May. 30th, 2010

concretekiss: (Default)
1. The choir concert was amazing and magical and glorious. For about a week I would get home from traffic control in a soil yard, covered in sunblock and compost, hose myself off and race to rehearsal to sing with a professional symphony orchestra none the wiser. The reward last Saturday was a 5 minute standing ovation, and my well-used voice wrecked and husky as Kathleen Turner's.

2. I do not approve of the new guy hairstyles where it's all swooshed forward like they've been bobbin for apples.

3. It is caterpillar season at work )

4. There is a man named Geert Goiris who takes intensely arresting photographs of desolate and abandoned places. I am riveted. They are lovely and tragic at once. Get moved.

5. After my whole life, I might decide that I like Tom Waits but don't gloat or I will change my mind because I am spiteful!

6. guillotine - named after French physicist Joseph-Ignace Guillotin who tried to convince executioners in France to use a more humane method of capital punishment.

boycott - named after Captain Charles Boycott, "the estate agent of an absentee landlord, the Earl Erne, on Achill Island in County Mayo, Ireland, who was subject to social ostracism organized by the Irish Land League in 1880. In September of that year, protesting tenants demanded from Boycott a substantial reduction in their rents. He not only refused, but also evicted them from the land. Charles Stewart Parnell, in a speech in Ennis proposed that, rather than resorting to violence, everyone in the locality should refuse to deal with Boycott." - wiki.

quisling - one who consorts or collaborates with the enemy. "after Vidkun Quisling (1887-1945), Norwegian politician and officer who collaborated with the Nazis." - dictionary.com

definitions without words for $800 - when a person is so widely known for their actions that their name becomes a verb or descriptor for similar actions of others. (edit: EPONYMOUS, per lj_tuckova. and you thought it was just the name for an REM album.)

7.
I am gold as a chicken nugget, and Pollocked with freckles.

8. Just when choir season was over, the nursery job hired me on permanent and part-time and I managed to secure a second job at another flower shop. I recommend two part-time jobs, as it splits the week up and you do not become complacent doing the same thing for 5 days straight. Still broke and happy. Still preferring it over wealthy and pissed.

9. Fuckin, look at this crystal mine in Mexico, where the largest crystals in the world have been discovered. There are little people climbing around them dressed in red.

10. There was a notable dream where I had a husband with whom I lived contentedly. We had a sunful kitchen, a soft bed, a modest tree, and a derelict but hopeful backyard in which one day in the barren winter I noticed at the far corner against the fence a red lily blossoming, defiantly without coercion and called my husband to see, the petals dark as wine, and how uncharacteristic it was to be so healthy, at which he cocked his head, shrugged and paid no further mind, also uncharacteristically.
The crimson bloom never aged, and seemed to only grow overnight in an otherwise brittle and dormant lawn. Days later a new lily stood next to the first dubiously, and then more with each passing day, until soon the yard was a scarlet rash, though nowhere else did the blossoms thrive. The rest of the neighborhood spoke nothing of spring.
Late one night I heard strange cracking, breaking smacking sounds and crept into the kitchen to find my husband crouched over a bloody feast, gnawing on a severed arm. He had long, wet, shining fangs, eyes slate grey and blood matted the fur on his neck. Fingers curled out from the corners of his mouth as he turned to me, horrified. His beast ears erect, swiveled like satellites toward me and he cried a mongrel's cry. At that moment I magically knew where each strange bloom came from, stamens sticky with plasma, that they were rooted from the buried hearts of his kill, and the bones he hoarded like a dog in our backyard. And I ran in my nightgown from our home, from the corpse fed garden into the eye of the night.
Later I was picked up on the side of the road by a kind faced man, who offered to let me stay at his place for a few nights. When we arrived to his house, he gave me a robe and began to tour me around, showing me his kitchen, the living room, where I could sleep on the couch, and then the back porch, where looking out onto the lawn I saw in the distance, red patches of florets, spreading in from the far corners. There was the feeling of alarm that grew from my stomach and vined upward into my throat, and then I woke.

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concretekiss

August 2010

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