- I should never be allowed unsupervised in a fabric shop.
- writing down “I am attending X” is a good way to guarantee a change of plan
- if I left my hat at your house please tell me. it would be nice to have back
- Ray is making me lights. Ray needs to be made cookies.
Found out it’s Theater Under The Gun again. I’m vacillating whether I go tonight or not. It could be work, it will be friends. However, my evening is already rolled out gorgeous in front of me. I’m expecting an intricate dance of favourite people capturing me into the sway of raunchy film and raunchy conversation. My hesitation is likely foolish. After all, in spite of the fact that I may likely be paying for his ticket, a golden haired utitili-kilt boy will be at the movies. There is no certainty that there will be anyone who remembers me as my own person at The Cultch tonight.
As I type this, I find that the Sick & Twisted folk have bailed this evening. Choice made.
Handy, as heading out to the Ridge Theater in fetish wear could be less than comfortable on this chilly day. There is only the slightest modicum of warmth trapped by a fishnet shirt and a thai silk wrap. Perhaps the same unit of heat trapped encased by closing ones eyelids. This way I get to walk home the few blocks from the theater and change before braving the cold. Soon there will be ice out there. Roads slick with slippery black, death to drive on. The wind hasn’t started yet, but it will. Whistling like a killer in the hallway leading to your bedroom the night you’re half asleep and disbelieving dreaming.
Note to self: Do not go through the Sent Letters folder today. Just. Don’t. Thank you ~ the Management
Focus lit clearing of mindscapes dreaming. I hear music calling, your voice on the air. Look to myself, swing spectrum angle of realization pretty. And she waits. There is grass under her bare feet and her skirts are speckled from the light rain that falls from the cloudless sky. It’s allowed here. Everything is. Talk her from here, take her from here. One finger beckoning. Shadows flit past and towards her, melting away when you approach. This is the time. This is music calling. Come into the fire and breathe.
The Boy Robin and I are off today Halloweening. We’re going to slum it in the classiest way possible. Giant grease-mongering-the-way-they-should-be burgers at Save-On-Meats on Hastings. Don’t listen to the peanut gallery, they’re one of Vancouver’s best kept secrets. You walk in to this giant butchershop in the scuzziest neighbourhood we as a city have to offer and wend your way to the back, where there are yellow formica top counters with little retro fifties stools screwed into the floor to sit on. Park yourself down and when you order your burger, ask for a little saucer. The trick is that you need to squeeze the dripping meatwads of grease before you eat them. Otherwise that pool of yellow in the saucer would be dripping down your arms, no matter how fastidious an eater you tend to be. And Robin? Robin is certainly not fastidious. I wouldn’t even venture to call him tidy.
After our generous helpings of greasy death, we’re going over to Dressew. Me for reflective tape and netting, and Robin hopefully to find a sword and shield. He is going as Link from Zelda. For some ineffable reason, I’m approving of this. Don’t hold it against me unless you also have chocolate. It’s better than his other ideas, believe me. I’m going to be picking up some black industrial garbage bags as well. Instead of cloth, I’m calling with tape and plastic. I’m going to see how much I can have finished between arriving home and heading out to meet up with Angus for Spike & Mike’s Sick & Twisted. The lack of sewing machine is going to be a bit irritating, but perhaps some kind twist of fate will drop one at my door this weekend.
Tonight will be fun as well. I received a personal invite to the Raven opening tonight. I don’t know how I manage to end up with these special mentions when I’m so very uninteresting, but hey, there you go. I borrowed fetishy things off Alistair before he hopped in the cab this morning, so I should be partially set. I cheat every month for SinCity, no kinkster I. One of these days, just to make life easier, I’ll have to get one of the PVC dresses that everyone and their sister has, but maybe not. I can live with safety pin clothing for a little while yet.
When the hell did I get so submissive? My spikes and claws are retracting, surrender emphasizing need. It’s confusing and unexpected, redefining my breath. My language is being softly taken from my teeth. Words taken letter by letter from my open mouth, each one a precious gift I need to clothe my thoughts. Purple ink dripping off my tongue to stain your skin with bloody trails of need. The palest pink.
I have faith in this at least. I have solid warmth melting in me like wax in an old egyption wig. It scents my day with musk. With you and what you do to me. Recieve litany of passion playing. Send the dares and agreements strong. We shake for this. We ask the world for mercy, but we give none. Part of me knows this is even. Part of me knows I’m more drenched in freedom. I wonder how long we will survive.
I want to.
This morning is a candle-lit depression sans candles or depression. It’s seven:thirty in the morning and I’m decked out for fetish night. All foreseeable actions include bearing broken wings.
Get ready to have your fortune told. I’m going to scry your damned eyes. I have the patience of a little death. Wheedling miseries offset by happiness. Arching into Barakka on my ceiling. Sight flutters open to see the world above me, the sounds and passions cold lighting my room with warm reflected life. Hot white world. Even without my eyes, it’s beautiful. They’re on the floor, the other side of the bed from the projector.
Darling, when you’re Mine, you stay that way.