Day: July 24, 2004

My friend Jay is setting off the fireworks this evening. He’s hassling me again to get my ticket. This year I might just go for it. As it’s only twice a year, I almost always miss it. Last time I was in line I got smucked by a truck. Certainly I’ll have better luck these days. I don’t know who I’ll run into tonight, but it’s certain to be fun. Afterwards there’s a posh West Van party with Jacques. Live music & socialites. I love going to parties where people bleed blue when you cut them. I always have far too much fun. Hottub with a view of the city. I’ll have to dig out my most uninteresting anti-wet t-shirt contest underwear. Not, of course, difficult, but something to keep in mind. *chuckles*

The children aren’t very interesting today. Usual questions to eachother, “what do you look like?” I tell them flat out every day I work this that if anyone makes the slightest fuss about skin colour, I may yank their membership. Oh fear. I’m sitting here waiting for Gavool. This part is the real waiting. He’s out there somewhere. If I think about it, I can see him. I’m realizing I worry a little too, but not in concrete ways. Mine are all neglectful leftovers from the last relationship. “will he want to talk with me today? will it be worth it for him to take the time from his day?” Useless things, untrue and habit. It’s almost surreal to not be scared of him. I learned to live with so many rules that it was ridiculous. Call if I’m out for over 2 hours, tell exactly who I’m with, what we’re doing and if there’s anyone else. Be home by THIS time else you’ll be punished. Now I have a list of warning signs: BEWARE THE FALLING ROCKS – fragile ego ahead.

I was talking about Gav with my friends Aiden and Nicole last night. Quite a few of those ‘it’s nice to see you happy’ comments. They’re both good friends of mine, though newly a couple. It’s a joy to spend time with them. It was if I felt him just in the next room. Aiden said he’d come with me to Calgary some time if he could meet him *smiles* Another, ‘go. leave. move out there.’ person. I’m starting to suspect it’s always the people who know me best. *shakes fist at Vancouver* Now that word is spreading I’ve let him go, he’s gone, there are all sorts creeping out of the woodwork hoping to ‘console me’ or.. something. Idiots. I didn’t know that really anyone knew you were even around or existed. I’m beginning to wonder how old I’ll get until that particular phenomenon fades. Mid thirties? *shrugs* Least most of it is amusing.

Four:fifteen. Crossing mental fingers that he’ll be here soon. I’d like to have him over before the flesh people arrive. If nothing else, I’ll have to have the bother of getting properly dressed. Evilness. I’ll try to nab a digicam off someone to take pictures and so post them. Maybe I’ll just take my idiot point & click. It’s not like I don’t have film lying around at all times. Should have brought it with me when leaving town, but all thought of it escaped my mind until he had left. Having certain people around has me used to digital. I went through some of the Cam archives. Found us enduring SWAT together. Two seconds of standing in the livingroom all gothy and more time sitting with Ray. It crashes my computer there’s so much data to wade through, but really, at three a.m. it’s not like I have anything better to do. My mind replays the hours when watching the pictures go by like cells. “we were sitting at ethans now, on the couch” play scroll animation play play. The walls fading into darkness, then oh! a kitchen light. That would be you making sandwiches. *laughter* If I were anyone else, this would be obsessive.

Four:twenty-eight. I swear, this minute hand is like the left hand of Lucifer. I think rather than bore you, (that odd mystical you who apparently may read this), to tears with more of this, I’m simply going to post this and let it be. Go read some more Calvin & Hobbes.

Woke today to tight muscles screaming me from sleep. Unconcious curling into the pain. Make it Stop! Too much walking, I suppose. Too much on too little. Not really eating, not really sleeping. Fuel and rest escaping the radar. Stepping delicately over my trip-wires to glance nonchalant back over thier shoulder as soon as I’ve realized they’re too far gone. Damned green-tinted bastards. Tonight is Illuminaires! I must recover. I suppose it’s almost lucky that today is a stuck sitting day. Working the chat room. Heat calling for cream linen with it’s sweaty voice streaming in with the sun from the window. This skirt is too short to leave the house in. My skin is prickling already and it’s another hour until the sky bakes clean blue in the kiln.

I don’t know who is coming over this evening, but I expect two of three to arrive. Ethan’s been talking of making lanterns. I sincerly hope he finds supplies. I would love to make something today. Actually take these hands and let them Be. Framework pasted with tinted paper. Also small, not a quick toss-off heart this year, but perhaps flame. Make fire. Swerving panels curling upwards. Idealized and scarlet tongued two hands high.
I should call Jaques and see if there’s to be a blanket this year. Leslie and Monica and the rest of the older folk. It would be nice to see David. If I see Angela, I may take her up on the offer of being on the board of the Historical Society. I still feel too young, but not so much now I’m living in such shadow. Jaques’ my tie now that Bill won’t talk to me. French flavoured ribbon tying me to so many people. Almost family I never see except by chance. I have to remember also to find out when Fringe is this year. He’ll be on the board and I want the End Party details.

father letter four

This quote of the day is for that house with the pale wood paneling.

 

David LaChappelle is one of the most brillient photographers currently in existance. He’s created some Declare Yourself films. The ‘go register to vote’ shorts. Um, yeah. They’re a bit disturbing. Go watch. The first one actually recieved a split second of shock from me.

To recover, here’s some directed by Kevin Smith.

 

 

links thanks to

She’s walking home at one a.m. with a cheap plastic spoon in one hand and a small carton of caramel ice-cream in the other. She just tried to share it with a friend who wasn’t home. Wasn’t last time either, maybe three times the charm. Earlier she’d been at a dinner party. Her friend Aiden’s birthday. Some new people there and one or two she’d known already. Conversation was amusing and animated, a nice change from the long hot day. It’s summertime and the weather is oppressive in her little box of an apartment. Someone had brought unusual little gyroscopic toys that lit up and were hard to hold. No batteries needed nor included. She can still acutely feel the muscles in her right arm, how they feel overly used somehow. She was the last to leave, as usual. Staying behind with Aiden and Nicole. Doing dishes and explaining finally the break-up of six months ago. A new thing to attempt. Setting one piece in front of the other to create the path she walked. She looks embarrassed at some of it, but not overly. Her friends curled on the couch across from her are happy together, happy to have her here, glad to listen. It was the sort of chatting after the party that should have had a bottle of wine or a carafe of coffee. They should have been sitting there adult, sipping from glasses while softly laughing in love at themselves.

She’s walking now, alone in the soft night. A Gibson bit about Tokyo crosses her mind as she walks up the hill on fourth street. “It never gets dark here. Even when you close the door, the light blows under the door like powder.” She agrees completely. Happens in her room all the time. It never gets properly dark in the city. All the extraneous lights. Half of these and we would still be safe. Across Clark now and up a block, next to the school. There’s people talking in the darkness. They’re up at the top of the elementary fire escape. It’s funny where people will go to talk at night. Different places than during the day. Little hidden places, like attempting to be alone with your friends with walls of privacy made of invisible velvet. She’s counting her fingers. July, August, September, November. Five years is an eternity when you’re twenty-two. It’s practically one quarter of your life. It’s not real. Four months though. Four months is real and it’s no time at all. Especially if it’s not really waiting. If the other is there every day, eager as well. Days fly past, utterly meaningless. She’ll tell him this when she logs on at home.