have a seat while I take to the sky
I'm back in Chicago, much renewed and no-longer sniffly, and harboring many plans to make my life more beautiful and healthy. Have not really been on LJ for awhile, and may be intermittent in the next bit as there are comic books and novels to be read, and bad matinees to attend with friends, and an apartment to clean and decorate before the quarter begins. But then, I'm lame and I'm always saying, "Hey, I'm going away!" and then spamming anyway. So.
Lately, I think I may be addicted to nostalgia--lately it's been all about rereading Sandman comics and Tori Amos and chocolate and tea. Oh, and remembering and writing down completely random details from my childhood, and dredging up crazy shit we did in high school with my friends back home. Speaking of nostalgia, I think I may have to stalk Yuletide--just looking at the list of fandoms makes me giddy. Say Anything!!! Anne of Green Gables!!!!
Piece of advice: if you ever find yourself overdosing on Dexter alone in your apartment until you become jumpy, drink hot chocolate. It helps.
1. Damn, Michael C. Hall is an amazing actor. Seriously.
2. Creepiest thing about this show to me? The fact that it has some of the most human, real-seeming sex scenes I've ever witnessed on screen. Involving serial killers. *wide eyes*
And now, a random orig!fic mini-fairytale written in less than half an hour at 3 AM:
Dream Friends
*****
When she was a little girl, she spent more time with books than other children. Learned to read before she could see over the teller’s counter with her mother at the bank. She didn’t speak often, and there were so many words she understood only by looking, by tasting them in her mind, and as she grew older she learned that she’d been pronouncing them incorrectly.
But she couldn’t let go of the way they sounded in her head-when the syllables were only hers.
She used to walk out in the woods by herself, dry leaves crunching under galoshes, mud on her skirts and long underwear. She made fairy houses out of flowers, poking petals with small, sharp sticks, discarding them after so she wouldn’t have to see them turn brown and dead.
She wished for playmates who wouldn’t find her blushing shyness strange, or tease about her hand-me-down sweaters. They came to her while she slept. A boy and girl with long, dark hair so different from hers-blonde, insubstantial, wisping over freckles and blue-gray eyes.
The three of them were perfect together, more real than waking. Picnics and special code names. A thousand and one games to play. She taught them her secrets. Everything was so fine then. Simple.
She grew older and sleeping became difficult, a struggle to enter and to leave. But she dreamt now while conscious, striving to channel her fantasies. She talked more, trying to let the words come out, but they were always better on paper. Better still in pure dreaming, when she could say the same thing as many ways as she wanted in languages that maybe didn’t exist.
Teach me to dance again, she pleaded to the girl. Her legs had grown too long, her hips too wide, and she didn’t know the steps anymore. Everything was all mixed-up.
Shhh, it’s okay, her dream friends whispered, sandwiching her between their swaying bodies, never awkward, even though they grew as she did. And it was.
In the daytime, she was taller than her mother, breasts a cup size larger. She hated it-being bigger than she was when her eyes were closed.
Teach me about kisses, she asked the boy, feeling bold. He laughed and pulled her closer, and she was pleased to discover that he’d grown tall enough that she could tuck the top of her head beneath his chin. When she woke, it was sticky and hot between her thighs. Her heart was thumping; sweat trickled under flannel bedclothes.
She thought of his lips when she made it happen again by herself, and waking pleasure was almost as good. A satisfying echo, filled with blood and heat.
I know about these things too, said the girl, and her mouth was sweet, more honeysuckle than her brother’s, less spicy-cinnamon. Leaning down for these caresses gave her a thrill, different, but she liked it that way.
As she grew older still, she began to dream of other people, some she’d met, others she invented whole cloth or borrowed. There were adventures. Some autobiographical star turns-others she just watched, orchestrating.
She worried they’d be angry, but though their visits were less frequent, there were always smiles when they came-the tears were hers, but she learned to laugh through them.
One day she realized it’d been months, maybe years, since she’d last seen them, and she mourned. She worried that daytime things had exorcised her muses-bills and lists and have-tos were taking up too much space. The three of them never played games like that.
Desperate with loss, she built shrines on notebook pages, scribbled on the train, making time.
It worked. The boy-a man now, skin still soft-looked down at her and smiled; the girl looked up. They joined hands in a triad and spun together in dizzy-making circles, her head flung back..
Tell us your stories, they shouted. We’re always listening.
Okay! she agreed, out-of-breath and happy. Okay, I’ll try.
You will, they answered, loud and singing.
She woke-feeling like both woman and girl-with hope.
*****
Hmmmm, that might embarrass me in the morning. OH WELL. And heh, between this and the Weird, angsty Faith christmas fic, I seem to be interested in the troubles and travails of teenage-girlhood. You know, even for girls who aren't demon-hunter/slayer spawn.
Oh! And here's a wee present. I've been a Tori Amos fangirl for um, 15 years now so it's hard to pick a favorite song, but here's one that not everyone's heard that I have just always loved, especially due to the "fanon" that it was originally just a recording of her fucking around in the studio when she didn't know the equipment was still on. Take to the Sky.
YES, I wore green Doc Marten boots and ripped up red fishnets and antique velvet dresses to high school. OKAY. I also wore babydoll dresses over jeans. It was the nineties! *hides*
ETA: Man, upon glancing over this post, I have to say, I am such a fuckin' GIRL. Haha.
ETA again: brandil and miss_begonia, my mailbox was such a happy place when I came back from my travels, thanks to YOU. I'm sorry I am so flaily and lame, but you guys are AWESOME. And amybnnyc, thank you for the mistletoe on my user page! *smooches you up* MUCH LOVE, el jay, MUCH LOVE. :)
Lately, I think I may be addicted to nostalgia--lately it's been all about rereading Sandman comics and Tori Amos and chocolate and tea. Oh, and remembering and writing down completely random details from my childhood, and dredging up crazy shit we did in high school with my friends back home. Speaking of nostalgia, I think I may have to stalk Yuletide--just looking at the list of fandoms makes me giddy. Say Anything!!! Anne of Green Gables!!!!
Piece of advice: if you ever find yourself overdosing on Dexter alone in your apartment until you become jumpy, drink hot chocolate. It helps.
1. Damn, Michael C. Hall is an amazing actor. Seriously.
2. Creepiest thing about this show to me? The fact that it has some of the most human, real-seeming sex scenes I've ever witnessed on screen. Involving serial killers. *wide eyes*
And now, a random orig!fic mini-fairytale written in less than half an hour at 3 AM:
Dream Friends
*****
When she was a little girl, she spent more time with books than other children. Learned to read before she could see over the teller’s counter with her mother at the bank. She didn’t speak often, and there were so many words she understood only by looking, by tasting them in her mind, and as she grew older she learned that she’d been pronouncing them incorrectly.
But she couldn’t let go of the way they sounded in her head-when the syllables were only hers.
She used to walk out in the woods by herself, dry leaves crunching under galoshes, mud on her skirts and long underwear. She made fairy houses out of flowers, poking petals with small, sharp sticks, discarding them after so she wouldn’t have to see them turn brown and dead.
She wished for playmates who wouldn’t find her blushing shyness strange, or tease about her hand-me-down sweaters. They came to her while she slept. A boy and girl with long, dark hair so different from hers-blonde, insubstantial, wisping over freckles and blue-gray eyes.
The three of them were perfect together, more real than waking. Picnics and special code names. A thousand and one games to play. She taught them her secrets. Everything was so fine then. Simple.
She grew older and sleeping became difficult, a struggle to enter and to leave. But she dreamt now while conscious, striving to channel her fantasies. She talked more, trying to let the words come out, but they were always better on paper. Better still in pure dreaming, when she could say the same thing as many ways as she wanted in languages that maybe didn’t exist.
Teach me to dance again, she pleaded to the girl. Her legs had grown too long, her hips too wide, and she didn’t know the steps anymore. Everything was all mixed-up.
Shhh, it’s okay, her dream friends whispered, sandwiching her between their swaying bodies, never awkward, even though they grew as she did. And it was.
In the daytime, she was taller than her mother, breasts a cup size larger. She hated it-being bigger than she was when her eyes were closed.
Teach me about kisses, she asked the boy, feeling bold. He laughed and pulled her closer, and she was pleased to discover that he’d grown tall enough that she could tuck the top of her head beneath his chin. When she woke, it was sticky and hot between her thighs. Her heart was thumping; sweat trickled under flannel bedclothes.
She thought of his lips when she made it happen again by herself, and waking pleasure was almost as good. A satisfying echo, filled with blood and heat.
I know about these things too, said the girl, and her mouth was sweet, more honeysuckle than her brother’s, less spicy-cinnamon. Leaning down for these caresses gave her a thrill, different, but she liked it that way.
As she grew older still, she began to dream of other people, some she’d met, others she invented whole cloth or borrowed. There were adventures. Some autobiographical star turns-others she just watched, orchestrating.
She worried they’d be angry, but though their visits were less frequent, there were always smiles when they came-the tears were hers, but she learned to laugh through them.
One day she realized it’d been months, maybe years, since she’d last seen them, and she mourned. She worried that daytime things had exorcised her muses-bills and lists and have-tos were taking up too much space. The three of them never played games like that.
Desperate with loss, she built shrines on notebook pages, scribbled on the train, making time.
It worked. The boy-a man now, skin still soft-looked down at her and smiled; the girl looked up. They joined hands in a triad and spun together in dizzy-making circles, her head flung back..
Tell us your stories, they shouted. We’re always listening.
Okay! she agreed, out-of-breath and happy. Okay, I’ll try.
You will, they answered, loud and singing.
She woke-feeling like both woman and girl-with hope.
*****
Hmmmm, that might embarrass me in the morning. OH WELL. And heh, between this and the Weird, angsty Faith christmas fic, I seem to be interested in the troubles and travails of teenage-girlhood. You know, even for girls who aren't demon-hunter/slayer spawn.
Oh! And here's a wee present. I've been a Tori Amos fangirl for um, 15 years now so it's hard to pick a favorite song, but here's one that not everyone's heard that I have just always loved, especially due to the "fanon" that it was originally just a recording of her fucking around in the studio when she didn't know the equipment was still on. Take to the Sky.
YES, I wore green Doc Marten boots and ripped up red fishnets and antique velvet dresses to high school. OKAY. I also wore babydoll dresses over jeans. It was the nineties! *hides*
ETA: Man, upon glancing over this post, I have to say, I am such a fuckin' GIRL. Haha.
ETA again: brandil and miss_begonia, my mailbox was such a happy place when I came back from my travels, thanks to YOU. I'm sorry I am so flaily and lame, but you guys are AWESOME. And amybnnyc, thank you for the mistletoe on my user page! *smooches you up* MUCH LOVE, el jay, MUCH LOVE. :)