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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
* army of me
* beautiful agony
Deviations
+ ramen messenger
+ berri berriak/bitxikeriak
+ takingthebrim
Backpedaling
+ non sequitur: day four
+ non sequitur: day three
+ non sequitur: day two
+ non sequitur: day one
+ eleven : fifteen
+ the suzhou place
+ seven last words
+ overcome, by the fishermen three
+ the stop-drop sensibilities of the only one who ever really loved you
+ my name is aphrodite
Hitchhiker's Guide
+ fucking brilliant girl, if you ask me.
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
+ blog of funk
+ crammer extraordinaire 4.1
+ dc9000
+ diary of a small squirrel
+ if spock is enough
+ internet addiction word therapy
+ 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
+ alix in wunderland
+ anonymous antagonists
+ anonymous rowhouse
+ apple pathways
+ assimilate - innovate
+ atomic blue blog
+ bad art
+ baka no jutsu
+ beer notes
+ blue athena's island
+ boudica of suburbia
+ buddhist headscratch
+ buick city complex
+ camera shy
+ chris laughs
+ comienzos...(mi locura)
+ crashmebabyonemoretime
+ crossing guard
+ DLAK's blog of the living dead
+ e vestigio
+ english, august
+ every passing moment
+ fast and dumb
+ fire in the hole
+ fish in a bowl
+ flickeringcolours
+ 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
+ life, love, nil
+ life on canvas
+ living the illusion
+ maiden flight
+ mariposa atomica
+ mind of jaxe
+ minstrel in the gallery
+ mottled memories
+ neurotic muse
+ never too late!
+ not small or sweet
+ ooh la la
+ ostrichspeak
+ out of boredom
+ pebbles to pillars
+ pink lemonade diva
+ population statistic
+ put on some gas!
+ 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
+ shitzen~giggles
+ short black
+ simple american
+ sixty seconds
+ slip of the pen
+ slit trench
+ soloflite's demented mind
+ soul to squeeze
+ space filler
+ subtle vinegar
+ sunlight's like an open fridge
+ the front line
+ the glass wall
+ the lava lamp
+ the mind's playground
+ the paragraph novels
+ the souljacker diaries
+ thinkerinker
+ too cool to function
+ transient revelation
+ trapped in miami
+ trouble on westbourne
+ untainted interpretations
+ vesper's escape
+ violet daze
+ walken around
+ what
+ writings of faith
Yellow Lane
love is like tea with milk [+]
+ 10101
+ a fisherman of the air
+ auroraborealis
+ belligerent bliss
+ carcura
+ 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
+ love and forgetting
+ my life in a spoon
+ neel's tips and tidbits
+ nicole 1980+
+ non-ecumenical ramblings
+ pandora's box
+ racing stripes
+ rama the drama
+ reign of the claudzki
+ screams and smiles
+ spicy cauldron
+ starlit whispers
+ stories of bumming around
+ surreal existence
+ technicolored sunset
+ that kid. no that one.
+ the longest journey
+ the shadow of abaniko
+ thought safari
+ tao and zen
+ unsent letters to mary jane
+ welcome the drowning man
+ words
+ 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
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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 48 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 80 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
Thursday, November 24, 2005
non sequitur: day one

wherein it unfolds that what seems like fiction isn't fiction at all but a real-life story of the pointless randomness of things

strangely, when i happened by, there was nothing else, not even the sound of bass mekanik. the beautiful machine was not waiting by the front door, as i had hoped, nor was it driving by in silly circles around what was a poor excuse for a rotunda. the face of my frailty fell into place, like a latch on the door that made a faint click. so i dialed a number. it would not be the first time.

i had taken off a party hat to don yet another one. two parties in one night. for a person who had an aversion to certain social proclivities, my situation was a unique one. if it was happy circumstance or an ominous sign of the utter senselessness which was to unfold, i would not know, until the end of my narrative.

ten minutes after placing the call, i rounded the bend. the pebbles on the gravel thumped as if responding to a rhythm from the sewers below the city streets. and there it was, from the source, the sound. the sound of bass mekanik and nothing else.

it was as if that entire moment had centered itself on the realization that things happen just because they do. that though there may seem to be an unseen hand guiding the course of events, there is none. that though life assumes the form and shape of fiction, it is not. randomness is the fruit of a tree that springs up in the most unlikely of places—like on a street corner beside the lamppost or in an abandoned house whose floor just gave way to the soil—just because it can. a tree punching a hole through a roof by way of the ground is no stranger than a man falling in love with the wrong woman.

i could have said that on my way from one party to another, i lost the ride that was supposed to take me from here to there. that i found it again after making a call and rounding the bend. but i didn't. instead, i described the night's events as if reality had left the world. as if the world had left me.

***
i will be the experimental diarist for the time being. bear with me.

i rode north at 6:30 PM 57 kph
Friday, November 11, 2005
eleven : fifteen

you touch your face. fingertips to forehead. you squint into a gently riddled sky like it was in the way.

there it is, the unconscious gesture of someone who has explicitly, unexplicably gone from me. on the board where the specials are written in chalk, the cappuccino misses a P. nobody else in his right mind notices. the white corelle dishes whisper among themselves, audience to our good graces.

we shouldn't have taken a place near the window : it's alright

my conscience tells me that we should leave now if we want to escape (whatever you call) this intact. the runaway tendencies should have kicked in somewhere between the second drink and the fourth forkful, but it seems they've run away, too. so we stay.

you should try this : maybe later

you smile, but it hits the ground and breaks in a ballet of tangents. i would name that smile (to the eyes it doesn't quite reach) the way i've named every other part of you, inch by excruciating inch. i would lay you out in soft, empty spaces and take you against your will, against the wall of my distant affection. i would breathe you in, move inside you so deeply you would never forget. but not right now—you are much too painful for me.

i think it's best we leave our intimacies at the table.

so tell me : but i've nothing to say

how you destroy me. to build me up again. to destroy me. everytime, i am a little less. then a little more. then a little something whose width and breadth and depth i hardly recognize.

later, when we're done jerking unseen boundaries back and forth like teaspoons doing duel, we will walk the walk of the amicable back to the car. like nothing happened. we will go home to our respective beds and lie there pretending. like it didn't matter. the scent of the evening will mark us on the delicate skin of our wrists.

let's ask for the check now : the check, please

nine minutes until closing time. i know because the waiter just flipped the sign. he's always spot on.

outside, escaping moonshine finger-traces the shivering pavement. a hopeful customer with a crooked collar is turned away at the door.

i rode north at 5:41 PM 74 kph
Thursday, November 10, 2005
the suzhou place

i know i am almost 70 kinds of cool because i can change from short shorts to hakama-style pants sitting down.

in a car with untinted windows.
driving down the main thoroughfare.
with my wingman calling me an exhibitionist.

i have an unusual repertoire of talents.

the evening was hot. the casual restaurant had an unspoken dress code, so i had to look more conservative if i wanted to eat. the boy with whom i had interracial relations with wasn't complaining about my attire, to be honest, but we both agreed suzhou cuisine was on the menu, not me.

we were there for the specialty, the shallot pancake. when the server brought ours out, it didn't look like much. it was a thinly rolled cake, eight inches in diameter. i ate each wedge by folding it tightly into rolls with my chopsticks, an occurence that sparked some heated debate over etiquette.

i won. though i don't think he realized that the soothing effect of the jasmine tea plus my expert footsie cost him precious points.

by the end of the evening, neither of us cared very much about anything but the warm, bland goodness of the food in front of us. a great meal and great company stays the hand of cruel, stoic reality for a good two hours and 17 minutes. believe me, the clock was accurate and i was keeping count.

today, i am entirely changed. i am convinced it was the shallots.

she (of the shimmering shoulders, the norwegian discos, the botticelli hair, the heartbreaker words) agrees. we wrote back and forth about it, too. i am only sorry that i didn't get the recipe. obviously, the restaurant owner and i didn't see eye-to-eye on spreading the love. besides, he babbled on and on in fookien. and i don't speak fookien.

a word of wisdom for the unwary. use the ginger dipping sauce, not the soy. if you want to go asian, you may as well do it right. and i don't mean that in a dirty old dude kind of way.

life's a party. i'm here for the food and i'm out to save the world with my little foodie tips. watch out.

i rode north at 8:57 PM 71 kph
Monday, November 07, 2005
seven last words

i feel everything you're afraid to feel.

i rode north at 1:43 PM 77 kph