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.

Revealing or Reveling...

What ever could be more damaging than opening my heart to an idea, an entity that would soon leave me. If I fell in love with a person, a feeling or a bond- what then could be saved of my heart. An organ beating fierce like a fist, seizing with passion at the mere sight of such a thing. Too large, with pressing urgency- take a breath. Even the discomfort of its sting has all the sweet, unencumbered resonance of a kiss to me.

To hold a child or is it holding me. I am at first set with panic, only through detachment do I concede to this. To personalize would be most damaging. I think, half present- alternative histories yet to unfold. As any of us could be so many things, feel so varied a motion- I stand, carried in the current of my own detachments. The subtleties of their admission, the delicate threads weaving- they join. Entanglements hold me. My ornate desires an art, a craft once used to cheer sorrows hold the tale of a wanton spirit. Acceptance with fond intention is but a prelude to so many things.

The point of it all...

Less sleep as I adjust to shared transportation and currently opposing schedules have been fortuitously paired with a more chaotic workplace. Miserable, scheming coworkers contend to take my position as the daytime lead, all of them at least twenty-five cents my superior. Researching data, printing transactions and filing them away replaces afternoon reading. I am behind in my novels once again, terminally distracted or professionally indisposed. Nearly finished with Pride & Prejudice & Zombies, addicted to the BBC miniseries Lost in Austen, a dozen pages at a time through several of the most amusing punctuation handbooks and other varying reference pieces. Ignoring the things that were most distressing and consuming for the last month plus, in hopes of regaining my calm. With composure secured I hope to be more useful, until then I have fizzy alcoholic beverages by the bottle and a very long straw.

Soapbox of Despair....

If I were to break down these complex and often compounded feelings of late, it is a lack of intimate attention I am suffering. Is this perhaps a selfish plea, have I been attentive to those around me? Not really. Feelings of separation both internally and externally are the likely cause. Although I know I am not alone it is often difficult to dispute the emotional isolation that I feel. Many months of close quarters with my dear Kate has been a contributor to the absence I harbor. With proper cause assessed, I know that my weekday solitude is most problematic. I often feel the need to make responsible choices with my time, knowing that an evening with friends that may be temporarily gratifying will cost dearly the next day. But I can feel the absence of life, the preference of fantasy to reality growing. I am detached, literally, from my friends here. Little things possess greater meaning and consequence through internal experience. The books with which I am so familiar have taught much about introspection and life on a macrocosmic level. This shiny hamster wheel is most distracting and endlessly reflective. Or I suppose what I am really trying to say is that I am lonely and sad.

Leather elbows on a tweed coat...

Twitter has become a ruthless blog thief, I am transfixed. I find myself often wondering if perhaps there are more intriguing people out there yet to be found and followed. Once so many interesting profiles have been claimed, I am then no longer able to keep up with so many posts- forced to ‘untwitter’ someone, sadness. Even worse I think are the most delectable persons who fail to update nearly as often as they should.


Outside the virtual realm, I spent over a hundred dollars yesterday on nibbles and accessories. Worse yet I spent most of the day still hungry. It appears that the hungrier I become the more far fetched my last eating experience was, until finally- the last I ate was in a previous life as a struggling ‘up and coming’ deity somewhere in India. Oh, sweet curries- scratch that, chocolate almond cake. Yum. In light of my now tightened budget I did acquire a few things I had either been eyeing or needed, not quite desperately. Finally, I have a lampshade for infamous broken beaked bird lamp, love. A pair of precious gold heart locket earrings, and a burgundy hand bag that was $88.00- paid $9.99, satisfaction of victory. Oh, and a pair of peacock ornamental scissors, lots of treats and cat food I am less likely to cry over when reading the label.


Recently in pages, haven’t managed to polish off a single book in quite a good while. Too many anthologies are likely to blame. Must remedy this before it becomes a prevailing statistic! But what book to best due so with? That alone will take hours to decide. Bugger.


On the subject of activism, I am still hiding in my mole hill, not making new friends. I have however been keeping much better tabs on things happening locally, nationally and globally. The Let Live Conference is coming up in June. I plan to attend and meet many like minded misses and misters. Also, my vegan cooking skills are greatly improving!

Dreaming in grayscale...

If I am not reading then I am watching French films and learning trademark expressions for varying levels of defiance. If viewed twice over then I will be in the kitchen pressing vegan gingerbread with regal tin cutters, so sweet with black tea beneath a drafty window. If the reading light fades and the cookies are all but gone then search the blogs of various publishing houses and that of Mr. Neil Gaiman. You will surely find me there… with all new posts devoured and nothing but fragments remain I will stand before the closet mirror, balancing my auburn eyebrows and placing pins in my hair. When the hour hand reaches the top I will be winding down, listen and you will hear the crooning of female artists such as Cat Power, Amanda Palmer, or Madeleine Peyroux. Then a great tumbling will cause an avalanche of grey linen to cover me in warmth, heavy and still- she sleeps.