Kiss elves

by the lovely Kate Beaton

Click to enlarge.

epiphany

Abort! Abort! Abort Abort! ABORT!
Ugh. What was I thinking?

MIHTFBID IV

Is putting Boo Radley on your list a sign of an unhinged mind?



A fella in a violent homosexual relationship with a gangster?





An angry, ruthless grandfatherly looking man?



What about wanting a sort of sad, sort of desperate, gone to seed Brando?



A scary, doesn't look warm blooded, teutonic sort?



My list is making me uncomfortable, Internet, which is highly counterproductive. So pretty much for the sole purpose of making me feel better, the quintessential stud.

BdJ

This man - forties or fifties - smoked like a character in a film noir. Elegantly. Beautifully. His hands held the cigarette just so. It was delicate yet masculine. Instead of blowing out a guilty jet of smoke to the side, he exhaled a beautiful silver plume around him. He was confident in his smoking, he liked his smoking, and he was unapologetic. He did not finish with the nervous tap-tap-squish of the teenage closet puffer who continued the habit into adulthood or the pitch-and-ignore of the furtive doorway smoker. He did it with a final and decisive chess move of extinguishment. It even bordered on sexy.

Give me your hand

There are some nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.

and

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.

It's been forever since I've been genuinely tired. I've forgotten how good hard work feels. I've forgotten what it's like to lie back on your bed to just sink. To sink and to keep sinking in the most satisfying agony there is. I'm counting down. It's just another two weeks. 14 days. I keep publishing this nonsense and hitting the edit button within seconds. I'm going to go take a scalding hot shower. Infinite steam and pounding water and burning and not getting out of the way when your reflex is to shrink back is the only way I can bring myself to face the passing of another 24 hours.

Murphy's an idiot

My favourite memories tonight involve lazily crossed legs, overlooking traffic and more honesty than is considered palatable. Come get me drunk on some raksi and I'll spill all my secrets and not even remember anything afterwards. Honesty is my specialty. Though not having anything to say makes things harder? Work is just my day job. My real job is to keep the hordes' secrets. Of some people I don't even like. At all! My non paying, staying with me all the time, can't switch it off, can't talk about it, doesn't allow me to look at some things & people the same way ever again job is to keep secrets. So do me a favour, don't tell me any. I don't want to know you. I understand that the need to reveal yourself, to have some sort of affirmation, to expose all your grisly bits, to keep picking at your skin till your insides show is marvelously cathartic and makes you feel good, but fuck off, not here.

Internet, my kingdom for pizza. At 5:15 AM. My kingdom for some pizza.

I'm constantly amazed at how simple he makes it. Some secrets, I guess, are always okay.

I was not, I lived and loved, I am not. Internet, tonight it is enough. It is enough it is enough it is enough.

M <3 DA

The BBC Planet Earth movies are unbelievable. And they're narrated by David Attenborough who is my new hero. Yes, I'm a little late to that party.
Also, have you seen the Cloud Appreciation Society? I don't really have much to say but I'm sort of cooped up and get my vicarious cloud appreciation done from here. So I thought I'd share. It's a fuckall sort of day dudes and someone has to go see its fuckallness through. I'm pretty much constantly the friend who dives on the live grenade no?

Yay :) <3

So apparently I wrote this here in September 2005 and, pfft, it needs to be said again.

'Half light that defines outlines rather than reveals details. As the light grows slowly, I can see your features. Like some sort of deferred enlightenment.
The edges of our days are losing definition. Contentment makes the air thick and slow.'