I miss my ghost

[foxtongue]

Mummy, where do all the bikes come from?
Originally uploaded by Cilest.

My monthly bus-pass ran out yesterday, so I mostly got home on the back of a strangers bike. I'd never ridden on the back of a bike before. It was fun, though it feels precarious. Stopping was an adventure.

"I'm going a long way still, mind if I catch a bit of a lift?" When he'd stopped at the light next to me, I saw he had foot-pegs on his back tires. He grinned when I asked, pleased to get such an oddball request. He gave me a ride to Main Street. I told him children's stories for my fare, "and then the prince took out his cleaning supplies and began to scrub away the ashes", leaning over his back in my long inappropriate coat and top-hat, my hands slipping a bit on his jacket. He pedaled away laughing.

It only occurred to me about a block later that we didn't exchange names. Sometimes, I am too stupid to be brilliant. That's two strangers in a row who're probably going to be telling stories of That Weird Girl They Met. (I hope I get my book back. He said it would take him a week to read.)

Fredo Viola has new video up.

Public Domain Film Torrents.

Marimba Ponies. thanks Cherie, happy wedding.)

Comments

[papavic.livejournal.com]

you need

one of these

I wouldn't say No, it's true.

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

Don't believe we've been aquainted?

HIHOWAREYA? NICETAMEETCHA!

[papavic.livejournal.com]

Hello!

I added you after seeing you in comments in quitevolatile's journal.

You blow me away with your intuitive style and your artistic eye, your natural glamour that allows you to wear fishnet accessories while unshaven.

I always wave a sensitive antenna scanning for people of authentic character (as opposed to affectated fashion) and you seem to have an abundance of it.


Me? I am nobody of consequence. I am a hasbeen who neverwas lurching gracelessly on two bad knees into early middle age, a writer and poet who ran out of words and turn to visual arts to find another language.

I am a monster.
I am a saint.
I am neither.
I am both.

What else would you like to know?

"I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint"

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

(I remember that song too.)

That's quite the introduction, especially your remarks regarding my personal choices.

Thank you for your time.

Re: "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint"

[papavic.livejournal.com]

did I offend?
am I dismissed?

is there balm in Gilead? (extra points if you pick up the lit reference)

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

Can't say I have a sin-sick soul. *grins* Not terribly literary that, more gospel, isn't it?

[papavic.livejournal.com]

Just call me a "Poe (http://www.comnet.ca/~forrest/raven.html) Boy" if you must...

(and the bust of Pallas was never seen on "COPS")

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

Pre-dating that is the biblical hymnal, as far as I know, sorry.

[papavic.livejournal.com]

why be sorry? Poe had to get his gloomy self-flagellative references from somewhere..

[naekkae.livejournal.com]

i hardly ever speak to strangers anymore. i did all the time in seattle. here in vegas, it just doesn't seem like a good idea. maybe i'm just getting old and paranoid.

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

It might be, too, the change of pace personality, that strangers to talk to in Vegas are a different breed of convivial.

[static-eddie.livejournal.com]

Maybe it's cause the people there are too transient?
I felt that way in the Central FLatlands... so many tourists...

[naekkae.livejournal.com]

it's really true. and not just with the tourists. this entire city is filled with people who are on their way somewhere else, like a giant, glittering stepping stone. it's rare to meet someone who has lived here more than a few years, yet alone grew up here.

[static-eddie.livejournal.com]

Yep, sounds like Central Flaw...
I compared FLat to an orbital slingshot, the longer I stayed there, the further I moved away... I've maintained a decent distance though for the past 6 years...

who needs names?

[static-eddie.livejournal.com]

I sometimes wish I had my outfit back...the wide brimmed, round crown hat, WWII army spats -puddies as they called them. My WWI rucksack was lost this year... the victim of a cat who peed on things. I still have the goggles, my long coat and scarf, but people these days think I'm either a Firefly fan (which I am as of last week) or Dr. Who.

...and I wish a strange girl with a top hat would ask me for a lift, or hand me a book...

You've reminded them of something lost...
so...
who needs names in a such an amazing world weighted down by the mundane?

I need my name. I am changing it by law into what it already is.

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

and it feels like I swallowed a sack of pale stones.

Tonight I have been much reminded of something lost and it's bringing me such an ache that I'm afraid I might cry, though I understand what you mean. I promise you directly that if we ever meet, then I will do my best to equal and the wonder I inflicted upon those two poor souls I had the great fortune of meeting.

Firefly I was inducted to recently, though not so much as you. Far after the run was done, though before the movie was announced officially. The line that captured me and swayed me into appreciation was, "If you take sexual advantage of her, you're going to burn in a very special level of hell. A level they reserve for child molesters and people who talk at the theater."

Re: I need my name. I am changing it by law into what it already is.

[static-eddie.livejournal.com]

I mentioned previously that we need to talk on dreams...
I lost much of them during my 6 years of marriage...and I miss the group of familiar faces that I used to run with...

There was a definite break and a feeling of failure on my part... the dreams have returned, but the people I knew haven't.

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

There's out there somewhere, everyone is in some form or another. One of mine was over tonight, terrible and holy all at once. I understand. There's very few people I dream of. It's not fair to lose them.

[silver-notebook.livejournal.com]

I am too stupid to be brilliant
Oh; it's the failing of the best of us!

And you've provided some stray people with tales of accidental encounters that will hearten humanity where-ever they are heard.

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

and now collected a brilliant vintage photograph of the local lunatic asylum. Score.

[silver-notebook.livejournal.com]

Oooo, old loony bins can be strange places. I visited a friend who was living in one for a little while. It was quite tiny compared to that photo: little more than a large house; and had a white tiles basement with red-brown stained smeared across the walls with stray iron rings at eye level. Everything you said almost echoed and my head was filled with images of dirty, straight-jackets and high power hoses to keep everyone under some kind of control, superseded by images of some S&M photo-shoot you might find in LJ.

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

That reminds me of a series of books I read about a decade back that surrounded an asylum on the hill. Each story had an object in it of importance, one a doll, another one of those old electrical tubs. I think it's the idea of tile walls and tubs that sparked it. Now I'm going to be wracking my mind at innapropriate moments to try and remember what they were.

As well, that sounds like somewhere neat to live.