morals

  • 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.

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