Seven days of respect for seven days of disrespect is better than trade, you’re coming out on top.

At the airport
Originally uploaded by kickass karen.

Across the bridge I saw a plane landing in water traveling the same speed as the traffic we were caught in. I said nothing, uncertain as what there was to say. Slide. Water. It was all one movement, as if you could feel it as a weight on the tongue. Part of my mind curled up, another unfurled. The sky was a glyph, something I could concentrate with the sound of rain. Weight one into the other, like bodies trying to find pleasure in pressure, and I could be free for a moment of his name. Instead inside my hands lay the bitter slice of pylon into wave, the contact moment when what was weightless gains momentum. The back of my eyelids was crusted with salt, barnacle spit, the erosion of steel next to the beach. I didn’t blink.

Where are you here? A box. Retrieve your history or I toss it into the ocean.

We were intending on going to Wreck to watch friends spin fire in their skins, but it was shut down by nine o’clock. A cell phone call warned us off those endless stairs in the dark. Isolated yet together now, modern world moments that make me happy like brief flashes of green velvet light behind a door I’ve lost the keys to. I’m going to have to force it soon, this walking asleep is getting to me. There’s signs that say this is just another coping mechanism, one on the other side of black depression. This afternoon I cried mid-sentence. Suddenly I discovered my words were broken, my language seized up irreparably, caught on the edges of my teeth and mangled into sheds of dignity that quickly fell away, dissolved by the pressure inside my eyes. There was no thought, just shaking.

“You said you would show me another country, and you have. It’s right here, in me.”

isn’t she pretty?
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

There was flying yesterday. I opened my eyes in Reine’s bed, not having slept at all. Karen and Patrick were downstairs with her mother. Ten minutes later, we were driving. Smooth ska on the stereo, too early for people to be aware. Up Victoria, up fourty-first, taking the bridge past the airport and out onto highway. I held my breath through the tunnel and wished I could remember how not to be wounded. I let it out half way, feeling empty and futile. A child thought, how hollow they make these places. The way the music played made me think of movies, of black pvc.

The plane was small, familiar. Fuselage white, pale as they always are in such places. Karen and Reine looked like headset angels. I rode in front, co-pilot pretender. Once I took the handles, but all I did was steer on course, something anyone could have done. It dragged to the left, heavy somehow so far above the earth. We flew to the airport outside of Victoria, touching down and lifting back up without pause. I held my hands out with my camera on top and said, “do you think we can do it?” to Patrick. Zero gravity, it lifted and fell upward, my fingers cradled under it as it swooped for the windscreen and I could feel my hair twisting away from my scalp, it was beautiful. Enough to unknot my eyes, to pry open my muscles enough to move.

Light seems different when you’re flying, like above the clouds there’s a different texture. I thought of marbles, cats eyes glittering, and agates, how I dearly wanted to walk back in time and say, “teach me now, not later, before you make mistakes.” I wanted twin handfuls of them, glass smooth and clear. I wanted them to spill and fall into the ocean beneath me, a mystery to any witnesses as much as my relationships. I miss him, of course I do. His hands hold my heart still, that burning thing. Blood, however, has left me barren. Think of burned houses, only the shell and metal remaining. Let my honour be my unwarped steel. Picture red hair and eyes like blue quick silver. My strawberry heart is useless, obviously, or else I would be able to stop my crying. I could return it home and let it flutter back into my breast like a nesting bird.

I have a doctors appointment this afternoon. A question asked of me demands it. The other women are likely wonderful people, but.

I remember trust.

Matthew called and my heart stopped

Fields of fire that passed the train
The sky is victorious but here comes the rain
Friday is taking me home again,
And I’ve nothing but you on my mind.

Grass is greener without the pain,
I think that I’m changing but I’m just the same
My sun is ascending again
And I’ve nothing but you on my mind

Sometimes I feel like I’m glad to be free,
Sometimes I still want your arms around me,
Sometimes I’m glad to have left you behind,
The Crazy English Summer has put you back on my mind.
Life’s a riot, a lover, a friend,
Pity the day that it has to end
Friday come speed me home again,
I’ve nothing but you on my mind.

Sometimes I feel like i’m fine on my own,
Fifty thousand miles from home.
Sometimes I’m weak and the past is my guide,
Summer returns and puts you back on my mind.

  • priorities suffering (this is a repeat)

    I’m worn.

    I lost a job today. One I needed for well being more than anything fiscal. They were kind there, and laughed. Instead I will be setting the sky on fire. Taking wires and powders and alchemy. One night crying with chemicals in the dark where no will see me but they’ll see what I make.. Part of me knows I’ll think of you when I press the silver button. I’ll blame it on your pictures and where you live. If I’m lucky, I won’t say your name. It’s been a hard year and I can’t forget your eyes. Every time someone puts their hand to mine, I remember yours, fresh in my mind. How the tips only just overlapped yours, how my fingers were slightly longer in relation to my palm. Then I remember kisses and I have to close my eyes. I tried to put together something for you tonight, I needed a distraction, something to bring myself out of how hurt I’m living, but weariness took over, and now I’m writing this letter instead.

    I’m not sure why. I think it’s a survival reflex, hoping to break the silence.

    where (are/you)

    I thought I was in a relationship, but in the last week, everything special has wound out of patience. It’s let go of the rope and what I feel is falling out. I’ve been remembering stories about immortality, about when the gods walked among the mortals of the earth. Two children waited in the dark outside the door, they went inside and saw candles, stars, quick bright flames and steady burning embers. They were lives, every soul upon the earth shining, visible because it was time for them to choose thier own. One chose the faster burning bright and the other chose the dreaming warmth that continued for thrice as long, (it’s always three in the stories, but you know this.)

    I want a catalyst, a defining moment of this can no longer be, and so far what I’ve found is a damning silence. A caught grabbed tear the cloth with my fingernails phone-call with no content, that was last week, one day short of a week. Not enough to live off, not enough to find my way into having a being again. I said I would not write the first letter, not throw away my needs anymore for desire, for the elemental grief that’s the only available trade. I stand by what I said. I stand by my differences in thought, my basic requirements of contact and breathing.

    we speak of

    poison oak
    Originally uploaded by lightpainter.

    Art-O-Mat, perhaps one of the most worthwhile ideas I’ve come across in a long time. Pimp it out, please. It deserves to pay the rent.

    Never is a word you can outlive, in spite of it being so decidedly forever. It tastes like feathers, a black shimmer coating the tongue as oil covers puddles with wondering rainbows. I’ve been weak lately, drained of all confident measure I kept as true. The sky is no longer anything to look at, instead my head hangs, my eyes drop down to carefully look for the next step as my feet swing forward. It used to be that I trusted them, propelled by gravity and momentum, to step securely and find land, that solid ground from which I could move the world.

    As I’ve been tagging all my entries in spare moments at work, from the first post onward, I’ve been discovering that reading my archives is strange. I spoke of certainty, of sanguine waters that I swam in, and I think, “There is such a difference in me now.” My teeth have been pulled. Since last fall I have lost so many core attributes that I feel like I must now be dying. I let myself be sublimated. I recognize it, because I’ve done it before. The easiest symptom to identify is doubt, for me it’s an echo of a ghost limb from where I’ve lost the hands I would reach with. It’s both easy to remember and hard because the evidence is behind me now, my love is no longer fierce. Only my sadness continues to be profound, and that has been dangerously mixed with frustration and hate. I need a cure and again, it’s not up to me. I carry the sickness, not the inoculation.

    one ay em – In Depth – I am caught

    one ay em
    I am tired and alone, sitting here at one a.m. The distant sounds of teenagers across the street does little to cheer me. I wish to be in bed with you, dreaming, and asleep, but more time will have to pass. You claim to have taken the steps neccesary to erase me from your life. I believe you, though it hurts like nothing else. I must tread carefully now through your intricate, unacknowledged web of rules. I feel erased already.



    I’m going to assume it’s the last bit that leads to confusion for it seems to me that the beginning of the piece is quite straightforward.

    I must tread carefully now through your intricate, unacknowledged web of rules. I feel erased already.

    Think of a spiders web, delicate and invisible. Think on what happens to the fly who is ensnared.

    Saying that I feel erased already is revealing that I feel I am not nimble enough in my mind to survive. It doesn’t matter what I say or what I do, the spider will have me. Hence – invisibility. I am here, but I am innefectual. I will be erased though it is what I fear most.

    one ay em

    I am tired and alone, sitting here at one a.m. The distant sounds of teenagers across the street does little to cheer me. I wish to be in bed with you, dreaming, and asleep, but more time will have to pass. You claim to have taken the steps neccesary to erase me from your life. I believe you, though it hurts like nothing else. I must tread carefully now through your intricate, unacknowledged web of rules. I feel erased already.