Author: foxtongue

bleeding on the dancefloor is SO goth

The clock clicked to three the minute I opened the door of the car last night.

“and as she’s straightening her stockings, her hair has gotten wet”

Mishka and Ian came over last evening. Michelle was to be present too, but her childcare had gone missing. It was the first time the two of them had met and I can safely say it went successfully. We will more than survive the 12 hour drive and week together. With the right music, we’ll glory in it. There was an amusingly busy point with the three of us in my room, with Victoria, Kyle, and my brilliant Gavin on-line, and Jaques on the phone. I can’t imagine how frighteningly witty it would have been if everyone had been present in person. Later on, we and roomie-Gavin met up with Jaques at Wazubis on our trek for gelati. (I love that we have pictures). He and Ian started into a seriously amusing debate. Basically boiled down it was Spirituality VS Science, with Ian as the Voice Of Modern Reason.In the meantime, Mishka and I had stolen his friend, (whose name escapes me). She’s a piano teacher who accompanied Mishka years ago.

One of the things I really dislike about Van is the smallness of it all. The ONLY benifit of living here, I think, it the sheer social inscestuous. After awhile, it IS possible to know everyone. It’s one of my favorite things to mesh social groups together. Let Them meet They and toss them both at Us. It’s beautiful when it gets big enough. Stop the world for a moment and revel in it. Tangles nets of interaction catching new people as we go. Glorious.

We didn’t stay very long after the staff of the restuarant moved us inside. A half hour more of fetish nights and computer ed. We walked out around quarter to twelve still laughing onto the street. Mishka and Ian turn out to have people in common too. *love* It’s going to be a fun ride.

After Mishka went off home, glowing in the dark with her sunburn, Ian and I went off to Sanctuary’s last night at the Purple Onion. It’s strange to think that I’ve been going for five years. We ran into Beth and Miyama and gave them a ride home before heading in ourselves. Crow was there with his new girl, Micky. (She looks sort of interchangable with all the others I’ve known him to date). It didn’t stop him from watching me dance. I have a suspician that our relationship had been previously explained to her. *laughter* There were a few other people I knew there, but as it was after midnight, I’m sure most of everyone had gone home. Pity, but I pushed myself and danced util the last song in spite of the broken glass, so I’m happy.

just notes and letters

*Shane’s voice* Salutations!

As Lick fell through, I stayed waiting for the miracle until ten o’clock. At ten:ten I decided I must leave, so I shouldered my bag and left my shoes at home. Zesty’s was empty, so I just kept walking. Decided to fetch Sorbet from Super-Valu and keep hitting houses until I found someone with spoons. I decided if the search went fruitless, I would even knock on the doors of homes I did not know, provided that they had lights on and music playing. Minimum six houses with Raspberry melting in my bag. Marc not home, nor Jaques, nor Peter, nor Mike, nor Cath, nor Dimni, not one house with light and song. Everyone out on a Sat night, and I alone, stalking the streets, searching for company. Lucky Zesty’s is also on the way home.

C.R. caught me on my way by. Reached out a hand and said “hallo!” I’m not sure I would have seen them otherwise. The poetry people recognize me faster than I them sometimes. Curses on blindness. This week I go look at frames. Shane had some Fudge Colour for me that Ivan Coyote had given him. It’s like a link in a chain of barter system. Ivan got crunched this week. Idiot woman bashed her yesterday on Granville and no one stepped up to help. You think the world has come so far and then… *sighs*

In another turn of sillyness, as if to prove yet again the inscestuousness of Vancouver, on our caravan way to C.R.s place for the after the after party party, we collected Robin, the girl I was dancing with at Lick.

accurate?

I posted this to freeloaders international this evening

Hello!

My name’s Jhayne and I’ll be traveling with my friends Mishka and Ian. I work on-line, Ian is a psych student, and Mishka is a classical musician. Our plan is to visit Stampede and come back with a cowboy hat and a painter, though we’ll be interested mostly in playing tourist to the Arts community.

The three of us are in our early twenties, but not terribly the partying type. Well, not that sort of party, anyways. *grinning* We’re social, but geeks. We like to stay up and talk about philosophy and terrible movies. If you ask nicely, Mishka may play the viola. None of us are drinkers, nor do we smoke anything in spite of being from BC. We’re all English speakers, (Ian speaks french as well), though are more than happy to learn anything you may be able to teach us. We’re willing to crunch up and share a bed or sleep on floors as we’re not fussy people. We’re tidy and certainly not axe-murderers.

You can find out marginally more about us in our livejournals at porphyre and varsil respectively. Our writing styles, if naught else. We won’t be requiring tours, as we have a few people in town, but I have to admit a nudge in the direction of internet access would be appreciated.

Thank you,

~jhayne

Another year missing the Jazz Festival. If I had Rehkas number, I would have dialed her it so fast I would have broken buttons.

For some reason I can’t get the last show I did at the Cultch out of my head today. The Artists Against War Red Cross Fundraiser, hosted by Felix Culpa. I suppose it’s running into Bill on Canada Day. He looked so broken. He looked maybe a tiny piece of how I felt that night. Running the back stage – something like thirty theatre companies – then a hall full of congratulation and animated conversation, and I sitting on a stool in the back corner. Staring at the pale wooden floor and knowing I’m not allowed to talk to anyone. The one moment where I would have run off with another man. Thank you, I love you, for calling me out onto the stage to feel the applause. He wouldn’t face the audience until I stood out beside him. I wanted to hold his hand as we swept into bow, but I knew Bill was watching.

I have something for Davids son somewhere. I think I saw it while unpacking, but for the life of me, I cannot remember what it was. Something I thought highly appropriate for a young boy. I know Bill’s apparently working on the new Felix Culpa performance in the works, so I don’t know what the relationship might have shifted to. Knowledge of our break-up. When I find my little object, I’ll go leave it on the doorstep with a note.

waiting for a signal on the sound

Today has been a day of news that isn’t. Mishka’s breaking up with her boyfriend because they’re not “soulmates”, Beth’s had to cancel on me so no Costume Party this evening, and work was supremely dull. Not a day of inspiration. Working with children kills braincells. Ther’s nothing immortal about them.

Now I’m sitting like some Nice Girl from the fifties. Waiting by the metaphorical phone for a boy to call her out to the Malt Shoppe. Ankles crossed with a hope in hand. It’s not an image that belongs. I don’t sit right for bobby socks.

 

there may be mountains, but there’s no stones

Whenever say stigmata, I think of a picture I want to exist. Someone screaming flowers, bleeding them from thier hands.

“you are mine to do with as you wish”
damn fingers!
*grabs them*
Brain?
check

sunday is slow    +    it crawls on inane fingers and toes

*quick cut image of paint and sweat*
You are just never going to win.
I’ve gotten older. Sharp, sharp and sharper. Twist you like wire to make a silver necklace to drape upon a naked belly.

:then the snap of mountains:
I had a wonderful thought today walking home. “I hope that when this ends, and he leaves again, or I leave, or we demolish in some quarrel. I want there to be some place that hurts to walk by”
like the very earth under your feet
It made me smile

I have a table, where we sat and you asked me a question. I have every single game of pool and billiards. There is a bar that’s dead and gone and a bench next to a terrible coffeeshop. The suns painted on your cousins mantle, near the end. The fact that I don’t have a black pillow anymore. There was a canoe outside Bretts new apartment, and it was in the dark. Skin like paper, love. Pale and willing to be written on.

“smoke and mirrors” the other day and I couldn’t stop laughing and couldn’t tell anyone why

I can so beat you at this one. Which girl do you think Brett ended up with the night we left them in the apartment next to the skytrain?

red nailpolish “I’m an artist – I can work a brush”

Brett was an odd one to hang out with – like sort of a window into a Nice world. Joe Average, wierd for his normalancy
Voted most likely to get married with 2.5 children. Why wasn’t he living in Kits?
and Nat? my portait of him? I dunno – empty angel playing with pencils maybe.  Pretty, pointless, and a lack of someone

I felt something die when it hit me. No one knew me. Or anything in my head or anything about me before 2000
I think I’m lucky I don’t believe in angst

It’s like the Enola Gay of arguement

I think I may have just evened the use of words. I may not be a writer, but you make pictures with pictures so stab me in the dark with memories, why don’t you?
I’ve got the crumpled paper in my head, the one with phonenumbers, the moments, the memories. You’ll just have to trail those words past me, and catch me like a kitten.
chrome and glass and the songs we played on the jukebox
I can breathe through the years far far better than most, darling. I don’t know about you, but I remember and there’s no effort. It’s all dead and alive all at once and there, at hand

My pity though, it’s all still capture images. snippets of film, unwinding. Doors that opened into the room, with the bed on the right hand corner. Coal Minors Daughter, and a metal bowl because we didn’t have music. You said your name coming back into bed, because I’d been restless in my sleep, and you didn’t want to wake me, except we were on the couch, and I’d been watching you paint a Five onto canvas, in a red circle. I asked why the five and, “maybe, if you get to know me better, you’ll find out” and I still dont’ know. But the shirt you had on had a little smear of red paint. I know that like waiting for you at a busstop in the dark.

I can almost imagine you sitting and sketching for me in a coffeeshop, doing this in pictures. Whatever you give me is more than I expected.

I felt that. Like a catholic part of my brain has decided that I only ever made someone happy so I could take thier joy
It’s untrue, of course, but I can still taste it as I eat it.
you’re catching my breath in those fingers

Blood and breath and tongue and bone, darling. the body and heart that pumps it. And the lungs the bellow it? the tongue that shapes the bellow, the rage that heats that air

don’t tempt me