Author: foxtongue

When I can do that, maybe then I’m a writer.

I tried to get in to work today. I honestly intended to spend my hours in the cold AC, staring out at the damp city trains swishing by on thier magnetic tracks. I left hours before I was to meet Aiden, Nicole, and the Boy. Little did I know. I ran into Jaques at 1st, which led into Paul, then George, then Sophie & Lief, then Neriad, then continue until the trip becomes two hours from one end of the Drive to the other.

Now, after my day out, I feel I must have used up some sort of quota. No one on the way home, though Gavool on the puter for perfectly when I return. We’ve been talking the past few hours. Lyrical and cutting, I’m holding a fistful of aces. I win.

Jaques and I had some equally amusing things to talk about. We ended our conversation with self-referential gossip. “The Jessies were the day after, and I have to admit, I felt a bit guilty” “I wrote weeks ago that I couldn’t imagine what his reaction would be to.. yeah” Everything sounding worse than it is, because we’re Dancing smoothly. It’s a giggle, and a special secret. A case of my hands and feet being caught between my tongue and teeth.

These are the precious things. This personal definition of intimacy. I could tell you and you wouldn’t click into the moment, because you weren’t there. I could describe every action, every word, the colour of the cracked paint on the wall behind, and you wouldn’t understand the joke. Because it’s ours. I want to open them. Crack them like eggs to let the violently coloured doves fly out over the crowd like a religious festival in Italy. Sparks on the wire, let everything be seen.

Cannabis Day

Off to play the Ghoddess Cannabasita for the Nth year running. Time to strap on my wings. *grinning* I forgot completely last year and got phonecalls telling me I was a bad person from people I hadn’t seen since year previous. I haven’t set it up this year, but the last few, I’ve just been handed a large bag of bud to hand out randomly. It’s super fun.

2 pm – vancouver art gallery

be there or be lame

W – T – F ???

Today has been wierd. I’ve left my house to recieve an unprecendented amount of attention from people. Walking to the busstop, someone says they “like my outfit”, then 2 seperate people on the bus, then someone at the bank line-up, then across the street “that looks really good”, then someone while walking by the gelati shop, than an entire table of italians on the block with the liquer store, “bello! bello!”, some guy in the party/coffee shop and his friend, than a group of children at the park, and thier parents, then the next block, a woman outside sweet cherabim, then a woman who “biked the last three blocks to catch up with you. I just HAD to say you look fantastic!”. Then there was a respite for half a block, when I ran into Shane. Hooray sanity. Walking away from him though, I plowed through a group of men, like seven of them, who all stopped to talk at me. “Pretty mamacita”. I almost swear I could hear Shane laughing at me from across the street. I made it another half block after that until the group of teen boys, then the construction workers in the park, “nice dress”. Then the landlord.

EVERY BLOCK!!

what the hell is WRONG with this city today????

may my heart always be open to little


may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
what ever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them
men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right
they are not young

and may my self do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been
quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

e e cummings

now I have to learn to pout my lips

Today at work I recieved an e-mail from the cute girl from Lick. She asked if I was on Friendster. It was a bit of a reminder. “Oh yeah! Freiiindster…” I don’t know what it is about that community. Something about it is infinitly forgettable.

Ian is on his way over now. The plan is to hopefully fetch him some fishnets. After we’re to pick up Dominique then go off to the photoshoot. There’s a bit of trepidation in this. Nothing much. His site isn’t particularly interesting, but as well the fellow continues asking me to bring lingerie after I’ve stated that I don’t have ANY. (I’m hoping a corset will count) My biggest consolation is that no matter how dull the pictures turn out, there can be nothing worse than the ones from January. It’s like an ace in the hole. The thought of having two people along will likely be nicer than as well than only one like for the last two. This way there’s someone to talk to. *grins* Afterwards, I don’t know what the plan is to be, but I’m sure we’ll think of somehting. We’re imaginative people.

Ah well – off to practice Jezabel.

letter to gavin

Mishka’s over tonight. She’s talking about her boy, Allan. I took her to fetish night a month or two ago and now she’s caught up in him. Seems to be some communication issues though. Her candor is more than hilarious. “He’s not what I expected” “why? what were you expecting? You did find him at fetish night” “I expected him to be an asshole” Now she’s in the other room borrowing my toothbrush.

You’ve been haunting me tonight. The spectre of your thought won’t let me alone. I was accidently off-line for a few hours and now I feel I must have missed you, though there’s no letter. No voice anointed words sweetly waiting to sink into my eyes. Calm, of course, conquers, but I’m feeling a little less gorgeous. *grinning* I know when I meet you, you’re going to be a little bit more than I think you to be because I’m seeming to not even ponder upon it. I catch myself in the mirror and there’s just a moment where you’re there. Tableau as stylized formulated as an old oil triptych. And now with sound, though hollow over distance.

*missing you*

~jhayne

not so unexpected surprise

It was interesting to picture you tall at a payphone. I could feel your smile like heat, sunwarmth on my skin. Your back to the phone, looking away, out a window. Trying to see the people you must be watching walk by. I sat in my window alcove in a nest of vivd silks. Bright lit and bare feet. Your voice subtly different, your vocabulary shifted. Thinking I should worry a moment, but click smooth slide into conversation.

I want to call you back to me, but I don’t have a number to dial. The days are numbered maybe so, but i’m not finding waiting hard. I think you feel a pressure that I’m letting glide past me into nothing. It’s my turn to find you wrapped in a sheet. A present, a gift, with a candy cherry bow. I still don’t know if you’ll know me now.

spam moore

I’m sure everyone reading this has encounted spamdada. It go through my junk-mail now. Every day now, hunting for treasures.

Today, I found this:

Sent : June 28, 2004 6:39:01 PM
Subject : micheal moore arrested

Increase your sperm count
Increase the width of your penis
Increase the length of your penis
Increase testosterone levels
Have harder,longer erections

Click the link for more information

They’re getting smarter.