i did a trade at m's. i have such a ridiculous crush on his lair. the art on the walls is done by his roommate, constantly changing. he makes huge wall sculptures with plastic drinking straws and hangers.
the weather has been bombastic. i still have fantasies of being a storm chaser, careening over a potholed great plains lane with a hand steadying myself on the dashboard of a rickety pickup, trying to outrun a tornado with camera at the ready.
somewhere on 18th...
you ever have thoughts flit through your head that act in complete disregard to logic or maturity? i saw this house and i immediately wished to live in its attic. sloping roof, dormer windows, the downpour tangibly close. i don't give a fuck about the rest of the building.
i stared at it, mentally decorating my bedroom, picturing xmas lights strung over the leaded glass... and then i remembered that i'm an adult. i suppose i've created a similar environment for myself already, anyhow. it doesn't sound terribly climactic or unusual now, but the thoroughness of that fantasy, and how i automatically pictured myself as about ten years old in it, caught me off guard.
the crappy car with the cattywampus seat belt parked out front helped dissuade the reverie, also.
in an alleway of the ID is this fish store. when you enter a mechanical voice says "welcome!" it also thanks you when you leave. the entire place is about 150 square feet with very low ceilings and scary clumps of wires dangling near water.
the clime enhances my slothfulness. no, not slothfulness... i've just been very content to be at home. rain hit the windows sideways; lake union was covered with whitecaps. the cats were sleeping. the flowers i planted are starting to sprout. peaceful.
now, at a cafe on eastlake: it was pouring, then the sun came out, now it's pouring again. litter was blowing circularly. the streetlights are dancing. constipated-looking people are weilding umbrellas like sheilds. and i am on the dry side of the glass on a long brown velour sofa drinking obscenely sweet lemon-lavender-mint tea. there's a billy squier song in my head. see, peaceful.
lest i forget, paul fucking verhoeven!
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