Something erased itself and created a hollow

This may be the strangest form of communication I’ve ever had, placing my secrets on public display with a code of memory to crack it. World War One never was so fun, this is something else entirely. This is the crossword puzzles that earned the daily bread of those men and women in the mansion in England, this is a slight lithe form of a showgirl in somebody’s theater bed. I’m wearing a full metal jacket, baby, come get me out of my head. Download a membrane of forgetting to be scared of consequences. It’s ridiculous how fast I kissed that man.

Tell me a story, please. Save me a little from myself this evening. I’m alone and I’m not used to it anymore. I’ve met people and found that they are wonderful. It hurts.

I imagine myself from the outside, a small girl dressed in faded blue, a small room that doesn’t signify much beyond some innate inability to put clothes away in drawers. I know I’m contagious and I wonder why. There’s nothing here. My surroundings are papers and books and tiny pieces of coloured glass, but there’s no structure, no meaning unless you have tweezers. I used to be a bit of a dancer, I used to be a bit mercurial. I don’t know what I am now. Someone who might be wounded, someone who might be a little more broken than she lets on. There’s a little bit of laughter, but that’s not myself. I used to think that everyone had a day the feelings stopped.

I’m reading The Story of O again, chapter by chapter while I’m at work. Last time I read it, I had to get my mothers permission to take it from the library. (I wonder if she remembers that. It was in a stack of adult fairytales. She posted recently, my mother. She mentions that in reading my journal she realizes for the first time just how much I used to go walking at night. “At a certain point I knew she had her own life.”)

I’ve decided to try and serialize something similar, just because, for the first time, maybe I can. I have to start doing something. Someone recently mentioned inferiority complexes and I had an attack of “how well am I hiding mine?” I assume if I ignore it enough, brazen my way through enough ridiculous situations, it will fade away to never pester me again. It’s a possible fallacy I’m willing to try. I’ve been ground down like a worn stone, passed from hand to hand, losing its edges. I’m better than I was, but I need to be better. If I’m ever going to get out of here, I can’t be tripping over shoelaces. I need to be on top of things, I have to have a brain with some validation.

This is pretty.

rehashing dates

Alright, let’s try to figure this out.

Friday, July 15th, is Amanda‘s birthday party, a huge thing planned at Patti, Simon, Tyler, and Karen’s house.

Saturday, July 16th, is Quicky Culture Night downtown at Jervis & Davie.

Monday, July 18th., Korean Movie Monday, where we’ll be watching Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring.

Saturday, July 23rd, is Illuminares, the lantern festival at Trout Lake.

Is there anything else of note?

another day without anything to eat

Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

Beth wove my hair into french braids last night, two of them culminating on either side of the nape of my neck. I left them in overnight, the feeling of no hair around my head a novel one, and I wore them in the shower. I’m at work now and trying to imagine how one takes these things out. I imagine being kissed might do it. As if tipping my head forward into a warm chest would let the touch of lips on the crown of my head unravel every twist into tiny curls.

Please give me resolution, bring me a damned child who knows what’s right and a blind man who can see through time. Bring me these things and other things and let me make a court of law where love herself may be judged. It is time to right these wrongs, bless the heathens free. Her face, we know, is red with need, but it can be signed on the warrant just the same. Bring me the blood of a marigold, a pansy, and a rose. Bring me a song that the first person sang when they invented loneliness as a minor chord. We’ll beat drums like hearts, like daffodil candy, like the gun shot that brought down the first born daughter who wasn’t wanted, and she’ll come to us, she’ll dream for us, and then we can take down her name.

Tuesday again, a count-down day, one of many, one of few. No word yet from far away, and I wonder how long it will take. There wasn’t even a “I have arrived” or an “I am alive” let alone an “I miss you.” This is the way such things go, I presume, when things are dying. It begins with less and ends with nothing. Too much sublimation of self to pay for another’s way again and the debt isn’t being paid back. Part of me knew this would happen, just as part of me doesn’t know what will happen next.

Work today is counting minutes, watching the digital white letters in the right hand corner of the screen and wondering to myself, “When do I get to leave?” whenever a plane goes by or a train. We’re close to tracks and the trains here are frequent, loud thunderous things with bells and hard whistles, every metal car grumbling about it’s own particular rain weather clickity clack. It’s on the edge of chilly here, like the temperature is a lake the city is walking beside at night. The calendar claims it’s summer, but it’s a man made construct and too rigid to contain reality this year. Each day has been something new, another volatile shade of unlikely weather.

Saturday is Quickie Culture Night

The plan is: A display of short visual pieces found or created by everybody. This means music videos, short films, weird art things, motion graphics, a short scene from a full length film etc. Not imposing hard time limits or anything, just use your best judgment.

There will be a projector with which to put things on the wall and the hardware to feed it anything in digital or DVD form. If it’s VHS you’ll need to bring a player with you (there’s plenty of cables though), find someone who can, or tell us in advance and we’ll try to dig one up. Drop James a line at jameseverett(at) to let him know if you’re coming and if you’re bringing more people with you. This is just so we have a rough idea of how many bodies to expect and can provide the complete address.

Downtown at Davie & Jervis, starting around 9pm this Saturday, July 16th.

Also, there’s talk of watching a Night With Kevin Smith tonight at my place. Go bother Andrew for details. I’m assuming it’s an early-ish start, around seven.