If my life were a novel...

whenever I mispronounced a place, name or other word- the person to whom I had spoke would grin devilishly and say, "come close so that I may kiss that silly mouth of yours." *sigh*

Whenever I am writing-

a note, a long winded exam question, addressing an envelope to be passed through many hands on its way to my beloved- I like to imagine that somewhere, someone will read it and it will be a twin to someones deceased spouse, lost love, mother, sister. That they will study its curves, lament on its sharp turns- it will make their hearts heavy. It will make their spirits swell, their bodies will falter under the growing disillusion. Then a release will come- in breath, in tears, in pulse. Silent, goodbye.

Heaven is beautiful girls dangling from ribbons...

Circus Artemis was lovely, their debut was better than could be expected and performers- beautiful. Trapeze artists, stilt-walkers and a gorgeous hand-balancer! I feel quite lucky to have shared the experience in such good company. As joy can travel to and fro on a heartstring- so can regret and sorrow. The elation of rhythmic movement making a fool of my senses, the delight in shared sentiment and growing grins soothing away the dread of mornings misfortunes. Is it psychological or supernatural this knack I have for second chances, as I feel fearful once again.

A less indignant discussion on the topic of mind-wandering…

I am daydreaming, traveling frivolously throughout the unreal. As the minutes tick farther south I briefly wonder, “is it wrong to relive one tale so many times?” Eyes unfocused I begin a journey in grayscale. Distant becomes the hum of a large box fan, my hair curling at its ends from humidity and dense as weaved cords about my neck, cradling my shoulders. Copper to gray, I see past the pebbled ceiling- gray trees pared to bones, upward reaching. Black coats, the porous wool and my attention drawn once again to the tactile. My fingers grip the wood of the boat side. Peaking at either end, ornamental. It is lovely, ancient, dark. It is tethered, it is pulled by this heart cord. Otherworldly, devoted- I am propelled. The sky here is painted all in textures, the dirty whites and swirls of darkening gray. But I imagine my pulse, eyes diverted, beating fierce to reach its source. A heart chamber, filled to breach with hundreds of firm, juice filled pomegranate seeds. I speak of this tale at length, an ode to the canon from which its characters were conceived. It lives in my mind beside Carter’s the Bloody Chamber and Gaiman’s Smoke and Mirrors. I transpose upon its dreamscape, trespassing on the intimacy of plot lines. I tangle the strands of its flowing verse, fingers twined through the encompassing g’s and open backed w’s. weaving the plot to fit my form, I am surfeited in my fixation. I want not for anything more, I am whole in my deviation.

Time for tea before first light...

What a nightmare! It was a little past 2 a.m. when David woke me from my successful no-pants-nap-time-couch-party, to deliver horrible stories of close encounters with our hometown. The most enjoyable perk of our moving around as we did is that we have rare occasion to see these ‘ghosts’ of a former life unless we have sought them out. Incantations and such, very complicated- do not trouble yourself with the details dear. The trouble is that too many are migrating this way, as recent transplants I suppose long term transplants may consider us part of this growing legion of invaders but I say nay, we are awesome and you are lucky to have us! I have never been so proud of a place, Portland is where the weirdest dreams come to have themselves reenacted by nontraditional theatre types on street corners , glorious. Easily it is the most interesting and pleasant sort of place with the most delicious people and food, yum. My point is defiantly lost in my enthusiasm and I am totally okay with that.

Perhaps writing blogs in the middle of the night before collapsing into weekend coma mode is not in good judgment, anyway. David had the unfortunate displeasure of unwillingly conversing with someone from high school who it turns out held a very low opinion of my ability to form lasting romantic relationships. Yeah, not that I am offended that he holds me in such low regard but rather the audacity of this maybe recovered junkie thinking of me at all. Ecstatic I missed out on this uncomfortable event by joining #LOFNOHC and celebrating the doctrine of Morrissey *swoon* with like minded, albeit agoraphobic, math loving, sweat-pant clad types. They have llamas, confused? See @amandapalmer via twitter for further details.

Today was also gym membership day one, meaning I am sore and a little exhausted. David spent a great deal of the time mocking me for not sweating enough, it is okay though I will kick him with great enthusiasm as he sleeps drunkenly on my side of the bed. Then I will take photos of him sucking his thumb and hugging the newest stuffed monster toy in my collection, twittering them, at least two a minute! Maybe not, though I am quite tempted now, damn. Seriously, what kind of ass criticizes people at the gym? Has he not read the manual? The gym is for cruising people and exercising at the same time to eventually look better naked. I watched the wedding singer on the elliptical machine, as well. I love the gym, mostly because I find it ridiculous.

Speaking of ridiculous, I am having so very many scheduling maladies at the moment. I really wanted to have this whole road trip following the Whomping Willows and the Remus Lupins on their summer tour in the NW but I have no passport and now Tori Amos is going to be here at the same time. I am beginning to think that planning anything in advance will be my ruin. It is most likely that I will cancel the road trip, buy Tori tickets for Saturday and see the wizard rock heartthrobs on Sunday. Unless I can get my passport in time (and get the time off work) to go to Vancouver mid-week and leave Saturday morning to see Tori back here in Portland, then wizard meet-up on Sunday. Still only seeing them twice but clocking many miles on the station wagon .

Troubles with the television, is how I would sum up my newest time expense. I am heading into finale season with my heart on my sleeve and popcorn at hand. Dollhouse, Lost, Supernatural… omfg. This is becoming so indulgent! However will I explain this on my annual time-expense report! *a flash of panic slowly fades as she adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose and then taking the pencil pensively from behind her ear she worries at the abused eraser nub, eyes focused on something unidentifiable, not likely of this realm* Sigh, it appears that tonight will likely see an early end as I have spent too long out of bed and will be unable to soundly return to my slumber. Bother, you are lovely.

This could be the best summer ever...

It is late afternoon and I am perusing the want ads in search of the ever elusive time-travelers assistant position (constant vigilance), enjoying a delicious cup of tea and rolling my eyes at the incessant vocal complaints of my cat- it must be Monday. Which means four more days until Friday, three more days until Supernatural, two more days until the Lost season finale and one day until we begin brewing butter beer for the upcoming Wizard rock tour. But today I am not obligated to any task besides reading and writing something for this long neglected blog of mine. I only wish I had more to offer, daily drabbles on Twitter reflect odd developments and new affections leaving little left to discuss at length. I suppose I have been sleeping less, therefore dreaming less and dreaming is often the first inspiration for new blog entries. I am currently avid about time-travel, especially in fan fiction (this is evident in some of the new additions to the links, stage right) and have managed to finally finish several whole novels rather than reading six at once. Morrissey and Amanda Palmer are still dominating my playlists and I fear I have developed a morbid reliance on my iPhone. Work, if it can be called that- has merely become a place for daydreaming and cultivating quirks. I have taken to cataloging strangers and acquaintances, long-listing all the various details I obtain for my own personal amusement. They have nicknames like Late Omens, or Work Crush #1, most are indicative to their relevance for which I am quite proud of myself for not being impractical. In other news, Sasquatch! Seeing Nine Inch Nails on their last tour would be enough but with all the other great bands- magic. Then there will be the Whomping Willows/ Remus Lupins tour in July. We are planning to visit Vancouver BC, then Seattle, then Portland. This is totally inspired by the multiple same day shows they played in Portland last year, now we can't help ourselves. That is where the alcoholic butter beer brewing comes in. I know in between all these events will be other shows, camping, more working and whatnot. I must remember that twitter is a very poor substitute for blogging, or something like that.

There will be notes...

When I die there will be no one left to describe others by odd observations and often overlooked characteristics. One less devout admirer that was never known by those who were so intriguing, by their vague interactions. What weight a thought can bring to what were certainly abandoned concepts, but are now alive with activity. If I had to pick a body to tell me such things, I suppose it would always be you.