“somethingsomething the bees knees somethingsomething try to please”

the photographer’s frazetta
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

The One Laptop Per Child Foundation’s beginning production.

Fourty-five minutes until freedom. There’s a loud show downstairs, lacing the air with frantic piano, lathering the foyer with a nervous energy. Some student thing. It’s the sort of music I would choose to unsettle an audience with, as if I wanted to dislodge their perception of time, kick it disjointed and paste filters all over the lights. In my head, the dancers are testaments to fanciful make-up and Cirque-style motions. They kick, scream, and astonish.

It’s actually a ballet performance. Something bleach-blonde and mild, culturally appropriate for the family and friends in attendance, many of whom were too old for the stairs. Many of which, I’m sure, are currently wincing at the thrashing rock music that’s replaced the piano, that’s begging for big hair and glittery tight pants lined-up outside of cheap bars where the floors are perpetually sticky with spilled and stolen beer. Of course, any minute now, this will all segue into something hideously classical.

And, yes, there it went. French baroque, rather, and overcooked, dreaming of soulful arpeggios that might travel barefoot on horseback in the rain along the Seine into the sunset. And it didn’t do the dishes, either.

Oops, no. Now it’s faux-traditional Irish rock, a la Riverdance. Mixed with beat-mix 60’s remixed retro-pop.

Thirty-five minutes until freedom.

the city strike cancelled my fireworks. be afeared.

Laurenn and Nicholas are looking or a ride to Shambala.

A snake, as well as a bag of frozen bunnies, is to be dropped off at my house today. It apparently comes with a table as well, so I expect my livingroom to be oddly crowded for the next dew days until Amy moves out. (Graham who was Sasha is now Amy, which is a lovely name which I think suits her immensely.) As I’ve never taken care of a snake before, I am still uncertain if I am looking forward to it. My attitude towards them is one of carefully friendly apathy. Charmed, I’m sure. Mostly I’m curious if it will carry enough consciousness in its cold-blooded body to have an opinion of me.

I’m beginning to pick up the steps of the old dance again, treading softly over the frozen bones of rabbits, but it’s not so much that I am beginning a new chapter as shelving the hopes of the last one and stepping carefully backward as far as I can safely reach.