n: vb: the spice of imagination
I have returned victorious, but missing half my voice.
I’ve dropped almost an octave overnight, I cheered so loudly for my sweetheart Mike.
Thank you, world, for the only best Valentines we’ve ever had.
Which reminds me…
Awhile ago, (a long while now), Tillie had the presence of mind to drop off a porn chessboard at my home, because she didn’t want it anymore, and if anyone was going to know someone who would, it would be me. Since then it’s been taking up space behind my bedroom door, neglected, ignored, and never once used. This is a shame, as she put a lot of work into making it, so to make myself feel better about my recent awful discovery, and because I do not want a lesbian porn chessboard in my house anymore, groovy as it might be, it’s time to prove her right.
Show Me Your Best “O” Face.
Post your best O-Face in the comments, win a lesbian porn chessboard.
This unique wooden chess board, made of decoupaged lesbian pornography on unfinished plywood with distressed black edges, is approximately a foot and a half by a foot and a half and signed on the back by the artist.
A winner will be chosen next week once I get back from Portland.
I’ve just discovered that a photo of twelve year old me walking through the Endowment Lands with my little brother Mark has been used as a life sized cross Canada promotional poster for a pro-logging coalition to promote logging of old-growth forests “by showing that second-growth forests can be enjoyed too”.
I never signed a release and I doubt my mother did either nor did my mother. Does anyone know if there’s anything I can do to fight this?
I see you walking in my dreams, splinters of invincible movement from the corner of my eye, fiction and blood drowning together, the colours thicker than in photographs of your eyes. Winter shifting out of December, reaching forward to pull Spring out of the calloused clouds, (the random smell of flowers dripping in the wind), wondering what waiting will bring. Dreams of airports and shredded letters, structures built of running faster, learning the contours of your hands. I think of the chambers of the heart and name them in order, atria and ventricles, the left and right of each. I think of tracing patterns, explaining the history of the word skin, from the German word scinten or schinden, to flay, as I peel back electric layers of myself and still discover you there.
I’ve just recieved a puzzling e-mail, (and by just, I mean I’ve only just now fished it out of my junk mail, where it has been languishing a couple of days), claiming to be from Her Majesty the Queen. Anyone want to fess up who sent it? I haven’t replied, in spite of the grandly amusing mail.com address of e_rex@monarchy, at the risk it is very clever spam, rather than a friend having a bit of a laugh.
FROM: Elizabeth Windsor
SUBJECT: Not an unwanted missive, we hope.
“Dearest Jhayne,
We just wanted to take a moment to say that we have been much entranced with your joie de vive. Pray continue to seize life in your teeth and shake if for all that it is worth.
Much delight,
Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Scourge of the Seas, Defender of the Fates, so mote it be!”
Exciting news! The first of the small packages I mailed out on Saturday has arrived!
Terribly, terribly smashed!
This means the rest of the packets should be delivered any day now! Watch your mail-boxes, internet! Watch them well!