October 06, 2000: kissing is the best part
It's almost time to gut \idat\.
Almost.
I have to admit that I've loved \idat\ more than any other personal site I've done. It's got style. It was the first thing I ever made that was truly and completely, utterly mine. No graphics from other places. All of it, my work. I worked on it as catharsis during a bad breakup, as something to focus on that wasn't my own pain.
There's a lot of blood in that site, between the lines of HTML. I can hear it, even now. \idat\ was the brainchild of my depression, sprung nearly fully-formed. The tables were tricky, back then. Not a lot of people were doing that sort of thing. And, still, when i look at it, I love the two front pages. I have a deep affection for the index page, with its pale little line dividing and freeing the text from itself.
But, frankly, the rest...it's odds and ends, cobbled together in no real sort of order these days. I'm about ready to throw it all out and start over. I need a bio and a picture section, but I think the links are going to go away, as well as a bunch of the other stuff i've got in there. Closer will be intgrated with the journal section, the hypothyroid stuff will be linked in from elsewhere, and the archived art and stuff will get buried a little bit, I think.
It's the end of a personal era, I guess. Out with the old! In with the new! More actual writing and less fretting about the personal stuff!
Ahem.
Besides, some of the stuff currently on that page is going to go on the Annelon site, whenever I get it up. Heh.
By the way, there's now a page with all the pictures Chris took of me back in July on it.
Points for people who can spot my inner children/16-year-old goth girl/flirt. Heh.
hello through goodbye
I swim up through my dreams
(tasting bark but my tree stays tree)
and break my surface, bristling upwards
snarling silently as I launch my body
teeth-first at the intruder--
thank god for sleep paralysis.
there's nobody here except cats
who have just knocked something
over and me, tied to bed with gravity
and fighting with the brain-burn
of interrupted dream--
but listen.
at three am I hear the house breathing
the long slow heartbeat of the neighborhood
sirens distant as tinnutus
the long loping sound of night birds
more imagined than heard in the slough--
it is enough.
cradled in unseen arms and
soothed by imagined voices
I rock back into sleep, lulled
by all those things on the edge of my mind
the swish and sigh of darkness against the blankets
the brush of air on my skin
the breath that will be let out at dawn.
