Immortality tastes like dust. Our parents thought they were giving us gifts, fools raised thinking the future was any day. They dreamt silver rocketships, chrome screaming into the sky. The future is now, dull as water-smoothed stone. I found this place walking alone at night. Left over industrial zone from before the nontech war. No-one noticed when I moved in, hooked lights back up, took this graveyard of a disco to make my home. I’ve filled this empty place tonight. I’m alone on the dancefloor, my bare knees against gritty wood. I can’t see through the spotlight, but I hear them. I shake with their low respectful murmur. Nothing extraordinary but this. We implant fashionable kinks, there’s nothing holy, nothing raw. The sword in front of me I made myself. Hours spent learning to fold steel in the forge behind the stage. I didn’t take pills, I’m not in love tonight. They come, my lovers, one after the other to spill seed in my hair, on my face. There is silence as I explicitly slip it in. The tip of the blade perfect, my blood like light to drip to the floor. This smallest death of all, but finally real.
edit: There’s now plenty more in my journal that you are more than welcome to jab with a stick.
Just to make this week stupid, Evaristo is in town from New Zealand. I’m a bit in shock, I haven’t seen the boy in *sudden realization* three years? Holy hell. It’s been likely more than three years… He’ll be joining us at the Van Art Gallery this afternoon.
I’m going to be ‘single’ in a day or two. Unpredictable, my reaction. It’s certainly agreed upon that passion’s playing Dodo on my sorry bed. Decanted malleable love, it’s powerful stuff. I don’t miss wanting him. Especially this week, where underneath the bland happiness there’s a hollow inside of me where my words should be. My heart is filling with molten lead to weigh my breathing down, to thicken the blood with poison. Tonight I need to write. Take my time, demolish the world and write. It’s been terrifying me, my inability to place my hands on the keys to begin. I sit, I stay, and this comes out. Not what I need, not what I mean to say. Banal everyday, I love you too. I want words to flow of microchips and silver fingernails edged with ecstasy inducing hallucinogen. All the better to slice into the small of your back, all the better to peak your high. Dream me in blood, desire dearest. Take my lips to whisper, take my tongue to talk. I’d wear velvet for you, drape my legs across your thigh. Pale like moonlight, white like the inside shell of the purest egg. Hatching machines like monsters that tease the inside of your skin like a thousand drifting feathers. Monofilament flash glitter in my eyes. I’m going to have you. Just You Wait.
I am starting to realize that I should be less surprised when my friends list hands me the news sometimes days before anyone else gets it. I seem to have conglomerated a group of rather socially concious and interesting people. I’m blessed to have you all around me, even if only digitally. The last two or three weeks, I’ve known about almost every last bit of information that anyone’s brought up. I find out the day of that someone is dead or that the quantum computer is that much closer to being a reality instead of the three day wait the newpapers apparently have.
So here’s the morning spray from my friends list:
Nothing terrinly fascinating, but there’s still a full day ahead of hot-links, politics, and interesting yet to happen.