Day: December 2, 2004

I went downtown and got my cheque today. Catching up on myself finally, the weather gray and cold like the inside of my skin. I feel like an empire’s crumbled today, my blood draining from me in rivers. I’ve got a bowl of thawed strawberries from the freezer in a puddle of thick red, more liquid than my eyes when I’m crying. I guess I’m just lonely. I’m not used to it. Was the default setting and now it’s new and strange. People entered my life and some hung around. Shining company with vicious tongues, blazing buttery wit like toffee with a hint of rum. Tonight no-bodies around. I find it hard to wait. Chains and trains and the high seas calling at me. Wind whipping hair and the loss of self into fury. Snap of pretty girl bone, the crack of snare drum symbols, howling, watching. Gravity and rainbows, colour splash pulling itself from the ground, one painful heave at a time. What if they screamed as they arched? What if they thrashed? Open your eyes and look above you. Can’t you see them screaming?

Now I’m home after some fruitless being in stores with Javina. I feel a bit defective, I don’t enthuse properly or something. I’m lacking a basic gland that allows for shoe appreciation or maybe I could get it in a pill soon. Pop a tenner on me baby, I’m going out with the girls and wanna fit in right. Tight and snug, baste me up a twinkle in my eye and a love for christmas jingles. I want to give you my love, world, I want to slide up to your bay windows and know what to do to you. Lick the mannequin with my side-long glance, craving whatever it is that I’m supposed to see.

Shake for me girl, I wanna be your backdoor man.
How is it that every generation discovers Led Zepplin and Pink Floyd at the same age? How long can this continue?
I should leave now for movies at Ethan’s. People into my procrastination holds off the darkness better than Houses of the Holy.

On our drive back from friendly San Diego, where we found chocolate what defeated us, by the way, we caught sight of a Ferris Wheel and followed the Magpie Reflex. Shiny thing, where’s the next exit, there, now how do we get there, I guess we turn left, what is this place? It’s never failed us. We found streetlights decorated with stylized bows made of christmas lights along an empty curving road. We followed it to a vast dark parking lot. Upon finding the entrance, we were approached by a woman in a safety vest who told us we could go through, twelve dollars at the gate. It seems that the Del Mar racetrack decorates wildly with christmas lights and charges people to drive through where the horses would run. Over the radio they play cheerful holiday music. It was surreal. I can’t properly explain the scale. A dustbowl palm tree race-track christmas.

Our drive through had a dreamlike quality. Slowly rolling through the oval, giggling at the oddity of the situation, Billie Holiday chirping from the stereo. Fascinated by the incongruous juxtapositions of christmas and this fantastic discovery, we took pictures every twenty feet, stopping frequently to capture the newest absurdity. I love my darling, that he clicked with the display the same way I did. “This is unbelievably wierd. Let’s document, take pictures.” I can’t think of anyone I would rather have shared it with. Miles away from everything, we’ve now experienced the bizarre together.

That this may be the only festive display that some children see is a bothersome thought and I don’t do christmas. Some of the eerie lights were disturbingly innappropriate to our un-american sensibilities.

Note Santa’s sled taking off from a military air carrier.

Justify the light I carry. This lamp is heavy and it drags me down, it blinds me and burns me. I can see the blood in my hands, like glass, like papercuts slicing me open to the doctors gaze, my skin a million lines of wet red. Birds call but I don’t hear them. I only see the silent opening of thier beaks, the trilling of thier soft pink tongues vibrating from the air they push from their brave feathered chests. I blink and their lungs burst. Bones breaking open to splatter flesh on the vivid green grass.

Instead of aimless wandering, I fall into reverie. I spend long hours not moving, my eyes barely tracking the white fluffy confections that litter the sky of this country. Sometimes days go past, with my mind too far away to notice. I remember you, mostly, your graceful smile. The sweet atmosphere of careless affection you would carry with you, like love was a perfume you wore as a flower carries pollen. You were so beautiful. As I saw you from across the hall, I wanted to touch you. A pointless urge at the time, I came later to understand. You and your curse. I love it. The irony is delicious. Didn’t stop me wanting, of dreaming of you that night. I woke up with a hand between my legs and a single drop of sweat rolling down the inside of my thigh.

Over dinner I saw you again, a few tables over. Not so many that I couldn’t see you from where I was sitting, but not close enough to easily watch you without being caught. I covertly studied how you held your silverware, how your dark green coat clashed with the yellow cotton tablecloth. The secret red lining at your cuffs gave me desires I couldn’t focus. I wanted to snuggle underneath your jacket, my head on your shoulder, your strong hands holding my wrists in my lap. I wanted to be trapped. I thought of predators and prey, wolves and ridinghoods. A girls fancy of flight and capture, my thought for the day was my finger tracing your face from your hairline, down the middle of your brow, down your nose to your lips. Those kissable lips. I didn’t know your name. I skip over my next thought, the visceral sensation of having a full mouth. After all this time, it’s still depressing. I live in paradise, shackled to your possession. What a pathetic pun. I should concentrate on my song, my last chance of freedom.

“Say these words and you will be free,” you said, “Say I love you”. You tore my tongue out before I had a chance to speak. You cut me and cried.

Sadistic bastard, I don’t understand why you gave me this lamp.

blame

Okay, everyone! It’s embarrassing confession time!

My first crush was on Sherlock Holmes, and I can never, ever, spell silhouette without doubting my spelling to the point of getting out Google to spell-check.

YOUR TURN GO

and Sophie is trying to get 1000 posts to her 1000th post