Corvidic life: the peculiar.
Rain (known occasionally as tziganka) is a goddess. I'm sure I've mentioned this previously, but, well, that's 'cos she is. I don't know anyone else whose itinerary for our day when she discovers I've stabbed a vast hole in my arm is cafe breakfast for high-class coffee and chocolate spread, trawl london for a medkit that contains surgical needles, have cocktails, then amble London towards any further points of interest we can think of before collapsing in the nearest pub or cafe before heading home.
Thanks to Rain I not only have a surgical needle but a book on how to say charming and unlikely things in Russian like "That's totally the shit!!" or "All the time he was married he was having an affair with his secretary." or "I'm so drunk I'm gonna throw up!". This is on top of vast amounts of quite inventive swearing. I've promised to practice =)
My arm is perpetually soggy and producing vast amounts of clear goo. I'd forgotten significantly pokey wounds did that even when un-infected. I think it's a byproduct of building new flesh and skin and stuff.
Today I went to Greenwich to sit in a churchyard, read tarot and watch the world go by and maybe do some sketching; it seemed the thing to do. Half an hour in, I met the sweet crazy girl who'd chatted me up at Vagabonds last time I went. She'd apparently been abandoned, got slightly lost then followed some crows who led her to me.
She told me that my spirit shape looked like a huge gothic raven gargoyle perched on stone, glaring down at everything. I laughed, 'cos me sitting cross-legged on a church wall, leaning forward and scowling intently at passersby probably did look deeply corvidic, if only for the black clothes the hunch and the glare.
She went on to tell me that she was a warrior panther today and had obviously been sent to protect me. Metaphorical tail twitching and movements oddly cat-like she proceeded to prowl around and keep watch over me for the next few hours. It was all rather strange and had the feeling of reality worn thin. Whilst I adore any time Reality gives up and says 'y'know, fekkit, I don't care, your stories and spells and make-believe wibble can come true, I give up', panther-girl was not who I was after... Although it was both entertaining and reassuring. I often worry that my occasionally maybe-seeing-ghosts-etc an' doing magic an' shit is a slice of crazy too far. It's not.
I don't need open portals to sleep, I'm not a reincarnated Egyptian princess and faery queen both-at-once and I'm not a pathfinder psychonaught who lives in eleven dimensions simultaneously and rebalances the universe by speaking to dragons. And frankly if it IS a job the universe actually requires doing, I'm glad it's not me, I can barely cope with my level of crazy as it is =P
Since coming back home I've started the drawing I meant to do earlier and am really quite pleased.
I can draw! Who knew? Nope, not me.
Thanks to Rain I not only have a surgical needle but a book on how to say charming and unlikely things in Russian like "That's totally the shit!!" or "All the time he was married he was having an affair with his secretary." or "I'm so drunk I'm gonna throw up!". This is on top of vast amounts of quite inventive swearing. I've promised to practice =)
My arm is perpetually soggy and producing vast amounts of clear goo. I'd forgotten significantly pokey wounds did that even when un-infected. I think it's a byproduct of building new flesh and skin and stuff.
Today I went to Greenwich to sit in a churchyard, read tarot and watch the world go by and maybe do some sketching; it seemed the thing to do. Half an hour in, I met the sweet crazy girl who'd chatted me up at Vagabonds last time I went. She'd apparently been abandoned, got slightly lost then followed some crows who led her to me.
She told me that my spirit shape looked like a huge gothic raven gargoyle perched on stone, glaring down at everything. I laughed, 'cos me sitting cross-legged on a church wall, leaning forward and scowling intently at passersby probably did look deeply corvidic, if only for the black clothes the hunch and the glare.
She went on to tell me that she was a warrior panther today and had obviously been sent to protect me. Metaphorical tail twitching and movements oddly cat-like she proceeded to prowl around and keep watch over me for the next few hours. It was all rather strange and had the feeling of reality worn thin. Whilst I adore any time Reality gives up and says 'y'know, fekkit, I don't care, your stories and spells and make-believe wibble can come true, I give up', panther-girl was not who I was after... Although it was both entertaining and reassuring. I often worry that my occasionally maybe-seeing-ghosts-etc an' doing magic an' shit is a slice of crazy too far. It's not.
I don't need open portals to sleep, I'm not a reincarnated Egyptian princess and faery queen both-at-once and I'm not a pathfinder psychonaught who lives in eleven dimensions simultaneously and rebalances the universe by speaking to dragons. And frankly if it IS a job the universe actually requires doing, I'm glad it's not me, I can barely cope with my level of crazy as it is =P
Since coming back home I've started the drawing I meant to do earlier and am really quite pleased.
I can draw! Who knew? Nope, not me.