Drip, drop, the day’s showers done. Hot water with no-one to scrub my back, a sun to dry me of water. Who needs towels anyways? Nasty things made of coloured fluff. Leastwise I have somewhere to put them, hide them away. Mum and I moved a wonderful wooden chest of drawers from Silva’s last night and now I have clothes to put away. Silk and cotton have all but taken over the room. There have been some surprises in what would be considered a prosaic way to toodle through an afternoon. It seems that somewhere in the past few months I have collected more items of other people’s clothing than otherwise suspected. I’m used to knowing when chaps leave their things behind, so this is slightly strange. I’ve just discovered a gray waffle shirt, short sleeved with a V-cut neckline. I have never in my life seen it before. Could the owner of this unexpected item of clothing please step forward? I’m going take a big step and assume that it’s not the mystery lad who left behind the black long-sleeve, as that was size XXL and this one could conceivably fit me. As per usual, if I don’t discover the owner sometimes in the next two weeks, I’m keeping it. Finders keepers, it’s my bloody closet, what are you doing leaving clothes behind in the first place?
At any rate, I’ve caught up with my friends list to find out that other people have begun their Halloween planning. I can only suppose that September 7th is The International Day of Remembering That Halloween Is Coming. Indeterminable waiting comes next. My only planned event is at seven. Dinner at O’Doul’s tonight for Sophie’s unofficial birthday party. I’ve been told to “be swank” but I’m not very certain what that implies. I’ll likely end up going dressed as if for a job interview. Secretary office gray informal. It’s lush decor and rich food. Expensive and worth it. Above the diners is an intricate map of the world in muted colour, the style of ‘here by dragons’. Gorgeous, though my eyes don’t let me see the details. Sadly, no longer is it the place for Tiramisu. They used to create the most endearing confection possible. A plate would be brought with a chocolate tulip filled of heaven upon it. We would sit in leather seats in the lounge area, nibbling on the divine. It was a push of life, paying for a melting high.
I’m hoping Laurie is playing. I remember Tuesdays being her night to waft chic jazz through the room. It’s a long shot, rumour says after she got married she went touring the world. Ah sigh Laurie, we all were sad when you married. We wanted you ourselves. You and him. Bon Voyage you amazing woman, if you’re not there tonight, I’ll know you’re gone.
I was discussing Halloween with Gavool last night while waiting for mummy dearest to arrive. It’s getting me depressed about the end of October already. My sincerely favorite day of year and I have yet to get to a good party. I find it’s a little like New Years. Somewhere in the city there must be some amazing parties, but I am caught in the party dregs. The last swill in the bottom of the champagne bottle parties. The one with back-wash from the drunken moron who just handed it to you, just about setting your silver painted hair on fire with his cigarette. He’s slobbering on a girl you came with, who’s been too blasted to be company for a good three hours. Putting the bottle down, you go stand outside to be alone because it’s better than this. You look back into the lit house and feel so alone that being at home watching television would be better. Bitter, I don’t even own a television. That party. Every damned year.
They make me want to steal a car and just drive at night. Keep going until I hit a city that isn’t this one. Drive until the sun comes up and find out where I am. I’m considering leaving the city for Halloween this year. If I can manage to swing another job into play, then I could save enough to find somewhere with people in it. I don’t think I could stand yet another painfully failed holiday. It’s the only one I ever pay attention to. I forgot christmas last year. Woke up to people calling me to wish my Merry X-mas and I couldn’t understand what they were going on about. “Isn’t that over already?” Like I would care. Give me a holiday that celebrates in the damned dark. No family dinner and a hellish load of candy. I want to carve pumpkins then make too much pie. Give me a day in costume and I am a gleeful girl. I twirl around and giggle. Don’t kill it this year world. Have some broken boned mercy.
Quick newsflash. Italics mine.
Lott took the podium to blast Kerry, the senator from Massachusetts, and his running mate, Sen. John Edwards of North Carolina. Lott also told the crowd that America is fighting a war on terrorism, and “you don’t want to change horses in the middle of the stream.'”
Can you believe the gall of these people?
Wag the damned Dog.
thanks to varsil
I love that my world changes. That things become other over time, the red shift happening here and now and open. Sometimes though… Occasionally I end up saddened slightly. I saw friends today at the Park Party that I haven’t seen in a very long time and I don’t know how to talk to them anymore. I stood lost for the thoughts, the words that I could use to communicate. I felt like I was fifteen and tagging along, not knowing how people moved yet. I wanted to hold my friends and kiss them for being so precious yet I could not find one word of connection. I was this close to them, that one I almost slept with. Twice. And yet, and yet, and so now what? How do I slip back into it? The psychedelic theorem of raver psyche. I’ve lost it. I need to follow the parties again. I need to be taken back into the circle and let the drums beat the vocabulary back into my brain. Dreadlocks and too wide pants and long hair and too much marijuana. The people I used to live with, work with. House of Slack. Living at Main & Hastings, our front door in the official scariest alley in Canada. Floor painted chroma key green and dancing to Rabbit spinning in the banksafe. The people I looked up to. We had movies and games ten feet high. There was family there this afternoon/evening. Grady gave me my first nickname. My first encounter with friends. I was the third member of Trypt on Media. The Ghoddess Canibisita. We would stay up lights out and talk until the stars drowned in morning. “I don’t know who I talked to before I met you” That bedroom in the basement under the banksafe, choking in the summertime. How have I lost his interaction number in my minds communication? I don’t know how to get it back. This is my family, and it has been taken from me. The neurons fire and fail. I feel mute.
My tongue has been stolen.
Save me world, from this crime of self.