fireflies and asphyxiation
2001-07-04

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Lightning crashes, everything smashes, only it's all happening behind my eyes.

The calm in the teeth of the storm.

Thinking of other people for a moment, worrying, reaching out, it's been cold and selfish and lonely in here.

The cars are hidden from me by the most incredible shade of green, the kind of green that no tube of acrylic paint, no "forest green designer pants" no camera will ever begin to mimic.

There's a peace here, unlike one I've ever felt without the release of tension, so much tension that I can't breathe it all in anymore, and the firefly lights in my life start shining all the brighter in the great calm before asphyxiation.

Angelina Jolie clambering up stones and great ruins, later his hand in mine, dragging it up to caress my hair, wanting to do both without letting go and then the great chest-quaking laughter at my innocent observation that I had no idea my curls were so silky underneath.

Staring down from my newly reconstructed rooftop, watching lives go by, trying not to talk about It for once, just enjoying the smell of each other, the hunger on our tongues.

Discussing movies we barely remember, Gross Anatomy and Outbreak, remembering when AIDs was a phenomenon in the newspapers, some strange disease that no one understood that had the most mysterious symptoms and was bound to go away soon.

I was barely old enough to have sex ed classes in school yet, but I remember my mother talking about it...

I'm too lazy too move, only half-finished transobliterating my resume into french, waiting, waiting... Waiting for the companies to call me back with written offers.

But I don't want to think about that now. The sky is white, a homogenous, too-bright white, and I want to go out cycling in the rain.

I haven't done any of the physical activity that I'd meant to make the time for, maybe I'll start today. Cycle down west along the bike paths as far as I can, then rent "Gross Anatomy" on the way back.

Listen to Steven, listen to myself...

But first, coffee. With chicory, from the cannister I bought in New Orleans.

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Last few Rants:

I guess this is goodbye. - 11:57 a.m. , 2005-02-10
Endorphins, stress, and magickal mystery - 5:07 p.m. , 2005-02-02
stress, incoming - 4:42 p.m. , 2005-01-28
heaving great happy sighs - 3:05 p.m. , 2005-01-24
Imposter syndrome strikes again - 1:20 p.m. , 2005-01-19