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to norway on a bicycle

my feet take me places. and they don't always touch the ground.
Tour de Force

* name: transience
* i drink my tea with milk and franz kafka.
* HOME
* SYNDICATION

Big Time Sensuality

* awesomedictatorprincess©
* vespertyn
* sojournoir
* army of me
* beautiful agony
Deviations
+ ramen messenger
+ berri berriak/bitxikeriak
+ spilled to bloodlessness
+ superbadass tinted blue
Backpedaling
+ the tao of less
+ an intervening space
+ sojournoir
+ non sequitur: day five
+ non sequitur: day four
+ non sequitur: day three
+ non sequitur: day two
+ non sequitur: day one
+ eleven : fifteen
+ the suzhou place
Hitchhiker's Guide
+ yeah. i'm all over the place.
Tea Party
Linkage
+
+
+
+
+
B-sides and Rarities
+ a fist in the city
+ a fisted finnegan
+ a fist's off-key opera
+ a non-stop cavalcade of fun...revisited
+ air gi-tar is not dos©
+ blog of funk
+ crammer extraordinaire 4.1
+ dc9000
+ diary of a small squirrel
+ eternal burning of an unquiet mind
+ JErmExpress.com
+ kahiti isle
+ love me or blow me, either way
+ my so-called strife
+ naridu wondering
+ phantasmagoria by dKm
+ red.in.green
+ RuKsaK
+ saddlesore review
+ sarah laughs...a lot
+ satirical veracity
+ slip of the pen
+ utility fish erotica
+ waking finnegan
+ what's up with you?
Intimations
+ prothiaden adventure
+ escape to carpathia
+ roundabout revolution
+ drowning bismuth on the way
+ existential despair
+ my life is under construction
+ guardian of the night sky
+ ::spanktography::
Northern Crossing
+ a doll's house
+ a place to breathe
+ a purple breeze
+ alice: in wonderland or not
+ apple pathways
+ assimilate - innovate
+ atomic blue blog
+ bad art
+ baka no jutsu
+ beer notes
+ blue athena's island
+ boudica of suburbia
+ brighter death
+ buddhist headscratch
+ buick city complex
+ camera shy
+ chris laughs
+ comienzos...(mi locura)
+ crashmebabyonemoretime
+ creating havoc
+ crossing guard
+ curse the conscious
+ DLAK's blog of the living dead
+ e vestigio
+ electric spaghetti
+ english, august
+ every passing moment
+ fast and dumb
+ fire in the hole
+ fish in a bowl
+ fotosia
+ fuck it
+ hall of the monkey king
+ hark, imagination!
+ i am following my fish
+ idea-smithy
+ in the blink of an eye
+ irrepressible secrets
+ it's thursday, baby!
+ karma runs over dogma
+ kill the goat
+ kunstemaecker
+ la dauphine
+ lemon tea…®
+ life, love, nil
+ life on canvas
+ maiden flight
+ mariposa atomica
+ mind of jaxe
+ minstrel in the gallery
+ mottled memories
+ neurotic muse
+ never too late!
+ not small or sweet
+ notes from a darkened room
+ ooh la la
+ ostrichspeak
+ out of boredom
+ pebbles to pillars
+ peeking through weary eyes
+ pink lemonade diva
+ population statistic
+ queries of inquisition
+ ramblings of an idle insomniac
+ rex venom
+ right and blonde
+ safetinspector main blog
+ same thing, only different
+ searching for blue sea glass
+ short black
+ simple american
+ sixty seconds
+ slip of the pen
+ slit trench
+ soul to squeeze
+ space filler
+ spicy cauldron
+ subtle vinegar
+ sunlight's like an open fridge
+ tao and zen
+ the front line
+ the glass wall
+ the long dark tea-time of the soul
+ the mind's playground
+ the official TGIF hounds weblog
+ the paragraph novels
+ the phantasm of sarcasm
+ the scribbling of a mind
+ the sex is inevitable
+ thinkerinker
+ too cool to function
+ transient revelation
+ trapped in miami
+ trouble on westbourne
+ untainted interpretations
+ vaninski
+ vesper's escape
+ violet daze
+ walken around
+ what
+ words
+ writings of faith
Yellow Lane
love is like tea with milk [+]
+ 10101
+ a fisherman of the air
+ alix in wunderland
+ anonymous antagonists
+ anonymous rowhouse
+ auroraborealis
+ erchome
+ full moon obsession
+ grace addict
+ [here is a star-studded sky]
+ hermaphrodites unite
+ introduction
+ jackal
+ just another brain synapse
+ last stop suburbia
+ little light
+ living the illusion
+ love and forgetting
+ my life in a spoon
+ neel's tips and tidbits
+ nicole 1980+
+ non-ecumenical ramblings
+ pandora's box
+ reign of the claudzki
+ screams and smiles
+ shitzen~giggles
+ soloflite's demented mind
+ starlit whispers
+ stories of bumming around
+ surreal existence
+ technicolored sunset
+ that kid. no that one.
+ the shadow of abaniko
+ thought safari
+ unsent letters to mary jane
+ welcome the drowning man
+ you are invited for all time
Milestones
i kissed kafka goodnight [+]
+ july 2004
+ august 2004
+ september 2004
+ october 2004
+ november 2004
+ december 2004
+ january 2005
+ february 2005
+ march 2005
+ april 2005
+ may 2005
+ june 2005
+ july 2005
+ august 2005
+ september 2005
+ october 2005
+ november 2005
+ december 2005
+ january 2006
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Tuesday, January 24, 2006
the tao of less

let's say you have a house, a car, a fat tabby, a swell-paying nine-to-five, an unbelievably erotic consumerist relationship with PRADA, cable TV, a washboard stomach, an original play in three acts, an espresso machine, a microwaveable lunch from 7-fucking-11. and yet you feel empty. are inclined to feel preachy. you look down the toilet with its annoyingly efficient bidet and you flush half your idealism away. and you say, how about i go back to basics because

less is more.
less is healthy.
less is beautiful.
less will make me thin.
less will make me a better person.

fuck less.

less is a lie your churchgoing mother told you. or if you knew my mother, you would have probably heard it from her.

less is not basic. less is that dilapidated couch with stains of whatever spotting it in places. less is the girl you never bedded, the five-course meal at that ritzy place you never got to eat, the motherfucker you never flipped off at the bar around the corner, the porn you never got to wank off to, the imaginary friend you chose over the love of your goddamn life. spit, rinse, repeat. less is beyond obsolete.

on the other hand, less is the last great melancholy. and the only two good things about that is that it makes catholics guiltier than usual and poetry much more romantic. got a sob story? me, too. let's swap over coffee. then maybe we could, you know, do that thing where people beat around the bush before jumping into bed and end up sobbing a third person's name. how many times did you come? how the fuck should i know? do you see a scoreboard anywhere on me? do you hear me shouting GOAL! every time the proverbial ball sailed through the net?

i'm probably having this pointless conversation with myself at 8:13 in the morning to distract myself from the pain of having to go in for work for the 20th day this year. but if, for a split second, i really wondered why i was having this pointless conversation with myself, i would have realized that provided that i didn't have a house, a car, a fat tabby, a swell-paying nine-to-five, an unbelievably erotic consumerist relationship with PRADA, cable TV, a washboard stomach, an original play in three acts, an espresso machine, a microwaveable lunch from 7-fucking-11, the last thing i would want was

less.

i've three mobile phones, though. and in some places, that would be considered deliberate, gaudy excess with a tinge of unimaginable jackassery.

jesus. i'm feeling much better already.

i rode north at 8:30 AM 28 kph
Friday, January 13, 2006
an intervening space

we've nothing but a few hours from here
.
.
.
.....................................................................to there
.
.
.
the breath of which exhales one-sided expectation while a jackson pollock sunset watches. it's a rip-off, i agree, but let's make do. we've not done this in a while, and i've a love that needs tousling.

let's go to where we imagine the stars would shine the brightest. where we would attract the attention of several lanes of traffic if you took my hands in your hands and put them where you wanted my memory to be.

or, or, or

let's happen right now.

should i straddle you like this and let my hair cover your face like this, wrap my weakness around you like this and grip you tightly by the waist like this? should you put your trembling lips to my throat like this to whisper my name in some odd, groaning fashion like this, suck the heat from off my skin and let it cling to your mouth sweetly like this? i've yet to take leave of this body and misplace my soul through my hips and eyes, my cries and clenched fingers.

and in the seconds that command us, you ask as if the question just occured to you, how can a little girl like you have so much? and i laugh and say that my body was made too small to contain the normal amount.

no, not too small, not too small, just right for the taking, let me arrange you on this bed again, before the city goes under, and i'm leaving on a jet plane, i don't know when i'll be back again.

we move as a patchwork night watches us, hand over mouth, through an open window. i sleep, afterwards, naked and oblivious, as if you would always be there to ward off a cruel world and then wake me up for breakfast.

i rode north at 5:41 PM 70 kph
Monday, January 09, 2006
sojournoir

debut
and she emerged right behind another's shadow

i rode north at 10:09 AM 90 kph
Monday, January 02, 2006
non sequitur: day five

where the end was a long time coming but it comes anyway

the window is big enough. there's a ledge, too, which i believe, has had too many dalliances with the designated jumpers of our time. today, the ghost of a recently concluded memory sits there and i am coaxing him to come back in. he is beautiful. too beautiful. and i am not suspicious enough.

i'm reaching out to him. "come back in, ghost of a recently concluded memory. it's cold out." he is as hazy as a once-upon-a-time sea. and i am the rock he once threw himself against over and over until he was bruised with fragile obsession.

he looks at my hand. then into my eyes. "if i come back in, will you lead me to that bed and take me?" his voice catches. it has the tone of desperation. i invented that tone. it's mine.

no is a two-letter interjection used to indicate a negative response. what part of no is so difficult to understand? it escapes me. but not him.

he hangs his head. one of his buttons is in the wrong buttonhole. to love is to fall victim to folly.

"if you can't take me back, let me go." hot damn. the ghost of a recently concluded memory had a way with words that i would never have.

suddenly, like that august season, he fell gently, along with a whim of wind. whim sounds like an old forty-five playing on a bad phonograph.

i can't help but look over the edge. i see him on the ground, lying in pieces of forgotten warmth and unfulfilled desire. a young girl on a bicycle stops and starts to pick them up, one by one. everyday, all over the world, resolutions are broken. it's tradition, you see. it's tradition to fall victim to folly.

i could have just pushed him, i know. but brave deeds require much, much more of me.

the sky outside reflects who i am at the moment—partly cloudy, or overcast, with a hint of rain. at exactly two o' clock, the world will close in on me. and the end that was almost definitely the end will be a beginning.

the bed invites with a poker face to come play. i shed some skin and pull the sheets all the way to my soul. it will be touch and go for while.

i rode north at 2:02 PM 78 kph
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
non sequitur: day four

the one where they are all suddenly privy to too much, then too little information

in wonderfully accented proletariatese, he asked me, playfully, what sort of things i did behind closed doors. and i, years away from catholic school, told him, deadpan,

i pleasure myself on my stomach, for starters.

i rode north at 3:47 PM 103 kph
Monday, December 05, 2005
non sequitur: day three

the part where almost everything is a conversation, thus, the quotation marks

"i would consider it if i were completely wasted," i answered to his "i don't just want any baby. i want yours. so can we?"

there is something about the ego of a man that is directly proportional to his partner's seeded belly. i knew one part of him was joking. and that the other part was, well, not.

"i don't know. i have nightmares about it being 25 years old, questioning the meaning of life and writing words that will never get published. i fear running around after it, trying to mend its broken heart, just because it didn't get the book deal."

"that's the worst mistake a parent can make—live through her own child. it's thoroughly disgusting."

"i didn't say i would never get published. i was just exercising my right to imagine."

"i think you'd make a wonderful mother, though. despite what you think."

"i'd make a wonderful mother despite being vain, despotic, egotistical and crazed with creativity? you want a nazi?"

"we're an interracial couple, not conjurers. and may i remind you that my eyes are not blue, and neither are yours."

"why do you even want a child? some selfish desire to self-actualize? is it because you need, heaven forbid, a little version of you and me bawling its head off in soiled nappies to truly understand the meaning of martyrdom? do you need it to grow up and make more babies to populate this already very populated earth? do you require a vessel to carry on your name so this society, infected with some kind of degenerative disease, won't forget that it once existed?"

"that was way too many questions in way too sarcastic a manner—not fair. and i haven't decided. so don't influence my bias."

"that's hysterical."

"can't you just accept that i love you and want to have a baby with you?"

"i love you, too. madly. but there's just not enough cause-effect reasoning there to justify that a baby should be the end result of love."

"it's a simple explanation."

"the curse of being human and being so infinitely complex is that we think the simplest explanation is the right one. and what you said isn't even close to an explanation."

"i'm ignoring that. why do you keep referring to our future child as an it anyway?"

"because it hasn't happened. i refuse to give an idea a gender."

"that's a weird argument."

"i can talk circles around you, so you may as well shush."

"sometimes, i don't even believe you."

"yeah, i think i'm way ahead of my time, too."

since there was no other customer at this particular 7-11, the cashier listened in on our exchange, unabashedly, with the ease of someone who has counted out much too much change in front of thousands of suspicious eyes. she, who must have seen too many canisters of potato chips knocked down, thanked her god that there would be one less terror on two legs to test the undeniable force of gravity in a 24-hour convenience store. she gave me a grave nod as i paid for my mineral water.

"your change."

"thank you."

"no, ma'am. thank you."

there was one in this city that would sleep better tonight. and there was one who would wonder if anybody alive even deserved that measly little pleasure.

and you, you who are here with me today, must know that certainty is an illusion, novocain for those who have stopped doubting a world that continues to crash and clash and fall into itself.

i rode north at 7:12 PM 84 kph
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
non sequitur: day two

in which a reference to von trier's film leads me to, one, call a british boy a git, and two, talk about a lapse in affection

you have this preconceived notion, that nobody—listen—that nobody can't possibly attain the same high ethical standards as you. so you exonerate them. i cannot think of anything more arrogant than that...you forgive others with excuses that you would never in the world permit for yourself.
lars von trier, dogville

i'm in a band, the british boy told any vagina that would listen. possibly maybe a mental jaw dropped.

afterwards, when the initial shock had worn off, he said, no, he did not watch such von trier films. perhaps that statement should have ended something before it had even begun, a blinking neon sign pointing out that no, there was no mistake that he was a mistake. but none of you warned me that bad boys make the best goddamn cocaine.

he was a child, except where it mattered the most, inside the black pants with the leather buckles that went all the way up to his crotch. and he said again, this time to this vagina, that, no, he did not watch such von trier films. only today, it came out as, no, i don't bloody watch that crap. and i said, under my breath, what a git. only to him, it came out as, i love you, i want to have your baby.

some benevolent five-foot, one-inch god in me smiled up at the six-foot, two-inch daemon in him. there was a flicker of recognition, as old as time, and the powers-that-be canceled each other out like an outage, leaving us two to destroy each other in the universally accepted manner.

through a word addiction.

is it any surprise that we ended—1,064 documented conversations later—with me bidding him a sordid goodbye?

possibly maybe if he had watched the von trier film, he would have seen that the girl shoots the boy in the end, the perfect illustration of a conclusion. then maybe he would have taken the necessary precautions, like, for example, refrain from saying things such as, no, i do not watch such von trier films. but none of you warned him that good girls make the best goddamn cocaine.

if there is any real death, it is the random expiration of affection. when the breath of farewell leaves through the eyes and a half-open mouth, we have no choice but to forgive it. it is the arrogant thing to do.

i rode north at 6:04 PM 58 kph