"Out here the good girls die...
Now Cinderella don't you go to sleep
It's such a bitter form of refuge
Well don't you know the kingdom's under siege
And everybody needs you?"
My neurons are still in their 'manic' phase.* This tends to happen after a night of mortality beckoning badness. (Ye-eesss, I know, the fact that I'm having manic phases does point towards my brain chemistry still being fekked. And at some point soon I will once again run off the edge of a cliff I didn't realise was there. But for now I best try to make use of the artistic energy.)
My ebay account is like some grand battle field with possible victories and casualties marked in green and red. I rather wish there was a way to delete things off one's 'bid list' if I've been outbid and have given that one up for dead - it would make accounting and (to stretch the vague metaphor) quartermaster duties so much easier. Ah well. Over the next two weeks I will acquire some assortment of tat and trinkets to pull apart and re-fashion into steampunk, piratical, weird-west and vampire saint relic jewellery.
I've also been writing more Arizona Tarot, but it's all end-of-deck stuff. I need Blade to write some cards, or to have another floor party so I can remind my neurons exactly how our banter goes. That and Blade is darling and far more intelligent than I and always gives me ten thousand bon-mots and story sparks.
Trying to tell my father how my week in London had gone was fun. "Oh - I had a very interesting week - there was buying the Consumption bottle, then there was... uh, no. Oh, then there was... mm, maybe not. There was the crazy bit where I... and the universe... Hm. Never mind." Although he told me that one of his business-type-friends who had visited a few weeks back when I was here described me as, "Etherial. With a dark side." Which is kinda cool and frankly far nicer than a lot of things that anyone with any sense would have said.
Also, since I'm recounting the petting of my ego, my father apparently had a conversation with my bother's lovely lady Anya about why the neuron-niece was so taken with me. Anya said it was because when I engage with a sprogling I like I unreservedly give them every ounce of my attention, which adults don't tend to, and the sprogling knows. (So I'd be the best mother ever, they say. Hahahahahahaha. No, because if I'm ever a mother I'll be thrice as distracted, crazy, vexed and perplexed as they.) I maintain it's all just to do with neurons and matching colours, but hey-ho.
I have no idea how long I'm here before returning London ways; all plans are apparently in flux.
At Neil's houseleaving party I was gifted some amazingly thin cigarettes. They're lush. I'm rather glad I have no idea where to get any more else my chances of dying of something scanky would go up 1000%. Still. Mmmmm.
*= This is like when I have whimsey. Erm. But lots worse (or better. whatever.)
EDIT: I hate money. Paypal has just sneered at my card for a tenner's worth of tat. Why? No idea. My card claims it's fine and I have stupid amounts of inadvisable credit before it throws a strop. I am confused. And apparently magically broke for no reason I can find. And I can't check my bank 'cos the stupid security calculator pin whatthefuck is at home. Fuck. *extreme sadlyfoxears* Chainsmoking cigarettes would be inadvisable, right?
"Is there still magic in the midnight sun
Or did you leave it back in '61?
In the cadence of a young man's eyes
Out where the dreams all hide..."
It's such a bitter form of refuge
Well don't you know the kingdom's under siege
And everybody needs you?"
My neurons are still in their 'manic' phase.* This tends to happen after a night of mortality beckoning badness. (Ye-eesss, I know, the fact that I'm having manic phases does point towards my brain chemistry still being fekked. And at some point soon I will once again run off the edge of a cliff I didn't realise was there. But for now I best try to make use of the artistic energy.)
My ebay account is like some grand battle field with possible victories and casualties marked in green and red. I rather wish there was a way to delete things off one's 'bid list' if I've been outbid and have given that one up for dead - it would make accounting and (to stretch the vague metaphor) quartermaster duties so much easier. Ah well. Over the next two weeks I will acquire some assortment of tat and trinkets to pull apart and re-fashion into steampunk, piratical, weird-west and vampire saint relic jewellery.
I've also been writing more Arizona Tarot, but it's all end-of-deck stuff. I need Blade to write some cards, or to have another floor party so I can remind my neurons exactly how our banter goes. That and Blade is darling and far more intelligent than I and always gives me ten thousand bon-mots and story sparks.
Trying to tell my father how my week in London had gone was fun. "Oh - I had a very interesting week - there was buying the Consumption bottle, then there was... uh, no. Oh, then there was... mm, maybe not. There was the crazy bit where I... and the universe... Hm. Never mind." Although he told me that one of his business-type-friends who had visited a few weeks back when I was here described me as, "Etherial. With a dark side." Which is kinda cool and frankly far nicer than a lot of things that anyone with any sense would have said.
Also, since I'm recounting the petting of my ego, my father apparently had a conversation with my bother's lovely lady Anya about why the neuron-niece was so taken with me. Anya said it was because when I engage with a sprogling I like I unreservedly give them every ounce of my attention, which adults don't tend to, and the sprogling knows. (So I'd be the best mother ever, they say. Hahahahahahaha. No, because if I'm ever a mother I'll be thrice as distracted, crazy, vexed and perplexed as they.) I maintain it's all just to do with neurons and matching colours, but hey-ho.
I have no idea how long I'm here before returning London ways; all plans are apparently in flux.
At Neil's houseleaving party I was gifted some amazingly thin cigarettes. They're lush. I'm rather glad I have no idea where to get any more else my chances of dying of something scanky would go up 1000%. Still. Mmmmm.
*= This is like when I have whimsey. Erm. But lots worse (or better. whatever.)
EDIT: I hate money. Paypal has just sneered at my card for a tenner's worth of tat. Why? No idea. My card claims it's fine and I have stupid amounts of inadvisable credit before it throws a strop. I am confused. And apparently magically broke for no reason I can find. And I can't check my bank 'cos the stupid security calculator pin whatthefuck is at home. Fuck. *extreme sadlyfoxears* Chainsmoking cigarettes would be inadvisable, right?
"Is there still magic in the midnight sun
Or did you leave it back in '61?
In the cadence of a young man's eyes
Out where the dreams all hide..."