your hands around my throat

I went for TV On the Radio. There could only have been twenty of us there who knew who they were. As I said to Ben, I have never been in a room with so many people with bad hair. I was sneered at in the hipster crowd for moving to the music. It was slightly fuzzy, vocals not high enough in the mix, but still enchanting. The thing I will remember long past this, though, is something entirely different.

The keyboardist for The Faint can Dance.

I stood pushed against the stage not feet from him, the man there in the middle. Holding my place stubbornly with my elbows, even the couple having sex up against me was worthwhile to watch him. So utterly captivating I couldn't looked away. I had to remember to breathe. I didn't know people could move like that. I want footage. I want an hour of this man moving to music with nothing else in the way. Google says his name is Jacob Thiele.

I'd never heard of them before, but now I'm hooked. Ferociously fun distinguishing synth drenched rock with the settled hungry grooves of people who know how to make music. Tasty notes to throw your body around. Falling into that dancing because no-one should be able to twist like that. Balls of the feet twirling around, thrumming with it. I'm enthralled.

Beep Beep didn't make it past the border.

blue hole, differ-net wavelength

texture
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

Alright - so the couple who had sex using me as a wall wasn't so good, but the dancy man - he makes the world worth it. I've been downloading The Faint all day and flashing back to what the did with his feet. Pounding ankles, tight blue jeans leading straight curling crossed above the keyboard bowing. It's making my day better. I woke up too early for my box of oranges. I look at the clock today and it's always only (insert time here). It feels like more time has passed, it should be nearing darkness. City with it's head under the covers, reading life with a sodium flashlight. Time falling into shadowy butterfly kisses of sneaking out before bedtime.

I miss my lad today. Not enough distraction. Blankly staring at a chatroom screen. The kids say my name over and over. I answered to Foxtongue on the street the other day. Add it to the list of my names. Lady Porphyre Jhayne, sweet Foxtongue Dreampepper. The ice-princess of memory lane, soda pop nostalgia bottled to go but bitter.

I've been spending a bit of time with someone lately. Another far off land, lucky as I can't cut out their tongue. Another angelic epiphany bird, another dawn light symphony of this again. I worry when I like someone and they tell me I'm pretty. Preference states judging on merit, not genetic shuffle handout.

I feel unbelievably complimented

Riotlounge says:
It is so odd talking to you over IM - you're such an abstract concept on LJ sometimes
Riotlounge says:
I feel like I am talking to a book



"hippo-po-mon-stroses-quipped-alio-phobia"

She turned and looked up to the ceiling. "Sometimes work just never ends", she thought to herself. One last drawing and then she could justify nipping out for a slice of banana bread with coffee. The sound of rain on the windows has been lulling her to daydreams since the early morning. She shook off the water off her coat and sat down fully intending to get work done today but the window has been continually catching her eyes. Absently she makes patterns out of the the sluicing waterfalls, drips connecting to make lines that form faces and dragons.

Shaking her head, she looks back to her page and focuses her eyes on a sheep doodle. "Another one?", she thinks, "I have sheep on the brain. Should just go to Dover and get it done with."

Six more days until vacation break. No more halogen lit hallways full of uninteresting gossip and too much paperwork. No more advertising blaring from her ceiling to wake her at obscene hours. Instead she'll wake up as late as she likes. Slowly and luxuriously clamber out from under her feather duvet and splurge on some real maple syrup in the mornings maybe.

sweet dreams fall with me

'Cross the street from your storefront cemetery.
Hear me hailing from inside and realize that

desperate youth, bloodthirty babes came with a bonus disk; New Health Rock. It's a lush surprise. TV on the Radio covering Modern Romance makes me wonder if I should download some Yeah Yeah Yeah. I knew Benn would have a nice write-up of the concert, so I waited until I could link to it. Just a matter of time, like I know these people's names? No. I just read their blog.

I am the conscience clear
in pain or ecstacy
and we were all weaned my dear
upon the same fatigue

Rumours are saying that there are less reasons to visit Vancouver now. I don't know how to find a confirm for the information I want. It's almost enough to worry me, but then I don't. I'm not a worry sort of girl. Consumation reclamation, things happen when they want to.

we're staring at the sun
oh my own voice cannot save me now
Standing in the sea it's just
one more breath
and then
I'll go down