"I'm standing on this corner. Can't get their attention. Facing rush hour faces turned around. I clutch my stack of paper, press one to a chest, then watch it swoop and stutter to the ground. I'm weary with right-angles, abbreviated daylight, and waiting for a winter to be done. Why do I still see you in every mirrored window, in all that I could never overcome? How I don't know what I should do with my hands when I talk to you. How you don't know where you should look, so you look at my hands. How movements rise and then dissolve, melted by our shallow breath. How causes dance away from me. I am your pamphleteer. "
-Pamphleteer by The Weakerthans
The weather was changeable today. Sunlit but you could see your breath condense in the air. I've been carrying my winter jacket around in a half-assed attempt to look prepared. The winters will kill you up here.
The Weakerthans are hometown boys. Their words drift like snow, bump around like the frostheaves in our roads. Awkwardly literate with heart and guts, they are an offshoot from a local punk band Propagandhi. They set all of their songs in our frozen prairie city. I love them.
Weather, yeah. Spring seems to have abandoned us this year.
I had breakfast with Sandra at a local dive a couple blocks from here. I love this place because they make the best damned bowl of cabbage borscht I've ever had. I love this place because one of owners has blue and black hair and looks like the villain chick from a superdramatic anime. I love this place because one of the waitresses looks like Uma Thurman and the other is the spitting image of a Botticelli Madonna, a fullfigured Botticelli Madonna.
She has the eyes that seem at once distracted and dreamy, and incredibly sad. I don't know her name, but I gave her a Cat Power CD one day because I wasn't listening to it anymore. Her smile lit up the place, as corny as that sounds.
I love this place because it's where all the malcontents and post-university failures hangout. I love this place because 50% of the clientele are Queer. I love it because it's got this rundown, mennonite, anime, queer, bum atmosphere
If anyone ever comes to visit me, I'll take you for Saturday brunch.
Anyhow, Sandra and I verbally rolled about in our mutual libido wallow and had a very relaxing brunch. There was much furtive glancing and full-on eye contact in that place this morning. I felt happy.
I hopped a bus to go to my game and my emotional weather changed rapidly. I noticed this native guy at the back whose face was broken down with temporal erosion. Ripped jeans and a worn flannel shirt. His hands were covered in prison tattoos. Waves of sadness seemed to flow off him and wash over me in the backseat. The sky was greying up again.
Near the end of my ride, a woman in her early twenties got on with a little girl in pigtails, probably two. The girl was so there: completely curious and wide-eyed and funny. I told her mother that her daughter was beautiful. Her mom agreed with the biggest smile I've seen in awhile.
Mom and daughter spent the rest of the busride playing with an erasable picture maker. The girl would get so excited with an idea for a picture: a circle, auntie Hazel, a snowman, that her laughter filled up the entire back of the bus. The native guy's sadness drifted away. I cried, turning my face to the window so people wouldn't get weirded out.
I came home later and had a little bout of D. It's mostly gone now thanks to zariat and her beautiful tattoo, which I've put in my Stuff and Things folder. Well, it made me cry too. And I can't even blame it on PMS.
It's the end of my changeable day. I'm sipping green tea and listening to public radio. Every Saturday night they do One Night Stand where a listener plays their favourite records based on a theme. Tonight it's a woman playing all the music she can think of related to all of the hassles she's getting from her family for being older and unmarried. *considers* WHY THE HELL AM I LISTENING TO THIS?
*grin*
-Pamphleteer by The Weakerthans
The weather was changeable today. Sunlit but you could see your breath condense in the air. I've been carrying my winter jacket around in a half-assed attempt to look prepared. The winters will kill you up here.
The Weakerthans are hometown boys. Their words drift like snow, bump around like the frostheaves in our roads. Awkwardly literate with heart and guts, they are an offshoot from a local punk band Propagandhi. They set all of their songs in our frozen prairie city. I love them.
Weather, yeah. Spring seems to have abandoned us this year.
I had breakfast with Sandra at a local dive a couple blocks from here. I love this place because they make the best damned bowl of cabbage borscht I've ever had. I love this place because one of owners has blue and black hair and looks like the villain chick from a superdramatic anime. I love this place because one of the waitresses looks like Uma Thurman and the other is the spitting image of a Botticelli Madonna, a fullfigured Botticelli Madonna.
She has the eyes that seem at once distracted and dreamy, and incredibly sad. I don't know her name, but I gave her a Cat Power CD one day because I wasn't listening to it anymore. Her smile lit up the place, as corny as that sounds.
I love this place because it's where all the malcontents and post-university failures hangout. I love this place because 50% of the clientele are Queer. I love it because it's got this rundown, mennonite, anime, queer, bum atmosphere
If anyone ever comes to visit me, I'll take you for Saturday brunch.
Anyhow, Sandra and I verbally rolled about in our mutual libido wallow and had a very relaxing brunch. There was much furtive glancing and full-on eye contact in that place this morning. I felt happy.
I hopped a bus to go to my game and my emotional weather changed rapidly. I noticed this native guy at the back whose face was broken down with temporal erosion. Ripped jeans and a worn flannel shirt. His hands were covered in prison tattoos. Waves of sadness seemed to flow off him and wash over me in the backseat. The sky was greying up again.
Near the end of my ride, a woman in her early twenties got on with a little girl in pigtails, probably two. The girl was so there: completely curious and wide-eyed and funny. I told her mother that her daughter was beautiful. Her mom agreed with the biggest smile I've seen in awhile.
Mom and daughter spent the rest of the busride playing with an erasable picture maker. The girl would get so excited with an idea for a picture: a circle, auntie Hazel, a snowman, that her laughter filled up the entire back of the bus. The native guy's sadness drifted away. I cried, turning my face to the window so people wouldn't get weirded out.
I came home later and had a little bout of D. It's mostly gone now thanks to zariat and her beautiful tattoo, which I've put in my Stuff and Things folder. Well, it made me cry too. And I can't even blame it on PMS.
It's the end of my changeable day. I'm sipping green tea and listening to public radio. Every Saturday night they do One Night Stand where a listener plays their favourite records based on a theme. Tonight it's a woman playing all the music she can think of related to all of the hassles she's getting from her family for being older and unmarried. *considers* WHY THE HELL AM I LISTENING TO THIS?
*grin* VIEW 20 of 20 COMMENTS
occam:
So what is it like having a slave? It's probably more authority than I'm willing to have also not the kind of spot I'd be comfortable in so it's something I have no direct experience with. He has quite the impressive physique by the way.
amadio:
No problemo.