come and find me

Elle-
Good you made it! Good, great.
This is great.
This...this, well I can't begin to tell you how important this is going to...how necessary, but that can wait.
I'm just glad you made it.
Early!
It's brutal out there, the elements and...everything. But, yes good you came!
Prepared. I see that; yes very much prepared.
I was always taught it was crucial to be prepared.
For anything. Well at least somethings.
In a perfect world I was supposed to be prepared for everything.
But who can do that? Do you know how much everything is?
It's a lot. By definition it is a lot.
No, yes, at my best I was prepared for somethings.
At my worst, I was prepared for the minimal catastrophe, the minimal disturbance, the minimal problems, the scrapes, bruises but not the uncontrollable, not the torrents that would come raining down.
But yes! You two. Very much in the opposite camp as myself.
Tea? Coffee? Sit.
While still, early.
You really should have some tea or coffee.
It's brutal out there.
Yes tea or coffee would be best.
and sit.
Sit.
Preparation. Yes.
I remember my mother would teach me the art of preparation.
Trust me it is an art.
But look at me preaching to the choir as they say.
An art, meticulous. Constant training and relearning.
But with an intuition of course. Sparks.
Revelations.
In all things.
Let me get you more.
It's something that you can't forget, no, forgetting is the worse kind of sacrilege.
I still remember being wrapped up; tight to the point of suffocation. Thick itch wool biting at my neck. Trading one redness and pain for another.
Arms restrained, bound severe and perpendicular to my body.
But it was good, it worth it.
Like all things that are difficult. worth it.
In the end.
Resilience, strength.
But I'm sure you two know all about that.
You made it here for christsake.
Sugar? milk
Is it too hot?
Not for the weak willed.
Drink up.

Boink-Boink in the Oink-Oink

After a rocky start, everything seems to be coming together. Yes, after the trains, the walking, the bus, things are starting to look up.

It's the holidaze. Well it's one particular holiday!

THANKSGIVING

pssh spanksgiving.

And we're all up in Upstate's snatch and it smells good (ughhh gross)!

Now any other liberal would take this space and talk about, indigenous genocide and stolen lands and misappropriation of history etc...

But not here, not now because, while all those things are true and are even more important to talk about; it's annoying.

Espesh if it's done stuffily (stuffingly?).

What I'm talkin' 'bout is delicious food in large quantities and fresh air and drinking at like 12 noon and walking up the next day at about 11!

It's about being with people that love you and that you love and being able to escape the city and walk around in the dark without seeing the constant lights from buildings and street lamps, only seeing the occasional car's headlights disappear, it's red back end winking out of existence.

It also about feeling a little bit of that loneliness that comes when you remember past holiday's and thinking about the people that you once spent them with and the next time you'll see them.

It's also about obscenely stuffing your face with as much Glazed Ham as humanly possible. I almost wrote Glazed Hamm which would also be delicious in amore erotic kinda way; possibly (definitely) stickier.

At the end of my second heaping helping (ole school 'lliteration) o'ham/garlic mashed potatoes/cranberries sauce/biscuits, I swore off of food.

Until the coffee/pumpkin cheesecake/walnut cookies came out.

GAME ON my friends

GAME ON.

And this left use around 7 in the evening which lead to much beer and wine and cognac with much playing of card games!

Rummy!

Who a new a game that's almost essentially for old white ladies would be somemuchfun?

Well maybe not so surprising since THANKSGIVING is a holiday essentially celebrating old white people! (<----- political!)

Then a nice little walk near some woods, where if we had somehow stubbled into a scary movie I would most certainly be the first to die. Not because I'm a double minority but because I'm a slutty double minority. I was excited and I ran to the cemetery, grabbed Mr. 6'4'' and started getting my mack on.

This would be the point on the story, when I would stop and say, "What did you here that?" (which I did say)

Mr. 6'4'' "wonkster stop playing around"

"no seriously, wait here" (which I did say)

I would walk up the hill closer to woods, flashlight in hand, leaving Mr. 6'4'' behind no flashlight but safer near the road. I would turn back flashlight point at Mr. 6'4''. All of a sudden there would be a rustle and a rush my light would go out, the sound of tearing flesh whether by instrument, teeth or claws (depending on the genre) would be heard, I would be dead and Mr. 6'4'' would be left alone to run back to the house and see how the rest would play out.

But it didn't happen that way.

BECAUSE IT'S THANKSGIVING

duh

and I'll blog if I want to

It's my birthday

just in case you didn't know. just in case you failed to notice. just in case you couldn't take off of your busy schedule. Because it always you you you isn't it? and this one day, this time, where it might just be about me, you don't remember. It doesn't even cross your mind. I didn't even ask for much. I didn't even ask you to do anything above and beyond what would be considered just...just something that anyone would be more than happy to do. Or at least fake it for one day at least.

What do you do that so important? Just make up stories all day. Stories that don't even make fucking sense.

One day a little boy was walking by a field. A field that he had been to many times. Each time the boy would study the field learning it's landscape it's texture; the smells, everything seemed empty, dirty. The boy was fond of the pool of water that was near the field. The pool of water wasn't something that you would call nice or pretty or even pleasant. The water in the pool was shallow and stagnant, teeming with unknowable things. It buzzed and hummed but there was no movement in or around it. No swarm of flies or mosquitoes or whatever common thing that was found elsewhere was found here. The little boy one day gathered as much courage and strength that he could find. Walked to the pool pulled out his gun. He was together with the pool. But the boy did not become a part of it, no, the outside infected him. Yes, there it he was mingling with the pool; oil in water. Not all of it, not even much it; the rest his body, his skull and bones and guts, belonged to the flies and all the base things he was so desperate to be separated from. But, of course, the boy knew none of this, all that was reflected in his eyes was the pool with it's murky water and his blood finally joining the shore.


happy birthday, I mean happy halloween, I mean, I mean

I don't know why

After a less than thrilling day at work. Can you work it? let me work it? something something flip it and reverse it?

I was going to write some stuff down on this. Some creative writing stuff; creagaytive writing.

I don't like to brag or anything but I don't get lonely.Well, not to say I don't get "lonely," I mean I get "lonely" I just don't feel lonely. Or, I mean, that's not right, that's not what I mean to, that's not what I want to say. People think that loneliness is some kind of whole or pit or some other vaguely feminine, slightly misogynistic (Isn't it? swelling with happiness equals phallic; falling into depression...sapphic) metaphor. I don't feel like I'm falling; that I'm surrounded by darkness none of that cliched bullshit. I have this new cliched bullshit. It feels like a burning sensation. Like I'm being branded, changed, marked. I'm surrounded and entered by a light. Fucked. I'm being fucked and everyone knows it. It changes me. I don't mind the endless flame. My own personal eternal flame. Remember that song? Do you understand?...Whatever, it's a good song. I revel in it because I can't not. So, no I'm not lonely, I'm on fire; consumed from the inside out.

What this ole thing? It's just something that I whipped up. It's an old recipe really! Something I have tucked away in case people come by. Because, oh, you know, you can never know when anything can happen! Better to be a prepared polly! Just, a lil' ole thing that I might put into my play that I'm working on. Yes, the same play that I've been working on for a while. The same ole shit that I have spread out in a multitude of napkins, lose papers, so leaves, my bedroom walls, my computer (not in a word document mind you, on the screen scrawled with a razor blade...woah that went to a much darker place then i intended..)

[insert; ya got served]

and the sun was all

After a less than exhausting day at werk
< exhaust
I'm back at chez moi; shirtless, pants undone, mustache in full bloom; yes I'm from Oh HI Oh and it shows the most at these moments. TWIIIIST: I'm watching RuPaul Rupaul Race: Start Your RuPauls™.


They are making books n things for this episode.

Which gets me wondering what would my book be called. I only think that because I'm a RAGIN' narcissist. I'm a narwhal narcissist. That could the title:

Narwhal Narcissist: Memoirs of a Something Something Such n' Such

[insert: this is what the cover would look like]


Yes, that is a decapitated narwhal and yes, that is me and yes those are big sunglasses and yes, that picture was taken with my Macbook camera and yes, I wrote a lot of yeses (yesi) to bring awareness to my horrible writing skillz.

This is what the first two sentences of my MEMEiors:
I remember, or at least remember being told that I should remember, that I was with mon pere (french? mon dieu); near some park...near some park, near some handball courts...near some park, near some handball courts, in California just takin a lil' walk. I walked up to a dog (squee) then was bitten on the foot, hard, I was four.

Does that make you want to read it? No? That's what I thought.



and that my friends(?).

is



that

shooting stars

I've done nothing today. I'm so tiiiiiiiiiired, while i was typing that I was trying to think of a way to incorporate tire iron, but I couldn't, so...tire iron.

[insert: I don't know why I think of these things, I just do, then I write them down]


Last night a couple of coworker and I went out to a magazine party at SUGARLAND, the local gay discotheque. There where a lot of hotties hawtees hot teas(?) there. As per usual I went home alone and drunk and cried myself to sleep while i was eating a sandwich.

scene:

Door opens to a disheveled apartment.
An assortment of shoes strewn near the entrance.
Miscellaneous clothes and underwear are in the kitchen (the bathroom is located off of the kitchen, so it isn't as gross as it sounds, but still pretty, ooky).
The florescent lights turn on to a be-suspendered 23 year old homosexual with one pant leg rolled up to reveal a tube sock worn over the calf (he was trying something for the evening, whatever he thought it looked ok).
He makes a sandwich, turns on his laptop, starts crying hysterically.

end scene

I joke, I joke.....or do I?




I wouldn't kick that outa bed

my face cracked

it's time for story time:

There was a small seed that was planted in the middle of a field. A field that was surrounded with tall willows and birches and populated with poppies, bright red that looked like freshly made kool-aid (a color so vivid it looked unreal, almost to the point of cartoonishness).
This seed had giant seed-like dreams; to grow and swell and bloom and perhaps populate the field with others like it so it wouldn't be lonely. If not lonely than at least not alone. So this seed began to anchor itself down and grow. It thought it was a real fucking big shot, with each growing pain the seed felt a twinge of pride, and thought,
"Yup, this is my time."
What the little seed did not realize, because the seed was too focused on himself, was there was a beautiful masked Green Jay with it's emerald coat that also lived near the field. While, the seed had big dreams and a plan, the Green Jay had dreams, a plan, ambition, plus the fool could fly.
Could the seed fly?
NO, because it was a seed, duh.
The Green Jay spotted this little seed that was now a little sprout. It usually didn't waste it's time with sprouts but it was feeling slightly peckish and fate sometimes sets things in motion that are unfair and unavoidable. So, like a green missile zeroing in on its target the Green Jay swallowed the little sprout that was a little seed in one fell swoop.
The sprout/seed didn't see it coming, didn't notice the shadow and in the end didn't feel the quick pluck. So that was the end of the seed.

There was no propagation for the seed. Was it a willow? a poppy? It probably was something kinda lamer, I dunno, and I guess no one will ever know.


The end