it's funny how ... the stories that you tell are the ones from ages ago. the ones i tell are, anyway. not sure if things seem better through the handy rose the-past lens. or if there's nothing i've done in the last few years that seems interesting. or that i'm proud of. or that i want to admit into the... um, life canon of me. the dinner-party-story version you tell to other people.
if i had to tell the stories of the last 12 months, what would they be? what would i admit to? what would i be proud of? would there be anything?
maybe things need to sit in my head and percolate for a while before i know what they mean, and can articulate them? in the overall lifeline. but that's s sort of rewriting history, and rewriting the way i want me to be.
about me:
- spiderkitten
- i love little things. the smell of new printed paper/grapefruit skin/crushed fennel/struck matches. the feel of: drawing on skin/tearing old stockings/creeping sunlight/anything that dissolves on my tongue. the sound of: an orchestra tuning/a cork pulling from a bottle/old modems/typewriters. the movement of: milk clouds in coffee/the coastline from a plane/a dream-twitching cat. the bounce when: someone understands what you mean/you wake up while still dreaming. the sight of: people sleeping/birds landing/the aurora. i have broken musician's fingernails. i doodle on things. i adore fireworks. still. and shooting stars. i make paper cranes out of leftover paper. i try not to hate how i look. i wear boots. i pick up fallen leaves. i have freckles. i love the cold, let it snow. i talk too fast. i like to touch everything. i am achingly proud of my family. i write. i am interested in your mask as well as your heart. i listen to stories. i am in awe of my friends. i love riding trains. i sleep badly. i love to read things that make me laugh out loud, magic from silent ink and paper :) i use smilies too much...
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