it's 11:39 pm, on November 24, 2001 - pete and Remy in november.
~
Every time I go back to Al's quotes page I find myself staring back at me.
But it's in a strange way, as if the things I've said really weren't mine to begin with, as if-- no, they weren't really mine.
Sheila asked me for a first-line for Wes and Gunn just now and I went to Al for inspiration, and stole Anyone who shows a little kindness in a vicious universe becomes the perfect lover.
She asked if it was quoting, or if it was me. And I said, 'it's quoting, but it's quoting me'.
Which reminds me.
I was at Rae's house the other day, and Dylan was talking about how he wasn't a good writer, and asking how he might improve. So Rae pointed out that he was really just, writing about himself, and eventually he said, 'but no one really cares' and Rae pointed out how no one really cares when you're just writing about yourself.
So she said, 'you have to read more to improve.' And I said, 'if you want to improve your writing about yourself, realize that you have an audience for even that.'
Realizing the audience, the mirror in front of your words makes you conscious of every single one-- when you can feel the breath condensing on the glass as you press your face up against it to whisper, then you'll start writing things that people might want to read.
This gets into Xander's questioning, also, Mel's. I'm trying to answer your questions, here. Hope every little bit helps.
I think that online journals are very good narrative excersises, because it forces one to realize, hey, this is me I'm talking about, and I have to make it interesting for people to read. It makes you think about language and self differently, makes you see those words as more than simple explanations of self. Everything's a show.
Life's a show and we all play our parts.
To get totally off track for just a minute? Joss Whedon. Hatred in the most affectionate way. That damned musical.
I remember that, at one point, I wanted to say for nostalgia's sake, I don't think I feel any less strongly or differently for you, though I really really should, I think. There's, I don't know. Strength. Sarah Miles asks, 'you think love ends when you don't see me?'
It takes not seeing you to make me understand.
~*~
A random 'dark side quote':
I think we are all tainted love. Wisdom does that.
~ sir k
Pete clomps up three flights of stairs, in November, on a saturday night and after three pitchers of beer and several glasses of other things. His legs barely work, and he can't see to put the key in the lock. Good thing the door's unlocked. Good thing someone let themselves in already.
Three continents, eight different cities, a whole lotta deaths and six permanent addresses, and Remy still picked his lock.
Some things don't change.
Pete feels in the pocket of his coat for his lighter, and curses it, sitting serene on the counter back at the pub. His lights are off. His stuff is strewn in boxes on the floor.
His air is tainted with the smell of menthol cigarettes and cologne, when Pete would never splash that kind of shit on, and sucked back on marboros in a pinch, and usually rolled his own with no filters. It feels like Remy's been sitting there a long time in the dark, and if it weren't for the eyes Pete would have no idea who it was.
He knows too much of Remy to think this is a social call, and loves too much about himself to make the first move. Remy's hands are folded in his lap.
Pete is frozen in his doorway, probably framed by the dim hall light of the apartment block. You climb three flights of stairs, barely upright, clutching the railing like a crutch, and freeze in your doorway.
Pete thinks clearly, there should be something to say to this. He keeps his eyes on Remy because he's not going to let this bend him any more than it has to.
Remy showed him a kind of love once. It's tainted the air again, with menthol.
Pete rubs his face, and moves into the apartment, muttering, "you came a long way."
He glances at Remy, who looks harsh and haggard, now that there's some light on his face, or maybe just because Pete has the right angle to look at him properly, found the magic place to stand. Remy says, "Guess so."
Pete translates it to mean, the sky falls daily.
He says, "drink?" cause he knows what kind of whiskey Remy uses to dull his aches, and pours without looking behind him. He wants to have a drink with Remy even if Remy's not in love anymore.
Remy says, "yeah, okay," and Pete hears it as, nothing.
Pete shuffles through his life and thinks, it's a viscious universe indeed.
~
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what would sith be nostalgic about anyway - November 24, 2015
moving truck dilemma - October 28, 2015
- - July 19, 2015
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bruise - June 29, 2015
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