jacktellslies: (this machine)

This is the white man's clock. I'm on good advice not to trust it. In fact, last night I had six hours of sleeping down to four, and then down to only three due to all of this trickery and nonsense. Because of that I was fifteen minutes late in getting somewhere, and a half of an hour late in leaving again. It's shameful.

My friends are perfection. Yesterday all of Pittsburgh mysteriously found its way here. We drank drinks and went to a play and had ice cream.

If I had a mask to wear today, it would be a round little half of a skull with jagged teeth. I'm about going where I'm not meant to go. I always am. So soon I'll get a tattoo: two crossed keys on my arm. Meredith will be helping me. Rain, perhaps you'd like to help, too?
jacktellslies: (Default)
After all that, I'm bedridden. I never made it to my mum's dinner.

My sincerest apologies to the kids in Pittsburgh for disappearing unannounced, particularly those of you I'd wanted to see at the Shadyhouse party. I was ill, and Greyhound is bad, and I really had intended to see my family today.

I drove to Pittsburgh with Robin who is brave and wise. Her mixes are perfection.

My friends all called me genderfreak. I've promised to make it a tee shirt. Ben resigned, and I became the alpha-male. A single photograph was taken of Lou, our own paparazzi, and the world momentarily blinked out of existence.

Alex and Meredith got married, and while, in photographs, it may look something like an ordinary wedding, it really wasn't. They left room in it for other things. It was, and they were, beautiful. And the food was amazing.

Happy mother's day.
jacktellslies: (rasputin)
I tell you nothing.

But it seems that I will, perhaps, be living in Pittsburgh for a bit before moving further west, in something like a year's time. Parker and I will likely still be trying to fix houses. Good.

If you look up both of our names in the Oxford English Dictionary, I assure you that not only does mine mean infinitely more things, but also that mine is far more interesting. Being Jack has to do with being a knave and somewhat worthless, and with being a sailor, and being a sort of fish or something that is fed to them, and with various machines, and with being nearly everyone, out of work, or with every job, or a seducer of women. When people ask why it is my name, I generally answer that I named myself after one of the only things at which I have any skill. For some reason, they all seem to think that I mean being a pirate. Although I am fairly good at that, too.

I wrote quite a bit, tonight. My illustrator slave boy (who may have begun to redeem himself now that I've fired him) and I sat about in this perfect nameless cafe on ninth street. The music was fantastic, and they served my favourite brand of tea, and we worked until the candles burnt down.
jacktellslies: (ladies)
Pittsburgh was lovely. There were blessings: I'd almost put my money in a stolen bag, but I didn't. I'd almost brought my love, my computer, and I'd almost travelled with toys. There is that. I saw some beautiful and some disturbing examples of taxidermy. It is a thing I would very much like to learn to do. I learned that there are Inuits who believe that Raven is responsible for giving them fish, and for the order in which the fish run. The whole thing is based on the order in which he let them out of boxes or opened gates. I approve. I saw many friends, if I failed to see others. Drama was reenacted, although the stories have changed little. I read all of Sin City in one day, save the first graphic novel, which I'd read before, and the last graphic novel, which I saved for the next day. I had not read any comic books at all in such a long time; it was a nice return, and Pittsburgh was the right place for it. I watched some films, and I walked nearly everywhere, and didn't spend much money. I attended Meredith's bachelorette party, where I helped to decorate my first ever breast-shaped cake (my contributions included drawing the aureola, selecting grapes as the appropriate substance for representing nipples, and adding a labrys tattoo. However, Rebbecca, the creator of the cake, won by piercing one of the grapes. She has many talents. We ate fantastic food and watched horrific seventies porn (softer yet wackier than the variety to which I've been subjecting my friends in Philadelphia) and we all got quite drunk. Everyone kissed everyone else, even, at times, when fate did not deem it necessary. (Perhaps that was only me?) It was quite a bit more debauched than the parties to which I am accustomed, or mayhaps I was only more successfully seduced by this party than I usually manage to be. I returned to Philadelphia quite bruised and happy, even though I learned that Amtrak will not be refunding my ticket, and I cried at the woman who told me this and took my second ticket, and I meant it. Upon my return to the house, however, I found that Parker had taken up a collection among friends to replace some of the things that had been stolen. My friends are too good. I do not begin to deserve them. They thought I'd be stolen away by Pittsburgh, that I wouldn't want to return, but I am glad to be home. I love the people I have here, and, although I dearly miss the people I have left behind, they are scattering, and Pittsburgh is no longer really where I belong. I hadn't quite known that until this week. (If Meredith and Alex were to move to Philadelphia for a while, of course, my joy would be complete.) And today was full of surprises, good food and an accusation or two. I did not mind at all.
jacktellslies: (egon schiele)
There are trends: I seem to quite enjoy a lot of games that I am not very good at playing. Some of these games include "people" and "talking". But I do enjoy them, so that is fine. I am very often in favour of failure, of course, and, although I am also fond of (and am sometimes even better at) games such as "etiquette" and "hospitality," I have often found that making one's own amusement the primary objective is the best course to take. This is clearly the solution. Also, Liz does in fact have my copy of Les Liaisons Dangereuse. This changes everything.


Mar. 8th, 2006 01:20 pm
jacktellslies: (remorse of nero)
I am in Pittsburgh, and my friends are perfect and true.

But my bags were stolen. While technically nothing that was at all valuable to anyone else was in those bags, nearly all of my clothes, and some books and small things I really liked and needed are gone. The idea that even when or if I do start to pull ahead, my work will only go towards replacing what was lost is terrifying. The reality that I will not be pulling ahead anytime soon, and that things simply will not be replaced is worse. I do not understand why things keep getting worse. I do not understand how it is possible to work so very hard and to have so little to show for it, to be so consistently out of control despite my very best efforts. I don't really know what I should do, or if there is really anything that I can do at all.

The trip will still be good. Friends are better than things. But I did not have very much to begin with, and now I have considerably less.
jacktellslies: (shrine)
I don't work again for a full week. I'm off to Pittsburgh in the morning for revels and adventures, to see friends and cathedrals I've missed so very, very much, people and landmarks about whom I speak constantly. And Whitney, probably my favourite person in the entire world, is being stolen away by Fall Out Boy and some other band we despise to help with their tour. (You must understand that this is the sort of thing that happens to her.) She'll be all over North America for the next few months, and in Philadelphia next week, as a result. She only just learned of this. I honestly cannot describe how absurdly excited I am. My stars are fickle, and just now, I adore them for it. Gods. My world could not possibly contain news better than these things.


jacktellslies: (Default)

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