Tuesday, August 01, 2006

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss

A new odd turn in my life. Sleep is tumbled over and turned around and molded into new and unusual shapes, my days are stretching out like warm taffy. I’m up for about 36 hours then asleep for awhile. Next day it’s only til dawn. After that it’s until morning. Wonder what the morrow will bring.

I feel so odd. Unbalanced and reeling. My head feels off off off. My heart flutters at the base of my throat then falls down to beat broken wings at my ribcage. It skips and stutters and stumbles around like a drunken fool.

I was in love once. They were a pair of hands. Such elegance lived in them, such beauty. We rode a bus together, three, maybe four times. Slender fingers, wide palms, narrow wrists. Artist’s hands they could have been. They would have been at home curled around a brush, a pen, flying over the piano’s keys. They seemed quick and clever, but capable. No milk and bread hands, these hands could work if they had to. Strong, powerful, these hands were the real deal, despite their beauty. I don’t recall ever seeing his face.

I’m working on something. It’s not anything much, but it could shape up to be a pretty piece. Trying to gentle it and tease it out like a scared and reluctant woodland creature. It could be interesting. I’m thinking some sort of time warp. It’s stuck now, stubborn and unwilling. I hope I make some progress soon.

Titles can be so beautiful. Once I read a story, it was called Your Cowboy Days Are Over (Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys). Like many other things I read it just about broke my heart. It’s cracked all over you see, one more hardly makes a difference. It’s made of the space in between, not itself.

Right now I’m watching Supernatural. I have to say pain makes pretty boy all the prettier. Choked up, eyes suspiciously moist, chins set with stubbornness, these boys hurt for our pleasure so we might as well appreciate it, non?

My interest in androgyny grows. Handsome boyish faces with pretty feminine mouths. Round shoulders, slender waists, skin smooth and hairless. Thick dark fringe of lashes. There's a song by the same name by Garbage you know. I like that too.



If you're curious. Not like that! Pervs.

3 comments:

The Krispy Dixie said...

ahhhh shakespeare.. gets me everytime...

I liked this post a lot.. especially the part about the hands.. I'm fanatical about a guys hands as well...

well sculpted, refined, delicate yet oddly masculine...

hmmmm hands are nice :)

kaal boishakhi said...

oh god. nothing like girls with faux hawks, dropped relaxed shoulders and a jutting manly jaw..nothing like men with tender and effeminite features. raw sexuality is always free of gender associations.
id forgotten how hot shirley manson looked in that song.


p.s. 'flirting with manic depression'?

i try not to flirt these days, it tends to wind its tiny tendrils around and through my air passages until i become its mere carrier.
i make peace with it these days. but thats easy to say when im not locked up and delusional and just stable and a bit off instead.

Genderfucked Angel said...

The fine line of androgyny is infact intriguing (SP, too early to think).

I don't know about the hands, but I find the eyes a more drawing feature... but that's just me and I'm half-asleep.

But yeah, put yourself first and start moving FOR yourself... it's a favour to yourself you'll always thank yourself for. (...did I just use yourself three times in the same sentence? :D)

G'luck!