You know, this song is pretty much my life in microcosm.. Maybe it doesn't mean what I think it means, but still.

Poetry is no place for a heart that's a whore
And I'm young and I'm strong
But I feel old and tired
Overfired

And I've been poked and stoked
It's all smoke, there's no more fire
Only desire
For you, whoever you are.




Oh yeah. I'm kind of...back. :)

Dear Random Jackass,

Miss Manners would like to have a word with you. She thought it might be prudent to tell you that when my very dear friend, who you so kindly got too-wasted-to-stand-up, invites you over to her house to meet her roommate, a good starter topic for conversation might be, oh, say, the weather, or how much you like her decor. She's fairly sure that running your mouth about how you knew said friend's roommate is obviously gay from the moment you walked in the room, or about how every time you meet a gay man he practically begs to suck your cock, is considered a faux pas. She would also like to note that calling him a faggot, twice, is never acceptable, no matter how many "just joking, man, just joking"s you tack on the end.

She also wishes to warn you that threatening the physical safety of the host is very much frowned upon; she has asked me to convey the message that telling him "you know, if I didn't like you, I'd be beating you up right now" is a sterling example of such a threat. Additionally, Miss Manners would caution against engaging him in discussions of which gay men he knows deserve to be ravaged by various sexual diseases, remarking that at least he hasn't touched your penis yet, and asking him why he doesn't want to get high with you.

Also she thinks you should know that unless you take your slimy arm off drunk friend's shoulders, you are about ten seconds away from spending the rest of the night in the emergency room trying to get your head removed from your ass. On second thought, she recommends taking the trip anyway, and thanks you for eroding her faith in humanity just a little bit more today.

Yours,
Utterly Disgusted

I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. That, or the bed got up on the wrong side of me. In either case: VERY GRUMPY. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES.

Who thought it would be a brilliant idea to a) go on vacation, not just once, but twice, b) register for Early Childhood Education program, a process which involves seven increasingly complicated steps, and c) pack up entire apartment and move it into new house, all during month of August?

Oh right, that would be me. Smart, self, very smart.

In any case, I've got a plane to catch in six hours, and a five-hour shift at work to get through before then. I may be able to relax - though only if physically forced to -in approximately a week, at which point I will have to come home and continue with my hectic life.

*breaks out the vodka*

Um, and Happy Birthday to the lovely and talented eudaimon! I hope your day is wonderful - however it goes, you're welcome to sidle over here and share the booze. ;)

Her name is Diana and she's sixteen the summer the hills are burning, a good little body but still not too sure of herself, stuck at the rare and cautious age where every step is careful, one foot in front of the other. He remembers that age without much fondness, and he hadn't even had hips and tits - a tall kid, gangly as fuck, feet too big for his shoes and hands too big for much of anything. Now here he is, twenty-three, grown into himself, stoned with the girl from down the road and in way over his head.

In the room there is a war going on.

Each day he looks to see what is gone and what is not. One morning the book is there; the next evening it has vanished. Through her posessions he plots her advancement across the battlefront.

On the sixteenth of June her keys are gone from the table in the hall. On the seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth. Suddenly, and humbly, he knows he has lost.

She has realised belatedly how much she loves him, and also how much of that love is tempered with hate. He has never lied to her, and she loathes him for it.

Am now the proud owner of a queen-size bed, and can do away with (ultra comfy) single I've been sleeping in since I was three. I guess this means I should probably do away with my Sesame Street sheet set too, eh?

Hello adulthood. *sigh*

(as gacked from mondayagain)

1.ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?
This one time I walked on top of a huge PVC pipe at a playground and, predictably, slipped off and landed on my face. The result was a large gash on my mouth and some deeply wounded pride, and when I smile there's this faint white scar crossing my bottom right lip.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?
Original paintings, an Ani DiFranco poster, photos of my nearest and dearest, a self-illustrated copy of Neil Gaiman's A Writer's Prayer, candles in sconces.

( and so on, and so forth )

Just, oh my god. I can't even process what is happening right now.

I came home at one thirty in the morning - a little late, sure, but not a crime - only to find that a notice had been posted on the morning of the 24th informing tentants that the main door locks of the building were being replaced, and that we could collect our keys between 9 am and 5 pm today. I was out all day and certainly hadn't seen the sign before I left - I had no prior notice that this was to happen, nor given permission for it to happen - and now I'm locked out of my own house, where I have lived for two years and have never made a late rent payment, nor posessed illegal drugs for the purpose of selling, which are as far as I can tell the only reasons why a landlord may change the locks. Not only is the main door lock changed, but the lock on my personal apartment is different as well, and I have no way of going home. I called him (I know it was late but I was mad and scared, and I have to work in the morning and therefore access my things), and he dressed me down for calling so late, and I reminded him very firmly that I was a paying tenant and had a right to access my own belongings, to which he replied curtly that I should have picked up keys during the specified times.

I'm so, so sure that this is illegal, and I've done some research online which seems to indicate the same; I think the next thing to do is pursue legal action, say, call the RCMP, but it's so late and I'm so worn out and agitated that I think I need some sleep before I can even think about knowing what to do. I'm at my parent's, so I'm safe, but I'm so angry I can't see straight.

Wish me luck, guys.

I have more books than I have friends.

Many, many more. :P 

So...I have just done something that may be brave and brilliant on one hand, or possibly risky and stupid, on the other.

I'm sitting here looking at a tenancy agreement signed last night, ostensibly by my hand although one can't be too sure as I think I blacked out for a bit from the sheer OMGWTF of making a quick decision and not agonising about it for hours beforehand. I went to look at a house a few days ago (I don't think I've mentioned that I've been making plans for a while now to give up my dear, dear little apartment for a dwelling with outdoor space and a smaller price tag), and really we were just getting a feel for what our options were, but I fell in love with the place right away. I mean, it's nothing fancy but it's got the original parquet floors, a fireplace, a big, sunny kitchen, and a killer forest view off the back with space for a vegetable garden. The owner-landlords are this little old couple who live right next door and who just may be the kindest, most considerate people I've ever rented from. The price is right, the location is perfect, and I think I must have known in my gut that what I was doing was the right choice because I simply couldn't let such an awesome opportunity slip through my hands.
Not only do I love it, I'll save so much money living there that within two years I really will be able to choose to do whatever I want to do - say, see the world! - and I can't describe how good that makes me feel.

It was utterly unexpected, kind of a gamble, but it's been 24 hours and I feel nothing but serene, secure in a kind of unflappable faith that everything is going to work out just fine. Everything is. It's all happening. :)

I have many visions of a perfect day - perfect isn't singular, people live too far and too fast to gather them all in one place at once - involving different people and adventures and moods, but the ones I am most fond of are the ones that happen simply, organically.

Like, you get in the car in the morning all sleepy when it's warm, and the sun is shining bright between clouds. You squish in with your friends and drive the winding road to the lake with music cranked loud enough to give you a headache, singing. Like, you dip your feet in the water because it's cold and catch tadpoles in your hands the way you did when you were four, pass a joint around, read a book, climb a tree, get a sunburn on your shoulders. There's gonna be Thai food with my family and ice cream and chick flicks with my girlfriends and gay friends, and crazy dancing, maybe a little talking, under the full moon tonight. I feel lucky, loved, blessed.

It's not all I want from my life, but it's all that I want right now, you know? It's my twenty-first birthday - I've arrived here whole! - and I'm just happy. ♥

And I'm feeling generous, so here's a gift for you, my flist - the soundtrack. :P
Songs for a Perfect Day
( Track List )

A new poem. Concrit would be very much appreciated. :)

unspun

They were in a truck
below the bridge, I on a catwalk
spanning the ignorant midsummer river,
only passing by, peering down.
I saw just hands, parts of clothes,
sticky white fingertips, her honeyed hem
dropping threads
like something loose in a tapestry.

They were the blood that hastened hot
to my cheeks, the dust I brushed
off my heels to march on; all afternoon,
the image clinging unctuously,
I pictured the faces of girls I knew
and tried to match them to
that sweet brown thigh,
dappled by a prism revolving in the light.

Infidelity is itself a machine
faithful to one thing, two -
an assailable need,
to moments enacted in a void, or
time outside the dial.

We were in a room, a chamber,
one of indistinguishable thousands within buildings
inside the city
and she was smoking thin import cigarettes, or
pretending to,
we all were.
And the TV was laughing, no-one else,
as the cat pulled
at my sweater with its teeth, unravelling it.
When she said Do you think God
can hear us right now?
and we held our breaths, sweaty,
waiting for the reply.

Woke up this morning with feeling of elephant sitting on chest. Realised that elephant was actually just soul-crushing loneliness.
You know when your life is good, and you love your family, and you love your friends like they're family, and you've got a full refrigerator and five books on your shelf that you haven't read yet, but you can't help but feel, despite all your own protestations, that something is missing? You know that awful everything-you-aren't epiphany that sneaks up and WHAM smacks you in the side of the head with the knowledge that what you're missing might be romantic love?

That it's been too long since you've been kissed by someone who wasn't drunk, or your best friend, or both. By someone who meant it.

Yeah.

Fuck, I hate dating.

Hundreds of pure white Tiger moths lifting into the air against a darkly roiling pre-thunderstorm sky. Dispersing as it finally gives down torrential rain, circular lightning, and bone-and-tooth-rattling thunder.

God, I love summer.

You know you have a problem when you go into the bookstore intending to buy just one book; improbably, they don't have it anymore, so you buy two others to console yourself, and, after a moment of thought, sidle back up to the counter to order the title you originally came in for. And then guiltily purchase a fourth, having been distracted by the discount table on your way out. All this despite the fact that you can just barely afford groceries most of the time. Go self.

So. I'm doing really well lately despite everything, but I hardly know where to begin. There's so much that's happened, and is happening, and will happen, so I'm just gonna try to organise things under some cuts and you can read as you wish.

( how money can't buy you happiness but can help you accumulate self-esteem and motivation )

( soul food )

( on entrepreneurship, creativity, tattoos, and generally getting on with it )

And lastly (as gacked from hansbekhart) a meme.

Your result for The Best Thing About You Test...

Compassion

Compassion is your strongest virtue

I'd like to update more, but these days my life is whirling by me so quickly it's hard to keep up. I'm doing my best to remember that the only constant is change, and learning to thrive off of it, but some days I wonder if it's too much to ask to keep things a little more still a little longer?

There's so much to tell, but it'll have to wait (maybe only til tomorrow).

As always, I miss you guys, in the meantime. ♥

Only
little fools and wistful girls
dream of birch
with moon-blanched paper skin,
wish for star-tipped spruce
all thick with snow.
I too have certain ideas
about a night-time boreal run,
streaking soft and crazy
'tween tree trunks,
wide-eyed as any deer.

In the future, my husband
will sit up in our bed
and wonder
where I have gone
in my nightgown and my boots,
why I've left the door
ajar behind me
as if to let
wild winter in.

alternatively titled TL;DR

No longer hung way the fuck over, thank god! It's lovely out, and in a little while I'm going to sit in the hammock in my parent's backyard and bask. And attempt to tan, which we already know is a fruitless endeavour. :P In the meantime, though, I'm going to eat a sandwich, and ramble at you about a couple of subjects about which I am lately thinky. I know I said I'd bring fic, but I left it at home, and really, when was the last time I posted about something halfway interesting?

( on the subject of porn (very probably Too Much Information, but interesting to think about) )


( and while we're on the subject of gay )

( on the other hand )

ETA: It occurs to me that the link below is utterly NWS, and I should probably inform people of this fact!

And speaking of sex: WHY, ANTHONY BOURDAIN, WHY???

(.......is it wrong that I would still totally hit it?


...yeah, I think it is. XD)

Bottle of Limoncello: $24.99

Bottle of Tequila (bad tequila): $15.00

Bottle of sunscreen: $8.00

Getting slightly sunburnt anyway, falling down the stairs, puking for half an hour, passing out before eleven and having your friend's dad come in in the morning going, "is this Katie's bra?": Priceless.


Ohhhh, self. You're turning twenty-one in July, and that is just too young to be too old for this (but you are).
Writing is the plan for today, but I think I need the world to stop spinning first. And I'd really like a burger, but I don't think my stomach would, as it's still worrying over water.

*shuffles off to make dry toast*