Congratulations Victoria for a wonderful evening.

I've come home with literal bags of delicious food and a fine feathered mask. It's five:thirty the next morning and I work at noon. I've been wearing my mask for hours. Little things make me happy. Ridiculous gunfights for example. Being challenged to properly step to turn and shoot was delightful. One Two Three Four Five Turn I Win. I would call it a successful night. I do hope I wasn't too odd for the group by the table. I caught them looking at me as if I were mad a few times. A red velvet girl in a bright feathered mask flashing past... Usually when I was running after someone about to take them down with the archery set. It's dangerous to give me such a thing. That's when the deep throated laughter sets in and people suddenly learn my aim. It's not.. unsuccessful. I think we were all shot rather a lot, especially once people were armed with more than one gun each and the rocket launcher was brought out. We're dangerous people, after all. We play video games.

The sky is lightening. When this day begins for me, when I wake, I know I will join the ranks lined up to march and I will type my tapping way to the Towers. One sombre step after another. I'll create respect in the childrens chat. I will not hold for mockery. Until then, I hold my day on hiatus. Light cannot burn away walls like these. It's not tomorrow until I wake up or deal with an authority. I play defiant to the sun. He may burn away morning, but my yesterday stands strong.

a letter in my writing doesn't mean I'm not dead

I went to sleep finally at seven o'clock. What bad thing did I do to deserve only two hours sleep? It's not like I'm a junkie for the stuff, but dreaming would have been nice.

Outside looks like a crisp sunny fall day too. The sort of day to head down to Kitsilano and crash through the sharp toothed bracken chasing after rabbits as the first red leaves fall around you. Maybe even catch one. Squat in your black shoes and look down in wonder at it's soft struggling fur in your lap as you wish you had a carrot to offer its panic. It's the beginning of this and I shouldn't even be showing signs of life. The morning, the morning is for bedding down upon. Sunrise is to tell you to go warm the pillow with your head.

I must be defective. Call me when the world says I have to work, I'm going back to bed.

fianlly one of these damn things catagorizes non-catagories(?)

Jen posted a quiz result and as I really have naught better to do, I took the silly thing.

I loved the answer in regards to my week.

( who knew? )

damn I'm easy to please in little ways

I believe my tiny little soul is warmed today for utterly selfish reasons. One, I've got a fushia feathery mask to play with as if the Red Death were at the door and Two, I've been picked to be in the next Noxious Minutia. Hip hoorah. Published on paper finally. Again. A first being printed in another city at least. I could almost count it as an accomplishment. Practically. You know, if I were a writer.

This is so going to be used by my mother to justify her continually pushing me into "careers". I take a job, I do anything, it's my new vocation. I know she loves me, but honestly, I'm lacking the passion she believes I require.

Does it still count as soft and haunting when you're set to blow the windows?

Does it still count as girl music if you have it cranked loud enough to possibly convince the neighbours that the thumping last night was you moving a full size piano in? How feminine can it be when the volume sends harmony spiralling howling into the sky? The crash of the keys is felt in the bones. Fingers can be tasted crashing into the keys. The music being slammed from the instrument. Key of C, of D to F minor now MEZZO FORTE THAT SUCKER INTO THE GROUND! The black glazed case shatters with the strength of it. We're talking notes fighting dirty. We're talking cruci-fiction. Tumbling over and over until the speed catches and they gang up to chain you. The black and whites settling their differences to capture and plead.

Oh, oh, oh yeah.


Tonight is SinCity and I'm dancing already.

This
is
going
to
hurt

I would be your slave

Bill used to sing for me. Out of nowhere sometimes, he would swing me around with one strong hand and sing along to the music throbbing form the stereo. Rich brilliance just for me. My eyes would glue to him, this performance, this gift. I could eat it, his voice, the cream was so thick. He would dance with the voice of a dark throated seraphim. The sound would glow. I could see it in the dark. Vibrant and rich and love. Singing like intense coloured earth, life you could get trace with your hands along.
( for Bill )

So tonight I'm heading out to a play with Jaques. Braving my way into the Fringe Club. Trepidation time ladies and gentleman. "Where's Bill?" "We, um, aren't together anymore." I don't know how many times I'll have to explain that I'm divorced, but it will be easier with certain people and really bloody hard with others. Yes, too, I hope Trish won't be around. Let her be there tomorrow, after I've dealt with myself some.

We're going to go see something by Monster Theatre at Performance Works, then we're going to hang at the Club for a bit. Being in Performance Works is going to sting like a salted wound, but Sincity comes up next. That's my domain. Stars in your eyes? Don't touch me. We're going to pick up Mishka and bring her some costume. I'm set already. I'm going to brazen the Fringe in costume because damn - like anyone's going to think I'm odd in a theater maelstrom? Yeah - right. People will ask what my show is and if I have leaflets. Dancing will be fun. This whole night will be fun.

All the corners of the buildings....