aaand, he’s just walked in. I am the luckiest thing on two legs in all of Vancouver.

a better view

I did not get to go to Regina Spektor last night, due to a serious of misfortunate moments of Drama ™ where I should have let off trying to respect someones apparent Sudden Dislike For My Company and beat them up-side the head with my presence anyway. Lesson learned. Next time I will be more callous. Yes, I am un-thrilled. Apparently it was a very, very good concert.

However, I was shown off last night and that was wonderful. It balanced out my hot disappointment rather well. We gathered people at the Jupiter Cafe, had a politician buy our drinks, then went to True Confections with Aeon and his wife. We went to bed exhausted, amused, and well. Apparently, when we are tired, we are hilarious. As such, we are clever all the time.

Today I am nervous, as the boy took my measurements when I was distracted and sleepy and seems to be making corset-shaped noises. As he’s ten years out of practise with this city, I’m feeling fairly safe with whatever he’s actually doing. It’s not like he can get very far, she says to herself, doubting.

Predators of the Sprawl

It occurred to me this morning that we have been co-habitating since, essentially, April 1st. I wonder if I will remember that in a year, the most comfortable joke I have ever encountered in my small life. His apartment was an odd compartment, the hotel feels more temporary, somehow increasingly realistic. Our toothbrushes cradle.

Winter is over, the streets are coated in pink flower petals as if the sidewalk was about to be married our shoes, and the clouds are taking on the consistency of still life paintings from places more interesting and decidedly more Italian. Construction continues everywhere, it is still possible to count cranes like a trail of shooting stars, but somehow, I begin to hope in two generations, what is above water in Vancouver will be a fascinating place to live.

(LJ now lets you embed anything, as long as you wrap pointy-bracket lj-embed pointy-bracket around the embed or object tag.)

as I worship the interpretation

received as a letter, authorship witheld:

Once upon a perfect moment, stretched & bent & folded
in half & sewn end-to-end, when the stars were in faultless
accord & the world turned with dignity & solemn grace,
when even cruelty was polite, even cynicism holy, a girl
with flowers in her hair & a song on her lips drilled a
hole through her liily white palm & stared out through it
at all the ugliness that lay beyond.


She turned away, as all things turned, with effortless
elegance, her skirts sweeping through rose petals &
crisp autumn leaves, blood dripping from her fingers
like the final notes of Libera Me, & in her wake the
shocked silence was worn away be birdsong & the
thoughtful murmur of the trees.


She turns again, later, with long-practiced unpracticed
grace, not away but in a wide, slow circle, arm
out-stretched to display the hole, larger in its setting
of pearl white scar, partially obscured by delicate
metacarpals. The gathered crowd stares in fascinated
horror, & when she bows the applause is exuberant.

She does not do an encore. There is no second act.