May 20, 2003 - 9:29 p.m.
I wish that I had a tape recorder in my head, I think, as I ride my bike
through the city
in the night-
air wrestling round my ears and filling my head with sound
on our way to retrieve lost articles, we stop into rooms, whose colour names, click! Make sense... all of a sudden, then the rest falls into place and green seems as likely now as red. So much colour.
My head jammed with sound, words hound my thoughts... prostituting themselves for my attention...
�Hi honey it�s just me�... the answering machine swoons out.. Over the sounds of bubbles rising in the sink... sounds like the beginning of an Ani song,... or every sound project of last term�s drama class...I am still sitting, trying the trace back through our back alley wanderings...
Woohoo, Ottawa 3:1, he hollers on Church Street, as Bob Marley croons, �every little thing...
Is gonna be alright�.
This confirmed, we loop home, recalling the first play, on words, we fell upon at the Green Room where we ran, accidentally on purpose, into Siobhan... my number one crush for all time...
�Do you know where I can score�, he stumbles after our departing selves,
Adrienne repeats, what�s the score? ...� no Ade, keep riding�,... not THE score...
Drugs dear... oh.
So we retreat to the safety of the dark long alley out back, riding out our sexual teases, I figure I get off easy... easier than Ade anyways, I�ve been riding out this crush for... ever... years, pinned under its weight... I�m used to her charm by now.
We ride on, and I am convinced that the guy who designed this seat did not have me in mind... has no idea, in fact, what it�s like to be me... as my underwear makes me painfully aware that gel seats are efficient.. In theory.
That other burning question... I ponder the stats... pierced nipples, clit, tattoo and ... well that classic face... is my alternative to norm not alternative enough to be alternative as an erotic option? If I have no place on a web site for those who don�t blend, what�s my alternative? And why do I care?
Fireworks smash the sky, popping candy colours in the night... sirens scream and the university is under construction... a work in progress, a reno to revamp their efforts at making us over into their touted �great minds�. It�s a campaign like �trading spaces� or �while you were out� on the home and garden network.. .a home invasion, a brain erasion... sucked dry. My creative juices are tainted.
We pass the paramedics stretched out over a guy sprawled on the pavement, in front of the liquor store,... I add... not for irony, but for colour... and we continue on past the lot in Kensington where Stacey and I found that wreck of a bike, past Second Cup where girl meets boy to flirt and flip pony tail, in capri pants with bare calves, over the steam from chai lattes. Last time I saw paramedics we were with Tina, leaving the In and Out Film Fest... causing a rukkus at Holt Renfrew by threatening to revamp their sports themed displays by filling their store with window shoppers who ... gasp!!! actually play sports. Our perusal was more an amusal for us than them...me thinks. Any how... the paramedics used their siren to break through traffic, as they pulled out from the ice cream stand... ice creams in hand....
The sky is bursting. We leave the room, home now, to watch the fireworks bleeding and shimmering over the buildings. Grand Finale... fin.
