personality winding away

on a slow night
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

Sitting in the shoe store alone, I’m getting that absent feeling of two a.m. where you know the rest of the world has mostly gone to bed. The only clock is on the computer desktop, but I can’t escape the impression of ticking, like I should know how to play piano to explain myself. I think of brickwork, of his hands on the keys and on my back, the way he kissed me as if drowning were the way to go. I remember a lot of things and wonder how much of it is important. I should send him a letter. I should send more people writing. I suppose this is my version of dwelling on mortality, mourning for the people I love that are too inaccessible for me to tell them so.

I don’t think I could put their skills and talent in my freezer. I’m not big enough for that. My family outshines me more than singing for the joy of it. Me, it’s sun outside and I feel like I need a raincoat. I seem strewn into limbo. My feet are pulling me forward on habit alone. People on the street and I’m waiting for them to stop talking and begin using their heads. Waiting and losing time, staring into the sky for an unrecalled twenty minutes, losing my soul to a string of other people’s glorious smiles. My voice is dying, trapped in the amber of a summer I don’t remember enough of, trapped by a time that never came because it’s a film-strip of memories, days and evenings and too many transient whispers.

Boys calling on the phone and asking for improbable sizes. “Do you have red boots in size 15? I want something slinky.” Boys who sound similar to friends but not quite, enough to pause me a second more, stutter my voice and steal my certainty. I’m abandoning my faith, you see. Rolling up the primrose path and trying to be with someone I’m not in love with. It’s a first, but I’m too exhausted. Maybe it’s time to be like everyone else.

monday and life continues

he looks happy
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

Thank you to everyone who sent their condolences, thank you very much. The hardest part was wrapping him up in the plastic bag and putting him in the freezer. Irrational, but I felt I was smothering him. He’s there now, though I feel as if he’s still sleep somewhere in my room, as if he might scramble over to me at any time and tramp all over my keyboard. It’s tricky, knowing and not knowing, all at once. I’m worried that when it comes time to cut into him, I won’t be able to separate his body from his now absent mind.

I hope that when I die, there will be someone who cares for me enough to preserve me as art. Take me into pieces like the BodyWorld exhibits or do simply what I am doing, sewing wings onto the corpse. Tyler said I was creepy for saying so, but I think it’s an expression of dedication, of the continuance of being in memory preserved into flesh. Tricky things, emotions and motivations difficult to express.

Thank you, too, to those who donated through PayPal to help me with the intense veterinarian bill. Your kindness has been overwhelming. The bill has been covered, I’m not going to have to painfully swallow it whole like I expected. (I’m finishing the verification of my account right now.)

And to those who’ve been asking, the lovely James Everett has renewed my Flickr account.