Feb 4
Lies
I lied, I have nothing of substance to post today. Again.
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Feb 3
Tattoos
I’m up to 61 tattoos right now, I’ll post them tomorrow.
I’m tired.
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Feb 2
Writing Chinese
Writing here used to be so easy, it was natural. Now, now it’s like work, like writing Chinese. I don’t feel like anything is worth saying anymore. I wonder if posting every day will loosen my head, or if I’ll just stay stuck. I don’t know, I guess we’ll all (all two of you) find out together.
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Jan 31
Starting in February
Dec 24
Christmas
So, it’s Christmas Eve, I’m watching The Nightmare Before Christmas, trying to feel Christmasy, but it’s not happening. I have to go to dinner at the in-laws’, then Midnight Mass, and the whole time I’ll be thinking about where I really want to be. It’s the same story every year, I’m so sick of writing it. Though, it’s not about not wanting to go have dinner with the in-laws, or to Midnight Mass, I like a both. It’s about something that’s missing, someone, whatever.
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Dec 23
Oh Christmas Tree
So, I got a Canon EOS Rebel T3i, and it’s absolutely amazing. The neatest thing about it is that I can connect it to my MacBook Air and shoot pictures myself.
My little tree...
I need a tri-pod to really line up my shots. but I got this picture of my Christmas tree just sitting the camera on my bed. Back when I could use my thumbs, I used to shoot portraits with a Nikon N90, a film camera, before the days of SD cards and megapixels. I always loved lining my shots, composing everything just so, hearing the satisfying shutter-click, and knowing that I caused that click. Today I got to feel a little bit of that stuff again, and I’ll get to feel a lot more.
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Dec 22
WordPress 3.3
So, I’m now running WordPress 3.3. I’ve been writing here since WordPress, like, 2 or 2.1, that’s a lot of blogging in one place. That’s three years of blogging. I hate that I really love writing in 3.3, yet I have absolutely nothing in my head that’s worth writing.
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Dec 18
Moths
They’re like moths to a flame, the flame of each other, heat radiating between them like a flickering candle.
She grabs him fast, pulls him close. She’s a reaction to him and he to her, unspoken, automatic, like atoms colliding toward an explosion.
They’re completely drawn to each other, the flame between them, their dance isn’t subtle, or delicate, it’s powerful, and beautiful. She takes him inside her, pulling him toward a place outside of this world, a place without conscious thought, a world wholly their own, a place of heat and only the feeling of being deep within her. She asks him to come with her, for her, she wants it so badly, aches for him, begs for him to fill her with liquid-fire. They’re dancing a dance of heat, sweat, skin touching skin, a dance of ecstasy rising, falling into decadent nothingness.
She pulls him close, deep inside her. He comes like she asked, like he always does and always will. They’re like moths to a flame, the flame of each other, white-hot, unending.
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