and still
as a dream you are never
to be replaced; a breath
of winter on my skin and you
are here beside me again, glowing
in sunlight borrowed from summer past,
glistening as you look up;an accidental tumbling of memory
out of the locked cupboard I keep you in.wide expanses of brain, your hands
skirl over the chilly water
and the damp bridge, carving
like wings pieces of steel
out of the sky. Gesture
up to the unseen sun, down
to fertile earth tangled
with blackberries.I sit. You smoke.
I and my memory of you keep
company this rainy afternoon,
ghost rings float above your head,
twist and disappear.Your hands flutter and you change things
to suit your realities and your mischievous
whims, your smile tangled and thorny
like last year's canes.A difficult and tired angel. you pull those great
wings close, shiver with unknown cold,
suck on your cigarette,
pitch rocks into the canal.11/10/99
(today's work desktop)
Loba's here! Loba's here!Last night at about 11:30 PM I made my way down to the airport and picked her up and brought her back home with me.
I was up way, way too late but darnit, it was good. I adore her and I've missed her terribly and I'm fiercely happy to see her again.
And right now, it's sunny outside and drizzling a little bit. The drops are flashing down as they catch the sunlight and everything looks sparkly and shiny and new.
This place is so amazingly, heartbreakingly beautiful sometimes.
I have made a Wish List.Yes, I know Amazon is evil, but they're too damned convenient.
anyway, if any of those who love me feel like buying me something, there's the list right there. I'm actually going to be sending this list to my family this year; they always want to know what they can buy me, and I figure that this is the easiest way to let them know what exactly I want. My brother should like this, even.
as I look at my list, I get a strong sense of the kind of reader I am; I like books about linguistics, psychology, and fantasy. My music tastes tend to wander over towards the "a bit esoteric" side of things (Tangerine Dream is writing music for me, for instance).
I also think I just want lots of stuff. Heh. One of these days, I'm going to make a big list of things I want and keep it with me, so that when I'm struck with spare cash and an itch to go shopping, I know what I should do with myself.
I've been pondering community for the past couple of days.I'm not really part of the journalling community at large. I don't belong to diary-l, I don't generally join Webrings, and my only token effort towards any sort of "community" is my list, which I use mostly to remind people that I'm here and I occasionally post new things.
And, for the most part, I'm fine with that. I know I'm not to everyone's tastes, and, frankly, I do this more for myself than I do for anyone else. I'm accountable to myself for this journal, and I like it that way. I'm a far harsher taskmistress for myself than anyone else could ever be.
but there's the little voice who wants to be praised and lauded.
But I am, and by people who matter to me.
so I tell the little voice to shut up, because I know I'm better off without it.
Best reason to never talk in a cell phone white driving:
Because the Tappet brothers are against it.
how goes the war?
Planning an assault on the enemy's stockpile of tequila and limeade.
