3:15 Experiment - Day Thirty-One--End!

wanting to pull out the good stuff
find some great words
to sound genius-like at the end
but all I really got is sleep need
waking up by self or maybe
never slept at all tonight
worrying about temporal things
at least the cats are happy

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty-Nine

as a city dweller
I am psychologically upset
by the quiet of the early morning

reminding me of a horror film
just before the murder
when all the noise vanishes

early morning should be peaceful
but it is troublesome
all the manufactured fears

the darkness will get me
the silence will get me
the hour itself will consume

witching hour superstitions
the devil awakens as
I awaken to write poetry

but if that were so I think
that there would be the inevitability
of writers block

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty-Eight

the pain is worst at night
awakening at 3:15
yawning loudly and stretching
clearing throat of phlegm
chewing/smacking breakfast
blow drying its many hairs
putting on its face and
brushing its teeth
before throwing a dinner party
inviting all of its friends
turned into orgy or raver
pounding motion on the neighbor’s roof
I really need to move

A Year of Books- Second Time!

So, if you'll refer to the very old Books post of September 10, 2009, which was reposted in December, you will see all the books I've read, and a very silly error which made me believe I was books away after attaining my goal weeks ago.  I am going to keep the count going until September 10 so I can see exactly how many non-required reading books I read in a year.  I am happy to see that I hit 52 books easily, even before my vacation :)

Anyway, on September 10th, I'll start up a new logging post with all the books I'm reading.  I was going to start it now, but that seems so... anticlimactic?  Kind of like logging your 51/52nd book and realizing that you'd already hit sixty O.o

Maybe I'll do some stat-y thing too.  See how many books of different genres.  Probably, I won't, because I really don't like statistics.  But I do like math.  Dilemma...

Yang Long Form

So, I finally managed to remember the name of the form we do in Tai Chi in the time between class ending and me getting home.  Success!  Apparently, we do the Yang Long Form, which is 103 "postures" long.  I think I've only gone through step 35 or so in class, but I have only gone for a year.  Here are the 103 postures (from the Wiki article):

          Chinese               English

1.	预 备	Preparation Form
2.	起式	Beginning
3.	拦雀尾	Grasp the Bird's tail
4.	单鞭	Single whip
5.	提手上势	Raise Hands and Step Forward
6.	白鹤凉翅	White Crane Spreads its Wings
7.	左搂膝拗步	Left Brush Knee and Push
8.	手挥琵琶	Hand Strums the Lute
9.	左搂膝拗步	Left Brush Knee and Push
10.	右搂膝拗步	Right Brush Knee and Push
11.	左搂膝拗步	Left Brush Knee and Push
12.	手挥琵琶	Hand Strums the Lute
13.	左搂膝拗步	Left Brush Knee and Push
14.	进步搬拦捶	Step Forward, Parry, Block, and Punch
15.	如封似闭	Apparent Close Up
16.	十字手	Cross Hands
17.	抱虎归山	Embrace the Tiger and Return to Mountain
18.	肘底捶	Fist Under Elbow
19.	左倒撵猴	Step Back and Repulse the Monkey, Left
20.	右倒撵猴	Step Back and Repulse the Monkey, Right
21.	左倒撵猴	Step Back and Repulse the Monkey, Left
22.	斜飞式	Diagonal Flying
23.	提手上势	Raise Hands and Step Forward
24.	白鹤凉翅	White Crane Spreads its Wings
25.	左搂膝拗步	Left Brush Knee and Push
26.	海底针	Needle at Sea Bottom
27.	扇通背	Fan Through the Back
28.	转身撇身捶	Turn Body and Chop with Fist
29.	进步搬拦捶	Step Forward, Parry, Block, and Punch
30.	上步拦雀尾	Step Forward and Grasp the Bird's Tail
31.	单鞭	Single whip
32.	云手	Cloud Hands (1)
33.	云手	Cloud Hands (2)
34.	云手	Cloud Hands (3)
35.	单鞭	Single whip
36.	高探马	High Pat on Horse
37.	右分脚	Right Separation Kick
38.	左分脚	Left Separation Kick
39.	转身左蹬脚	Turn Body and Left Heel Kick
40.	左搂膝拗步	Left Brush Knee and Push
41.	右搂膝拗步	Right Brush Knee and Push
42.	进步栽锤	Step Forward and Punch Down
43.	转身撇身锤	Turn Body and Chop with Fist
44.	进步搬拦锤	Step Forward, Parry, Block, and Punch
45.	右蹬脚	Right Heel Kick
46.	左打虎式	Left Strike Tiger
47.	右打虎式	Right Strike Tiger
48.	回身右蹬脚	Turn Body and Right Heel Kick
49.	双峰灌耳	Twin Fists Strike Opponents Ears
50.	左蹬脚	Left Heel Kick
51.	转身右蹬脚	Turn Body and Right Heel Kick
52.	进步搬拦锤	Step Forward, Parry, Block, and Punch
53.	如封似闭	Apparent Close Up
54.	十字手	Cross Hands
55.	抱虎归山	Embrace the Tiger and Return to Mountain
56.	斜单鞭	Diagonal Single Whip
57.	右野马分鬃	Parting Wild Horse's Mane, Right
58.	左野马分鬃	Parting Wild Horse's Mane, Left
59.	右野马分鬃	Parting Wild Horse's Mane, Right
60.	拦雀尾	Grasp the Bird's tail
61.	单鞭	Single Whip
62.	玉女穿梭	Fair Lady Works at Shuttles
63.	拦雀尾	Grasp the Bird's tail
64.	单鞭	Single Whip
65.	云手	Cloud Hands (1)
66.	云手	Cloud Hands (2)
67.	云手	Cloud Hands (3)
68.	单鞭	Single Whip
69.	下势	Snake Creeps Down
70.	左金鸡独立	Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg, Left
71.	右金鸡独立	Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg, Right
72.	左倒撵猴	Step Back and Repulse the Monkey, Left
73.	右倒撵猴	Step Back and Repulse the Monkey, Right
74.	左倒撵猴	Step Back and Repulse the Monkey, Left
75.	斜飞势	Diagonal Flying
76.	提手上势	Raise Hands and Step Forward
77.	白鹤凉翅	White Crane Spreads its Wings
78.	左搂膝拗步	Left Brush Knee and Push
79.	海底针	Needle at Sea Bottom
80.	扇通背	Fan Through the Back
81.	转身白蛇吐信	Turn Body and White Snake Spits out Tongue
82.	进步搬拦捶	Step Forward, Parry, Block, and Punch
83.	上步拦雀尾	Step Forward and Grasp the Bird's tail
84.	单鞭	Single Whip
85.	云手	Cloud Hands (1)
86.	云手	Cloud Hands (2)
87.	云手	Cloud Hands (3)
88.	单鞭	Single Whip
89.	高探马穿掌	High Pat On Horse with Palm Thrust
90.	十字腿	Cross Kick
91.	进步指裆锤	Step Forward and Punch Groin
92.	上步拦雀尾	Step Forward and Grasp the Bird's tail
93.	单鞭	Single Whip
94.	下势	Snake Creeps Down
95.	上步七星	Step Forward Seven Stars
96.	退步跨虎	Step back and Ride the Tiger
97.	转身摆莲	Turn Body and Swing Over Lotus
98.	弯弓射虎	Bend the Bow and Shoot the Tiger
99.	进步搬拦捶	Step Forward, Parry, Block, and Punch
100.	如封似闭	Apparent Close Up
101.	十字手	Cross Hands
102.	收式	Closing
103.	还原	Return to Normal

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty-Seven

hands are fumbly
the tender aching wandering
taking rest between the shoulders
finishing journey near the temples
leaving messes in its wake

the sleep wants peace
she hides herself away
reads a brand new romance
dreams of pure solitude
a chance to pirouette for no one

but then, the cat
crying at the window
so happy with the darkness
and his freedom to creep
pronounces himself king

subjectivity breaker, that cat
so cleverly reminds me
that it is early yet for him
and creatures across the earth
are still hours away
from any chance at rest

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty-Six

breathing lessons end
fumes of world enter and become
pure innovation

give it back, mija,
this piece of something godly
lifeblood of the wild

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty-Five

the quality of her regard
de-elevates with the day
as we sink into a calmness
she returns to her coma

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty-Four

sound of freeway sounds like wind
strongly pulling air away
loudly pulling through the sky
whoosh of early early risers
or latecomers, home from bar
the morning in summer
can still be cold
and the wind can blow even colder
the empty-ish road though
is hot from the cars
lonely in pursuit

Triathlon-ness

I am thinking of training for the Danskin Triathlon.  Yes, yes, I know-- where did that come from?  The truth of it is, I am tired of putting things off until I am older/done with school/better settled.  I am young and finally enjoying working out, so it seems like a goal would be lovely.  Now, I've just got to read a few books so I know exactly how to train!  Not that it's a science, but I think it would be a good way to go about it. 

So, I've got one book from Barnes and Noble, courtesy of my lovely mama, called Slow Fat Triathlete, which sounds not only helpful for those of us who aren't really triathlete material, but who want to do it anyway, yet additionally witty!  I will get to that puppy around this weekend, I think.  Need to finish C.S. Lewis' Problem of Pain and Lynne Greenberg's The Body Broken for capstone-ness.  Apparently, Lynne Greenberg has a PhD and JD, plus chronic pain (though I think the pain returned after all the schooling).  In any case, there's also a major pain conference at the university she teaches at, so I could try to finagle my way into speaking with her about PhD aspirations with CNCP.  Anyway, back to triathlon.

Hopefully, I can meet with T next week- she seems to be available- hurrah!  Busy woman.  Will get pointers from one who has been there multiple times!  Warrior women unite!  (and I have hit my exclamation point quota...)

The other book, which I am getting from the library, is quite accurately titled Triathlon 101.  Not sure if I will need a second book after the first, but it is always good to have it on standby :)

And now, I end this very long day- zzzz.

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty-Two

ibuprofen
go to sleep
the hate for you
as to weak
intensifies
and all of your sisters
and your brothers
your family for seventeen
generations going back
all so hated
such murderous intent
towards your and yours
it was not your fault
(perhaps)
that you someone got
this reputation
for having some influence
over the nociceptors
but you are nothing
stay in your damn bottles
and drown

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty-One

to thrill upon another time
not yet existed here
will allow the clouds to depart
and another something
to shine its way through
with negligent delight
at the years away
that come to pass
tomorrow afternoon
the pine in the garden

3:15 Experiment - Day Twenty

poised
not alert
back straight
tea
sleep
and
lost dreams

3:15 Experiment - Day Seventeen

industriousness
little ones building
upward to the moon
using recycled materials
stacked upon the beach
fuzed together with spit
if only
it were
a little cooler
we’d be done

3:15 Experiment - Day Sixteen

I was feeling too sick on the fifteenth to get up v.v forgive my laziness!

Day Sixteen-

roses in her pores
she grows, they grow
concealment
one with nature
yellow flowers
with cutting thorns
they show repentance
but allow nothing
else to show through

3:15 Experiment - Day Fourteen

drummer trapped
neon
pictures taken
burrow burrow
somethings
cold cool water
hot warm shower
sweet solitude and
darkness

3:15 Experiment - Day Thirteen

pillows tacked
ergonomic, metaphysical
tower of babel
ghosts are curious?
Nightlight, wait
Night life reborn
Not as invisible
as it all was once

3:15 Experiment - Day Twelve

swish of freeway
may be wind
but the air feels still
the sound of cold
warning one away
stay in your warm bed
the warm cat
warm blanket
comfortableness
maybe not wind
hungry ghost sound
tiny throat, big belly
liquid diet
screaming motorcycle
perhaps it was
the freeway
all along

3:15 Experiment - Day Eleven

in sooth, I’d forgotten
the hills just beyond vision
they roll and gather moss
the birds follow, entranced

I remembered only crows
Tiny omens squawking and swooping
We knew each other once
Each and every one of us

And the hills continue to wave
Greeting me like an old friend
How embarrassing to be caught
Like this, so indifferent.

3:15 Experiment - Day Ten

Let’s follow the golden-furred one
Through the sturdy hedges
(scratching up our cheeks)
until we’ve lost her
and must stand up to see
where we’ve become alone
and learnt what it was we came for
sometime along the brief way

Programs

Ha! I finally made decisions.  This document did have many more colors, but the disappeared as the "maybes," "probablies," and "probably nots" changed to "yeses" or "nos."  UBC apps are just too expensive-- all three UO apps for the same cost as ONE UBC app!!  So I am just submitting the one.

(document is longer- cut to fit!)

	School	Degree Type	Applying?	App. Due	App. Cost
Comp. Lit.	UWS	PhD	Yes	Jan. 15	$75
English	UWS	PhD	Yes	Jan. 2	$75
Women's Studies	UWS	PhD	Yes	Dec. 15	$75
Geography	UWS	PhD	No	Dec. 15	$75
Creative Writing	UWS	MFA	Yes	Jan. 2	$75
Creative Writing	PLU	MFA	Yes	Nov. 30	$40
Creative Writing	SPU	MFA	No
Literary Arts	Brown	MFA	No	Dec. 15	$75
Writing	Cal Arts	MFA	Yes	Dec. 1	$50
Writing	USF	MFA	Yes	Feb. 1	$55
Cultural Studies	Trent U	PhD	No
Cultural Studies	UC Davis	PhD	No
Creative Writing	UBC	MFA	No
English	UBC	PhD	No	Jan. 15	$150
Women's and Gender Studies	UBC	PhD	Yes	Jan. 15	$150
Comp. Lit.	UO	PhD	Yes	Jan. 15	$50
English	UO	PhD	Yes	Dec. 15	$50
Philosophy	UO	PhD	Yes	Jan. 15	$50
	Don't forget cost of shipping!!
	SOP= Statement of Purpose
	PS= Personal Statement

 

Total cost before transcript and shipping $$s--(edit) $625 (have cut more). EDIT: back up again- $750.

3:15 Experiment - Day Nine

(I feel like I wrote this a long time ago-- isn't that odd?)

Justifications
Owing an explanation to
Somebody or something
About anything at all
Like it matters
to throw a Frisbee-like plate
around and around the cafeteria
with a group of students
Nobel prize
Now, I think
Success is best found
Through returning to the strangeness
From which I was pulled
By an angry alarm

I saw this painting today

Isn't it lovely?

I love the face of contemplation.  It is like she is looking into the artist as he looks into her.  They capture each other's meaning through deep gazes.  I wonder if those three yellow notebooks are filled with these thoughts.  It is Sogni by Vittorio Corcos.  The title translates to "Dream/s".  I wonder if the title means to say that she is dreaming-- "daydreaming" is such a beautiful term for contemplation-- or if the artist dreams of this woman. 

I like to think he saw her on the street and she was just so lovely that he asked to paint her.  The mystery in this request shows in her expression.  She agreed, and ever since he completed the painting, Vittorio dreams of one day meeting this woman again.  She is a poet, by the by, in my fantasy.  Those are poetry notebooks at her side.

I think I might try to make this into a short story.  Am feeling much inspired by this piece.

3:15 Experiment - Day Eight

Forgot to set alarm for day 7- missed it!

Noise of falling rain
Falling stars
Is coldness spreading
I have bottled up the energy
And use it to power the dreams
Of children with rational parents
Who won’t believe that it is impossible
For a bumblebee to fly, scientifically speaking
Still she flies
There is magick in this world

3:15 Experiment - Day Six

such exhilaration!
late night brawl
contenders meeting on a bed
(no euphemism for sex)
tails twitching eagerly
spitting, growling
awakening the house
with self-enlarging yelps
all starting from some harmless
kissing, rubbing of the nose
she bares her claws and warns
“I have killed for less!”
it comes down to this
nobody wants to irritate
the one to whom the bed belongs
early morning poetess
grumbling that it is Friday
and not Saturday
wanting to sleep and dream
solve problems in a somnispace
they retract their claws
(tails still twitching)
and depart for the kitchen
“outside, now!”
but mistress is still displeased
when the toaster is overturned

3:15 Experiment - Day Five

(obviously I was tired!)

just enough to know that
prepositions will not save me
exile from the commonplace
over under between words
a new sweater might help
a strange sort of clarity

3:15 Experiment - Day Four

It is strange to note that for the past few nights, I have been awakened at 3:14 exactly by my large black cat.

The fleas. It was the fleas that did it, menaces. But then, even “pests” deserve a chance to live.

Cat eyes finding light, reflecting the good in me like a kind metaphor. We both have grown to love the dark, security blanket.

Ah, there it is. The reality that fear of witching hour superstition should be attached of abandoned fear of black cat superstition. But I will not cross beneath the ladder of life, triangle.

Interestingly, both of us must relieve our poor bladders at this time. He threatens to do it right on my Sesame Street purple carpet if I do not let him out.

They never meant to hurt anybody.

Lucky luck such a plucky fortune loudly saying, “Look at me!” Four-leaf clovers in his diamond eyes.

The quiet allows his large meow to echo ‘cross the house, “Hey!” I am grown jealous, and may be bitter, if not for love love love.

Maynard, love, where did your collar go? You will not allow it to be known that you are attached to me, for I belong to you, not the other way around.

A witch’s familiar he is/ gorgeous soul knows how I hate to be awakened by alarms.

Who would kill a sweet black cat? Maynard and ‘Tude and Xavier, such darlings.

I really must clip his nails, they are like eagle’s talons digging in my breasts as I hug him, just in case, releasing him to the dark void.

He must know it is the witching hour, sweet familiar. Together, we practice the dark art of poetry-making in the dark our art.

Exiled to Advancement

Alas, today my primary, secondary, and tertiary desks were all in use, and so I was exiled to Advancement.  Apparently L, one of the student workers, has got herself a new job, so I sat at her very exposed work station so far away from those with whom I work.  It was cold over there, and drafty.  Pretty sure I've caught my death.

In any event, strange things are afoot.  There are men sitting at a few of my past desk spaces, working to typingly conjure tornadoes.  Where did these men come from?  I got a memo saying they would be here, but did not understand the acronyms.  Maybe I should have looked them up...

The good thing about Advancement is they always have food.  Wait wait.  The bad thing about Advancement is they always have junk food.  Pastries just sitting, rotting away, longing to be eaten.  Who doesn't, after all?  ...

I had a strawberry.  Willpower! 

In any event, in case I am again exiled tomorrow, I am bringing a jacket.  I think the cold put a damper on my entire day.  I did not plan my outfit for my sweater to be worn all day, thank you very much.  The seating arrangement really cramped my style.

The worst part of being at a station you've never worked at before is having to relocate all of your bookmarks sans addresses, reprogram Outlook, re-ad the Academic Affairs inbox, find some less dismal wallpaper, and, well, you get the picture.  It is also very hard to find a cute picture of Dubs, the eponymous Husky mascot, whilst sitting so exposed.  Oh, and there were about 50 glass vases on a shelf above me.  I kept thinking how cut up/dead I'd be in the event of an earthquake.  If I end up there again, I will ask if I can move them... but where?

Never mind, workplace safety is my right- rawr! 

3:15 Experiment - Day Three

witching hour

“which is ridiculous
‘cause witches, they were persecuted
Wicca good and love the Earth
And women power
And I’ll be over here”

for the time being
vertical time means
every hour now
blowing out
“candle in the wind”
burnt at the stake
mere illusion
i am forever
because I am now
for the time being
wearing pointy hats
warts can be such beauty
in the face of uniformity

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R - A

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B - R

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A - B

A - B - R - A - C - A - D - A

A - B - R - A - C - A - D

A - B - R - A - C - A

A - B - R - A - C

A - B - R - A

A - B - R

A - B

A

for all your magick
i’ve been programmed
to see a penis
that might well be a clitoris
or a sagging breast
magickal women banished
to 3:15AM

how could they know
we can see in the dark
with cat eyes glowing
reflecting the moon
we are so free to howl
orgasmically
the sensual pleasure that is
shared between
women and the moon

I bleed with the waning crescent
the tide coming in
to wash away sin
no, i’ll keep my sin, thank you
drown in the river
when i could float
death cannot contain me
and those “sins” were so much fun

vertical words
one day
to be sinfully playful
let’s write a spell in
horizontal space
taping paper end to end
abracadabra

tonight, the witching hour own’s my sins
such a happy time to be exiled to
migraine-wonderfully dark and silent
(save for the small cat’s purring)
dark envelops like a safety blanket
mysterious as the feminine mystique
which we epitomize
in our transgenderous ubiquity

i feel you writing
aware of our togetherness
lighting the killing flame
destroying dark as well.

Som #2 - Liz's Version

Liz wrote another version for Shiney Planet/Som as per my request- hurrah!  Not written by me!

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I entreated. Peter jerked a moment at the sound of my voice then froze again in contemplation. I would have known it from the newness in the look in his distant, examining gaze, even if I hadn’t known it from the question he’d asked and already forgotten, or the weight in my pocket that was moments ago empty. Magic! The thought made me giddy.

“It’s simply iridescent.” I bubbled over with laughter at the word. Sometimes, as now, there was awe in his voice, like this was some sort of heaven, and I hoped it was for him. My favorite times were those when he tossed the word matter-of-factly as though not sure if this was really an acceptable thing for this place to be. But it was iridescent, always iridescent.

I gasped for air between peals of laughter, drawing in clouds of glinting particles instead. I coughed as heavily as I’d laughed. Always a price to be paid. He turned toward me, took a step, but I waved him off, eyes still crinkled. I found my water bottle and took a deep draft from it. His lips pulled up in the corners, a hesitant smile. “I didn’t mean to be funny.”

“You never do.” I assured him, “But that’s what makes it so funny!” I’d automatically brought my arm up, index finger outstretched. I would have tapped him on the nose to add an affectionate emphasis. Instead, I turned the movement, bringing both arms up high above my head and bending backwards to feel the pull and crack in my back.

As I brought my arms back around they brushed the bulge in my pocket. “Oh!” I gasped with sudden alarm. I brought out the darkly tinted goggles and held them out to Peter. I hadn’t realized that as I’d been looking into his eyes that I’d actually seen them and not a murky shielded version of them.

I felt the heat of his hand near mine but not touching, a different kind of heat from this place, and the lift of the weight from my palm, the soft brush of elastic as it left me. This was the closest to a caress I would ever again be allowed. I turned my head away.

Damnit! I’d lost. I usually challenged myself to see how long only he could hold my focus. I didn’t really wish to see this barren landscape. But now it was forced on me. Red everywhere, and orange and brown as well. Desolate. Even in life, I’d never cared for red, a jumpy irritable color. My Pete was the opposite, complementary my artistic training corrected, to this place with fresh mint green eyes. Maybe that’s why they always had to be hidden away from me behind those damn tinted lenses. The light here didn’t seem to actually harm his eyes as it would mine, but I couldn’t risk him. Mine would blister and liquefy. I covered them protectively with my hands, though the smoky lenses seemed to be doing their job.

“Look here!” I turned back to see Peter gesturing to an oblong bag propped against a stack of crates. “We should set up this tent and get you out of the sun.”

I sighed. It wouldn’t help. “I don’t have the energy just now.” I felt my lips draw into a pout.

There was an audible pause before he spoke. The place where a name would be. “…Better to get it done now than regret it later when it’s dark.”

“We don’t have to worry about that.” One more regret? And such a small one, too. I wanted to say it but he was being so sincere and…practical. I missed that. I couldn’t really argue with it. “It never gets dark. What would be the point?”

“Oh.” He seemed chastened and I hadn’t really meant to upset him. I walked over and tore open one cinched end of the oblong shape, revealing the insides. I dropped it and stepped back, uncapping my water bottle and taking a deep swig, hand shaking. The water was blessedly cool, the only thing here that ever was, as it ran across my tongue and down my throat, soothing. I didn’t even care about the tang of salt that remained as I wiped the residue from my lips. I would only grow thirstier later.

Peter cast me a look but took over the task of removing metal rods, twine, and black canvas from the bag. “How about I do this and you find us some instructions on how to throw this thing together, hm?”

I smiled brightly. It was amazing how easily he made me feel alright again. I didn’t even care that I wouldn’t find the instructions; that as far as I knew none had ever existed. I removed the top crate and set it aside with a spring in my step. I didn’t spare a glance for what I knew would be some logs and matches, a sort of cosmological joke. I dug through the next box and rifled around in a third.

I turned over every item, feeling the weight and texture, studying the play of light on their surfaces. I could close my eyes and make a still life study from the memory of each piece but I searched anyway. It didn’t even bother me that all our supplies had been organized as neatly as though we’d only just arrived. In a way we had only just arrived. Roots, I’d come to understand, are a privilege.

“I think I’ve actually got most of it figured out, but I could use a hand.” I turned away from my mission, content that enough time had passed that the tent was now a standing skeleton. I helped him finish it off and we collapsed inside pleased with a job well done.

The black canvas magnified the heat and pulled the sweat from our bodies making a sauna. But here the wretched goggles were unnecessary. Peter took in a gulp of the humid air, held it for a long moment, then turned to me with a familiar mischievous grin. My gut clenched in recognition of it. Peter yanked off his top and undershirt together, revealing the planes of muscle beneath and the dark thatches of hair under his arms. Then he started unfastening his pants, halting just long enough to throw that grin back my way and demand, “Well?” I giggled, caught by his fervor. We raced to get our clothes off, kicking at them and pulling. It felt illicit and daring to expose ourselves, like it had the very first time. My body knew better though and it filled with an old ache at the sight of him, my Pete.

Our chests heaved to fill our lungs as we both struggled to reclaim a steady rhythm, our eyes locked together. Puffs of dust swirled around and clung to our sweat. The mud masks for our little sauna. I wanted so badly to touch him. His eyes were hard on mine. Then they closed and looked away. I fell onto my back and stared at the ceiling of our shelter, listening to the rustle as he gathered up our discarded clothing and set it to rights in a tidy pile.

“What would you like to do?”

I focused on the black above me. “Oh, I don’t know.” I did of course, but that was forbidden.

“There must be something here to do…” There were more sounds of rustling.

“This isn’t how I thought it would be, you know?” My voice was weak and I sat up to grab my water bottle. Peter had pulled one of the crates into the shelter of the tent, digging through its contents himself. He made an inquisitive sound and I half smiled gesturing around us. “Well, I did think it would be hotter.”

He laughed. “Is that possible?” I smiled too. “Perhaps you want me to build a fire then? We’ve got the supplies right here.” He held up a hunk of wood sardonically. He dug around again and produced a wicked looking knife. “Or maybe you’d rather have a go at carving. It’d give you something to do.”

“No!” I hadn’t meant to snap like that but…I paused. “That is, we would never get the splinters out.” I flexed my palm and he seemed to accept this. I wasn’t really worried about splinters. We both knew I was quite handy with a knife after all.

Peter moved back to me but I wouldn’t let him sit right away. Instead he turned for me. Let me see each line and shape of him. I looked over his body, so smooth and rough, soft and hard, so beautiful. I told him so: “You are so, so beautiful.” He earned every cliché. His body was clean with no mark. There were no scars, no rips or tears; his blood was safe inside. He was like new, like he was before that time. He was Peter minus Anne, and I knew it wasn’t just the physical horrors I’d inflicted that had been erased. They had taken me from him.

“Let’s just…let’s just sleep, okay?”

He pursed his lips and nodded; unlike me he never bit his lip. The edge of my teeth clenched at my mouth and the familiar iron taste of the dust mixed with my saliva. “I think you should rest. I’m not really tired though. I was thinking of exploring, seeing if there’s anything useful out there.”

“Let me come with you?” There was more begging than I liked in my tone.

“Of course.” We donned our goggles but not our clothes and pushed out into the oppressive brightness.

The place was small and we circled it many times over before returning to the tent. I’d drank the salty contents of my water bottle twice over and was feeling quite woozy. We lay so close that the outline of him was like a tangible sense in my mind. I closed my eyes and let my consciousness sink into the beats of my pulse. It was comforting.

There were so many ideas of this place. So many images and epic poems. In life, when each day would descend into darkness after what I’d…after Peter, each time I had imagined a new torment.

“Hey there.” Peter was smiling, head turned to me when I opened my eyes a long while later.

I stretched, careful not to brush him. “How long was I out for?”

His lips quirked, my heart skipped. “Too long.”

I flicked some water at him playfully. I liked to see the drops land on him. It seemed like evidence that he was not a mirage but really, truly here and smiling like that at me. That smile caught and his expression became serious.

“I’m sorry I dragged you out there. It really wore you out.”

My face fell. “Please don’t apologize.”

“But I feel like it’s my fault and I should have been more considerate of you.”

“I said ‘Don’t!’” It was a bit more biting than I’d intended. “Please Peter, just don’t.”

His lips pursed. I held my breath. “I’m ashamed. I seem to have forgotten your name…”

Too soon. It always happened too soon. “Anne. My name is Anne.” And I love you. And I’m so sorry.

“Anne…” He tried the syllables on for size. It should have been the most beautiful sound; it was once. “I’m sorry to have forgotten.”

“Please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Any of it. You’ll forget it again. You always do.” I swallowed. I reached for my water bottle. Empty now though it’d been full moments before.

“But you remember?”

“Yes.” I swallowed, swallowed again. There was no relief in it.

“Why?”

“Because I,” I have to remember. So that it crushes me when I tell you. So that I relive it when your face contorts. “I killed you.”

He drew back. He had to when he realized he was inches away from his death, or the cause of it at least. But he never pulled all the way back. “Why?”

“I’m not…I don’t…” Swallow. “Does it matter?” How many times had I wondered this myself? I played it over. I ran it through so many variables that I really wasn’t sure if the version I remembered was truth or construct. Was it even my choice or had I been born to it? A predestiny of brain chemistry and circumstance?

Tears filled my eyes. He reached a hand out toward me. Stopped. He brought it up to his forehead instead. “If you…” killed me “then why am I here?”

“I don’t know!” Anguish and frustration destroyed my voice. “When I got here, you were here. You waited! For me…and I don’t know why. I don’t.” I sobbed once and pressed my clenched hands to my open mouth to prevent more. “It was so awful and they said you chose to be with me anyway. I had to come here. This is where they send the people like me.” I spat out the words. Tears were no match for the anger. “People who kill the ones they love.

Peter looked around, completely at a loss. I reached my hand out to him. “Peter…” My voice was a plea.

“Don’t touch me!” He jumped back. I snatched my arm back. His eyes were desperate. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You know we can’t…” I nodded. I should be grateful that there was the one thing he always remembered, this most important thing. But I wanted so badly to touch him.

“But how can it be that it seems like we’ve only just arrived?!” He gestured at the nearby crate, still unpacked. His tone was almost even now. Of course Pete was being calm and rational. Of course I was the one falling apart. “How long have we been here?”

“Forever and never and ever.” I felt a hysterical giggle rise up and mix with the omnipresent glitter to choke me.

People are so silly, so stupid and arrogant to think we know what this could be. Eternity. I used to think it meant all of time but now I knew better. This was eternity and eternity was no time. Nothing to connect to, to establish a linear sense of before or after. Nothing around which to build your self.

I was standing beside him and the tears couldn’t stop the horrific burning in my eyes. I grabbed the pair of goggles from around my neck and pulled them over my eyes. Peter looked at me, his lips pursed for a moment. “I’m terribly sorry to admit this but I seem to have forgotten your name.”

He looked away in embarrassment. I smoothed a hand down the odd material of my top. Behind me I knew the crates would be neatly stacked, the tent within an oblong satchel bag leaning against them.

“Anne.”

“Hmmm?” Something had caught Peter’s eye in the distance. Maybe a gust of the heat that passes for a breeze here had flung up some of the glittering cloying dirt and mesmerized him. I wasn’t sure. He stood staring off for some time, lowering his eyes against the brightness. I fumbled in my pocket for the other pair of goggles, held them out to him.

3:15 Experiment- Day Two

so much depends
on all that never was
so wonderfully refined
defined in our forgotten daydreams
about the one we loved
once, when we were high

A Reading Game

Always fun to play.  Here is my game-- I have created it, let no one else take credit!

1. Go to your nearest public library.
2. Browse the fiction shelves (conversely, you may choose genred fiction shelves, but they are all put together at my library now) for thin books.
3. Take home with you any book that is fewer than 150 pages in length.  I would probably put an end to it at about 6 books, because they really do add up in the end.  It also helps to ignore books by authors that are well-known to you (at least for this game).
4. Read the books!

There aren't really any steady rules-- if another book looks interesting, take that puppy too!  But to count for my game, they must be fewer than 150 pages, by an unknown author, and at the library, on the shelf.  The point really is that, in order to get a book published all by its lonesome that is so short (I am not counting novellas put all together in one binding), one must be quite the wonderful writer. 

I have been thus far very successful with this game, coming up with interesting tales never before touched my more famous pens.  The ones I've come across have also tended to be creepy and a bit dark.  There isn't much time for plot or character development, so you are almost always left wanting more.  But isn't that wonderful as well?  To imagine beyond the confines of the page!

I've just picked up a new batch, so let's see how they go!

"Reality"

"Reality"


The reality that

    I knew you once

We somnambled on

    Across the dreamscape

Full of glowing steam

    powered street lamps



We were a gaslight romance

    In our fiction shared

We wore goggles with green frames

    piloted mechanical monsters

with large firefly eyes

   and escape hatches in the feet


I think we watched dawn come

  comingling our bloods with gashes

How were we to know
 
    the disease-like memories of dreamspace

extend beyond the unconscious shared mind

    to plague the waking imaginations

of all the world

3:15 Experiment- Day One

August 1st

her moveable joy
tangibly tangent
he had known about
magickal creatures

but (of coure) forgot
as she too let slip
the belief in things
genius mothering

slip on a jacket
slip past the watchers
slip on the wild grass
slipping to the past

howl at the full moon
even absent new