It was interesting to picture you tall at a payphone. I could feel your smile like heat, sunwarmth on my skin. Your back to the phone, looking away, out a window. Trying to see the people you must be watching walk by. I sat in my window alcove in a nest of vivd silks. Bright lit and bare feet. Your voice subtly different, your vocabulary shifted. Thinking I should worry a moment, but click smooth slide into conversation.
I want to call you back to me, but I don’t have a number to dial. The days are numbered maybe so, but i’m not finding waiting hard. I think you feel a pressure that I’m letting glide past me into nothing. It’s my turn to find you wrapped in a sheet. A present, a gift, with a candy cherry bow. I still don’t know if you’ll know me now.
I’m sure everyone reading this has encounted spamdada. It go through my junk-mail now. Every day now, hunting for treasures.
Today, I found this:
Sent : June 28, 2004 6:39:01 PM
Subject : micheal moore arrested
Increase your sperm count
Increase the width of your penis
Increase the length of your penis
Increase testosterone levels
Have harder,longer erections
Click the link for more information
They’re getting smarter.
Glenda the parking ghoddess
– appears as on old woman in hot pink rollar skates.
– her icon may sometimes be found wrinkling on the back of bathroom doors.
She is the wise Lady of the Tarmac. Invoking her name brings empty parking stalls in convenient places and wards off the Anti-Destination League.
Enid, ghoddess of condiments
– appears as a white pillar of salt
– her icon may be found in any truckstop diner
She is the Lady of Spice, of zest and french fries. Her blood runs as vinegar. Invoking her name improves the odds of finding edible food at two a.m.
The usual wake-up dance of hand up and over, glasses flick and computer keys. I keep waking before the morning chill has faded. It’s odd to touch it from the other side. The world getting warmer seems so far away and yet immediate. It should only get cold if you’ve been awake X hours into the night, not when one is only snapping into self. From dreams. It’s a different kind of cold than that in the evening. The air tastes different, and movement seems more brittle.
Mishka comes over today. She’s here from the Island finally. She’ll be staying the nights with me and I suppose most of her days. Hopefully this means I’ll have a chance to meet her Allan properly. A two-second hallo in a fetish club to a boy in rubber pants doesn’t tell me as much as it sounds.
Deadpan to Kyle on the bus last night:
“That’s right, because you know an empty receptacle screams your name louder.”
I’ve just come back from Fahrenheit 9/11 and I am very quiet. I don’t think I’m okay. There was family up on that screen. The opening sequence hurt me in spite of the strings, and I mean spite as when it meant something, I mean spit in your face. Planes crashed into those towers, and yet there were people there with cameras, pointing to the people instead of the sky. There were people with a “this should be seen” stride and sense of angle. Black, and the sound. Knowing immediately. Simply the sound.
They didn’t show the towers fall.