Underspoken in both official languages

Yawny tawny mess. Thigh high socks?

Mon, 14 Jan 2008 10:34:17 GMT

It's possible, probable that I thought much too hard on the issue and missed the more poignant points. Unfortunately, I have no claws. Or wisdom teeth. So about all I can do is attach on pesky pieces to the end of my fingers and fake it all the way to the bank. Or the bar, the zoo, the casino, the park. You know me; so various, so diverse, so caught up in a mess of alternate worlds. But I burrow my whole body in, instead of claws, because the truth is, I don't want to scratch you, mar you, mix you up and around.

Ahhh, little lies - I want you so mixed up your head is looking over your shoulder in the opposite direction you're headed, but I'm not mean enough to try. You are though. But I live, I take it in, filter out some of it, other parts get through the sieve. My lies, your lies, someones disguise, I said what I want and I only remember part of what I said, but the troublesome trouble is when you get what you want, we know that. So I dress up as some best behaved bear, beg you to hurt me and pull my hair, but it's rough and tough luck, the life as a claw-less bear. Less for this, or more, guileless and distressed, miss tress of some mystery of bliss, and you know this, but however behaved, I'm as bare a bear as they come.

I'll be the one to hold the gun.

Thu, 20 Dec 2007 12:25:12 GMT

I've been thinking a bit about being in different places at different times, yet in the same location. Around this time last year, I was in Victoria, with a new, now old, boyfriend. Months before that, in the summer, I was caged and bony, the flesh dripping off me like melting wax, my substance swirling into something sordid and sorry. I was veritably lost, running down the street, with bruised eyes throbbing, my bare feet tearing the concrete, and nobody nice at my heels. All my own fault, too. But that's something you just have to toss a wry eyebrow back at, because it's no. matter. anyways. Not right now, at least.

The biggest worry was, would I become jaded? Only I already was, in my instability. The tumult carrying on night after night, my edges hardening. Now, quarter after four in the morning, I know more than I knew before. Instead of encorporating the knowledge in, letting it seep in and out of my pores, never far enough away to escape, I let it flow freely through me like a screen, and catch all the best bits. The most attractive wits, the dirtiest lips - mmmm - and that's the dirtiest clean I know.

About as jaded as the warmth your body, so flush with this it's throbbing.

Are you looking for the motherload?

Tue, 18 Dec 2007 22:00:14 GMT

I might go crazy.

I can't do this anymore. The low, long-standing whine in your voice burrows in my brain and brings me so hard it's brilliant, right into this, right out of bliss, and you get rocked by this, but all I need is about 2 seconds of quiet. I can remember your body bare and all the bulges and discrepancies on the supposed, sorry yet perfect form. You know mine too. But beside you I am bristling with energy out of every pore, letting circumstance guide me, but fortitude breathe me in. My flesh is speckled with bruises and sin, yours with pity and missing your win. Just face it - in the ebb and flow, if you don't sometimes give in, you never win. In this game, listen hard, fight to hear about the din, and find that plateau to leap from, find someone else, anybody else.

No, my child, this is not my desire.

Blast it all.

Sat, 15 Dec 2007 12:27:44 GMT

It always ends like this, or in some version of this, unless it doesn't. Perhaps I orchestrate it to be so, subconsciously directing things to go impossibly just so I don't have to cope with the easiest versions of life. My right fingers are so cold; the left arm warmed by the beating of the heart, it's dulled by reality by the time the warmth can hit my right, the practicality has caused all warmth to wane and fade. I shiver, become brittle with the bitterness, crinkle my nose at the circumstances.

Best Behaved Bear.

Wed, 12 Dec 2007 12:52:50 GMT

So, I'm on my best behavior, an anomaly, I know. For a week and then some. Electrolytes out in full force, complaining that they need a rest. Sink into some sin, misbehave and breath the sweetness of my wiley guile. Morning stretches on, and I'm still here. Dismay at the lack of limbs locking limbs, my heart limber and bitter at my empty inbox, knuckles locked and minds guns cocked at your karma.

Best behaved bear, but not better than biology. My anchors fell wide, they didn't stem from me. Rather, they're rootless, grounded and unfounded, floundering in some other - your other, begrudged, sea, unsteady and ready to float plain away.

Not better than biology - not yet. Are you laying down next to her willow-wisp body, so slight in the curve of your mountainous mass.

Being a server in a restaurant sucks.

Sat, 08 Dec 2007 09:12:52 GMT

The clink of the coin on the laminate counter-top, the clinkety-clink-clink-clink. The frustration in my fingers as they feel out the numbers, feeding them fraction by fraction into the machine. All my night mounting on money and more so the lowering mad frequencies, of all of this neediness, the petty refrain of small change, digits that day by day draw out my rage. My insides curdle, sour milk, bitter yogurt, blue cheese, groan against lining, walls, organs, hampering for financials too desperate to appease.

It's in the flesh-seeks-flesh-seeks-home.

Wed, 05 Dec 2007 23:32:32 GMT

My room is scattered with clothes and half empty bottles of water. I'm trying to drink them, even though the idea is that they're stale, perhaps even rotten. I don't think water rots, though, so it'll hopeful just be good for my character and less wasteful than opening yet another. The downside is that two of them so far have been hard liquor, not water. Illness.

I've been worn out and uninspired lately. I hope this is because I'm feeling shackled by the debt I've incurred, which is substantial considering my income and so on and so on and. But I'll deal with it and grow some grumpy lines, get my face into a real grimace over it all. Then I'll smile and split the lines in two, in two again, become something new and chase my dogs down because they picked up something they shouldn't have again. They'll stare at me, two four legged princes and my smile will break my face in four times two, and my heart will burst into a smile itself.

I'm not quite corrupt, but close enough for it to count. Desperation makes you crazy, but apathy is. Well, who knows? I'm terrible at apathy. It's an idea. On the dichotomy, I'd say it's the opposite of a floating zoo, of sex in bath tubs filled with ice, lightning struck victims and the smell of burning fles. It's the synonym to wings clipped under a muddy brown trench coat, routine of the spark in a dinner date that happens once a week, same meal, no new feats between the sheets.

So, I'm running fake now down the avenue, a pivotal return, just to come home after you.

I'm disgusting.

Sat, 01 Dec 2007 20:14:42 GMT

Last night I had a girl's night at the good old Blarneystone. It was fun, I think. Beer was consumed in copious amounts, voluminous cheap beer. Ahhh, the liquid of the Goddesses. Not really, it was Kokanee on special and I'm poor. I entered the bar on this note.

Doorman: "Would you mind opening that water bottle and letting me smell what's inside?"
Yours truly, straight out of Surrey: "No, that's all right, it's vodka in there, you can keep it!"

Flit directly inside before I can feel his judgement eyes upon me.

I don't think I'd be so poor if I didn't lose something every time I go to the bar, without fail. But, there's always something to be said for consistency. Just, ack, it might have been my darling pink camera this time. I remember it being stolen in the worst way, but this may be a dream. Some man was taking a picture of me with it, and then I might have said "You have a PINK camera too?" and stared at him with incredulation. Upon which he kept my camera.

If this did indeed go down - the bastard.

Then when I woke up, there were four empty cans of coke in my room, as there always are when I get drunk. I don't even drink pop. Four cans is killing my insides. They are a nail in a cup dissolving, except intestines and kidneys and livers and arteries and a diamong ring and a heart full of good intentions missing a pink camera with pictures of me on it that are sure to be absolutely drunk-fab.

So today I'm disgusting and I slipped on the ice.

Oh, again.

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 07:36:33 GMT

Debt is really uninspiring. Schedules, and commutes also fall into that drab category.

But I've been reading more than I've been eating. Nourishment for the soul. Maybe I'll get out of my crouched position, on this November night, and wander the streets for an hour, just to put some fear in my heart and jump start my system. Nothing makes you get further than the thought that those footsteps you hear falling into puddles might not be the echo of your own. A little adrenaline, a little appreciation for the norm. Just since I'm not kite a runner, not privy to all the inner workings of zoos, and I"ve never cringed inwardly as I turned the corner onto a gaggle of Gestapo. Drug runner, privy to the inner workings of an empty 26, and cringing visibly as I rise over the ridge and see a batch of god-Awful boys. The straight and narrow holds little appeal, the sordid workings of the sweet escape, the big easy, so much softer on the old curbside, in the window's display.

Nothing glitters quite like an instant.

Oh, non-lover, how weird are you?

Fri, 09 Nov 2007 09:04:30 GMT

I should curl up like a little bear and hibernate on the corner of the couch. Us little bears are the worst bears, believe me. But only when we can commit our little rebellions, like being on this couch, until we get cold and crawl under his covers, even shudder up next to his warm leg everso slightly. Ahhh, defeat, and it's sweet, but violent in how sour it makes my insides go.

I'm longing to be just a touch too much, to enjoy the absoluteness of dissoluteness, just some supreme, ungrounded gamine. When I flew off tomorrow on the wings on another, to Morocco and more so,

So and so and so it is.

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 14:03:52 GMT

I 'm clutching at wolves here.

Oh, I shudder to think...

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 13:40:05 GMT

I could re-work all the words I've ever dropped, and in the flash of the fire they felt like bombs out my fingers. Either that, or some sparkle, and let me remind you - all that glitters is probably sordid, depraved, and grey in it's obscurity. I could rearrange poems until the memory of them ached out my ears, and I clutched my hands over them so as not to lose anything. I wouldn't want to, that's for sure, since it seems like somewhere along the way, I ran out. This is the remainder, the lame left-behind soldiers that nobody wanted, until a hundred years later, we longed harder for grandparents, as if they might offer some last link to security, to some piece of me-me-me. Maybe, who knows?

Mon, 09 Jan 2006 11:44:22 GMT

Steve passed away on the 28th.

I never update this, but I feel like I need to say it a million times, to anyone who will listen.

I don't want to blabber out all my feelings, every miniscule detail of my pain, my broken heart on my sleeve. I just want to say that he was a wonderful boyfriend, and like everyone says about us "He met his match." I couldn't be more lucky to have been so perfectly paired for the past year, which has been the happiest one of my life.

I've never been religious, but this has caused some serious soul-searching, and I think he's around. Everytime I take a shower, I realise "Yup, he's probably here" and spin around with a smile, thinking maybe I'll catch a glimpse of him.

He had a beautiful soul, always smiling, 24 hours a day, making us laugh.

Steve : "Erin, you can only ever be mildly funny, because I'm hilarious."

Tue, 06 Dec 2005 08:14:14 GMT

Immune to this onslaught against my vitamins.

In the shrine of shopping, we engage. To be sweet, curled, loved in turn and lost, thrown, fucked over in turn. Burned up and down, from scalp to shoe, to falsely wear the gloss from magazines. Killing cells one by one, like a mad-minded ailing child, held breath inside. The mixed beats of the day bear in, burrow like hissing beetles that fly in your face.

Tue, 29 Nov 2005 08:31:56 GMT

Ginger salve, peaked corners of chapped mouths, gaping full open, charged electric with fatuous lies.

I'm out of practice.

My mind wraps slim around a pen and chokes fast on air.

Even though I played the strings of your eyelashes for music, everything hung chaotic and discordant in the air. The canvas weak, the cause waned.

Thu, 27 Oct 2005 21:03:21 GMT

Somebody posted their suicide letter on their livejournal.

It's Scott's friend.

It's very sad.

This is my livejournal tribute to him, even though I never knew him. Livejournal respect, man.

Thu, 06 Oct 2005 08:40:53 GMT

I never update this, even just for the sake of updating. I have certain expectations of how I should write in here, I suppose.

Gibberish!

And I'm uninspired. I'd much rather ramble, lately.

So not holistic of me.

Sat, 06 Aug 2005 04:32:17 GMT

Haven't written in awhile. I've been more faithful to my other journal, where I persist in whining about my financial situation. But I've given up on that - just let the water run through your hands, don't try to catch it.

;)

So today I bought a new dress and a new bathing suit, as well as like, a gun holster for my cell phone. Fuck tha rent that is half my monthly wages.

I also pretty much got a new job bartending at Charlie Don't Surf. It'll be classy, laid-back and good money, right on the beach. I can't wait. The dress code is better than Moxie's - I don't have to be a slut in the bar. Just have to figure out the particulars of transportation and then it's set. Steve's worried that I'll meet hot guys there and the first thing Christina said when I told her was "Do you know how many hot guys you'll meet?"

Luckily I don't care whether they're hot or not. It's always interesting to have incomprehensible standards. At least they're there!

Katie, I had a dream about you. We were running through this forest, only I was in slow-mo and you kept yelling about these bugs. Then we stopped by this cage of evil kittens, only one of them was good so we were going to save him, and had to pry these crazy bugs off us. We opened the cage to get the good kitten, but the rest escaped too and one turned into a rooster that started having a peck-to-the-death match with a nearby pigeon-type bird.

Then you found a convertible, and we got in and left.

It was pretty insane.

Tue, 05 Jul 2005 23:26:41 GMT

I was on call at 4 today, but they weren't supposed to call me in because theres already two girls working. Alas, one called in sick, and when I found out I'd have to work, I started crying. Unfortunately, my Dad says I can't quit until I find another job. But who is he, anyways? I'm unhappy.

Mon, 20 Jun 2005 08:42:24 GMT

Yesterday, at work, I watered the plastic hedges on the patio. They looked so real.

Sun, 19 Jun 2005 08:49:27 GMT

"Howard Hughes was able to afford the luxury of madness, like a man who not only thinks he is Napoleon but hires an army to prove it."

-Ted Morgan-

I watched The Aviator tonight, and then this quote just happened to come into my inbox through the daily quotations e-mail. What a weird coincidence. I liked the movie though, although I'd expected it to be more romantic. Fair Leonardo may always carry that stigma, even though more than half the time, he's acting as a retard or a crazy person. And insane, indeed! This Hughes guy was a nutbag and a half. The part I like is when the women come to help him when he's down, and one says "You'd do it for me." I'm not sure he'd have fallen for you if you were as looney as him, girlie, although I might just be unfair.

Last night at dinner my sister told my whole family, while I wasn't there, that her current beau "is better than anyone Erin's ever had."

Thu, 16 Jun 2005 19:18:03 GMT

I'm feeing pretty complacent.

I spent the past two days at the beach, with my dog.

Yesterday at work was fantastic. I find the longer I'm there, the easier it gets to get along with people, especially managers. Let's face it, the place is not a haven of kindness. I feel like I've been furiously trying to play catch up and dodge bullets every day since I got there, but yesterday was for the most part, pretty chill.

Pervert in sunglasses.

Tue, 14 Jun 2005 07:37:11 GMT

I had a really weird dream this morning.

I was being chased by giant black dogs, then this old manager from Moxie's who got fired for stealing alcohol pulled up next to me in a speed boat. I jumped in, opened the secret compartment for a life jacket in case I fell off the helicopter ladder dangling above me, into the water. Steve was in there instead, so he jumped on my back and we flew to Jamaica, where we were dropped off into tall grass and guns shooting. An old man threw me into a bare patch of grass, like abstract crop circles, to hide with the other 8 to 10 year olds. Oh, I was 8 to 10 years old, but with boobs. Then these men with guns started asking all of us where we were from, and the old man told me to lie. He wanted me to say a very specific place in Africa, but he didn't have enough time to tell me a name of a city before he was shot. The dangerous men only wanted children. All the other little brats named all the African countries until I couldn't think of anymore, and the ones who named non-African countries got shot. The man asking the question was very handsome and debonair, so when he came to me, I was all flustered and said Jamaica. He thought I was cute, so he let me live even though he knew I was lying.

Then, all of us kids got given candy to make us grateful to our captors, and drugs, to make us numb to the situation. I was sort of screwed because all of the other kids actually were from Africa and none of them knew english so I had nobody to talk to, except for the handsome man. But me and the other kids had fun walking in the grass all crooked going "Wooo, I'm having fun" because that's what the drugs we were given made us do. One day, the boss man took me for a walk around the perimeter of our territory, and his pager went off. He said "Oh, fuck" because it was a job, and I was the only child close enough to do it. He said fuck because I was his favorite and he was worried I'd die.

Anyways, we were all being held in mind control with the drugs to be child killers. I was supposed to go kill this pedophile, who was the fat Gourmet off of the Harvest Moon video game. The boss man's brother brought in some girl before me, but the gourmet didn't like her, so he shot her and the boss man's brother. He took it rather mildly and sent me in anyways. I saw Steve up on a ridge and thought about trying to escape but a lot of guns were pointing at me. I was really scared of the pedophile, so I offered him a massage and stabbed him in the back.

Then I woke up, and my cat was stuck in the roof above my bed.

Steve says I'm a creep. I swear though, you can't really help your dreams. They're like music videos by warped Europeans. Tatu, for example, how they're always trapped or running and it's so terrible, with funky beats and cute outfits. And I did see Mr. and Mrs. Smith the other day, as well as eating enchiladas before bed.

Hmm. But maybe I am a creep.

Sun, 12 Jun 2005 08:17:55 GMT

Well, thanks to dollar beers, I lost my purse again. There's really only one place I could have left it, and it's apparently not there. So either the guy is too much of a fucker to actually check his house or someone stole it that night.

For reasons like this I want to quit drinking...

It's my weekly ritual to get drunk and lose my stuff.

Report Card - Incomplete.

Wed, 08 Jun 2005 18:34:45 GMT

My work is an asshole.

June 7 - 6:30
June 8 - 4, On call
June 9 - 10, On call and 4, On call
June 10 - 6
June 11 - 4, On call
June 12 - 4, On call

And repeat that for the following week.

On Monday's I work for Miguel, so I now work 7 days a week. Some days I might come in and work 2 whole hours, then get sent home. This job is bullshit. They said that possibly after they cycle the 5 new hostesses through training, then I can be trained as a server. We need these 5 new hostesses because the old ones keep quitting, and I might as well.

I made more money flipping burgers at McDonald's, and got more respect. At least there they don't force you to whore yourself in tight black clothes.

The Good News - yesterday we bought martini glasses, a shaker, and cranberry mix. So I got to drink cosmopolitans all night like Carrie off Sex and the City.