I’m feeling cruel. I think it goes hand in hand with female boredom. The girl is stealing my soul. Particular boys are mattering to me. In spilling this obscenity, I suppose it means I’m growing into the whole estrogen thing. Bill’s lucky that there’s people keeping me occupied on-line right now else for lack of anything better to do I would be concocting the harshest playlist possible for him to walk in on. I’m fairly certain I have every song that could possibly be tied to Me and Us. That dream asleep from days back before I wasn’t a priority. I’d have to dig a bit to come up with something that wasn’t Bowie, but I’m certain I could do it. One, two, three, four. I dance like you darling. Flick it on like a switch. That taste for detail stings. Of course, as I’m not actually a vindictive person, it’s only something I want to do for the hell of it. I have no reason to, I’ve just been left alone too long today. I’m not so good with pointless malice. There’s no swap of love for hate in my soul, so it won’t happen. Bad enough I’ve re-done my hair. He knows I do all of it. I’d make for an interesting pin-up, curly patches of plum fur on pale skin. Somewhere a tiny voice will be screaming inside of him to fall on his knees and kiss it.
I’m even sorry for that.
I admit, that yes, four in the morning is a good time to get ahold of me. I admit also that I have stated that anyone with my number is to feel free to call at such a time. Welcome to, in fact. What I do not understand is why it seems the only time that Bill will call me. What is about four in the morning that takes away his nervous fear? *rubs eyes* Captive audience? I keep the phone by my bed at night expressly for those people who call me late at night. I don’t mind. Jacques calls regularly at two, after all, but four? I suppose I’ll ask him when he’s over later. My humour claims it’s because I can’t gather enough brain to be intelligent, but I imagine that would only backfire. *yawns* If someone is upset with me, even a little, they should not under any circumstances call me when my self-editor is turned off. I barely have much of one to start with. *yawns more* His message this morning says that he’s to be coming over today with my things. A proper bed! Hoorah! *chuckles*
Going through the photographs of the past few months have let me in some astonishing emotives. There’s some on the rolls stretching back as far as my night hosting at Placebo Sofa Cinema. I came across those and I smile, happy, then I stop walking. So many people? Was it really so many people? A dead town like Vancouver and I filled a movie theatre? Tier upon tier of people all laughing. I put them away in my pocket as I get onto the train, trying to remember the names of everyone who showed. I can’t. There were too many. I’m feeling suddenly less clever. At home I take them out again, keep going through them. There’s a few of myself that look odd. I couldn’t place it, but then I know. I find the roomate’s bathroom scale to weigh myself and recieve another slight shock, because, yes, I suppose thirty pounds less will show up in the mirror. No wonder I needed the corset re-laced. Six months to change the world, darlings, six months to change myself. I never even noticed.
When the scanner stops being bitchy, I’ll post them.
Oh sweet jesus christ fragging bunnies. WHY do I know the lyrics to Baker Street? Kyle must die.
Pictures of Derek, Victoria, and I as taken by Kyle after fireworks.
coffeeshop late months ago
Pictures came back from the developers today. It felt odd somehow, like I’d never been to the lab before, because for the first time in a long time I knew almost exactly what was going to be on the rolls. Looking at the translucent negatives, I knew there wouldn’t be any nudity, for example. As I’ve already had a full day of doing other peoples dishes and putting them to sleep with my amazing un-geisha-like skills, I’m feeling lazy. Luckily, Robin is too. Fancy that. So this evening he’s playing video games and I’m scanning photos.
Here’s one my roomate took of me the day I was falling asleep in odd places all over the apartment:
So J has survived Wakefest though painfully. Being the director of the festival, he has to run the volunteer party this evening, so I’m going to go coddle him out of his hangover with Pho before he has to drag his tomcat self out to shake it wihth all the pretty girls. Seems like a good way to visit his kitten. I missed Wakefest myself, Sunday being the last day. Dominique and Rowan dropped by last night with thier friend. This city being the small inscestuous pool it is, we’re fairly sure we knew eachother. His speech was certainly familiar. In any case, the company and the chocolate covered coffee beans were a certain treat. *grinning*
For those of you who enjoy hued hands, I’m planning on the aubergine solution this evening around five.
it’s this sort of thing that’s making me fall in love with my in-box
Street servicemen were banging outside my window at 8:30 in the morning. It sounded like rocks being smashied clangingly into pipes. I rolled over in protest and attempted to wait it out, finally to discover the time was far too early. Why is there an 8:30 in the morning? Who was the cruel bastard that decided that?
Just for this, I’m having the chocolate cake for breakfast like I said to myself I wouldn’t.
edit: I checked my music download and discovered someone who has listed for sharing every single eurovision song contest winner from 1956 to present day. Complete with entrants home country listed. I’m in a wierd sort of awe at that. Not a healthy sort. I’m going to try to go back to bed and deny this man exists.
For those with the link, there’s some new music up at the FTP. If you want the link, you may just tell me so and I’ll send it. Many apologies to those who’re curious because unless you are know already, you are not going to find out the why the folder names. Because damnit – I feel like it. It has been pointed out to me that everyone should at least have one question they will not answer so I have arbitrarily decided that this, for now, will be mine until I can think of a better one. You won’t die, I won’t die. No casualties across the board. We win. I give you a mystery. Silver plated with a heart on top.
I just did a bad thing. I think I just stepped on someone’s mortality. I created the void of nostalgia and it sucked someone under. We were talking about their ex and how she wasn’t dealing well with her current. They broke up a few years ago and they’re still quite good friends. Quietly, I suspect they still play the carnal knowledge game every once and awhile, but I’ve never asked. He was asking after my ex and the subject of age came up, as mine is fourty this year and he thought it rather odd that someone twenty-two could have withstood the age gap. “Aren’t you found too young for someone so much older?” In among the apparently wonderful wild tale of my fantastically harsh childhood, I pointed out that I’m too young to have ever considered my own death properly in the scope of things. Oops. He hit the fifty mark sometime in the last couple of years and I think I brought about his awareness of time. To paraphrase, “It’s hard growing up. You fight it without ever thinking about it. You’re brave for your age and stupid until you get older. I got sad.” He logged off after that, reminding me of the Widow I met in Toronto. I had just met a group of people the night before and had gone home with them spur of the whim. Everything falling into their places. Click, click, click. Had no-where to stay the night and the crowd parts, that movie magic moment, to let pass the most handsome man I had ever seen, who then walks straight up to me and introduces himself. “Have you got anywhere to stay the night?” Maybe this does only happen to the young, but I went with them, and the next night found myself at the local equivalent of a Hells Angels biker bonfire party out at Oakville. She was there, the Widow, I’ll never remember her name, that’s who she always will be to me. This woman who expressed such loss and sorrow and love that she has wiped her name away. She told me to take what the world was offering me, because I will never have another chance. I knew already somewhere what she was telling me. To bite the fruit, the sun. The sadness that this night would never happen again flooded through and I took it and swallowed it whole. I remembered how to smile again and I told that handsome man that I would like to have him. That it was time for us, now, here, in the early morning of dawn.
Of course, what with all the vodka jell-o shots that people had been giving me and I had been passing onto him, it’s not like it happened. We curled asleep on the hard floor of his orange van and slept in past when we were due back in the city, but the offer stood. Which was perfect. Chaste disappointment tasting sweeter for the personal acceptance of truth.
Sundays are more difficult than Saturdays. The religious day of rest has infected too much of the world. This will be the day I step in front of the train. No-one’s on-line and the interesting children have been dragged by the ears to sit in hard pews. Victoria and Kyle dropped by for a nice visit. They brought me food, which is always a certain way for nice people to win my adoration. Kyle brought home-made apple pie-filling, (he claims it’s apple sauce, but I know better), and Victoria brought chocolate and white peaches. Made me feel a little of a housepet. Dressed in black velvet, I’ll twine around ankles for a tidbit. I’m sure my cat-like tendencies tend to re-inforce the persistant illusion. One of these days I’ll learn to cut my nails.
Damnit! What is with men and the word “baby”? I do not understand. I’m beginning to suspect it’s an age thing. Somewhere in the formative years of currently middle-thirty boys the word sank into thier vocabulary irretrievably. If it keeps up I’m going to lose my favourite game. I’ll end up being caught myself. Suddenly the word ‘baby’ will be used outside of sarcastic context. I’ll step up to someone and it will slip from my lips without the ironic inflection. Then what? I’m one of THEM. Bastards.
So William is off covering the Republican Massacre down in New York this week. He should be posting pictures soon. I really think everyone should be keeping an eye on this. It seems like a pivotal point right now, things could swing either way depending on how this goes. Old boys are chuckling to themselves in little rooms and erasing the upoming election. Bad news. It’s a toss up if rioting will happen, though it seems like one is being engineered. William’s saying Dante Street. Bad enough that the current government is pushing for purely electronic voting on machines that are proven to be easy to tamper with. Not, of course, that it would even be needed. They did a good enough job shoving the vote over to where they wanted without pressing a few buttons. Heard about how a few thousand New Yorkers were also listed to vote in Florida? Highly illegal but only caught a few weeks ago because “they don’t check voting rolls across state lines”. Extra nice that it was Florida, I thought. Votes went down for people that never left thier state. You’d think the media would have something more to say that a tiny paragraph on page fifty-three. Course, instead of covering the bill that allows the US Government to postpone the election if ‘a threat to national security is discovered’, they flare up with propaganda for the gay marriage issue. So much for them. Enough of this and I won’t want to live so close to a WWII Germany. I already want to live in Europe, more reasons to leave are a fourty-five minute drive away.