working everyday to help.

We need a password, a handshake. Tiny moments of Jive. A term we speak to be overheard.

Wouldn’t it be delightful sometimes to be exactly what the unobservant think of you? I think I would like to enjoy being callous. To not care about people would be like some sort of vacation. A week away. “Oh darn, broke another toy. I guess I’ll have to go seduce another one” Would that not be amazing to actually be sometimes? So simple, so purely uncomplicated. To pay no attention to pain or other peoples desires. It must be a freedom. Not, I should add, that I would care to live, but still, I can see it’s attractiveness.

I called Bill tonight, like I told Dominique I would. It’s so sad. He seems so ensconced in victimhood he is unable to be aware of it. May the world protect me from ever being as such. She said not to, but really, I must. He hung up on me. I think he’s getting better, it took him an hour this time. I’m not going to stop trying though. I’m not who he says I am. It’s not my fault he won’t believe what I tell him. His carefully filtered views contradict all evidence, but he will create new out of any words. I suppose that is an almost enviable simple, in it’s own way. *grinning* Of course I still love him, of course I will continue to try and I will laugh as I scale this sheer wall. Because the top would be worth the broken nails, the bleeding fingers, the scrape and loss of flesh. I miss him.

Though I may be blind, I can see.

 

I should have been at work an hour ago, but at the park across the street, I found a fledgling crow dead on the ground. I’ve put the dear in my freezer for now. I can’t think what else to do with it. Any suggestions of interesting things to do with a fledgling crow? The feathers in the wings haven’t fully grown out, but it’s the size almost of an adult.

I was cruel tonight. It tasted delicious. Of nails down skin and thighs.

Wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for the storm.

A dark beach. Light coloured sand and ocean crash. Wind and water and fury. Now you fall on your knees for her. Gritty on the damp bare feet. There is a moon and it is cold. Cold like chill, cold like the moment you hear unexpected sound. She still has her shirt off. Teeth. That shiver is for the thunder. Wind whipping hair and skirt. Powerful, wicked. Flesh. Gasp now, before she hears you arching your back. Night laughter and skin. She’ll scream if you let her. Deafen the sky. Exquisite and lightning. Remember there was a line drawn once, sly and poison. Bisected by blackness across the chest. I’ll glow in the dark and laugh at you watching me. This is mine.