Wednesday, February 28, 2007

remember me through flash photography and screams

When the saint of patience dropped by, I was curled up, breathing carefully, on the couch of cuddle doom. Dark teal satin skirts lay over coarse horsehair crinolines, the weave black and stiff. Red-stained bandages covered my arms from elbows to wrists; my legs from knees to ankles.

For once he didn't ask.

For once I was grateful he didn't.

I could have told him, it was from the pain all day of putting out fires with my bare hands. From continuously reaching behind me, grabbing a bottle at random from unseen hands, and pouring it on the little blazes...and watching in despair, over and over, as they rose high and scorching, because someone else had handed me gasoline, not water. From madly rushing side to side across our great world, at first to answer to the distant screaming, and later to find any sort of mental distraction, no matter how temporary, no matter how stupid.

Amazing, that today of all days, didn't see me back at Deep Trances, buying a four-pack of Seclimine to take the edge off.

I was changeable today, as all high-stress days, but for once, it also concerned clothes.

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The saint of patience, giving me some degree of his calm. I believe this is the first time in...ever...I've worn jeans and a t-shirt. Anywhere. That wasn't in some sandbox trying on clothes.

The shirt said, I never fake sarcasm. My friend--and the wife of my landlord--thought it appropriate to me at some point. I'd never worn it until tonight.



Hanging around Lumindor, all of three and a half feet tall, exactingly to belt-buckle height on most men. Which is a tad thrilling, but mostly just uncomfortable.

This was me getting lost in the forest, yet again...The saying goes, can't see the forest for the trees? Well, in Lumindor, you can't see the trees because of all the forest in the way!



And this is what happens when you fight the soul-killing fight, all day, between the fellow who's your pro-tem boss, and the woman who's your favorite hair designer, and half of Steelhead.

You get burned.

And I burned some bridges along the way, which I regret...I'm just not at my best when I'm trying to make peace with the metamorph who's intent on closing his store, while listening to the hair designer vent, and--at one surreal point--balancing the needs of a client, a very creative, but somewhat unthinking, builder, and said pro-tem boss. Who was also not thrilled with me.

At one point I had four people needing all of my attention and I just wanted to curl up under the bed and say enough. Enough. Please.

Please.

Enough.

Current build: I made the boots in the Lumindor picture. Quicky little default things, but it's nice to know I can.

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