One night of debauchery is far too many…

… if only my shift had not been changed, then I would have went straight home from the theatre. Rather I went to the Montage, drank too much {which I never, ever do}, played drunk deviant bingo and learned a little too much through a very foggy haze. Highlights not to be mentioned, I did see Harold and Maude for the first time. Hard to believe I had not already seen the film, instantly I fell in love! ‘Trouble’ for instance, is one of my all time favorite songs- ever. How unlikely that I was unaware of its use in this film. I have already queued it on Netflix so that David can also see it. Speaking of, we are planning art collaborations for the future and I am very excited to see where these projects lead us. Well, now for rest after a dreadful day of work + hangover.

Google phrases for the swelling of hearts…

… the book and the girl, le livre et la fille. Stories, too many to completely grasp. Too many to understand in whole. That is what I do this for, as something so small can be so beautiful and so fleeting. What do you do to spark the imagination? I like assigning fictional characteristics that are outlandish and false to everyday things, simple for an exaggerator such as myself. I like watching people too closely, visibly seeing mannerisms before obvious physical attributes. Cataloging the sound of a strangers voice and making them repeat phrases in my mind. This is why I prefer leering to interaction {probably}. This is why I prefer books to people {unfortunately}. Well, as sex with an actual person is costly- fanaticizing is free and rarely disappointing, oui?


Speaking of fantasizing, saw the Whomping Willows and the Remus Lupins this last week! It was fantastic, although I did prefer the adult venue to the local library lawn if for nothing more than the set lists. Matt was brilliant as always, I think that he is slowly climbing my top ten for wizard rockers. This was my first Alex Carpenter performance- he is kind of dreamy. We hit two shows at two separate libraries at opposite ends of Portland. It was so thrilling to embrace my inner nerd that thoroughly in one day, I want to do that more often. A mere sample of the joy to come once LeakyCon is finally upon us- glee!


I am happy to report that the urgent desire to finish of the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter Series like some loathed rim job has finally receded. Three-quarters of the way through Incubus Dreams and I was finally able to throw in the towel. Guilty Pleasures, Blue Moon, and perhaps one more may keep residence in my permanent collection but the rest are on their way to Powell’s in a hurry. I am currently returning my attentions to the Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson, a novel that is both bizarre and highly recommended by Neil Gaiman {just the way I like them}. After a great deal of pestering from David, my next read will be Rant by Chuck Palahniuk, followed no doubt by some teenage vampire smut. I try to keep it to a minimum but beyond that, I really couldn’t deprive myself of such sweet, fleeting literary candy {yum}.

If I could dream, it would be about you...

I have waited ever so patiently for this moment to arrive… nearly there, almost here! Breaking Dawn, the last installment of the Twilight Series by Stephenie Meyer, is only 6 days away! I have reread the three previous novels in anticipation, pondering endlessly the possible conclusions. Yet, be unfooled by these statements- my blatant bias for Edward is the guiding beacon by which my assumptions are made. If for some reason Meyer uses Bella as a means to reflect her own personal choices, {family for example} and were to pair her into the mundane human/werewolf coil- I think my heart may shatter. For me, it was always Edward.

Twelve days...

… feels more like a life time. Not that I miss the life I had been living, the in and outs of fourteen months, or nearly five years for that matter. The things I have learned, unlearned- purposely lost, tragically maimed. I packed my survivors, trapped tight in their brown corrugated tombs till the re-nesting can begin. Now is filled with waiting. I will soon have my little evil, the unmentionable, unrelated task of the eight hour day. I'll take what consolation is offered, pay the bills and buy Japanese stationary. I feel stalled with these long pent desires; I want to bake, to read, to visit for hours without regret. I want to hear music, view films, smell grass. I need to linger on thoughts, feed on physical contact, savor the moments. Everything new, everything wide- still miles from what I was expecting. In the next month I expect visitors, movie nights, board games, bike rides. For August- new books, birthdays, road trips, weddings… I hope I remember all the things before this, however unseemly, unlikely, unlike me. Again.

one day, every day...

The chill spreads, heavy, unseen, surfacing to the touch. Reaching, the faintest contact, lingering there. Here. Soft light settled on newly native grasses. Mid June plagued be morning frost. A shift of leaves, to better view the coming sun. We are all dying for warmth, hungry for affections. How they loose themselves in the faintest breeze in hopes of being heard, of being found, of being sought after in the dark. Their sorrow song for comfort, a whisper in foreign tongue, dawn approaches.


She walks, left shoulder heavy, down the steps of the stoop. She fumbles through her red bag, overturning items to obtain a less obscured view. A wallet, she searches for a planner size billfold. In the distance a blue and green bus is slowing. In an chorus of grinding metal it stops, deflating noisily, doors opening- the driver steps out. In his black jacket, embroidered to match the exterior of the bus, no fumbling- reaches into his pocket and he lights a cigarette. Wallet retrieved, small card in hand she adjusts the weight of her shoulder bag and walks swiftly, knees tight with tension, chin high, her face slightly turned. She is looking for something, from her expression it can be seen that although what she searches for is not in sight, the faintest traces are passing, vaguely, inside her mind.

the breath that carried us into being...

The window is streaming blue light, the slates of the blinds peeking in slight gaps when fully closed. Old windows with clumsy paint smear, have loose fittings for the eager breeze. It exhales in a ruffle of sheer crimson, embroidered by machine in vertical waves. They crest on the edge of something unshakable and fall back in tow. Iron for heat, painted white like the petals of a fragile flower and hard as something so beautiful must eventually become to survive. I watch from the bed, this dance, in the cool light, how silent we may seem. As now I am only eyes, I gaze to them from one side of my nose. Sapphire, cornflower, darkest blue, like something frozen, like something new. One brow lifts at the indecency of their exchange, it feels like laughter. The shadowed cast peers upon the page. Oh, this generic font. Coffee stain, tea tinted and well loved- old even when barely used. Too much sun will increase serotonin at the expense of your best suit. Telephone ringing, bad news calls around. If all my greatest fears weren’t so willing to abandon fiction, we might have made it through this all right. Give up on grammar, let go of precedence- the things we say last will out last the breath that carried them into being. This is true like so many other things.

Turning on the shower…

There are the feelings we have always felt, carried within, hurried without. Then there are the moments, choices- change that amplifies these ever-present pieces of ourselves. I think about editorials, I dream about conflict and sexual appreciation- but mostly I miss that which for now, I cannot have. Graduation steadily approaches, along with it stressful exams I cannot pretend to be prepared for- it all happened so slowly in all its quickness. I struggle to concentrate, enter word or phrase or paragraph here = translation, I miss him. I miss him. I want him. I am haunted by this phantom scent of him, these ghostly expressions, the gold in his terribly blue eyes. The sharp of a tooth that no longer matches its counter, the triangular outline of his thumbs. It feels like I am bleeding again…