from any one of the eight people on my list who’ve done this
-Think of a word you would use to describe me.
-Go to Google Image Search and search for that word.
-Select the picture you see as most fitting, and post it as a reply.
-Post this meme in your journal.
Love is thicker than forget. Sweetness embraced in your smile. I don’t get anything that I deserve, I believe these days I get far better. I’ve been writing a lot lately though passion’s not my deal. I like the warmth of it beside me maybe and I love to taste the idea. Drifting because I’m tired, I want more of your letters. Enough to fill a tub with arial point eight. Cascading to create a bath that sizzles against my flesh like the most delicious honey coated bee-stings.
Finally home after a ferret preamble. Simple groceries took three hours to fetch, leaving me feeling wasted. It’s midnight at eight:thirty at night. I’m glad to be at my computer. Enter this house or let me escape. Living in this room without a view, darkness taking away the buildings and trees to replace them with reflections thrown by the nicotine light of a low wattage lamp. My in-box welcoming in it’s lines of text. Show me places where I can forget my name. The city was quiet today somehow. Muted. Everything sounded far away while we were walking, the whitenoise of traffic loud in the hush. I felt somehow that every step I took should crush into inches of peppermint snow.
I’m picking apart a friend, they’re asking to be the center of attention. Ian’s to be writing me a treatise on how I’m terrible, but I’m certain I could never reach the purity of this person’s PMS bitchiness. Our conversation’s escalated into the grandest of all battles. I don’t having chiming laughter, but she’s surprising me. I love our most bitter recrimination, how it’s cheerful right now. It’s sad she’s so far away. I want to sing a song to her. Stand tall to belt out something horrible. Arms wide open, I would look up to her pretty blue eyes full of stars and lay it on as thick as humanly possible. A lovesong likely, just to piss her off. She’d be delighted. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to L.A.
Yesterday was nice in spite of work. Dominique spent the day with me and Alistair dropped by. The tedium banished utterly. The children not tearing me down to nothing. Sparks instead, flying up to flash like a metal grinder on steel.
Ethan’s party was also a nice bit of de-tox. Wandering around in purple lit darkness, shooting at people with light. How sci-fi in that teenage way that guns bestow. My dyed hair goes a peculiar flat colour apparently making me an easy target, though the only person to do worse than Robin was Kyle. On the second game I came in fifth. Back at his place, we watched something called The Last Supper. In theory it was a nice idea. A group of liberals having conservatives of the worst sort over for dinner simply to kill them if they can’t change their minds. In practice, it was less than thrilling, but still had moments.
I’m on-line with an old lover right now. My dark haired angel from Toronto. Hair that looked black flowing down to his waist until he stepped into sunlight and it flared the darkest red imaginable. We had the oddest relationship. Never left alone enough to consummate anything, but always together. It’s odd to talk to him as he’s not on-line very much, but we assume off the hop that we’re still as close friends. We used to have an arrangement, that if we were in the other’s town, our current relationship would be put on hold for a duration of the visit. A long time ago I think the deal slipped away. I carried him away with me when I went and I need no more. He might be coming out in January, staying for two weeks on vacation.
I met him only perhaps twelve hours before I took this picture, and there he is already wearing my clothes. This is early, before the fire was added to until it crackled with heat like the Metatron. Huge soaring rage, fifteen feet to a side. The bikers who ran the party fed it with broken picnic tables and empty industrial spools. This was the night of the Widow, the night I remembered I could live. There’s a better print of the picture somewhere. Flame rippling into a curl above him, like a frame with an elegant top crown.
I wonder if I’m taller than him now.