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Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009
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2:08 pm - we were fashioned in love
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As the conclusive (public) action to my last post, this is important that it's the first public post after the name-change.
Some recent *beamygoodnessexplodes* has lead me into the next evolution of being, as m'own little recycled cosmic-energy creature.
A significant facet of this creature is about living for today, and living love.
And an absolutely integral factor in realizing my current path, was literally discovering forgiveness.
I forgave m'self for a whole hell of a lot that I had been weighing m'self down with for... forever, actually.
And it felt amazing. It feels amazing.
In the process of cleansing and refreshing my relationship with myself, of course I began examining my relationships with others.
As I sifted memories through my mental fingers, I realized that there was/is a great deal of... emotional dead-weight in the arena of past relationships. And suddenly, I couldn't really grasp why.
I thought and thought and thought, and concluded that there are only maybe--maybe--three people who have transgressed against me so egregiously that I don't think I could forgive them (that is, I don't think I could forgive them now, at least [but hey, until they ask, who knows?]); but I don't believe those people would want my forgiveness, either, so it all works out. *thumbs up*
Anyhoo.
I decided to take this cleansing a step further, and turn this into a completely open opportunity.
Long story short, I would like to offer my forgiveness to anyone who wants and/or feels that they need it. Hell, I welcome any forgiveness, if any of you want to and/or feel the need to forgive me.
This is a a clean-slate to anyone who'd like it.
Whatever the issue is--regardless of when it happened (yesterday or two years ago), no matter the severity or pettiness (from relationship-ending to mildly annoying to cringe-worthy)--this is an opportunity to get whatever is on y'mind (or whatever you think may be on mine) out in the open, and subsequently dissolved.
We'll acknowledge what "went wrong" so we can do our best to make sure it doesn't happen again (and possibly find resolution, if either party desires/needs it), apologize for our part in it, astrally hug, and move on with whatever shall be between us, et all.
Whether it just leaves us feeling neutral towards each other, or friendly acquaintances, or open to a path of intimate friendship, or an infinite number of other possibilities--we can leave this speed-bump in the past for both of us as a learning-experience, and now a problem resolved.
Whatever you've done, whatever I've done, whatever has or hasn't happened between us; let's start fresh. Times have changed, we have changed, and I believe the interaction between us should reflect this evolution.
Comments screened. *wiggles*
[ This was posted on 6/23/07, but shall remain at the top of m'journal for a bit.]
current mood:  *slips flower into y'gun*
current music: The Easy Star All Stars--Us and Them//Mos Def--Lifetime
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(blood and chocolate)
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| Monday, June 23rd, 2008
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1:17 am - Rooooo-fus! o/'
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I was flipping around, vegging while fixing m'locks, and saw a familiar face contorted in mock-disgust, and cried out delightedly.
"Hey!"
... Until I read the bold words beneath flashing video clips of our most expansive friend.
George Carlin, Dead at 71.
I literally gasped and covered my mouth. "Oh. Oh my god. Oh, Dad. ...Harry, oh my god."
They both turned around, and I repeated the (offensively) bored announcer.
I sat for a moment, and caught my breath, before running upstairs to tell the goat.
Our household is just... Silent, right now.
I don't think anyone knows what to say.
George was our... Physically distanced, but intimately close, euphorically bizarre uncle. I cannot remember a single point in my life that he hasn't been involved in what we were hearing, watching, reading, thinking.
I remember being parked in front of the TV with Harry, my parents and their friends behind us on couches, and the whole room erupting in raucous shouts and giggles, and head-tilted, thinking about how I liked the way he moved on stage.
To this day, I have facial expressions that I know are deeply rooted in watching too many of his stand-ups, repeatedly, at a young age. Wide-eyed disbelief? You got it.
Listening to his gruff voice rise and fall, on cassette, laughing out loud as the Volvo climbed hills.
It didn't take too much aging (or maturing, for that matter), for me to soon grasp and deeply appreciate not only what he said, but how he said it. Reinforcing my solid stances, unapologetic intensity, brutal honesty, and my father's theory that humor is the best way to say anything.
A Southern Californian youth's life, in the late 80's/early 90's, simply weren't complete without Rufus's most mellow and most excellent advice and watchful eye.
Curled up in Dad's hospital bed, his arm around me, laughing until we were crying, his head bald from chemo. (I know that he wouldn't have fought like he did without you and Bill at his [illegally recorded] VHS beck & call. You saved my father, and reminded him what fighting was for.)
When other kids had song lyrics and magazine photos slid into the covers of their binders, I had two collages of my favourite sayings of his--that almost got me suspended. To this day, I still have them--fuck! to this day, I still have snippets of him typed-up on my phone, for random, constant inspiration.
The more politically active I became, the more I adored him. He was my first older man. *bats lashes* The first to spark that passion of activism in me.
My dad's old stand by, when I was overwhelmed and deeply upset, was to put on George and Bill (not necessarily in that order), and we'd just laugh and let the brilliance distract us to other topics outside of heart-hurt.
I got all of his books for Dad, and would often steal them for myself--smirking hard and thinking just as hard, with my bedside lamp on at 3am.
I found myself unable to contain my love and affection for him, and what he had to say, and shared him left and right; the last person I shared him with was Elliot.
Everytime we caught him in a Kevin Smith film, we'd shriek and shout and cackle, in a way amazingly familiar to that livingroom group in LA.
George... Has been in my life, in my family's life, since the beginning; one of the few people who touched all of us equally, someone we all shared.
I feel a very personal loss. I will admit that mostly, though, I'm concerned about my father--did he just lose his best astral friend?
We'll miss you, George. Thanks for sticking with us as long as you did. Thank you for being as triumphant as you were, and inspiring us to be the same.
current mood:  quiet
current music: quiet
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| Saturday, May 31st, 2008
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10:55 pm - And other times you need to go crazier. o/'
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In the space of time I didn't post *beats self with wet noodles!*, I managed to get re-pierced and tattooed avec AMAZINGFACE peeps *rubs to* (expect a post... sometime), chaperone m'goat's highschool physics class field trip to the Pacific Science Center (yay science! boo highschool kids!), see Iron Man (first day! BOOYEAH!), miss Folk Life *sobs openly*, be offered multiple jobs for non-profit organizations (which I'm seriously considering), barbecue the largest amount of meat I've handled to date (yis, yis, most of you are meat-unfriendly, but there has to be someone here who understands my rib-flipping joy!), attempt to cross the language barrier in order to put in a boy's locks (which is still underway), write like it's going out of style, and make a pretty intense choice regarding m'career path.
Concentrating on the latter!
As a "professional" aside.
To get to the point, and make a series of long stories short, it's Bulleted List[tm] time (let us REJOICE!)!
- For those of you somehow unaware: Quite a bit ago (years upon years), I realized what I wanted to do with my life; that I wanted to study human sexuality and gender issues, and become a sexologist. *writhes*
- For a ridiculously long time, now, I have been "penpals" with a professor--Linda--of human sexuality, at a university I eventually plan on attending. Besides randomly chatting at each other, we have mega WHOA in-depth conversations on sex and gender, which leads us to write research papers back and forth--this is what I spend a good deal of my time on. I know, I'm sick. ;P
- (Academic drama! What makes me currently legally unable to share these papers as I'd like to! Whooooo no thank you!)
- Since a little after the beginning of this year, Linda and I have been discussing what my "end goal"--however vague--is. Do I want to become a professor? Lecturer? Therapist? Sexual surrogate? Combination of the above? I'm still rather unsure--because, when it comes down to it, I feel very *spreads arms wide and spins* when it comes to sexology--so there's a good deal of *flops onto, thinking aloud* between us.
- About three and a half months ago, Linda sent me a meandering sort-of affectionate observant email, about my nature, and what she thought would best utilize my talents, within sexology. The main thing that came up is the fact that she... believes I'm a healer--especially considering why I want to become a sexologist--so was strongly suggesting moving towards direct person-to-person work, especially therapy. I have been mulling over this.
- About two months ago, after oh-so-subtlety testing the waters a few times, Linda really came right-out with a proposition. She had been holding back, until I brought up that I had recently re-watched The Woodsman--a favourite film that never fails to fully move me and fuck me up for a week or so--and she sort-of let me rant about it for a bit before sitting me down, as it were, and letting me have it. As simply as it can be put, a bit ago, Linda sent (with my permission) some of my... commentaries, to a friend of hers (who she went to school with, and is likewise involved in sexual studies), who showed great interest in me, to the point of sending me correspondence directly, in order to offer me a "position" under her.
Said friend, Rebecca, is the resident psychologist/psychiatrist (from what I've gathered, her position has a tendency to meander onto territory in both directions) at a prison--she was once a forensic psychologist, and has specialized education and knowledge in psychopathy--specifically with sexual offenders and sexual predators. For the past bit (three or so years?), she has been creating and instituting her own "experimental" type of therapy, for sexual offenders and predators (regarding recidivism, mostly, but also in hopes of tending to general emotional, mental, and sexual health).
The opportunity they've offered me is to... Be an "informal pen-pal therapist, of sorts," with sexual offenders--specifically, those convicted of multiple, violent sexual crimes; that is, sexual predators.
It would be completely voluntary--I would not be getting paid or monetarily compensated in any way, shape, or form (but I'd have references and be able to cite this experience on resumes). I'd be able to stop at any time--in any conversation, regarding any single talk, or everything altogether (although Rebecca says she'd really like to work with me long-term). I would have full control over my availability; I can say who I will or won't speak to, and when. There would be some serious security for me (so I don't have to worry about being "safe" or not). All sessions would be recorded, but private to the other resident therapists. I would also have full freedom to discuss or write about my correspondences.
I was told to think about it, and get back to her--in the meantime, we could talk about it as much as I'd like.
I've... really been chewing over this, and letting it chew at me with its great rank goat teeth. Both Linda and Rebecca have been incredibly supportive, and have helped me explore the full ramifications of taking on this responsibility.
On one hand, this is a subject I feel overwhelmingly passionate about; not only sexology, but how those convicted of sexual crimes are treated (hey! let's take this time to keep from going into the MASSIVE problems within our prison system! *hides under 'Lily's skirts*), within our society. I would be in the position to directly affect the sexual health of another individual (hopefully for the better); I mean, this is what I want to do.
On the other... I'm terrified.
First and foremost, I am a ridiculously emotionally vulnerable individual. It is very difficult--if not sometimes impossible--for me to turn off my empathy. And as much as I (energy-wise) keep m'self protected, my innate empathy can easily override this, and I leave m'self wide open. Rebecca and I have already discussed the fact that I'm going to be attempting to get personal with individuals who have, basically, spent their entire lives learning and training themselves how to best take advantage of others, and can spot any weakness a mile away, and hone-in on those soft-spots.. And although Rebecca has been very firm in making me aware of just how much emotional danger I could be putting myself in, she's not worried. I'm... Eh...
Also, as much as I may not like to dwell about in it, I am a rape victim, and have handled a fair share of sexual abuse (and I'd be lying to say that this didn't play a role in my intensity over helping others to find sexual health). I have extremely strong feelings about rape, and sexual abuse. And as generally unflappable I am, honestly, who knows what will trigger me?
I've been upfront with her about my concerns, regarding this area. She actually really surprised me with how forthcoming she was, regarding her feelings on the matter.
To be frank, that doesn't dissuade me at all; in fact, it makes me even more certain that you are right for the position.
Really? *disbelief* Why?
Because, having been on the other side, having been a victim of sexual abuse, you have an innate desire to know why. I've already gathered from Linda, and from our communication, that you are a greatly curious and interested, even explorative individual. That is going to be
what gets you started, and keeps you going. But what is going to really re-spark you, in the very worst places, is wanting to so desperately know the mind of a sexual predator. Regardless of whether or not they have any resemblance to those that hurt you, you will be unable to NOT draw parallels. And at the end of the day, you just want to know what causes someone to do the sort of things that were done to you.
I can't even begin to explain how vulnerable I felt, then; how like bait.
I closed my email, and didn't look at it for almost a week.
By the time I had calmed down... I realized that she was right, and that this wasn't her exposing my weaknesses, but really turning my scarring into my strength, and revealing an ability I was previously unaware of.
When I finally responded, I was honest about how deeply upset I had been, at first. But how, in the end, what I saw was... the opportunity to have strength, in the situation; she was offering
me not only control, but insight into myself I could not get elsewhere.
The thing that was really nipping at me, though, and pushing me towards this:
About a year ago, my father started searching for a friend from college he'd lost contact with.
Geoff was an absolutely beautiful blond, in perfect shape, with a British accent from living in England as a child. Every girl on campus wanted him. A friend of my mom's took her--at the time, she was an utter stunner--to meet Geoff, hoping they'd hit it off; mom was completely disinterested in Geoff, and instead, her eye was caught by the gangly (D'aw!) charm of my father, and we all know how that story ends.
Anyhoo. Dad hadn't spoken to Geoff in years, and went on a fucking crusade to find him. He knew that he had lived in Corona Del Mar, and was a renown therapist, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't find him. He eventually enlisted my help *bows down before reference librarian skills*, and with set-up specific phrases and the right search engine, dad found some newspaper articles, and the reason why he hadn't been able to contact him.
In 2001, Geoff had been sentenced to 23 years in prison, for sexually molesting a large number of boys who came to him for therapy. A good deal of them while he was HIV positive.
Dad was... stunned, and shocked, and continued to try and find out more about what had happened, and, eventually, wrote Geoff a letter--very "Hello... Found you!"
Through correspondence, dad found a great deal out about Geoff. He had been so respected and successful in his field, that he had had four houses--one in Mexico--his own little plane, a boat, and was the local surf team coach. Geoff still... refused to take responsibility for what he had done, quoting that he had been seduced (... by an eight year old), and that his downfall was due to being molested by a Scout Leader for three years, while he was in England.
Dad soon found it too... heavy, and stopped correspondence. But opened up to me rather immensely, regarding this whole *gestures*. My first response was to ask him if I could pick-up his side of the correspondence with Geoff. We (dad and I) are still in the discussion stage, but, what was more important was how... Thoroughly I've been affected by it.
And that, in itself--my affectedness--has been pushing me on, down this path, and I've been mulling over what exactly I could bring to the situation--if anything; that is, why she would want me. And do I want this? If so, why; what could this bring to me?
From the beginning, I've been considering this almost solely because Rebecca sought me out, to propose this to me.
I mean, who gets offered this kind of opportunity?!
Most people don't have a relative stranger come out of leftfield and say
"Hey, I want you to help in the rehabilitation of sexual criminals!"
... Granted, most people wouldn't even entertain the thought. But... maybe that is what makes me the person for the job. Not only entertaining it, but being excited (and not sexually! *laughs*) by the opportunity--warts and all.
After a whole bunch of guh-nawing and peering about, and hunkering down with trusted peeps ("Lily and Jon were the first to hear, and, to date, brought me the most clarity on the subject), and tugging my sweater sleeves, I finally made my decision. I logged onto my private sexology IM, and text'd Rebecca.
I'm in.
We've already started the wheels a-turning, and in about a month, I'll hit the ground running.
I'm still a bit anxious, over it, but mostly excited. However this ends up, I cannot wait to see how it affects me and my sexologist journey.
I'll probably be blurbing and babbling about this, for the next bit, in an attempt to bolster m'morale. *thumbs up*
And now onto not at all professional sex-talk! HOOOOUH!
After, like, over ten years of wearing the same kind of underwear for over ten years (I'm giving Shut up or I'll kill you eyes to most of you), I think I've finally found something I like more than basic black Jockey's--they look great (MY ASS!), feel great, but... Cannot deal with m'wetness at all.
Now, the crotch of these things happens to be ridged (for her pleasure? [Ewwww...]), and is of a thicker material, but for some reason, falls before my cuntwetness like a Japanese city before a rubber monster.
And it is fucking killing me.
I understand that how often I am aroused, and the degree to which my body responds might both be unusual, but fucking aye; no drawuhs *hipbumps 'Lily* made for females should respond like tissue paper.
Does anyone else have to factor this sort of shit into buying clothes? Honestly! Are there any guys who choose a special fabric because it better absorbs pre-cum or hides an erection?
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During m'semi-daily sweep of sex/gender-blogs (everything from activists to porn producers), I found this site, and am all sort of DELIGHTED AS FUCK.
Beware, majorly NSFW.
... Or is it? XD
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I eat carrots the way some people freebase meth. *nods* Anywhere I go, I take carrots. And seeing as I don't peel carrots, directly before I eat them, I wash them--which involves an up-and down, lightly-closed fist motion.
The other day, Johnny saw me preparing a snack, and felt it utterly necessary to comment.
"Hey! What are you two doing over here?"
I rolled my eyes.
"You know what that looks like?" Before I had time to answer, his eager response came. "A handjob!"
I just turned and said "If freezing cold tap-water being violently run over a phallic object while it's being roughly scrubbed and manhandled is reminiscent of a handjob, I'm going to have to wonder who on earth set your standards."
To his defense, his mumbled, mock-defeat reply was "No one talks about my mom like that..." That trailed off into dejectedly leaving the room.
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Speaking of dejectedly! The other day, while Callie was over, and stepped away to inspect the Goat's new piercings, her boy Matt was left in the dining room with me.
He faux-pouted about everyone else getting to see boobs, and how he was simply left holding his dick.
"Oh no! If you're going to say that and mean it, then you'll need to do it while actually holding y'cock and looking dejected."
"Oh! Right!" He reached down, grabbed his package, and frowned at the floor.
After I cackled, I corrected him.
"No, if you really want to do it right..." I wrapped my hand around the base of m'(invisible)cock, arched m'eyebrows up, and pouted my lower lip out, giving big puppy eyes to the floor.
Then we figuratively collapsed in giggles. ^^
Later, at Callie's, after I shaved his head and he took off his sarong, we discussed the state of the non-erect penis, these days.
Do most guys not like looking at themselves while soft? I'm curious!
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And speaking of Callie. *narrows eyes at* The bruises just faded at the end of last week.
You are a bad person, who teases puppies.
*weeps openly into pillow*
As much as I often think it'd be best to find a new, experienced kink-friend, the whole process of mucking through the Seattle kink-community is just too much for me. A bit ago, I was quipping at Rev *gnaws lemur* over my difficulties with finding someone kinky.
"They're either not kinky enough, or we're not kink-compatible."
And it's true! No matter what I do, I always seem to find myself in the desolate wastelands, or a whooping, epileptic Picasso explosion (and I'm much more of a Dali person ;P).
It always starts out alright, and then takes a sudden and dramatic turn for No thank you! o/'
"Do you want to lay out the scene?"
"Oh, yes, of course! So, first, I'll strip you naked except for your boots."
"Ooh!"
"And then I'll tie a rope chest harness on you,"
"Yeah?"
"And then I'll bind your hands behind your back."
"Yis??"
"And then I'll hog-tie you, and put you on your stomach on the floor."
"Eeee!"
"And THEN I'll stand above you, fondling a broken ceramic chicken, gurgling rancid kombucha while speaking Pig-Latin, urinating only on your calves while listening to Hotel California on repeat, at deafening levels."
...
"Lola?"
*cringes* I'd like to be kidding.
I get the feeling that I'm going to need to just pay some of my understanding friends to bite and beat me regularly.
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While smokily babbling at m'brother about a fellow on the bus that I found creepy, it slowly dawned on me, the more I described and explained, that the reason he struck such a *shudders* chord in me was because... I'm pretty sure he's a sexual predator (at the very least, he demonstrates a very large number of pointedly [sexually]predatory characteristics). I soon recounted everything, more clearly and less stoned, to the goat and m'mom, aaaaand was even more horrified/convinced of it.
*headtilt* I'm not sure what to do about it.
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I'll leave you with the... cosmically, sexually inspiring Ed Sanders *drowns in Fugadelicness*.
I like to engage in astral perversion. My fondness is to be sucked-off by ring-tailed fruit bats while engaging in oral erotic relationships with homosexual aardvarks, in bathtubs full of lukewarm jello in late night motel plate-job slurp circles and jello orgies.
[EDIT: Completely unrelated! LJ has been wonky, regarding notifying me of comments. *beats system* So sorry to those of you who left notes, and only got vast, virtual silence in response. I'm a bastard. *weeps endlessly*
Also! Re-check contact page, regarding phone text-ness!
ALSO! Mere hours ago, I sent my little goatling out to her prom, in a full white tux with tails. *emits hearts* I shall sit up, and wait to welcome the dapper goat into m'arms.]
current mood:  crazier
current music: Andrew W.K. - Close Calls With Brick Walls
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(9 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Wednesday, April 30th, 2008
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11:20 am - on the discovery of love
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Thank you, Albert.
Your problem child has grown into an endlessly controversial (publically vilified and privately worshipped), but nonetheless brilliantly alive and intensely sincere and immense creature of love, what has helped some of us truly come home, and discover ourselves.
Some of us will never be able to thank you enough, for what you've done, for all that you inspire, all those you touched, and all the doors (and windows, for that matter) you slyly slid us the puzzle-key for.
Indeed, you helped turn so many of us into what we are supposed to be, with your (aptly titled) medicine for the soul.
You are duly celebrated with great honor, affection, awe, and love.
[I was lock-deep in an affectionately nostalgic revisiting swim in Malden Grange Bishop's personal discovery of love, beaming and beaming and beaming, when an old fellow (at least mid seventies) crossed the bus to me.
"Sister?"
I looked up, my favored ocean still open in my hands.
"Albert died."
I arched my eyebrows up, first in curiousity, but in a blossoming deep-down dawning.
He put his hand on my shoulder. "Albert Hofmann died. Ripe age of 102." He smiled warmly at me.
I smiled back, stood up, and the two of us hugged each other, in cosmic comfort, on the moving bus, until we were done hugging (which wasn't for a stop or two).
As soon as we released, he pat my head, pulled the cord, and took my hand in his.
"Greg."
My first response was a warm wash of dandelion. "Yis." I paused, and realized he had introduced himself. "Oh! Lola."
"Lola." He smiled again. "Lola, I love you."
"I love you, Greg!" I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed mine, and he got off the bus.
For as long as its been since I took a proper trip home, I am always in awe of, and thoroughly euphoric with how it is always right there when I close my eyes--resounding and ringing and vibrating and how it holds me--and how often it seeks me out to send love letters, how it misses me as well.]
Everything is so very beautiful.
current mood:  deeply appreciative
current music: ringing joy
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| Monday, April 21st, 2008
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11:01 pm - No, don't call me Andy. o/'
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What started as a mildly irritated "Oh, I'm probably just dehydrated" throat last Wednesday, turned into a full-blown throat and ear and sinus infection by Thursday afternoon. I was that kind of sick where it's hard to do much of anything outside of feel ridiculously shite. Over a week later, and I'm finally coming down (which is awesome, because the only Sudafed that was working fucked me up). Suckily, other housepeeps seem to have gotten it. *cringe*
Luckily, all of the *soggily flops around* gave me some time to play with, which I've been sorely missing.
I dedicated most of it to a project I've been working on, and will continue to work on for the next bit. It was pretty awesome to hunker down and ( reminisce. )
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Semi-related: I'm getting really excited (shut up) about using m'LJ scrapbook as a personal, photo-journaling archive.
Outside of all of the older photos I'm still digging through, I have at least four other archives in the works.
... Let's not talk about how I make up for not working at library, anymore, in my everyday life. Shhhhh. (As-Aston... Martin).
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Last week, the universe *raspberry!*'d my recently growing sense of self-*arches eyebrows, looking about iffily*. It was pretty fantastic.
One evening, while on the bus, the driver--an extremely nice fellow that I have for my ride home every evening--and I struck up a conversation, seeing as the bus was otherwise empty.
"So how's y'day going so far?" He called back.
"Oh? Oh, long, how about yourself?"
"Well, I just started my shift back there at the Transit Center," I took this time to get up, and move to the front of the bus, so our contact could be more direct, "but I'm already looking forward to that time when I get off."
We both laughed, and the conversation meandered on for a while.
"So, I see you on the bus all time, and you seem like a well-bussed individual," he smiled.
"Oh yis indeedy. Going on years, now."
"You don't like to drive?"
"Oh no!" I burst out laughing "That's not the case at all! I love driving; I love to drive."
"You don't have a car?"
"Oh, I have a car I could drive, if I really wanted to."
He nodded. "So, gas-prices?"
I gritted my teeth. "Certainly part of it, but I've always ridden the bus."
"Just like it?"
I smiled. "I just like it."
He grinned and looked over at me. "Mind if I ask y'why?"
Now... What I was going to say was something along the lines of I really enjoy the almost meditative quality of public transportation. And yet, without any warning--I had no idea that this thought even existed in my mind--I opened my mouth and sang at him
"Bussin' makes me feel goo-oo-ood!"
In that one-beat moment after it left my mouth, time slowed, immediately. I could feel the red blooming in my face, and my horrified expression. He looked surprised and confused, and I had this little mental-movie of him pulling the lever to open the door, and simply straight-kicking me out.
Time sped back up, and I winced inside, and waited for that blank look and to feel like a jackass who shouldn't open their mouth in any company outside of m'siblings.
He was still looking at me blankly. Then his face lit up and he shouted :
"Who you gonna call?!"
"Metro transit!" I shot back, and we both erupted in violent laughter, and relief washed over me.
"Ain't afraid of NO ghosts!" He chuckled.
"But gas prices..." We both burst out cackling.
What followed was a good deal of "Girl, shoot," and "Ray Parker Jr, that's right!" and "Ghostbustin'!" and looking over at me and bubbling with laughter.
When I got off, he wished me a very fine evening, "And you keep on bustin'."
And I've yet to stop beaming.
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Iiii'm waiting for some people to send me some photos and audio files from a certain spectacular evening.
THAT'S WHY I WEAR THIS EYEPATCH SO I DON'T HAVE TO LOOK AT YOU WITH BOTH OF MY EYES.
Puttin' m'feet in the tub at you two. <3
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I have been heavily fixated on (haunted by, more accurately) dearest Nabokov and Lolita, recently. All over again; it's cyclical, isn't it? *lesigh*
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*beads slowly and minutely*
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Thursday, out of bloody nowhere, I got this bizarre, all-over sort of... physical vibrating funk.
What the hell is this? What am I feeling? Confusion soon turned to mild frustration, then serious annoyance. The fuck?
I took me over twenty minutes, on the bus, to figure it out.
Oh! Sex! I want to have sex! Ohhhhhh. Okay. Hello. Now fucking stop it or I'll bury you alive in a box.
And that definitely helped.
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And although this last weekends's plans kinda crumbled like stale saltines, I think it was meant to be (the crumbling, that is), because they magically reformed into better, epic plans in two weekends. Not only do I get to have more time to appease m'anxieties, but to stew in delicious antici(...)pation. Like having a whole new swanky bag of crackers!
Either way, I will get m'glittercritter back, and we'll swoop up Goatling and Shanahan, and go get skewered with some surgical steel. *hipthrust* I can already taste it.
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For the first time in THREE MONTHS (exactly, coincidentally), I got to *nuzzles in towards* m'Lily.
It was awesome.
She is awesome.
Amazingface GROOVITUDE. Mega mega.
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Slooooooooowly getting to all of m'correspondences. Don't worry! I've just been working... constantly. *icky face*
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The boots I've been wearing (beaten up, flamey Harley Davidson's from Charlie [because my Docs were barely hanging on]), which were already worn-in (from over a year of daily motorcycle commuting), and have been hanging out on m'feet since (when was Kat here?) May 26th 2006, finally let out a bit of a death whimper. The worn place on my right in-step just tore open. *grimaces* Which bums me out.
But! This does give me an excuse to go new boot shopping. *newts mellowly*
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I love that asking the room at large whether or not the bathroom is occupied results in a three-minute long diatribe from the apparently haunted toilet.
Then the goat came downstairs naked, only to kiss me and (dramatically! complicatedly!) butt-wiggle to Gnarls Barkley.
My siblings. The best.
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I sincerely hope all of you most lovely peeps are doing MOST LOVELY.
current mood:  yay!
current music: Andrew W. K.--Don't Call Me Andy//Is that Die Hard I hear?
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(6 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Saturday, March 1st, 2008
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6:04 pm - I've never been closer.
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It's been four months! What the fuck, you. His birthday has even passed.
At first, it was just desperately avoiding having to deal with this (shite, let's be honest, and everything else [due to the emotional fuckery this stirred up]), even though I knew it was imperative (for me to not repress something big, yet again) and it was keeping me from functioning where and how I should be functioning. Then, for the past couple of weeks (month or so?), I've just put it off and put it off and put it off; it is so easy to find excuses--not only with the schedule I have, but with my still squidgy-ness over it (but then again, one could argue that I'm still squidgy because I've yet to deal with it; and I'd have to say Fair play to the queen--killed the crazy dogs).
I know, I know, even the boy himself would *upsetcoyface* at me for it.
I just... I don't want to say goodbye. *wrinkles nose*
But I need to. For me. For him.
I had this written up forever ago, but kept it private. Just... I always have something else to add. There's always something more to say. I think I'll start another entry, just to archive my letters to him...
(Oh, Elliot.)
I also put up a gallery--m'favourite images of our memories, with my ramblings.
But do I have anything else to say, now, in retrospect?
Big E. How acutely I miss you. Sometimes, it is so sharp, I fear I will find myself viciously cut. That is, if I weren't already so familiar with the handling of such a pointy beast.
Ever since we first really spent time together, I have known that feeling intimately. I have never before resented or lamented it--it kept the magic we found together fresh and constant in my head and heart.
But yis. I miss you.
I'll admit that I still feel strangely wounded, over Elliot. It is as if there is this gaping, meaty (meat window?), bleeding woundvoid, but I have iced it so intensely, and am in denial of its existence, so I feel little in that area and pay it little mind.
... Even though I'm bleeding and have a hole in me. *wrinkles nose*
So yis. It still hurts. Now (that I've expressed some of this inner *froths*), maybe more distinctly than before. But at least I'm moving past avoidance, and the process is started.
I'm not sure when this will stop or evolve, but in the meantime, it has left me all-sorts of wonky regarding inter-personal relating. These past four months or so have been me generally balling up and attempting to keep away from... pretty much everyone. For the emotional safety of all involved.
I am sincerely, deeply sorry to those of you I've left hanging or wondering or worried or frustrated or even hurt by my silence and general lack of presence. I just... Desperately needed time and space; such that I did not have the time or composure to explain myself before disappearing. It is something that just had to be done.
All of that on top of my fucking insane work-schedule and always chaotic family-life and everything everything else... And it was more than easy for me to just... Drop everything, and ball tightly.
Yis, I'm sure four months (hell, not even three minus the other chaos) sounds like a long time to take to deal with something.
I doubt I could even begin to communicate my relationship with Elliot, or the personal issues regarding inter-personal relationships that were already guhnawing (</cyrilritchard>) at me. Separate traumatic events... simply amalgamated into something much more immense, much more intense than the separate parts. (HUZZAH PTSD!)
I still apologize for leaving anyone hanging, but I know I did what I needed to do in order to take care of myself, and I'm not sorry about making m'self a priority.
Now that I've actually let out some of the... pressure, and am drop-kicking everything else into order, it would not be too much for y'all to expect me to... Oh, I don't know, to stop acting like a JACKFACE and actually be around and a friend. *wrinkles nose*
Huzzah.
Hope y'all peeplings are doing most well.
current mood:  pondersome
current music: Tom Petty--Freefalling//Heaven 17--Temptation
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(blood and chocolate)
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| Thursday, February 14th, 2008
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1:24 am - Because I wanna be your boyfriend. o/'
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Everything I said last year is as true and sincere and heart-felt; I doubt I can say it any better than I already did, so I won't try. Please refer back, for actual depth!
I just... I simply overflow with it all.
But I will add this:
Love y'all fiercely.
(Yis, I'm not dead. Huzzah. I will be back to my ricockulously verbose self soon, with explanations for m'most recent period o' mega mega hermitage-thing.)
current mood:  love love love
current music: The Ramones--I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend
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(11 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Tuesday, November 27th, 2007
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9:02 pm - On Self-Destruction through Self-Pity.
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I have so many other things to write about and say and explain, and emails to respond to, and people to call, but this was too... necessary to not post. And I had just a minute, so.
Ryan shared this around the Amoeba, and whether or not it was pointedly and/or currently applicable to everyone, I think we all knew it was needed; for some as a new idea, finally striking enlightenment for others, others a subtle reminder, and so on and so forth.
And... I think most, if not all of you need to hear it, too. For any and all reasons.
That, and listening to Stephen Fry's voice makes me curl up into a ball of warmth. Especially when he is having a somewhat Watts-esque moment.
So. Yis. Please watch.
Namaste, peeps.
current mood:  pondersome
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(5 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Saturday, November 17th, 2007
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8:06 pm - *does deep Danny voice * ... To you.
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Today is the little dragon's birthday.
She is eighteen.
And although I've been journaling to myself about this for over a year, I suddenly find that none of it does justice to my feelings for my little sister.
She... She is my very heart.
When I actually have time, and my brains aren't unraveling out of my ears like so much unraveling brains, I'll put more... verbosity into this.
Until then.
Goatling, you mean more to me than I will ever be able to express, no matter how many interpretive gestures and extraneous noises I create solely for that purpose. I love you so much that sometimes I feel as if I will simply float away. My heart is constantly doing the dance of joy in your name. *rhythmically pats head with both hands while skipping sideways* If there is only one creature who would be allowed to crash-land into my cleavage, for all eternity, it would be you.
I am blessed to be your sister, and honored to be your friend. Thank you, from the very whole of me, for being in my life and not only allowing, but welcoming me in yours.
Oo-oo-oo, ah-ah, ee-ee, ooo.
I don't want to seem frantic,
I don't want to cramp your style,
But you're driving me into a panic
Yeah-heah!
You just want to drive me
Drive me,
Drive me,
Drive me,
Drive me wild!
Oo-ooo hoo!
Oh baby, you drive me wild!
current mood: oo oo oo
current music: Oingo Boingo
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(7 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Sunday, November 4th, 2007
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11:04 pm - Now you're here, now you're away.
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Last Friday, I stayed home from work with a blinding migraine, and this all-over body sick. It was so out-of-the-blue, and so awful, that I was left dazed and emotionally paranoid.
Later, I randomly felt this overwhelming necessity to find a certain paper I had written, so tore through my saved school stuff, migraine intact. I happened to find a (different) paper I wrote about the concepts of life and death, and when I put that away--safely in the back of my old three-ring binder--I found a piece of paper that was a series of hand-written notes to Elliot and Lindsay. And I sat, and I missed that time.
I eventually found my way up, and decided to briefly check MySpace, because I knew I had a message there--a message that, due to the sender, I felt was best to get taken care of. And seeing as I was home for the day, and pounding painkillers, it would give me a head-start on all of the emails I had to get to. So away I went. Signing in, brief one-two breath, and open it up.
Are you okay?
I sat back in my seat, confused. I re-read it.
Are you okay?
What would cause Lindsay to ask me that? What... What happened? Something happened. What has happened? I tried to check her MySpace page, only to find it private, so, on a whim, checked her LJ.
Ohhhhhhh, Elliot. was the title of one post. My heart started to palpitate, and I desperately scanned her writing.
No. No, that's not right. It can't be right. What the fuck is going on?
I quickly clicked back to MySpace, eyes darting about my home-screen, looking for something.
There was a bulletin, posted by Elliot.
RIP Elliot
My heart was frantically beating, and I pressed my palm to my chest, pushing down as if to still it, and opened the note.
I began breathing heavily, and I read through it twice.
No. This can't be right. This isn't real. I desperately clicked to his page.
"Garden of the Sun" by Emily Ebert played loudly, and it scared me, and I scrambled to turn down the computer. I sat there, still forcing my hand against my sternum--against violent rhythm--looking at the picture of him, paused in this sick moment, mouth open.
His comment section was just filled with Now that you're gone, and I don't understand it, and I miss you already, and I read every single one, and I just... I couldn't believe it.
I went back, and read over everything, again.
By now, my heart was in my throat, and I was having trouble breathing. I replied to the original message.
Is it real?
I sat in silence, and realizing that I had started to roughly grasp my chest--to the point of almost drawing blood--stood up with my water and went upstairs. I grabbed the phone on my way to my room. I woke-up my sidekick, scrolled through the address book, and called my brother.
"Helloooooooo!"
I opened my mouth, and suddenly I couldn't breathe, and my chest was hitching.
I-
I burst out crying.
"Hey, hey! What happened? L-"
Elliot, Elliot, Elliot died, I think Elliot is dead, I could barely speak through the sobs.
"What?! Oh... Oh god... We, I'm three minutes away, I'm coming home now, I'll be right there, okay? I'm coming home, please hold on."
I couldn't stop crying, and finally, Okay, I'm putting the phone down.
"I'm going to be right there! I love you!"
And I pressed the button, and I dropped the phone and my water, and my glasses tumbled down, and I fell to the floor and began sobbing hysterically.
I'm not sure when Harrison got home, but suddenly he was next to me, and my face was in his hair, and I couldn't stop crying.
I finally got it somewhat out, and slowly calmed to a general tearing and hitching. Because I was somewhat unsure, and because he wanted to give me something to focus on, we got up and I showed Harrison everything that I'd seen, cried, and he told me that he thought I had said that Emilily died, which only made me burst into hysterics, again. Then, as if a switch was flicked, I stopped crying--suddenly. Complete ennui. Harrison and I laid about with Sky, and I asked him what I was supposed to feel. He didn't know, either, so the two of us just sat in silence, petting the cat, and spacing. Out of nowhere, I bolted up.
"Wait a minute, this can't be real!" I was downright excited. "Because both of us work on Fridays! We can't even be here! This totally isn't happening!"
I think I started to scare Harrison, and he just firmly said "No, no, I'm not working, and you stayed home with a migraine. We are right here."
For the next hour or so, there was a good deal of "Jesus, this isn't real," and "Fucking Elliot," and a fair share of "Who dies in their sleep? Who dies in their sleep?"
Harrison stayed home with me, and we had a good, avoidance-filled afternoon, and after that, I was just... randomly bursting into tears, and fluctuating between confused and cathartic and just missing him.
But I missed him when he was still here.
( Oh, Elliot. )
[EDIT: I'm sorry if this is too graphic for some who knew him and didn't like everything that he did, but... So often when people die, they are either glorified or vilified, and I find that dehumanizing. I think it would be disrespectful to remember Elliot not as he was, so this is simply... the most complete that I can be, regarding his memory. He was always honest about his duality, and I want to honor him.]
[EDIT AGAIN: Thank you, Cherrywood, for so closely and beautifully chronicling our time together. Sometimes, it doesn't seem real... But then I can open up that folder of folders and just soak in it. Thank you for capturing it all.]
[Made public on 3.1.08]
current mood: samson came to my bed
current music: Regina Spector--Samson//Bush--Glycerine
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| Sunday, August 26th, 2007
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10:09 am - It's funny, and it shows upon my face.
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I had a dream that Michael Wincott *vibrates into a puddle* and I were in a longterm, 24/7 D&S relationship together. It was pretty bloody bizarre and strangely awesome. I'm still trying to remember the general storyline, but I can't get past all of the minute details, which my mind is tripping over--everything that should have been subtle was enhanced, and there was an immense color-contrast, regarding important details. Everything was bright, sharp, mega mega defined; almost painfully so.
Wavy Gravy, do I miss blowjobs!
That will be elaborated upon later.
Maybe. *headtilt*
Today (in... *peers at clock* three to five hours [aaaand I haven't started packing *dropkicks self*]), I shall be heading out to Montana (and I can't stop making horrific The Hunt for the Red October reference-jokes! PLEASE STOP ME), with Ben and Susie and Mary, for a week stay in a ridiculously remote cabin on a lake. *looks around for older, but still intense, Judd Nelson*
Yis, we are far away from the fires, no worries.
They excitedly informed me that it has both electricity and water, so... yeah. Don't be expecting any communication from me, because ye will be receiving none!
Except astral. *tentacles!*
Qpine: I am one step away from burning down the (house? *wiggles back and forth*) nearest post-office. I was informed that they can't send it priority, anymore, for some nonexistent reason, so I have no idea when the package will get there.
*RAMPAGES ENTIRE STATE* angryface!
The box is in layers, feel free to explore and undo it y'self. The small cream-colored envelope with the red flower stamped on the front is for the longtail, otherwise, have a ball.
Oh! And, luckily--because OCD runs my life--I was paranoid about the cookies staying fresh, so used a (crazy) straw to suck the air out of the bags, so they are virtually vacuum-sealed. *flexes* I would suggest putting them in the oven (lowest setting) for a little bit, so they can get warm and delicious, again (they also get shiny, on the top! ^^).
Please enjoy, continue to heal, and ta for y'patience. *squeeze*
Peeps be heading out to Burn. I am overflowing with a great soul missage, and immense joy and delight.
I send y'all my extra love and excitement, please release it to run rampant for the festivities; it will eventually return to you, heavy with juices it will secrete upon you for the next couple of months.
TAKE PICTURES, YOU BITCHES.
Love to each and every one of you!
Namaste!
current mood:  packing wtf
current music: The Saints--The Music Goes Round My Head //Young Einstein soundtrack, in general
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(3 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Tuesday, August 21st, 2007
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10:30 am - LONGTAILZ NO KA OI!
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Best.
Roommate.
Ever.
The end. o/'
current mood:  *tailswish*
current music: The Specials--Pressure Drop
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| Saturday, August 18th, 2007
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5:35 pm - Subtle innuendos follow.
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This made me grin wryly, smile lovingly, laugh hysterically, furrow my brow, cry a bit, and ponder deeply (and, for some reason, I thought of the Qpine [hulloo]).
Politics and piercings. Or, more accurately, lifestyle and politics.
Beware, thar be (albeit blurred) images of beautifully adorned male genitalia, and much loose talk (Yes, yes, very woody! Like loose women!).
I often hear from people that they "just aren't into politics."
To this day, I still don't understand how an individual can live their life without being political, therefore without being politically active.
I am now going to stop typing before I go into a rabid rant, the likes of which only Nazame could endure.
I distract myself with a good baking and baked goods! HAHA! *leaps away ala a Tyrone Powers and Errol Flynn combination--which would be unbearably sexy and more than a little gay*
current mood: pure gold cockring
current music: Adam Ant--Goody Two Shoes
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(1 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Saturday, August 11th, 2007
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6:03 pm - It's too much!
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After... months of "Oh! Sure I'll make one, no problem," then swiftly running in the opposite direction, a certain pulsating Nomura of a blossom cornered me online.
When I saw that I had an instant message from facebook, I almost had a heartattack.
Oh god, it's found me!
I cautiously hit "Accept Message"--wondering if Anthrax and ocular-herpes could be released online--only to find that Jessup had sent me an invite, through AIM. Aaaand seeing as I could never say no to her ("Unless the question is do you not like me? *snorts* Get it? Double negative, you know? Very good." *end horrific Family Guy reference; is promptly taken out back and shot*), I... signed up. *cringes *
I'm still feeling my way around the site in a blind terror, but hey; I try.
I guess that, seeing as I am trying to break my hermitting habits, I should finally put up general contact-info post. Soooo, expect that up soon.
In other news, I....
AM GOING TO SEE EDDIE IZZARD TONIGHT!
Like, in mere minutes.
*busts a move*
...
*which is actually a lot more like foaming out the mouth while gurgling and yowling uncontrollably, body vibrating at high, almost newt-like speeds*
If I manage to get through it without screaming girlishly and passing out, hyperventilating, crying until I ruin my eyeliner, or leaping over the audience with an animalistic howl as I mount his head, I believe everything will be just peachy.
... I want to hug him. *weeps openly*
I actually want him to take me home so we can share a wardrobe (we're the same height and similar build! COME ON NOW!), and live in extremely queer love, forever and ever. I will buy him fantastic heels, and he'll let me wear my Maxx-esque large boots, and there will be no shortage of corsets and oh kinkiness abound.
... Goodness I'm sad and pathetic.
Either way! The whole clan will be out, in top form, and I look forward to it, even though there is a great chance of me acting like a teeny-bopper at a NKOTB concert. Oh yis, I went there.
I am a great big jackface for not remembering to tell Lins this, last time we talked. *sobs, clinging* I'm sorry! If he sticks around for pictures
(pleasepleasepleasewhateverpowersintheuniverselovemepleaselethimstaytotakephotosandpleasewithme)
I will pull out the Utah raptor! I PROMISE!
I will also be transmitting Eddie through the Utah raptor, to you. High-tension astral goodness, what.
Oh yis. *running man*
Oh! And I know that tonight is Dimetrodon's last performance, so m'love and much grooviness to Jay!
I'M OUT! *drops mic*
current mood:  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
current music: The Village People--Macho Man
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(4 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Tuesday, June 19th, 2007
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5:15 pm - Throw up both my hands.
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This sort of thing... makes my heart heavy.
We're getting to each other, younger and younger, and planting these seeds of fear, and self-hatred, and negatively spin affection and love of almost all types.
And yis, there certainly are reasons why those rules mentioned in the article were put in place, but come on. One could muster up (however vaguely) logical reasons for absolutely anything (the war the USA is currently involved in, for example).
I just... Dinnae ken.
In this day and age, we seem to take any and every opportunity to further distance ourselves from everyone else, and indeed, our core beings. We become so consumed by our own fear and paranoias, and further implant and encourage (provoke, even) it in others--isolating ourselves further and further from the cosmic uniting love that is within everything and everyone.
This was a depressing read; especially on a HugNation day.
Sometimes it's really hard to believe that I will make any difference in the flow of love, on this planet, at this point in time. I mean, I can try and try, and universal magnetic is so much, but... You can't force love upon people. What if I'm just forcing?
I want to think that that's just negative clouding about in my mind and my own (tempered over years to adamantium-like strength) self-doubt inflating the issue, but... still.
I've made it a significant aspect of my everyday function to express, promote, and spread love; things like this not only remind me why I do what I do, but how truly challenging this battle will be.
current mood:  pondersome
current music: Marvin Gaye--Inner City Blues
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| Friday, June 15th, 2007
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12:12 pm - *BIG TOOTHY GRIN*
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I just found out that Alfred Kinsey was born on my birthday.
Or, that I was born on his birthday.
That we share a birthday.
I believe I literally crowed aloud.
*wiggles to self*
Some things can just... make a day, can't they?
current mood: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
current music: Ima Robot--Dirty Life
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| Thursday, June 14th, 2007
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9:00 pm - Zombie-Borg Mushrooms? I THINK SO!
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The little dragon (awesomebest sistercritter evar) showed me this:
O.O
*grabby hands*
This is like spitting acid (Why not me?!); what an awesome ability to have! I wonder how long it will take to evolve into something like this! Ooh, ohh! Or a mutant super-power! Fuck Spiderman, I'm THE CORDYCEPS!
Imma plant my spores in you! *EXPLODES*
...
I'm much more taken with this than I probably should be.
*goes off to be creepy elsewhere*
Mushrooms are awesome. I love fungi. *newt dance*
current mood: OMGWTF
current music: Night on Bald Mountain (it seemed appropriate ^^)
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(4 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Wednesday, June 13th, 2007
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7:16 am - *falls to knees*
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I have friends who call me, cross-country, just so we can listen to a song together.
( doot doot )
( These are my private things--WHOOWHOO )
Spent the night doing general administrative work avec Mister Steven. Packaging, marking, cataloging. Writing bits down as he counted money and portioned things for me.
After our second movie ended, he suggested I flip it over to the TV.
"Anything you interested in?"
"I give you my full permission to, and, in fact, encourage you to surf those channels like fifteen-foot breakers until we find somethin', babe." He has this uncanny ability to speak for ages while keeping his cigarette not only lit and non-ashing, but just balanced on his lower lip.
So I grabbed the remote and began flipping. I skimmed past something when I recognized a face, then cringed.
"Ew, Laura Dern. And great Wavy Gravy; is that Treat Williams?" I drew back in horror, violently hitting remote buttons. "BEGONE!"
"BACK!" Steve didn't even look up from his work. "Back back back."
I flipped it back, quirking brow at him.
He peered up, just over glasses frames at me. "Watch this."
And I did, because he pays me for my time. ;P
So I caught the last thirty-or-so minutes of Smooth Talk.
...Can someone tell me what in the fuck I just watched? 0.o Please? Anybody, seriously. I need a fellow film-buff to help me grasp exactly what in the great shades of Elvis that was. I understood (and enjoyed!) bloody Fando y Lis more than that... thing.
I know that Steve likes to fuck with my (and any available) head, but that was utterly uncalled for. And atrocious. *shakes self*
Oh goodness. Otis. *swoons out of seat*
current mood: i like music
current music: The Fantastic Romantic Mix
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(6 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Thursday, June 7th, 2007
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5:49 am - *grunts and stomps*
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Bang Camaro.
Um...
*EXPLODES*
Oh my NONDENOMINATIONAL HIGHER POWER.
How come I wasn't brought up suckling on the astral teat of this band?!
Three, I repeat, three guitarists, amazing-ass bassist, drummer, and a fucking CHOIR (of scruffy, screaming men, no less)?
THREE GUITARISTS AND A CHOIR.
After a month or so of desperately clinging to the few bootleg copies of songs we could find, the CD finally arrived.
QUIVERING FLOOD OF ORGASMIC JUICES.
There are no words.
What can I say? Certain things reduce me to puddles.
...
Actually, a good deal reduces me to puddles.
*ponders on this*
Anyhoo.
Go listen.
NOW.
[EDIT: Oh, start with "Push Push (Lady Lightning)." This is the kind of music that causes both of my long-haired, motionsickness-prone siblings to attempt to perfect the Windmill, let alone synchronized Windmill-ing. It is rather impressive to see them both go at it (over six feet of hair between the two of them)... until they fall over nauseous. I nurse them back to health in the name of all that is metal. *throws horns* "Out on the Streets" is likewise righteous; don't let the beginning cowbell throw you off--remember, Blue Oyster Cult rocked the cowbell.]
[EDIT AGAIN: Those of you who haven't yet checked out http://www.whateverittakes.org/, please do so. Chop chop.]
current mood:  rocking out
current music: Bang Camaro--Push Push (Lady Lightning)
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(5 hurrying this way and that | blood and chocolate)
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| Thursday, May 31st, 2007
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11:57 pm - And the silence is loud.
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It's a blue moon, tonight.
The past week, I have been buzzing, and this electric charge has been building in me; thrumming, jumping bass-line vibration. Night has been particularly vivid and lively, moreso than usual.
The energy moves me where and how it wants me.
The other night, Emilily and I had one of the more... intense, and absolutely amazing nights we've had in a while. All of my nerve endings were bared raw, and I was naked on every level; it was almost obscene, how sacred it all felt. It was... breathtaking. If I ever doubted my nature as a being of love, if I ever doubted my spiritual strength, if I ever doubted the universe... my time with her sets me right in the cosmos once again.
From late afternoon to over twelve hours later when the sun rose, our eyes were on that sphere of fluctuating substance that arched in the sky. From pale ghost form to full, ripe gold that grew as we traversed farther.
After she left, although I was emotionally exhausted, I stayed up for hours, listening to this song in silence--tears streaming down my cheeks, my heart thundering violently, desperately in my chest.
And all I could think of was that moon, pale face and full eyes turned towards us no matter where we roamed, leading us further and further into the night and towards the horizon.
Tonight.
I find myself being drawn out, out into the street, out into the dusty blue silence, out into crisp air, out into unabashed worship and an almost painful awestruck breathlessness. Out of my trappings and truly into myself. Not even forty minutes ago, I was pulled out, bare feet padding onto gritty street, and it was as if everything above rushed into me, with such a speed and force that I felt as if I had been struck. Shaking self, and realized I was sitting on the ground. Forced astral projection.
It's amazing how... acutely the moon effects me. As if every facet of my being is nothing but droplets of water, I find myself ebbing and flowing; powerless to this force that so moves me; conducting with the ease of that deep, forever intimacy.
Get up.
Go outside.
Bask in it.
I have been feeling the overwhelming desire and true need for sacrifice, recently. This violent desperation claws and grasps for something.
Surrender.
I'm still trying to form my smoke-wisp thoughts into something... solid, graspable; but I know that it will find me when everything is ready and right.
I... will be spending most, if not all of the night sky-gazing and fixed, fixated.
I suggest each of you take advantage of the opportunity to... mm, touch. To be touched.
I'll be available through the right veins.
Sometimes... Sometimes I am so full that I feel I will simply burst. Is this why I live in a constant state of overwhelming; overflowing?
The moment I met you, the first look was like magic.
current mood: moon
current music: Mos Def--Lifetime
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steppenpup's journal