Egress/Regress

glampiric

Word of the Day for Sunday October 31, 2004 (dictionary.com)

diablerie \dee-OB-luh-ree; -AB-\, noun:
1. Sorcery; black magic; witchcraft.
2. Representation of devils or demons in words or pictures.
3. Mischievous conduct; deviltry.

His worst excesses of unfeeling diablerie belong to his
early days.
--Robertson Davies, "The Making of a 'Dublin Smartie,' "
[2]New York Times, October 30, 1988

Diablerie comes from the French, from diable, devil, from
Latin diabolus, from Greek diabolos, "slanderer," from
diaballein, "to slander," literally "to throw across," from
dia-, "across" + ballein, "to throw."

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I feel strange lately. Detached? Everything's all depeche mode and not enough sleep, and the feel of lace on cold hands, and the longing for a long walk. the play opens in four days. my mind is oscillating, flower-like, and I don't care how pretentious that sounds. sickness is just a distraction, a stumbling-block for kisses and enunciation. I still, after all this time, refuse to manage my time well. I am excellent, sometimes, at avoiding that one thing I'm not supposed to talk about. Opportunity beggar, thoughts like whores, wanton in destination or just a wandering child. autism of the movement of an eyelid, vivid details better than reality. I haven't done this in a while. I've forsaken words too often, for what other solace? sleep, or just denial. I need a stiff drink, no, a slap in the face, an alarm clock that doesn't make me forget my dreams. chapstick melting in pants pockets in washing machines. half-remembered scents, warm hands. an inherent definition of anti-revisionism. write it once and lose it forever, a thoughtgasm into the void without returning sighs.

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the devil is still in his cold kitchen, pots and pans unused for weeks. since she left him, his latest consort, he hasn't been the same. he walks cold streets. manhattan, chicago, bethlehem, the void. gathering the cardboard signs of hobos, chewing up their sadness. climbing spiral stairways without ends, without railings, almost hoping to fall. his tails curl beneath his overcoat, his toes curl in his steel-toed boots, his soul becoming one great cringe. he doesn't know if he likes the night time better, although the sun hurts his eyes. there are more brutal truths to be witnessed in the day, sometimes. he enjoys dusk, but it reminds him of the grey of her eyes. cool wind like the trail of spit she would draw across his neck, cold wind like the winter of her words.

he runs his hands through dark hair, passing lightly over the bumps of his horns. presses his cold palm to his forehead, a respite, a reprieve, an admonition. he walks home.

the fridge is nearly empty. an old chinese food container, filled with lamb's blood. the last piece of the birthday cake she'd baked him. a jar of mustard. he cries a little. a lot of people think the devil doesn't cry, doesn't know the pain he brings us. a lot of people are wrong.

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I'd written about him frequently for a time, sitting in his kitchen. he, like so many others, I neglected. but this house is blossoming back, the devil has blue eyes, sometimes.

spam comments. thanks MT!

today, between 2 51 pm and 5 22 pm, this weblog got 484 spam comments. I give up. Commenting will be shut off until my new website, semblables.com is up and I start blogging there. feel free to email me in commentary if you like.

this little guy was really awesome, about four inches long, clinging to the wall outside the doctor's office this afternoon. my dad coaxed him onto his hand, and the mant proceeded to climb up Slim's arm and chill out on his hat. I love this picture.

same girl, same five minutes. crazy shazz.

amherst in pictures

fattest pig ever! at old sturbridge village

coffee, leaves, and cigarettes. (noah)

the saw mill is very cool.

leaves are pretty.

rawr!

erin. no, it wasn't his birthday.

noah and a tall glass of october.

I really don't know who this guy is, but he's awesome.

christopher being cute.

183

I'm home, and while the last two weekends have been wonderful, now I am sick and have lots of school work and play rehearsal and college application and earache to deal with. radio silence for a few days, unless I upload some Amherst pictures or do a few 3 am rants. guh.

time to take more Sudafed.

champions officially

bitter fish in crude oil sea
you don't have to bother me
you just have to join on this song