introspective periscope : peeking inside since Y2K ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To the Brim almost time - thirty first of march, 2001-nightfall glistens i'm home now. work was easy going. the more i read through that lame survey that only makes me pine and dwell on a boy who likes to watch movies, the more i memorize. i could probably do it with my eyes closed at this point. but lets leave work at work, shall we? i clocked out and talked with big hippy skott for awhile. plans for 4:20 are forever in the making with that hippy and i love him to death, but i'm debating about the festivities this year. see, usually, i'm the brownie makin' momma; usually i'm in charge of the collection of ingestion. i'm not sure that i want to be that person anymore. i've been trying so fucking hard to just stay clean and so far, its been working...but when skott is telling me the going prices, its hard not to want to buy in bulk, ziplock, freeze, bake, and smoke. i'm not an addict, mind you. i've got my own addictions, but pot isn't one of them. i do enjoy it, but its not something i've ever needed. *shrug* i guess we'll have to see how things go. i've always been a chump for brownies. tim came over this afternoon before work. ( i just noticed that i'm always very stream of consciousness. i am a tool, if not a product of quentin terentino or however you spell that bad boy's name: i mean him no disrespect.) tim came over. i got my grocery cards today, so it was the day to pick up something totally extravagent or prepare a little bit of a lunch for a friend like i tend to do at the beginning of the month. i'm learning to live on a survival budget and i like to share more than ever. the beginning of the month is usually much more extravagent than turkey sandwiches but, thats what we had. we came home and put together some lovely sandwiches, i on my favourite bread (i must remember to shop on saturday afternoons more often cuz my bread is never there when i usually go to shop.) and he, on potato bread. lovely indeed. we sat on the big sofa and munched contentedly on sandwiches while we watched the new John Waters flick. Now, I am a John Waters fan of old, from the days of Pink Flamingos and Hair Spray right up through Pecker. I appreciate his twisted humor and the long lasting ridiculous messages. The soundtrack to Pink Flamingos is one of my favourite ever because it included "how much is that doggie in the window". I am a dork of the self-proclaimed breed. I realize this. How many others can truly claim to know every verse to that song? Only the Pink Flamingos fans. And they remember why. (attn: those with weak tummies: do not watch that movie. you're lame and will probably puke. okaythen.) Cecil B. Demented was one of the best flicks i've seen in forevah. It reminded me *greatly* of Tennessee T. I couldnt' stop laughing. I couldn't stop thinking of T as Cecil; of how rad it would be to even know him. I know he's gonna make it one day.... As with most John Waters films, I won't go into the plot. They're really something you've just got to delve into. I'd say that this was one of his first wonderfully blatent symbolic flicks and I really enjoyed how he paid homage to the great film makers of our time. So thats my Roger Ebert (heh) critique for the week, I guess. Maybe I'll start watching more films and critiquing. Someone is encouraging my untapped love for the screen lately and I know that there are some of you cats who haven't seen CasaBlanca, either....so maybe I'll start up with the Complete Dorky Dummie's Guide to the Video Store. Or not. We'll see how things go. Anyway, I'm home now. I'm fucking ultra curious as to what Tennesee T has up his sleeve. I'm about on the verge of explosion. I rather like that. Its better than implosion and self destruction; better than spontaneous combustion. I wrote some new stuff at work. I notice that my stuff is getting outright mushy (ie: sappy, emotional in a springtime crush sort of way, slushy, sweet, and overall, intolerably heartfelt.) and its not a lot like the stuff that usually pours out of me. I dont know what to tell the fans of my sadder more self-loathing stuff other than.....c'mon. get happy. i sure as hell am. *hugs to everyone* happy weekend. happy daylights savings. spring those clocks on forward. be well. ~fill it to the brim~ i should start my day talking with you on a regular basis. even with a throbbing ache in my head you can make me smile. in know my jokes aren't that funny but you laugh; i know my days aren't exciting but you always ask how they went and nobody has ever been so thoughtful on such a regular basis. maybe, instead of brewing coffee, i should reread letters you've sent cuz you know i've kept every one you've written: they make me smile when you're not around. maybe, instead of a frothy fix of black tar brew, i can smile instead. i think i'd rather be shaking and sugared and strung out on you than the caffiene, anyway. no doubt my lines dissolve like too many sugar cubes in too little java: sticky and gooey and thick, overly noticeably sweet. but i've never been more at ease, more willing to be hung up. perhaps it was the way you listened when the day had gone terribly awry... there are no responses from my half full cup and the only sounds that Mr. Coffee makes are unintelligable grunts and bubbles. maybe it was the way your values mesh easily with how i've learned to see the world- a little more focused, a little less down and disarrayed. less bitter, more strong. or was it how i don't feel so ackward, i hardly shake uncomfortably in my yards of skin and i never had to explain that i'm like the tallest cappucino, stronger and more potent than you might ever expect. its as if somehow, you always knew. i think there was something in the brew that had to do with how you never intimidate me like a starbucks employee, that you're strong enough to be honest and true because i've learned to value a little strength and the occasional foreign blend just as much as i value a little bit of sweetness, and a splash or two of kindness. or is it, instead, that you've got this flawless taste that i've never encountered in a boy? that i could talk with you for hours about all of the things that interest me and not feel like we've got to keep up with the pretentious... from art to music to film to food, we've got it all covered and nothing is taboo. and furthermore, we don't always have to agree and we can still continue conversation. but i wonder, sometimes, will you grow cold like coffee does when left to sit too long? will you separate out like amaretto creamer if i mix you up too much? i don't always have to worry about the java: i can always brew another pot.... i can't imagine finding another brew like you. yes, i get the feeling that i could disregard the morning coffee with its get up and its go get 'em for a little more of you. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- .what came before. - .what happened next. a diamond at the bottom of the drain - 20 october 2017 |
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