jacktellslies: (circusfolk)
Pardon my silence. The last while has been painfully busy. I work until I drug myself to sleep so that I can rise and work again. I'm building new muscles, tearing them again before they have time to heal, and gods, they hurt. Shrove Tuesday I was running to work by four thirty in the morning, but when I was done I was racked and cracked, then massaged, then found good liquor and good friends. Our table was strewn with my masks, and we told them our worries and our plans. Tom was newly tattooed, more fatigued with pain and with high ritual than I was with work and with practice. I felt as if I stayed up late, but I was asleep shortly after ten. Today I swore I wouldn't get out of bed, and I haven't. I read. I spoke with my lover, plotting a tricky seduction. I took a bath with candles and a glass of wine. I accomplished none of the personal things that piled up while I worked. It is Ash Wednesday, and I am repentant for nothing. And staying still felt so delicious, so decadent, that my work ethic, one of the American flaws in my temperament, recoiled in horror at my sloth. I start work again in the morning. I suppose I'm ready for it.
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)
People are drunk in my livingroom, but I'm upstairs and quiet, working on a mix that is meant to be for Terrance, but keeps turning into one for someone else.

I've a lovely day planned for tomorrow: I'll make Dover sole for the first time for dinner, and we'll visit the cool kids' club the lovely piercing and tattooing place where Parker would like to get a second job, and then there will be drag kings, and possibly friends. (Let me know if you'd like to join us for drag kings in west Philly tomorrow, by the way.)

And the only thing that could possibly be better than all of that is the news I just received. Philadelphia is one of my favourite places in all the world, but it is nothing at all, now, compared with what it could be.

Oh, good God. I've not listened to Elton John in so long. There are words I barely remember, so it is familiar and new all at once. He's perfect. I don't know what to do with myself.

My dearest Meredith,

My email isn't quite working, tonight. Also, I would seem to have lied: these are not all circus girls. Some of them are men, and one of them is probably more of a woman than a girl. I hope that you enjoy them anyway, and I also hope that you get whatever you like for breakfast every day for the rest of your life.


This is my one-thousandth livejournal entry.


jacktellslies: (Default)

August 2009

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