Poppy Z. Brite's Blog, page 52
December 29, 2011
DUMA KEY, The Birding Version
If I were Edgar Freemantle and had just been nearly crushed to death by LINK-BELT and Dr. Kamen asked whether I had any hobbies that made me happy, I guess I'd have to say, "Well, I used to do a lot of birdwatching." So I'd move to a mysteriously deserted Florida key and start intensely birding again ... and one day I'd see a strange bird floating in the water right off the beach, a terrible bird, a Bird of Death ... I suppose it would have to be some kind of giant pelican to have swallowed those little twin girls ... Perse the Perilous Pelican ... although I'm picturing more of a Magnificent Frigatebird ... this is where my mind goes when I let it wander lately ...
This Is What You Wanted, Ain't You Proud?
The other night I was going to post this -- another cheesy '70s video that encapsulates my cheesy feelings.
This guy isn't even as good a singer as David Soul. But these lyrics --
After you go
I can run through the house screaming
And no one will ever hear me
I really should be glad
That's kind of creepy, man.
However, creepy or not, I decided I'm sick of being maudlin. Fuck that. So instead, this one goes out to the one I love.
This guy isn't even as good a singer as David Soul. But these lyrics --
After you go
I can run through the house screaming
And no one will ever hear me
I really should be glad
That's kind of creepy, man.
However, creepy or not, I decided I'm sick of being maudlin. Fuck that. So instead, this one goes out to the one I love.
December 27, 2011
eBay & Scariness
eBay auctions ending this evening, some nice hardcovers and chapbooks, signed and (if you wish) personalized. I'm not sure if I'll be able to put up new auctions tonight, as I need to stay with Grey, who's having a serious (like potentially life-threatening) reaction to his blood pressure medication. Things are under control for now, but I want to keep an eye on him. Please bid if you can, or burn candles, send prayers, and do other helpful things for my sweetheart's health. Or both! Both would be great! Oh God, I'm rambling ... strange days indeed ...
And I broke my fancy Trollface bong last night. Did you ever notice how it's not just big sad things that happen; little supporting sadnesses, sub-sadnesses if you like, are always there to support them?
December 26, 2011
Buddha's Hand
I want to think about something, anything else besides my life. Unfortunately, it's not working.
I think I might sell some jewelry on eBay. Money is suddenly, scarily tight, and I have some valuable pieces I'll never wear again. I'm worried about selling luxury items in a crappy economy, though, and I probably should have done it before Christmas. Fuck it, I don't know.
Speaking of eBay, if I could remind you of these auctions ending tomorrow evening ... I know post-holiday money is tight, but some good bids would help me a lot.
These days my mind is shaped like a Buddha's Hand fruit. One semi-coherent node with all sorts of branches and tentacles twisting off from it, and the node trying (and failing) to handle it all. No juice in there, either, just fragrant but tough pith.
I think I might sell some jewelry on eBay. Money is suddenly, scarily tight, and I have some valuable pieces I'll never wear again. I'm worried about selling luxury items in a crappy economy, though, and I probably should have done it before Christmas. Fuck it, I don't know.
Speaking of eBay, if I could remind you of these auctions ending tomorrow evening ... I know post-holiday money is tight, but some good bids would help me a lot.
These days my mind is shaped like a Buddha's Hand fruit. One semi-coherent node with all sorts of branches and tentacles twisting off from it, and the node trying (and failing) to handle it all. No juice in there, either, just fragrant but tough pith.
December 25, 2011
Gone Daddy Gone
Well, the thing that's been hinted at for a couple of weeks is definite. Chris is subletting an apartment in the French Quarter for January and February. He wants to be closer to the restaurant. We don't yet know what happens after that. As much time as I've been spending with Grey, I have no right to complain, but it just feels so final -- the first time we'll have officially lived apart in twenty years. I'm scared to death by that, and by the fact that it will be very hard going without him -- taking care of cats, etc. -- and by all the empty spots in my life that I haven't even thought of yet, but which will creep in when I look at a certain chair or picture or slant of light, or remember a certain day, or a joke no one else would get, or ... well, the waste remains.*
As much as I could use the feedback and support of journal readers, I'm going to try not to talk about this very much here, or at least not very specifically. After twenty-two years, the least we can do is respect each other's privacy.
*
by William Empson
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
It is not the effort nor the failure tires.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
It is not your system or clear sight that mills
Down small to the consequence a life requires;
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
They bled an old dog dry yet the exchange rills
Of young dog blood gave but a month's desires.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
It is the Chinese tombs and the slag hills
Usurp the soil, and not the soil retires.
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
Not to have fire is to be a skin that shrills.
The complete fire is death. From partial fires
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
It is the poems you have lost, the ills
From missing dates, at which the heart expires.
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
As much as I could use the feedback and support of journal readers, I'm going to try not to talk about this very much here, or at least not very specifically. After twenty-two years, the least we can do is respect each other's privacy.
*
by William Empson
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
It is not the effort nor the failure tires.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
It is not your system or clear sight that mills
Down small to the consequence a life requires;
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
They bled an old dog dry yet the exchange rills
Of young dog blood gave but a month's desires.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
It is the Chinese tombs and the slag hills
Usurp the soil, and not the soil retires.
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
Not to have fire is to be a skin that shrills.
The complete fire is death. From partial fires
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
It is the poems you have lost, the ills
From missing dates, at which the heart expires.
Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills.
The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.
December 24, 2011
Binge
I behaved badly.
Because Grey presented at the ER with a bad headache, the doctor prescribed him Norco (hydrocodone) in addition to the blood pressure medication. Seventeen hydrocodone pills. He wasn't even going to fill the Norco prescription, as he has a sensitive stomach and thought it would probably make him throw up. But I volunteered to go get the prescriptions and the blood pressure monitor he needed, and of course I filled the Norco, and over the next two and a half days, while caring for him, I consumed all seventeen pills.
Grey didn't want the pills and didn't mind my taking them. He knows some of my history with prescription and street painkillers, but not the gory details, unless he has sought them out himself (between this journal, especially the entries for 2006-2007, and my essay "Nobody's Fault But Mine," they are pretty much public record). I enjoyed my binge: the unusual experience of being in no pain at all, the slow sweetness of sex on opiates, the damned lovely reptile-brain high. I didn't make myself sick or do anything particularly irresponsible, and I don't feel the urge to seek out any more narcotics. I'm still not too pleased with myself, though. I binged on a drug I know I cannot take responsibly, a drug I haven't touched in a long time, a drug I thought I'd overcome my taste for. A drug I had prayed to overcome my taste for. But the reptile brain never forgets.
In more important news, the blood pressure medication seems to be helping; Grey's reading this morning was almost normal. Drugs are good things. It's not their fault that some people abuse them.
Now I have to get through a holiday with one family member who's deeply disappointed in me and another who may not be here next year. Merry fuckin Christmas, hope you get a pony.
Because Grey presented at the ER with a bad headache, the doctor prescribed him Norco (hydrocodone) in addition to the blood pressure medication. Seventeen hydrocodone pills. He wasn't even going to fill the Norco prescription, as he has a sensitive stomach and thought it would probably make him throw up. But I volunteered to go get the prescriptions and the blood pressure monitor he needed, and of course I filled the Norco, and over the next two and a half days, while caring for him, I consumed all seventeen pills.
Grey didn't want the pills and didn't mind my taking them. He knows some of my history with prescription and street painkillers, but not the gory details, unless he has sought them out himself (between this journal, especially the entries for 2006-2007, and my essay "Nobody's Fault But Mine," they are pretty much public record). I enjoyed my binge: the unusual experience of being in no pain at all, the slow sweetness of sex on opiates, the damned lovely reptile-brain high. I didn't make myself sick or do anything particularly irresponsible, and I don't feel the urge to seek out any more narcotics. I'm still not too pleased with myself, though. I binged on a drug I know I cannot take responsibly, a drug I haven't touched in a long time, a drug I thought I'd overcome my taste for. A drug I had prayed to overcome my taste for. But the reptile brain never forgets.
In more important news, the blood pressure medication seems to be helping; Grey's reading this morning was almost normal. Drugs are good things. It's not their fault that some people abuse them.
Now I have to get through a holiday with one family member who's deeply disappointed in me and another who may not be here next year. Merry fuckin Christmas, hope you get a pony.
December 22, 2011
Bad Night
This entire month is officially fired. I spent last night in the Tulane ER with Grey, who was manifesting an episode of alarmingly high blood pressure. At first they thought he might have had a minor heart attack or stroke. After a series of EKGs, chest X-rays, and other terrifying procedures, they decided he wasn't on the verge of dropping dead, gave him a shot of Valium (I could have used one too, but I had to drive home) and put him on blood pressure medication. We were physically and emotionally wiped out and came back to his place and slept until mid-afternoon. If I were to lose him now, I can't even begin to imagine ... no, none of that.
Today I bought him a good-quality blood pressure monitoring cuff as an early Christmas present. I also bought myself a realistic rubber octopus who is now sitting on my car's dashboard. I don't particularly celebrate Cephalopodmas, but there is something about octopi I find lovable and comforting, and I need all the comforting I can get these days.
I'm happy to report that the doctors and staff at the Tulane ER were very good about gendering me correctly once Grey had asked them to do so. He will do stuff like that for me in situations where I probably wouldn't bother.
Today I bought him a good-quality blood pressure monitoring cuff as an early Christmas present. I also bought myself a realistic rubber octopus who is now sitting on my car's dashboard. I don't particularly celebrate Cephalopodmas, but there is something about octopi I find lovable and comforting, and I need all the comforting I can get these days.
I'm happy to report that the doctors and staff at the Tulane ER were very good about gendering me correctly once Grey had asked them to do so. He will do stuff like that for me in situations where I probably wouldn't bother.
December 21, 2011
New eBay Auctions & Strange Weather
We have live eBay auctions! Hardcover first editions of Drawing Blood, Guilty But Insane, The Value of X; chapbooks Liquor for Christmas, The Seed of Lost Souls, Used Stories. Obviously these won't be done in time for Christmas, but if you've got holiday money, what better to spend it on than books? As always, all items are signed and can be personalized. Thanks for looking.
In completely unrelated news, the Times-Picayune weather page features a child's drawing each day. Today's forecast: Rain and a large penis. I'm pretty much OK with that.
In completely unrelated news, the Times-Picayune weather page features a child's drawing each day. Today's forecast: Rain and a large penis. I'm pretty much OK with that.
December 20, 2011
N'eau
Feel like messing around with PhotoBooth this morning. Here's what I look like right this minute. It ain't pretty, but it sure ain't girly.
I'm growing out my hair a little on the advice of Grey and our friend Guthrie, who both think the really short cut I prefer gives more of a butch-female appearance than I want (and it's true that I have been flirted with by several lesbians lately). I hate having my hair cut or messed with in any way, which is why I liked the mow-it-once-a-month-and-forget-it approach, but when two gay men give me the same advice on how to look more like a gay man, I'm hardly going to ignore it.
Must go downtown and wrangle with the Sewer & Water Board today. Our bill is up to date, but they shut off our water yesterday anyway, and I could not reach a coherent person on the phone to explain why. My chances of finding one at the actual office are only slightly higher. Third World and proud. Argh.
[ETA: Trying to solve the water problem by phone. This being here, the onus is on me to fax them documents proving I own my house, which I have done. I've had this water account since 2007. New Orleans, I love you for helping me cultivate patience in the midst of madness.]
[ETA2: I proved that I own my house and I have running water again. Millions don't, so I am thankful, though still mystified.]
I'm growing out my hair a little on the advice of Grey and our friend Guthrie, who both think the really short cut I prefer gives more of a butch-female appearance than I want (and it's true that I have been flirted with by several lesbians lately). I hate having my hair cut or messed with in any way, which is why I liked the mow-it-once-a-month-and-forget-it approach, but when two gay men give me the same advice on how to look more like a gay man, I'm hardly going to ignore it.
Must go downtown and wrangle with the Sewer & Water Board today. Our bill is up to date, but they shut off our water yesterday anyway, and I could not reach a coherent person on the phone to explain why. My chances of finding one at the actual office are only slightly higher. Third World and proud. Argh.
[ETA: Trying to solve the water problem by phone. This being here, the onus is on me to fax them documents proving I own my house, which I have done. I've had this water account since 2007. New Orleans, I love you for helping me cultivate patience in the midst of madness.]
[ETA2: I proved that I own my house and I have running water again. Millions don't, so I am thankful, though still mystified.]
I Can Computer
Got the new router set up. I'll try to post a reminder when they go live, but just in case I forget, I have new eBay auctions starting tomorrow (Tuesday) at 4:30 PM (PST). Hardcover first editions of Drawing Blood, Guilty But Insane, The Value of X; chapbooks Liquor for Christmas, The Seed of Lost Souls, Used Stories. Thank you for listening.
