amid the blur

how can my life involve this one moment

and this mere hours later?

i suppose every moment cannot reek of bombast and whimsy, but seriously.
*
d is being inscrutable. why is it so difficult for (occasionally) heterosexual men to merely be friends? the best male friends in my life are gay. every other man i know shifts manically between swarthy and aloof. perhaps they just don't like me as a person and sexuality has nothing to do with it. that, however, is a particularly depressing theory.
we finished our 3-week stint of lomi lomi today. the class ended with a 20-minute massage trade, full-body, set to "native rhythms." i was face-down with nothing on but a sheet covering the crack of my ass. my skin is still viscuous with oil residue. we were told that lomi lomi will 'change your views of massage', and it is true. the all-encompassing, whole-body experience was awesome- both to give and to receive.
after class i mailed my application to take the boards. it's $195 to apply to take the exam; eventually they contact you with a test time, and then the state of washington has to dink around until they process the license. sending it off was rather thrilling. bittersweet. i walked out of the downtown post office into the muggy glare of 3rd ave and thought "what the fuck happens next?"
i have talked with people about pitching in on a 'co-op' environment- splitting the rent and creating a space. i don't want to do massage full-time, at least to start, and i don't want to feel isolated, and i don't want to work for anyone else. i still have the fantasies of a communal environment with doors that can be closed if need be. i am even toying with the possibility of finding a roommate, but that would involve leaving my fabulous (though rarely inhabited) lair.
chicago, et al, is temporarily sidelined. i guess.
the table next to me is enjoying a platter of mussels. i love presse. i love that i can sit here in my 'well that just sucks' scrabble t-shirt and lomi-oily hair and drink portuguese wine by candlelight, next to groups of well-heeled couples and girl nights and earnest men with newspapers. these are the moments when i remember how fucking glad i am to live the life i do.
the sky outside is that vibrant cobalt that occurs just after the sun sets. everything is especially outlined.
i just set up a meeting to procure something from a classmate. it's been decades, seriously, since i've done this- not waited politely for someone to offer it. but i've been stressed, and my face feels weird, and i have a neuro appointment on the 8th that may or may not include another mri, and my condition, as it is, is covered (however feebly) by state law. and i love making my world a wee bit more unusual. i think about moments like new years '08, when i was too stoned to go onto the roof and watch the fireworks- his skin was so much more compelling. the next day, feeling cottony and dull at work, i berated myself for not watching them. that is the problem i have with pot- the mundane* becomes fascinating, but possibly at the expense of the fantastic. then again, i passively wait for all things amazing to fall into my lap and rarely reach out to grab. this is a horrible tendency that exists whether i am sober or not.
*not that there was anything mundane about that specific situation
last night i went to a friend's going-away party. we ended up at someone's house. opening the front door was like walking into an animal's axilla: four dogs, three cats, an iguana, a bearded dragon, a cockatiel, a sun conure (that charged the cage, fluffed out and hateful, every time anyone walked past), a hermit crab (that i dropped on the wood floor). i left while everyone else was getting drunk on coors light. "i have a massage in the morning" i said, feeling responsible. today i did craniosacral and reflexology on k before class started. it's getting easier to feel grounded... but being grounded is also intimidating as hell.
there's so much i purposely don't let myself notice. walking around today, i made a point to make eye contact with everyone i passed. bless their hearts, they all looked back, and most of them smiled.

smelling other people's meat

from 2pm 19 aug 09:
seattle-bainbridge ferry, ~82 degrees F. a swarthy man with beaded sweat was trying to, i guess, hit on me. he was a smarmy 'lawyer from michigan' 'in town for the ring opera.' the first question out of his mouth was 'so what do you do?' god, i hate americans.
i am skipping class -lomi lomi, no less- to be in the open air. i feel guilty about this. my motivation is faltering badly, as it always does around the 5-week mark of the term. i just want to fall in love and enjoy the summer and have adventures... so i am looking at a keyboard instead of at the scenery, listening to children scream and chase one another across the deck. i woke at 545am after sleeping for three hours. i must have been dreaming; the first thing i remembered was smacking the headboard rather violently with the back of my hand. the sun peeked over the mountains at 613am. i made a caprese salad with tofu*, balsamic, and beth's garden-fresh basil. the 9am staff meeting lasted all of 45 minutes; i took a large bowl of fruit salad home. reread 'a paper life' and 'the devil's dictionary' whilst laying on the deck. blared 'change' whilst hating my wardrobe. it was sometime midmorning that the idea of massage seemed rather unpalatable; i don't want to fuck with the bag, with sheets, with being present. i shamefully realize that i can truly be adept at only one or two facets of my life at any given time... if that.


now, 930pm. i spent the afternoon wandering around winslow, remembering how tedious and twee that town is. surely a small community doesn't need a yoga studio and an ayurvedic chalet on every fucking corner. i was mildly heartened to see an honest-to-god trailer park, albeit across the street from some tastefully "homey" spankin'-new condos.
i acquired a sunburn. there were no visible jellyfish in the bay. it was pretty... i just felt ephemeral, a disinterested witness to other people's lives. couples were posing with the seattle skyline in the background. sunlight shimmered through hair. i craved some sort of portable music; it would have been a perfect moment to zone out with a song. i am probably the only person in the fucking first world without so much as a goddamn walkman.
i always feel a surge of adoration when i disembark in seattle. it's a nice place to call home.
*
last night a man, possibly transient, definitely inebriated, stumbled up to me at the bus stop and simulated masturbation. "are you fucking kidding me?" i shouted at him. i cocked my pepper spray, finger on the trigger. "i will fucking mace you if you do not back the fuck away." i charged at him. i wasn't really thinking logically, other than the fact that he did not provoke any intimidation in me whatsoever. he staggered into the street and a car slowed down to avoid hitting him. i lost sight of him after that. it was one in the morning at the socially-diverse corner of 3rd and pike and i spent the next ten minutes waiting for my bus whilst glaring into space and being quite aware that no one else waiting offered anything more during our 'altercation' than a furtive glance.
that really pissed me off, actually. perhaps they suspected that i had the situation under control, but i am more inclined to believe that people don't want to get involved in other people's shit, no matter how welcome their involvement might be.
if there's one thing the last month has taught me (though obviously, there are many, many things), it's that i'm not half as boo!-scary as i fancied i was. feigned poise and a sense of purpose means fucking nothing when they can simply tap you and knock you down.
that, i'm sure, helped contribute to my mood today. i'm just done. it'll pass. i want to be not fucked with. in every respect. surely it is not that lofty an ambition, except that it is.
i meet d in about an hour. we have plans to go swing dancing. we've already gone once and it was fucking marvelous. he first taught me the charleston on the sidewalk of 19th. passers-by politely dodged us; more than a few smiled.

today is the first day in about 3 weeks that my face hasn't felt funky. i blame the lack of sleep, copious caffeine, and abundant vitamin d.

*tofu is a horrible farce of a substitute for fresh mozzarella. vegan caprese salad is a sad thing indeed.

rise up singing

i go through flux. i won't write for months, then i'll write greedily for weeks at a time. it's not as if i get more insightful or articulate, obviously- perhaps 'manic' is the preferred apa term.
one of my favorite houses in seattle, revisited.

i get off a stop too late on purpose, just to walk past this. it's near 16th and john. tonight the neighbors, in the yard of their well-groomed lair, were industriously hosing their lawn in the wake of today's heat. this house, meanwhile, languishes in a downright regal manner. i would love to be a little kid in this neighborhood. i would spend hours devising ways to break in and discover the ghosts.
fuck, i'm doing that anyway. i walk by and plot how i'd break in. i took d by it one night. "i LOVE this house!" i bleated lustily. "check the meters to see if it's occupied" he suggested. his logic explained the blurry, unintelligable photos i found on my camera that next morning; i'd taken wobbly-handed pictures of the electric meters at ~11pm one night, sans flash, trying not to appear suspicious.
*
this is another favorite, on 12th S in the ID. i have loved this house for years. it has a tattered, jaundiced quality and seems clumsily out of place, stucco'd as it is. it also has a yard that suggests absenteeism, or at least indifference. i stood on the opposite corner to take this picture.

i went to a free show of the cave singers tonight. it was hot and sultry; i was packed against the used jazz cds with mere glimpses of the band through various sweat-soaked shoulders. my skin was slick. people were taking the dividers out of the cd racks to fan themselves with. after, i walked through seattle center and down 2nd avenue. the light was uniformly flattering. i found myself singing "wishin' and hopin'" as i walked.

(i love gerry rafferty. there, i said it.)

the corner of broadway & john, as dubiously reported months ago as being grazed for the mythical 'light rail' station (eta 2014?) has been... paved. the block on which i once stayed at a filthy hostel, read battered used erotica, bought piroshkies, and who knows what else, is now a fucking parking lot... minus the parking.

d and i acting immaturely at the 5 point.

i am addicted to these fucking nicotine lozenges. i finally read through one of the 'smoking cessation' pamphlets that come in every (expensive) box. one is meant to wean themselves off of these over an approximately 12wk period. the box even comes with chipper little stickers to place on your calender; the last one says "EX-SMOKER". well, i have not done this. 13.5 months later, i am still sucking on at least 10 4mg tabs a day. i tried the gum but it was fucking vile. i also tried simply *not* using the lozenges, but it turned me into a shrill, snively harpy. fucking nicotine. i love it, but i hate being 'reliant' on anything.
the cherry ones are currently my favorite. the mint ones are okay. i have not tried the 'cappucino' flavor yet, and i promise i never will.

the only thing less alluring than this blatant oral fixation? taking pictures of myself with the goddamn things in my mouth.
*
i am sitting at a cafe right now. a woman just came by my table, looking for extras for a 'thee emergency' video currently being filmed a few blocks away. instead i will be at d's in an hour to practice lomi lomi. time marches on.

feeling it

a stall at pike place market sells handcrafted glass beads. i love happy slices of the world... this 12" square of space rivals the window of different colors of glass at the stained-glass shop on N 45th for immediately improving whatever mood i'm in.

as of one week ago, fred fucking meyer was still shilling michael jackson merchandise. modern culture is so fucking hypocritical. i will always have fond memories of wandering chicago and hearing "billie jean" and "rock with you" blaring out of open car windows every time i stopped at an intersection. other than that, fuck it.

i predict this shall be the next 'architectural' casualty of downtown seattle. it was impossible to get a better angle; the alleyway is barricaded by construction fence. this motel shares a block with top pot donuts and a vacant lot where the dollar movie theater with the wacky orange roof and sticky floors used to be. i loved that theater. i think i saw 'pulp fiction' there once.

the cafe i'm at went from steve miller to the magnetic fields. i received a luxurious 90 minute massage in my lair as modest mouse's 'the fruit that ate itself' played 4 times on repeat. walked downtown in the mugginess, ate free caramel popcorn, read a trashy magazine, watched a photo shoot of some skateboard company. 'tis a good day.
i often wonder how i can even contemplate living anywhere else. but after all, there is time for everything. opportunities are rampant if i remember to pay attention.
*
A pirate walks into a bar, and he's got a steering wheel sticking out of his pants. The bartender sees him and asks, "Hey, what's that steering wheel doing there?" The pirate says, "Aaarrrr, it's driving me nuts."

in the army now

i have always been reticent to 'compartmentalize' myself, but i am most assuredly not a fucking 'goth'. wtf, aka d, aka t, 'is'. last friday we went to his friend astro's birthday party at the mercury, a member's-only Goth Club. because it is a 'club' and therefore not regulated by the state LCB, one can smoke cigarettes inside. hilariously enough, i ended up squashed at a banquette of about twelve surly assholes in ill-fitting garb of varying shades of black, only two of whom i knew, of which at least six were smoking cigarettes at any given time. i felt like a fucking dork, but i actually went outside for fresh air. once in the alley, i got into a very entertaining and nerdy conversation with someone about his camera.
i asked wtf if astro would mind me taking his picture. "are you kidding? he'd fucking love it."

but you know what? 'goths', or rather, people who 'self-identify' as anything at all, are fucking jerks. i was reprimanded by the wench of a mute boy who resembled the character 'powder' for using my flash in the light-free club. "he has photosensitivity" she said curtly. i apologized. he ignored me. it was so cliche as to be comical- ooh, pussy-whipped goth boy adverse to light! how dramatic! why don't you lay your pale hand across your beleagured forehead?- but i'd had two drinks by that point and the time i'd spent in that depressing hellhole had made me surly and intolerant. "i have to leave NOW" i hissed to wtf, who had my keys in his apartment. he agreed, once we were in the fresh air, that a lot of the people there were dickheads. he cross-dressed for me for the first time that night. he does not pass at all, but he certainly took a long time to get ready.
i didn't wash the eye shit off before going to bed that night, although i was very careful to change my clothes. i put my sweater on the deck to desmokify. it has since been rained on.
*
i finally finished 'confessions in a golden eye' last night. i recommend it. it's not great, but it is a slight mindfuck.
i am currently siphoning wifi at a place that hosts drag queen revue. i have heard 'the boogie woogie bugle boy' more times than i know. they are rehearsing behind a half-drawn curtain. i have stumbled upon a private eschelon of hell. i can never listen to this song again.
*
'don't focus on what the world expects from you. focus on what makes you glow.'

katman-don't

addendum: the murderer was in pennsylvania, at an "LA Fitness" health club, not in california (where LA is located), as previously reported. i apologize for the fucking error.
that onus has been bothering me for several days, anal-retentive that i am. this is my first chance to amend it. i am sure i am the only one who cares.
*
i started on my new schedule this week. the economy is not significantly better, but three people have left ACCES and we have all returned to FT hours to absorb their shifts. i work 3 13hr shifts now, which i requested... it's fine at the time but today, watching the demo for craniosacral holds, i nodded off on the sofa at school. monday is a long day. i have class 1-5p and clinic 6-10p. 3 shots of espresso helped. now i am inconveniently wired. this tends to be my pattern.
i noticed a few weeks ago that i am finally fucking confident. i give a really good massage. i actually know how to 'ground' and 'be present' and quell the dithering nattery in my brain. i have spent the prior year demurely declining giving people massages when they find out i'm in school- because i've been scared shitless. no more. today i gave three massages- one craniosacral, one a 'relaxation' massage, one with focus on the back and subscaps with more cranio thrown in. i made three different individuals almost or completely pass out. it rained during tonight's clinic; the city smells like wet dust. as i walked out of school, sidestepping puddles, i thought "fuck, i can actually do this." it's a really good, really unexpected feeling.
i am so glad i have this life.
*
yesterday a woman brought her cat to my work. she'd been missing for a week and reappeared on her porch. "i bathed her but she still smells really bad" the woman said. i took her to the ICU, unwrapped her from her towel, and a torrent of huge maggots spurted out of a necrotic wound on her hip. i really don't mind maggots- they are fascinating in their industry!- but i dislike being surprised by them. the doctor was dry-heaving while doing her exam. maggots skittered out of the wound and into the cat's anus, out of the anus and into the cat's vagina. and the cat, seemingly numb to the nightmarishness occuring in her own body, was purring the entire time.
*
the owner, who turned out to be a (human) physician, was oblivious to the maggotry until the doctor told her. she was horrified and apologized repeatedly to us "for bringing in the most disgusting animal of the night."
the cat's name is sophie.
and maggots do not drown when thrown in water. they must be squashed to die.
*
a conversation ensued among my coworkers as to what maggot infestation must feel like. "i suspect it's a ticklish sensation" i said, scratching the cat's head through a latex glove.
*
i washed my hands a lot last night.
*
the depeche mode concert should be letting out soon. they're playing at the fucking key arena, two blocks away. the patrons at the bar are loudly disbaraging the band "and the douches who went." i have no desire to ever see depeche mode, but i wore the 'violator' album out in 1996. i was working at a coffee house in anchorage and closed the place by myself. it was my cleaning-up album (occasionally changed out with sinead o'connor's 'i do not want what i haven't got' and 'jimi hendrix greatest hits'). depeche mode reminds me of espresso grounds and the smell of windex. it was a happy era for me, and that means a lot.
*
i love the people i know.

ironies

i have unwittingly stumbled onto a Magic gathering. this is quite surreal. i thought the guys at the table next to me were painters, for fuck's sake, and even leaned over to say "wow, that's really lovely"- i thought their boards were their artwork, like they were debating how to proceed with some fanciful ad copy, and that their boxes were full of pastels. "another centaur?" one of the men just lamented. i possess the only vagina in the room.
today a man murdered three women at a health club in california. parts of his blog were cited online. he was a sick, fantastically miserable fuck. the accompanying picture looked scarily nondescript.
"soldier soldier soldier soldier - levitation - death!" another Magic boy announces.
*
loneliness seems to be the fulcrum of his madness. nothing will fuck up a human mind more devastatingly.
people on the comment board for the article were making lascivious comments about the picture. "i'd hit that" one wrote. "he's in really good shape, although his eyes creep me out."

my body is fucking with my head

i found a button of paul pfeiffer! sonic boom was selling a rack of pins near the cash register with a sign proclaiming "nerds!" it was a toss-up between this and the comic book guy. it lives on my bag now. alas, i have received no comments about it yet.

my face feels like it belongs to someone else. i just spent 5 minutes in front of a bathroom mirror, testing different expressions to make sure all my muscles work. they do. but it feels like someone has poured cement on my skin... a heavy pressure, unnervingly clausterphobic. how much is my 'disease' and how much is just me? this tends to happen when i am chronically exhausted. this is the more likely reason... i have been waking up tired for the last week or so. sleep inconveniences me. i always worry that i'm missing something. i like MS for this- it is a physical bitch-slap to take more prudent care of myself.

that said, i am at a cafe with a gin and tonic. it's only 9pm, after all. the night, in my mind, is still young, even if i feel internally starched and therefore rather subdued and isolated.

*

this building on the corner of terry and howell (downtown seattle) has always appealed to me. it has a hideous, stumpy, dated quality; someone designed this with ambitions of what: a passe version of beauty? pure functionality? it never has fit in with its surroundings, which i admire. but part of me quietly suspected, especially once all the vile (and vacant) high-rises started sprouting up around it, that it was not long for this world.

today i was proven correct. god damn it, anyway.

i love its imposing angularity! it was probably an insurance company once. sadly, i don't even remember.

it has already been tagged by amateurs.

we finished reflexology and have started craniosacral manipulation. the instructor, pete, is the same teacher i had for muscular anatomy & kinesthiology (a 2-term purgatory). i had been warned that teaching the craniosacral classes "brings out his woo-woo." (that sounds filthy; i am merely quoting.) ten minutes into yesterday's class he was talking about 'power animals' and how 'we all have a spirit we identify with.' this was related to a tale he told about a friend of his who was visiting fairbanks, alaska (!) and happened upon a whale bone for sale in a gift shop. (i was sprawled on the floor, doodling, cynically wondering if selling whale bones was even legal. i never fucking noticed. my parents still have a 12' strip of baleen that they regularly polish with floor wax, but they bought it from a guy in togiak on the sly.) apparently this friend of his was mystically drawn to this whale bone "and realized at that moment that the whale was his power animal" pete said earnestly. "it was very expensive, but he bought it and brought it back to washington."
i was so close to making a smartass comment about oosiks, but i didn't. god damn it, i should have.
i have always pretended to be far more cynical about life than i truly am. i am actually the most gullible, idealistic person i know. but i was cringing inwardly at the, well, 'woo-woo' of it all -this is why massage has such a flaky rap! do i have to start liking fucking waterfall music next? are you going to tell me about my past life as a fucking princess?- until we did our first c-s exercise: the suboccipital cradle. son of a bitch, it was cool. i can't explain it properly without making myself want to vomit at the bona fide frippery of it all, but it was... buzzy. i felt my partner's occiput release beneath my right pinky finger. c-s is essentially 'listening to bone': feeling the fluid slosh around inside the skull, achieving balance, transferring energy. it requires complete focus on your partner and your own grounding.
maybe that's really what it's all about- focus. if properly focused, it is very difficult to fuck up anything. being receptive to what your 'client', for lack of a better term, is feeling, makes it impossible to give a shitty massage.
this can also be said of making love.
god, i sound like a fucking fruit.
today the ascerbity returned to the pedagogy. stickel, the abrasive little man, was teaching business. we are pretending to be motivated about our career plans once we graduate. "geezer massage will be the next big thing!" he announced. "this is the self-indulgent generation." we critiqued actual job listings and resumes that he'd pulled off craigslist. "yeah, this one sucks" he said dismissively. "and she went to school here."
*
i am always on the lookout for new and exotic seafood.