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angie never's Journal  last night in my dreams, you appeared as you always appear. as the center of the universe. as the conclusion of a long and tear-speckled quest. i have dreamed of you so often that dream memories outnumber real memories, and real memories fade and stretch as though nothing solid ever fleshed them out. who were we to each other? blue-eyed children at best, intersecting briefly in this world. in the dream i could not kiss you enough. we were both crying and smiling, grabbing and releasing each other as though checking for realness. as though we had both been here before, in a moment between realities, where what is tangible always evaporates, where embraces never last long enough. i am not changing the dream. this is who you were last night. this is how it happened. i have kissed you awake and asleep and it is always the same. necessary. like a drink of water, a gasp of air. a panic. a relief. something you needed so much it makes you weep. i remember you kissing my hands and begging me, drunk and unafraid, just until we were alone together and you sat on the other side of the bed, a boy with a whisky bottle and a girl who didn't know what to do. at our closest moment you changed. this is the dream. this is real life. hardened or froze, it is all the same. i was betrayed and knew it, and you were miles away already, unrepentant and real, putting your clothes back on. it still hurts today. in a life that is solid, where the corners of rooms meet at right angles. in a waking life where i am thirsty, where i cannot catch my breath. Current mood: distant. On the twelfth day of Christmas,
 anever sent to me...Twelve tattoos drumming Eleven circus piping Ten bikes a-leaping Nine piercings dancing Eight zines a-milking Seven bicycles a-traveling Six pirates a-dancing Five bi-i-i-ig girls Four violent femmes Three bike punks Two circus freaks ...and a feminism in a poetry. a lull in jam band thursday night. every thursday since i moved here i've spent this early morning hour trying to pay attention to anything other than the music pounding through my floor from midnight to 4 AM. tonight the band started an hour late and stopped playing at 2. it's 2:44 and they haven't started up again yet. i can't get too excited. it's one night out of a million. i can't be forgiving this apartment for everything so quickly. in other news, this is the first update i've ever made from home, thanks to the extreme generosity of my computer-donating friends and the piracy of wireless internet coffeehouses, ha ha. Current mood:  numb.Current music: blessed quiet. i can't help it i ended up jaded. i can't tell you how often i think of that moment. us in black hoodies, bandannas and face masks, having marched to city hall and then the hush that fell over us all when we went inside and started up the stairs. except for you. anarchist through and through, you said loud and testy "why should we be quiet?" not buying in. tense and ready. and then i think of you sloshy drunk in front of those squats in detroit, talking about how close you felt to us because of our punk hair and fashion decisions, and wearing your transnation shirt in solidarity to show that sometimes fashion does matter, and sometimes hits at the very core of who we are. and you in a hot little leather outfit at the goth bar, dancing with a girl with a boyfriend who didn't deserve even a minute of your attention, but who had fallen into your drunken radar nonetheless. being there with you felt important, not just another anti-climatic night at an uninspired bar, but the afterhours steam release of a bunch of revolutionaries as bent on world change as we were on getting drunk afterwards. you marched in the first gay pride parade in israel, your green hair like a flag, a stand out among outcasts. you told a story when i first met you about standing off against frat boys who attacked you and your girlfriend. you were the only girl i knew who owned a gun. you were so serious, so passionate. it meant something. those hours we all spent in arguments about what needed to be fixed, those marches and screamed slogans, the wheatpasting, the speeches, the zines, the music. we wanted solutions. we didn't know how to get them, but we tried. i don't know what drove you off that northern beach in the middle of winter. i don't know what pills you took or what you drank or whether or not you really meant to walk off into the water that night. i don't know what little fight you could have had that took you there after handling all those big fights with purity and grace. i don't know where your heart was that night, or the nights that lead you there. by the time you stopped breathing it had almost been three years since i had known you. but i wish there had been more to the story you were writing, that a cold night on a dark beach had not filled the very last pages of the very last chapter. one night before i even met you i heard you speak at a women's rally. you said "how do we fight for it all and win? we just go for it." this means something to me even now. Current mood:  contemplative.
friday afternoon out to yellow springs where we crunched through the snow in the glen, drank cappucinos, and found our friend karin at a much higher level of functionality than on our last visit. spent a lovely evening in drinking wine, watching the travel channel, and keeping the new puppy out of the chex mix, this while the seemingly-entire rest of the world celebrated something having to do with men and balls, dry topics if you ask me. saturday drove home with zach's new bike on the new bike rack. i couldn't stop looking at it in the rear view mirror and hoping it didn't fall off. then out with joanna and a shiny new silver bike for her. the three of us stood with bikes outside A4 until my yucky A1 neighbor came up and started shouting about gorillas and cracking his teeth at me. yuck. dinner at indian vegetarian restaurant with lydia who was delightful and funny as always. worked off the dinner by riding out on the 670 bike path and trying not to be done in by the wind. spent sunday helping justin install a new thermostat in his car. fun fact of the day: justin's car weighs 6000 pounds. that's immense. here's the update from my post a few days ago. in case you can't tell from my response, i'm still not happy ... company reply: We have no way of knowing whose bicycle is attached to the bike racks to contact the owner if we need to move the racks. More care should have been taken by the window cleaners when moving the racks. To remedy this situation in the future, we have relocated the bike racks further west on the Long St. side of the building so that they no longer need to be moved to get to the windows. my response: I receive mass e-mails on an almost daily basis in regards to everything from current fundraisers to Blue Jacket ticket sales. These are not items that necessarily apply to all employees, but all employees receive them. I don't understand why this forum could not have been used to let bike riders know that the rack would be moved. There are bulletin boards on every floor - could a notice have been posted? How about the "My Location" tab on MyAEPNow? I don't believe that you had no way to contact the owners. I don't believe anyone even tried. Moving the bike rack solves the problem of window cleaning but makes the bikes more vulnerable to rain, ice, and snow. Beyond that, the rack isn't even secured to anything, which any bike book will tell you lessens its effectiveness. I appreciate your attempt to remedy this situation but I really don't feel it has been resolved on anything other than a surface level. I will continue to opt to bring my bike inside. ... i'm so mad about this is just want to explode. think they're just mad because i don't pay them $40 a month to park my car in their garage? Current mood:  stressed.
Yesterday (12/16), to allow room for window washing equipment, the bike rack outside the lobby was dragged out and back about ten feet or so. My bike, which I ride to work everyday, was locked to the rack at the time. Very shortly into my ride home, I discovered that my brakes and gears were twisted sideways and inoperable as a result of the bike being dragged, and I had to stop and make immediate adjustments so I could get home safely. My bike does not become AEP property just because it is locked to the AEP bike rack and you do not have my permission to treat it as such. Your decision to move my bike without my permission compromised my safety, which contradicts with one of your main mission statements. This was particularly infuriating because it demonstrated a disrespect for my bike that I believe would never have been taken with a car. I can't imagine employees' cars being moved around in the garage without any notification. From now on I will not be locking my bike to the rack, but instead will be bringing it inside and storing it beside my cubicle. Your response on this issue will be greatly appreciated. Current mood:  irate.Current music: leonard cohen. been doing a terrible job of journal keeping lately. maybe because it isn't smoking week. in fact i'm thinking of giving up smoking week entirely. i don't like feeling the aggravation in my lungs the week after. although every time i talk myself out of smoking week i think of those gorgeous mean 1913 ouled nail girls and change my mind again. ah, smoking, what a duplicitous accomplice. the temp agency sent zach back to the job that made him miserable (resulting in the black moods of previous entries), and i don't know what awaits me when i get home tonight. a bad feeling. other landscape items include a problem i had no power to help a friend with and the discovery of a misplaced line on my tattoo. and bike riding in freezing rain. on the other hand, i have dance class tonight. all is not ill. ... me and zach goofing on the couch, a rare moment of talking about our first encounters with each other, and he teasingly says "you're not as cute now as you were then." and we punch each other and i act offended and say "that's fine, tell me something i am more now than i was then," and he thinks a second and says "you're more my friend now than you were then." ... ... sitting down to coffee, our new hobby, me teasing him about an upcoming tattoo saying "but boyfriend i don't want you to get any more interesting, i have trouble fighting the girls off you as it is," and him saying "but girlfriend, if i'm interesting it's only because of being with you." at which point i have to pretend that my eyes are not suddenly full of tears ... |
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