Author: foxtongue

Dominique and I are still going at it. Hours and hours later. We were on the phone this afternoon until the batteries ran out, and now we’re keeping eachother awake with messenger.

I’m getting tips on how to strip without terrifying the boy. There’s a more than sneaking suspician that I will never, ever, ever use any of this. It’s making me laugh. I think if I were to take my clothes off while talking to a fellow, they would turn around or otherwise run away. *laughter* It would ruin everything.

Course, I’m glad right now I’m also not the type to visualize certain things, because honestly, as much as we’re fascinating eachother with our tales of piccadillos, (or failed attempts, in my case), I’m fairly happy not thinking of Rowan in particular ways.

I imagine today has had more talk about my sexual history and/or predilictions than in the last year all told.  I’m fairly blushing. Somehow a feeling of being unimaginative has come upon me. Or perhaps a deformity of introspection. Like I should look more to describing what I know about myself rather than blithly continuing along. 

We’re talking about firsts now, which is almost a touchy subject with me. Funny how something that I never talk about comes up twice this week. I remember Mishka’s first kiss. She came home bubbling and excited for hours and I remember the week she first had sex, and how I knew about it, but she didn’t tell me until about a month after. But I can only remember hers, really. I remember my first time with one person, but not another and it’s hard to remember kissing either of them. I have hundreds, thousands, of in-between moments. Holding hands at night, at the busstop talking about nothing in particular. His long coat. There is no feeling somehow bereft.

*laughter* Now we’re into the three-ways. This conversation is just delving deeper and deeper into places I don’t feel comfortable. *grins* Not that it ever stops me really, but I have to admit I just stopped and paused. A breath of a moment to get over my rush of nervous images. Only twice and a half now and I’ve escaped fairly well both. All back from when I didn’t own a dress and was just learning skirts. Bloody Crow. Good thing he never kissed me. I would have killed him.

I’ve been talking with Dominique for hours now. We’ve been talking about relationships and sexuality. The logic and the frailty of both. The final words and ultimatums that seem to be the male hallmark in our relative experiences. We’re laughing a lot, and trying to explain ourselves. I think she’s doing better than I am. The fact that I’m not someone who thinks on these things makes me feel like I’m carrying around a lock of hair from a stranger and trying to weave significance about it.

Just a note – Dolly Parton covering Collective Soul is a very wierd thing. I can’t help but like her somehow for this quote “Honey – it costs a lot to look this cheap!”

I nabbed some X-rays from the clinic when I was there yesterday with Robin. I’m not going to keep them all, so if anyone finds one on thier doorstep, it’s because I care. Well, that and maybe I think you’re creative enough to do something neat with it. Maybe. *grinning*

Nah.

I was late picking up Robin. I’d walked over to Superstore to pick up a roll I’d forgotten about and to drop off five more. It took an hour of flipping through envelopes before I simply gave up. We searched thier entire collection of photos and we couldn’t find mine at all. I’ll be a bit upset if the roll is missing, but I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have any idea what could be on it. I’m worried it might be my long lost roll from San Fransisco, but I think that’s holding on to a dream a bit too much. I’m more than certain that was left in the truck that brought me back. I suppose I’m just concerned that I’ve lost something precious, but really – stupidity. In a week I’ll get back more. (One of the B&W is in there by the by).

After the clinic, we shot down to Gastown to give Gavin his housekeys and in walking back to the train, we found out it was Storyeums first day open. So, hey! Free day! The set-up was scary good. I was possible to smell the money that must have gone in. The flow from room to room was wonderfully jarring until near the end. There was a gratuitous song and dance I could have done without and not enough places to sit down. Michael was working, so I gave him a hug. His contract runs out Wednesday. From the look of things, he’s done a wonderful job. So kudos Mike! It’s not your fault the end sequence was flaky. Every schoolchild in the lower mainland is going to file through there at least once.

Almost more memorable was the fellow who stopped dead in the street upon seeing me. I haven’t the slightest clue who he is. He was walking down Water street in the other direction from us, and simply got caught somehow. Average looking young man, with longish dark hair in a ponytail. He turned as we passed and followed along a few feet, almost walking into people from not looking where he was going. I looked behind and he was still standing, staring from a half block away.

I’ve been waking shivering frozen the past few days. The tattered rag of a blanket I sleep under right now isn’t warm enough for the very early morning. Prospero helps, but I’m beginning to curse every morning woken cold. The after-the-rain smell drifting through the windows is nice, but doesn’t forgive anything. I need an actual cover. That’s the thing I forgot to ask after when Ray and I were out last night. We moved the big stuff from Adrians last night and apparently just missed Jon. A pity, but an extra pity as I don’t know anyone bigger than Jon and more capable of hauling heavy things up stairs. *laughs* He left a note with his number on though, so I called him after we came back from Wazubis. He’s going to come visit at the new place sometime later this week. Which is a lovely thought, as I miss my Flirt. Having yet another friend person around who hasn’t been addicted to my ‘personality’ can only be a blessing. I think it would bump the number up to… five? *shakes head at self* <rant>Damn sexual people. Growl. I’m not like you! Okay, yes, I am young, and still a child, and so can truly not say never, but for this now, I will never search that out. Stop inflicting your expectations upon me!</rant>

Just sent a nice long letter back to Jeff. I’ve said we’re to take pictures of us folk about town and post or send them to him. So! You people with digicams! We have a project! I hope he’s having a really great time over there. Marc and I are vehemently hoping he finds someone lovely. I can’t imagine what it must be like. I woke up this morning with a messenger window up from him that only had *poke* in it. I think I’m going to set up a time for me to stay up so we may chat. Otherwise, sheer chance just isn’t likely to cut it.

*cackles*

JUST as I am leaving the house to go pick up the Boy, Gavin pops up.
“you’re going to get a “call” soon. *giggles*”

Then the phone rings.

And it’s a job interview.

AGAIN I’m thinking that I SHOULD be thinking that everything is too easy right now.

I am folding and packing and placing things in a box. Paper, pages, sheets of information. I found a slip that tells me I had photos ready for pick-up three weeks ago. I wonder what they will turn out to be. I have very little here beyond clothing. Ray is coming over this evening with a truck from Endura. We’re going to pull everything out from inside, and to the new place. A bench full of costumes, two boxes and half a bed. Bill hasn’t gotten back to me about getting into the storage space for the other half, but I am fine without it. Phone gets hooked up Monday, (POEM will be back up), and internet Tuesday, so I am here at Adrian‘s until at least Monday.

Today is a Robin day and for some reason I’m considering taking him down to the Amsterdam. For the life of me I cannot reason why. Perhaps it’s the name and the way it rolls off the tongue. Something about the heat. I want to be somewhere I can ask someone to pass the bottle and feel drips of liquid on it as my hand takes it, damp and wet. Bright and sun-filled and painted beautiful colours. Maybe it’s more of a beach day. Sit in the sand and laugh at all the liars pretending to be pretty in bikinis. In any case, today I’m finally getting the X-Rays done. Getting it over with in spite of the fact that lying cold with all my clothes off, on a hospital table in a hospital dress, with such a scorching light of day outside seems somehow innapropriate. Like a screaming ghost at noon drifting down a busy street and back again.

Does anyone know how to package feathers, plants or paper lanterns for safe transport?

as an upper: Go spend time reading  .

He does This Day In History’s that are simply pretty.

Today:

1926 – Allen Ginsberg is born howling, starving, hysterical, naked.

1942 – Curtis Mayfield is born, spends much of his youth playing with a Superman toy that, in his youth, he calls “superfly.”

1960 – The Supreme Court provides, in Gideon v. Wainright, that everyone has the right to an attorney. Police are annoyed that even blacks and poor people have access to the sixth amendment, which they denounce as an antiquated amendment, meanwhile polishing their private gun collections.

1969 – Star Trek airs its final episode, after being canceled in one of the biggest TV blunders of all time. Kiss my nerdy ass, NBC!

1987 – Andres Segovia dies. Sadly, much of the guitar-playing community are too thick to notice, and continue making the ludicrous assumption that Jimmy Page is the best guitarist of the century. Travesty.

Elaine and Spike are two of my favorite people on the planet. Any list of people I hold in extreme respect has them by the top. Spike apparently has a 50/50 she won’t get through this. I’m willing to be optimistic though, that if need be she’ll scratch and claw her way past everything. Even so, any support is appreciated.

Elaine’s letter to everyone

I opened my in-box to a painful surprise just now. A heavy letter struck me hard.

My friend Spike has cancer.

I’m reading over Elaine and Spike’s accounts of how they’re getting through this, and it seems like some sort of war where no one can be blamed. Chemo and crying. I can’t imagine how they’re doing really, though I know the upbeat will still be there. I know they’re holding eachother.

There was a get-together on my birthday, before the chemo began, but I didn’t know in time. The house is pretty much locked down now against sickness and germs. I think I have to nab a smack of organic veggies and deliver it, welcoming myself to thier neighborhood with a solace piece of gift. I don’t really know what to say. This is too big to swallow, I feel it catching in my throat.

Please the world, allow her to triumph.

I’m trying to mail out my new address to the people I feel should have my real world number and address and suddenly I feel very very connected to the peopleweb:

“The total number of recipients (95) are greater than the maximum allower (50). Please reduce the number of recipients.”