jacktellslies: (crow)
I'm doing a bit of midnight cleaning. My house is obviously possessed, so I'm scrubbing its mouth out with soap before forcing it to swallow thirty gallons of holy water the wrong way. A proper storm stalks outside, the thunder breathing heavily on us while it watches. Tom and Erica recently travelled to New Orleans and were kind enough to buy me a bottle of voodoo floor wash. I'd planned to keep it as something of an amusing prop, but fuck it, I'm using it.

I bought a mask in Brussels: a woman made of dark, dark wood and human hair, her eyes narrowed to slits and her smile a knowing sliver, a scar or a moon. I work with that mask, sometimes: I'll ask her questions, or ask her to watch something for me. I moved the mask aside before sweeping, and living behind her face was a spider, a small one, perched in her web. Well hullo, old lady. The mask has a far finer mind than I could ever boast, and the spider has demonstrated superb housekeeping. It's good to know that I've been directing my enquiries to the proper authorities.

(I'm a touch disappointed that Krys wrote what she did tonight, because I'm afraid that she's rather stolen my thunder. Given the sort of woman that she is, I may be forced to admit that the thunder was hers to begin with.)

As I've grown older, I've stopped calling the gods by name. The more one learns of them, the more obvious it seems that one would do best to avoid their attentions as much as possible. But my distrust has never been less than amicable. It's often quite loving. But all this year they've been taking things from me, unravelling my efforts, the things that I have carefully built.

They are old and they are mad and I no longer trust that they have a point to make. If they had something to say, they ought to have said it. Because I have things to learn. I am very busy. And they have been getting in my way. Now I am going to start feeding them to each other.
jacktellslies: (ladies)
I've finally met one of my neighbours, a girl of perhaps sixteen.

"What is that? Is that mistletoe?" she asked as I locked my door behind me.

Looking up at the rather large sprig I'd tied to my lamp, I told her, "No, it's boxwood."

"What's that?"

"It's a hedge. It's... another kind of plant."

"Oh. Not mistletoe?"

"Oh! Well, no, but if anyone cares to use it as such, then by all means."

"Good, because I have been all week."

"Ha! Excellent! Fabulous. Cheers." And with that, I was off.

Children have been kissing on my front steps! I'm most pleased.
jacktellslies: (algeria 1905)
A dispatch:

I am now living in a former Chinese restaurant, now a fort in the deserts on the border of South Philadelphia and French Algeria. The layout of my post, in part, is as follows: the outside is painted in pink and white stripes. All of the floors are tile, which should make cleanup easier should I require anymore emergency surgeries (please refer to paragraph three). The bedroom windows open up onto an alleyway that does not, as far as I can tell, open onto the street. I've not yet climbed through either of them to go exploring. There is also a door that should open to the basement, but instead opens onto a blank wall. I'll explore that as soon as it opens into a magical realm. I check daily, taking turns employing the various fairy tricks I know. No, I admit, I've not yet investigated the surrounding territories much, but I believe that one should secure the fortifications before wandering out into the unknown. I did venture out in order to find the nearest liquor store, and was thrilled to find it a mere three blocks away. (I planted a flag there, of course, thus expanding the empire.) There is a spider living under the hand crank that opens the bay window in the living room. Her web is the cottony sort, not the geometrically perfect variety; she seems far more concerned with my housekeeping style than her own. Every insect to die in the house thus far is currently entombed in a pile beneath her nest. Clever, gluttonous girl.

Two of my dearest friends are being swallowed up by their own wilderness. I wish them success, cool weather, contented kittens, food that is both interesting and delicious, and at least three of the best used book stores ever to exist within walking distance of their new home. Still: you've won again, Florida. A pox on your swamps.

The pocketing experiment on the back of my neck ended in the company of good friends with a scalpel and a bit of whiskey and blood. I've always wanted to experience a Civil War battlefield amputation, but I expect this is as close as I'll come for some time. As is usual, I was brave, but not necessarily quiet. The whole thing was filmed, both the insertion and the removal.

I have a small predicament. I had hoped to host a party in order to show Fort Ellsworth and introduce various groups of friends to one another. I'd also been wanting to have the chance to spend time with friends on or near my birthday. (I'll be twenty-four on the nineteenth of July.) The plan for my birthday had been to have a picnic and visit a strip club. I'm not sure, however, that I deserve this much celebrating in one month.

[Poll #1011359]
jacktellslies: (rasputin)
that was everything it should have been.

so, i'm in love with a boy named patrick magee. patrick makes puppets. he makes worlds happen with his hands and his body and his voice. he makes masks, too. and he's funnier and smarter than you. i told him i wish that i could hang out with him every day, and it was true. i also told him that i name drop his future self, and that is true, too. patrick magee, works for jim henson in a few years? worked on that movie you'll really like when you are older? yeah. i know him.

you see, i love my house. we have this amazing heart connection and stomach connection. my house is my tribe. but i've missed hanging out with the smart kids. i've not been challenged in conversation. granted, this was not intellectually intimidating the way pittsburgh can be sometimes. but it was quick. the threat of it was just under the surface. it caught all of the jokes, and the jokes, for the first time in ages, were new.

oh. this feels like home.

yes. i'm home.


jacktellslies: (Default)

August 2009

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