veritas.

i might have a new house, and new roommates. my bed might not quite be my own anymore. i've never done this sort of thing.

i'm wanting tattoos, something permanent with which to anchor the little ones that fade. a labyrinth, a sacred heart inked rather than cut, tracings of ribs and of spine marked with latin, the old trial bone piece.

and i'm in love with a gayboy who might be my roommate. (although never my one true roommate. let's be honest.) he is bill, and i'd very much like him to wear a smoking jacket and cuddle with meghan and me. i've told him as much, and he is working on the costume. i've always felt that to be the important part, of course.

oh. and i am healed. i reached the landmarks i set, i'm doing the things i never thought i'd do again. it took me four years. more than four years, really. but then it was so simple. we listened to radiohead and elliott smith, and i thought of the women at the foot of the cross, the bloody veil, my thorns, and my wrists, and my feet, and your spear. i am born again. in the neon sign scrolling up and down, i am born again. in an interstellar burst i am back to save the universe. in a deep deep sleep of the innocent i am born again. in a fast german car, i'm amazed that i survived. an airbag saved my life.