across the street from your storefront cemetary

I need some nice warm blankets. Walking home sixty blocks on no food whatsoever to save on busfare only to wake up at 5:30 in the morning from cold is simply arduous. Time to rummage in the closet. I’d really like to meet the woman in charge of the weather. I’ve got some questions for that dame. I’d put her in that classic room with the swinging light and a cigarette. I’m sure she smokes by now. All the crap in the air gaurantees it. Her eyes must be filmed by yellow tears all the time. Each and every one of those hairspray bottles keeps her hair stiff and her dress is filmy cloud. I wonder if she’s pretty anymore.

Twinge, toil, and trouble. I stretched and felt as if implanted wires had broken in my flesh. Sharp, sharp, they cut and burn. Suddenly glad of an enforced seven hours in a chair in spite of the fact that I’m already obsessivly checking my mail. A muttered good morning darling to a new letter. Yesterday my company was quite taken and I was quite taken by my company, but who knows about today. One can hope, but certainty nothing.

Gah – need to reboot for work.

edit: I utterly have nothing to do with the person who left that comment nor do I agree with thier comments. They sound like my father. Hope you’re well Darren and this person can’t get at you. I, for one, am honoured to know you. Keep up the breath-takingly gorgeous work.

beneath this dreaming tree

I am a member of 1 clique of size 6

mallinson, azilut, varsil, faerie_lady, porphyre, _dubiosity_

Find the largest clique containing:
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You people need to explore more.

This is the point where I admit I use this thing more than pretty much anyone I know. By about.. oh, a lot. It continues to work for me, so I’m going to continue along. When I suddenly overnight needed a place to live, everything was taken care of here. Just a post in a community and events unfolded in three days into putting a damage deposit down. The world becomes easier. There’s a network of a few thousand people I don’t know and I get access to thier knowledge. It’s brilliant. I can share my pictures and have memories in post. Precious people appear here and invade my life like my favourite colours. I’ve never encountered a successful networking medium before though I give a looksee at all that come my way. I’ve been here a year and I’m in love.

is you is or is you ain’t

To further increase the general oddity that has been my living lately – tonight I’m going to a goth housewarming. One imagines bringing black candles, though alas and woe the dollarstores are closed by now. Oh dreaded be this symphony of lackadaisical timing. Wait. Lackadaisical isn’t very goth, is it. Okay – Dank timing. Dank mouldering timing. Timing what rots inside skulls of dead poets. The wind it doesn’t howl to mark this doomed hour. This doomed and bleak hour of dried fragrant roses and black feathery wings.

Yeah – I’m so not dressing up.

So the world has done it’s little turn of a million miles an hour and the sun is setting. Soon it will be closed in again. Freedom in the air as well as fall. The taste of the air says no more. The summer is gone, the leaves will fall and the rain will pour down again and soon. I want to walk on the ocean, touch my feet to the water and float. Step on the stones there. I want there to be music and I want there to be people I’ve never met. People don’t own me but my ties to them do. I don’t have vision and so I respect it so much it burns. This fire that I can only see but not hold. Everything feels so far away but the smiles. The smiles are here. I carry them. Owned by this flesh, this face can sculpt again. Thinking of the little things. Inflection, the reflections. I can’t take a bad picture. The road tonight will have giggling girls. I’ll know her a bit better and her. I can carry that, I can embrace it. Feel this giddy joy that only comes under streetlights these days. Sweetness.

Nothing else all day but talk with people born to stare. It’s more than I need. It’s somehow a blessing, the people in my life. Unreality, like living in a television set. Wave and watch myself wave back. This building is a false front, didn’t you know? It’s all gone, the world. Now we’ll give you more than you thought you had. Because we can, because we like you. You’re invisible. I feel like flying. Any minute now I’ll jump and I will not land.

Pity my fish is dying.

i susually like chemists

fuck. fucker spiked me with opium…. not exactly what i was planning when i crashed a neighborhood party. nothing ot do, spent a day waiing i ntime to be stood up. i lit a lantern and went for a walk. wit’s friday night – who’s goin got not like a bareffott girl in a tophat with a lantern… i pegged the guy when i showed up – the long bearrded older guy who’d be fascinated with me. christ. turnsd out the bastard was a chemist. it’s hitting right this damned second. so glad I got out of there before thisd. so pure it hurts to look at the screen. people are on-line with me right now. I took far far too much, I shouldn’t sleep. breathing supporessant. chrsit. typing is reallly really hard right now. is there anyone else up? he put a slab the size of my paml in the tea. not elthal, i give it  ten hours but christ. i have to stay up for a few hours. i have work at noon. I’m going to read this tomorrow and cringe painfully. now I’m an idiot blpbger who can’t spell, soesn’t use punctuation aand it typing on drugs. ghods – may his hands get caught in his next lab exlposion. ahappy it was only one c\up. he gave me two twists of it, wel – little brwon balls that I tuned into twists with a recipt off someone. that’s it. i’m hitting the post button. it’s been an hour, if I was going to be in serious trbloue, i wloud be already. now to fend off apnea. fuck. I should have just accetped that i was stood up for the fifht tiem this montrh. heh. night lovelies. talk to me if you’re arond.

we have one dollar left

I’ve been a bit slack with these, but it’s not like any of you care in the first place so I feel pretty guiltless.

Artist of the Day: A Lesson Is Learned But The Damage Is Irreversible.   A webcomic heavy on the painting and humour that not quite everyone will like. It’s not exactly upbeat. Think basement jazz.


Anne Harper. Unhappy children done macabre on canvas.

twenty-two feels like five

The end of Vancouver summer is today.

Somehow there should be more angst to it. Instead there’s only empty waiting for the rain. My day is on hiatus, waiting for a few things today. Another GlobalFreeloader is coming to stay the weekend, she calls today. Robin is due on the phone as well. Socializing the autistic boy with I don’t know what today. He’s started talking about girls. I’m on-line with my painter, he’s talking about his time spent with Karen Findly and her stories of being married to Buckowski. It’s quietly fascinating, full of older men who drink too much, but not quite enough to make up for being trapped in a box for hours at a time with this pale lightless light flooding in. Not enough people on-line this morning, not enough people answering mail. Naked wrapped in a blanket, I feel like an internet orphan. I want so very badly something to do, someone to talk to. For something to do while trapped, I’ve been grumbling at the webcam again. No luck. Could always hook it back up to the roomate computer, though the cable doesn’t reach very far. My rooms terribly messy at any rate. Silks, x-rays, a shifting pile of papers and books. Nothing for anyone to see.