Fire Emblem me

Bye Bye Bloggy

So, right, wanted to tell you all that I have been moved off of LJ for like a month. If you want to know where, email me or ask me IRL. Not posting my new blog URL because I am too misanthropic to want people to be able to find me too easily, especially after the random episode in November where someone in real life was telling a friend of mine about my blog and completely got the wrong impression and my friend thought I was secretly a dick. Grr.

So yes. Gone from LJ for the most part (I still read friends' posts though, no worries there =P). Ask me if you want to find my new blog.
Bodhisattva in the fog

(no subject)

I just realized I kind of think of facebook status updates in a similar manner to how I thought about updating livejournal. Just abrogated greatly because no-one will read a page long status update =P

As a result I have started thinking in little up-to-three-sentence blurbs about my life. This is interesting but I also don't want to post about that shit all the time. People would hate me =P

So I should probably come back to blogging, do that regularly like I used to so that I will have a journal of sorts to look back on as well as keep up my non-academic writing skills. Might be nice to be able to write personal stuff and/or fiction again regularly.

In other news,
1. I may be migrating to either blogspot or wordpress, because what Livejournal has done to itself makes me sad (but I will miss usericons and mood themes soooo much!)
2. I have a part of a song stuck in my head, but it's from my childhood (pretty sure) and in Latin, which I didn't know much of when I was little, so it's mostly just sounds, not even letters. I am bothered because I want to ID it and listen to it but I have no way how D= So I am listening to Carmina Burana in hopes that one of the songs is what I'm looking for. Because I'm pretty sure it's not Gregorian chant >_<''
3. I like the word in Chinese that comes from the characters of my username, Kasuri, which turns into Fei1Bai3 (fly white) in Chinese. It means the particular style of brushstroke that comes out all feathery and ripped looking because the brush is a little dry. (check out for more on that future me)

That is all for now.

Love you all,
  • Current Music
    Carl Orff- Chramer, gip die varwe mir
Fire Emblem me

As promised, the year's meme.

January: Holy crap this corset was reduced like months and months ago!
February: OHMYGOD I was just in the biggest fight of my life

but it was amazing and now I am broken and have touched the doyle owl.
March: So, I was reading through the J. Peterman Catalogue and ran into some turkish bathtowels, in the description of which they were chatting about this really old bathhouse the Cağaloğlu Hamami, which sounded really cool so I went to their website, .
April: You know, I realize now that this is probably one of the harder semesters on me of my whole life.

May: I've been meaning to post.
June: I got a package, I got a package... ^-^
July: So, I went to my third VNV concert last night- I realized I hardly have any visual memories of the first concert, out in Seattle with Goetsch, which is kind of sad.
August: It is looking at the commonplace as though it were surreal and the surreal as though it were commonplace that creates what I want to write.
October: I heard the horse-head fiddle, the morin huur
Singing the song of loneliness
That was playing in my heart.
November: It's been a long time since I've seen the face of death.
December: I keep dreaming about her
This time I remember very vividly a book I was glancing at as we were wandering in the back room of a bookstore.

Awesome eh? Happy new decade, folks.

  • Current Music
    waffle maker beeping
Bodhisattva in the fog

I keep dreaming about her

This time I remember very vividly a book I was glancing at as we were wandering in the back room of a bookstore. It was called "And They Followed the Phoenix". (a mind corruption also goes "And They Were Following the Phoenix", because for some reason the first statement feels as though it is in present tense)

I can't find it on Amazon, or using Googlefu. I'll keep looking. But I'm betting since I remember it so strongly it's the title of a book I'm going to write.

Maybe about her, and the dreams. How I have no inclination to accept her as unliving. 'Cause she's not.

I held her close a little, after chatting (and some unknown adventures earlier in the dream- a shame they were lost, I get the impression it was awesome). I had the sad thought looking into her eyes that she must be feeling some survivor's guilt, what with Jess still in a coma and all- the assumption being of course she's still alive. But we both knew what I was thinking and skipped around the subject. She felt so skinny: under her right shoulderblade was wet. She even seemed shorter than me, I don't know why.
But we wandered into the back room, and she moved off, asking in her boisterous way "Where are the real books?" I asked "You mean fiction?" and then I was looking at this book. It was kind of artistic on the cover, a bust portrait of a woman in black (hair) and red (dress/bosoms?) and tea-stain brown (skin), made of short thick lines that didn't connect on a yellow like old bones. She looked vaguely mid 18th century, but her hair looked like it was up in short ponytails poking out to either side, even though she was a woman. She looked very fine nonetheless. (top shelf of a bookshelf that curved, mostly facing a window out, right next to some short stairs leading to the upper level)

When I woke I wasn't sure I was awake. But then I knew I had been dreaming and that I was in the Bainbridge house, so I called Martin to tell him before I forgot everything. Hence this small picture.

I'm hungry so I'm going to try and eat before Ben gets here. But I wanted to get this down for myself.
  • Current Music
    Pendulum - Hold Your Colour
Fire Emblem me


And I fell in love with Ayya again.

Problem is, Martin and I want the same boots, and since they're custom I think they're a reasonable price D=

I also really like this:

And in other news:

That's all I want to talk about my life right now I guess. Things are too difficult for me to feel comfortable sharing here now I think with who knows who.
Fire Emblem me

Back to consumer whoredom,

After a whole bunch of actually meaty posts, I present you with this:
The Tauntaun sleeping bag!

I've been on the mailing list for months (approximately since april fool's day, when they presented it as a product but didn't actually have it). Finally the other day they said it was on pre-order!

I am sorely tempted. My geekery almost feels incomplete. But I never go camping or spending the night other places that don't have blankets and couches. It would be mildly useless. Where would I keep it?

But it's SO AWESOME is it not?
Fire Emblem me

To someone I don't know who

Is really all what you took from my last post that I was angry I didn't know who it was who hit her?

Seriously, fuck you. I don't even remember writing that. I was just wordpuking, thought processing. That was definitely not the point of what I wrote.

Grrrrr. I can't deal with you people. Look, I'll leave posting options open so you can say your piece, but know that I'm not very happy with that interpretation of my feelings. The thing I am most angry at is really dealing with the grief of others, and that's not all that angry. I guess a part of me wanted to be angry but there's nothing to be angry at. But things keep changing, each moment I feel different, each day I work out something new. It's been three days. Think how much has happened in that time for you.
Bodhisattva in the fog

I can handle speaking, but not speaking with. I need to speak though.

It's been so long since I slept well, the half dreams where I'm talking to Lindsay aren't helping. I can't handle any more talking to people. I just want to sleep, remember what problems I was dealing with before eleven last night.

I've told the same story a thousand times today, heard Martin saying it a thousand times (and really, what is the difference between him and I, except for the love he had for Lindsay). It's like I'm stuck at this aperture where the only focus is her, and by reference myself. The senselessness is astounding because I cannot reconcile it with anything I believe. No god, impartial or not, would kill this woman I have loved just to remind me about death, and to teach me how to deal with it as an adult. I am obsessed with her death: I had to do some serious thoughtwork to stop myself thinking about the moment she died, in my own body. I felt my bones break and the crazed, quick yet agonizingly clear moments of a crash so many times last night I couldn't tell you.

I am a cruel person. My thoughts are selfish. I will not share them in this medium. One I will share is that I wish I could have her boots, as a memento. We have the same size feet. Had.

The relationship net twangs something ridiculous with this sudden ripping of a single knot. It really brings the lines of relationships to light: who is frayed, who is just vibrating, who knew her, who doesn't.

I have a playlist. Altan Urag's Requiem: Straylight Run's Existentialism on Prom Night: and from the one moment today when I felt I had dealt with it, the funerary song from the end of Akira Kurosawa's Dreams. It doesn't work anymore though.

The question keeps coming back. I am more in a state of confusion than of sadness, or anger. Why? How could she be gone? More and more it feels like some sick joke. I can't handle talking to anyone about it anymore because... Because it feels like I'm perpetuating this horrible lie? She was telling me how I should" Press the action button to rock your thesis!", just a few hours earlier.

My appetite is gone. I may not be eating much of anything for a while. It just makes me sick.

I keep replaying the times we had. When she and Martin and I were walking to the Pub at The End of The Universe to talk about how to be a threesome, I picked her a dandelion and she kept it. Sleeping in bed, the three of us, her hand and mine met and interlocked over Martin's stomach. Most strong is the image of her fluffing her hair when I last saw her, saying how she had just cut it.

I never realized how lively she was. Martin said to Brian on the phone (so many phonecalls today) how he can't say she's dead: it is the most incorrect adjective to use about her. She and I were going to have a dragon vs. shark fight.

She never got to see my finished costume. I had been thinking of making the tail just for her to see.

Will I ever be able to go to the pub again? I may have to, with the wake and all. But I know I will not be able to sit at the table from that night with the dandelion, when I first had chocolate stout. I feel sad that she never came over much to our new house after we moved. We were all so busy this summer. But when Martin lost his job there was more time to hang out...

That's the hardest part. Bearing his grief too. As well as everyone else I meet. Walker woman's curse, this empathy. But Martin is my life, no difference. But I just want to run and run, it's been so hard sleeping with him anyway after the two nights he spent away, but how can I sleep without him? How do I handle this?

I do it alone. I write in my LJ, like I used to do. Martin went off to the Hawse to be with everyone there. If I can't handle even him, I can't handle anyone else there. Cameron, who called us, has been someone I could manage mildly, but we haven't spoken much beside logistics since he called last night.

I know what dirges sound like. I sang them with my throat through my tears.

But is this incorrect? Am I not feeling this? Am I just picking up on everyone else? A part of me wants to say I loved her like a lover, to belong to this mess of grief more strongly somehow, but I know I didn't. I loved her as a friend. My obsession, could it be from everyone else's grief?

This is why I am writing this alone in my room, and not leaving to talk to anyone for the next while. I need to deal with this alone. But expression is quite important too. Again, why I'm here.

I can't tell if I'm shivering with cold or emotion, and if emotion with which. Altan Urag's Requiem strikes all these chords. (I don't think I will be able to play it again without thinking of her in the future.) I don't know what to say to anyone. She's gone. That's all.

I just want to sleep. Please, let me sleep. Everything will untangle and right itself if I sleep. Let my dreams not be ones of her: If anything, let there be no dreams at all. I need to wake up strong and lively and able to face all the things that are still here. Because, really, it all is: my thesis isn't gone. My classes didn't get hit. The issues of money and rent and food are not somewhere in a...

I don't even want to say it. It can't be true. I want to write myself a story that she just ran off somewhere, was taken somewhere, anywhere, somewhere where she exists yet.

But I know where she exists now. It's in our stories, the remembering. The way the relationship net has come together, from all corners of the country, to recreate her presence even if only for a moment.
She's here. In my heart. The footprint in the sand.

I can't say I'm numb anymore. That would be a lie. But the confusion is immense. If only it would start parsing itself... since I know I can't parse it any further. I've explained everything. Accidents happen. Lindsay is gone. Jess is in the hospital. There will be a funeral. Things to deal with. My mind runs to all the things that are needed to be done.

But I don't know anything at all. Her image in my mind is sheared off, flat now, without dimension. I have been trying to add the demarcation of "this person is dead" to her in all of my memories, and it doesn't work. The sense of revulsion about the dead is there, but she's not the one who is dead. It won't make sense. Maybe ever.

The only thing I do know is that she's okay. That's what all my dreams told me. She's alright with this, somewhere. Or maybe somewhere, it's me being alright with this, this never seeing her again. This tragedy. One way or another- life moves on.

I hate to say these trite things, you always hear them. "Oh god! I'm so sorry. I can't believe she's gone. Life keeps on going. She would have it this way." I want to strike myself for hearing them, for speaking things like them. There is anger, I suppose. It's all directed at me. I am like a little ball of frustration- confusion does that to me. I hate when I can't figure something out.

I just want this to blow over soon, get back to what I was doing, not feel guilty about that either. It would be nice. I could pretend she's back in Europe. Who knows? Maybe that is where she is.

I miss her. Funny how you only miss people when they're gone.

I don't think I can write anymore. It's starting to fray. I'll let this go.
  • Current Music
    Altan Urag - Requiem
Bodhisattva in the fog

It's been a long time since I've seen the face of death.

And it struck so without reason, too.

I already miss her. This is going to be a hard november, I think.

At least I got to dream of her briefly last night- I fell, she caught my hand. I was sure it was her but I couldn't really see her- we talked for a bit. We're going to watch Coupling sometime after all =) I think she was trying to cheer me up. Told me to stop worrying.

I couldn't stop thinking. It's going to be a full week of almost no sleep at this rate. I didn't get to finish my pages either, or the Lankavatara sutra reading we had for today.
At least I started that though.

Right before I woke up, I was standing on the sidewalk,
facing the road. She was in it, just out of arm's reach-
Walking by to my left,
Wearing that hat she wore when she cross-dressed,
using a cane.
She moved on, looking only forward.
  • Current Music
    Altan Urag - Requiem