Song call- Don Henly, "Boys of Summer"

Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
The summer’s out of reach
Empty lake, empty streets
The sun goes down alone
I’m drivin’ by your house
Though I know you’re not home

But I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

I never will forget those nights
I wonder if it was a dream
Remember how you made me crazy?
Remember how I made you scream
Now I don’t understand what happened to our love
But babe, I’m gonna get you back
I’m gonna show you what I’m made of

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
I see you walkin’ real slow and you’re smilin’ at everyone
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

Out on the road today, I saw a black flag sticker on a cadillac
A little voice inside my head said, "Don’t look back. You can never look back."
I thought I knew what love was
What did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go but-

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got that top pulled down and that radio on, baby
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone

I can see you-
Your brown skin shinin’ in the sun
You got that hair slicked back and those wayfarers on, baby
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone
- Don Henly, "Boys of Summer"

I like the cover by The Ataris much better, because it's got a hell of a lot more energy- but mostly I just love this song. It's the ultimate summer song, really, the epitome of vacation in July with friends at the beach. It's got more of a highschool vibe than anything else, but I don't care.

It never fails to make me smile, and that's all that really matters.

Song call- Poe- "A Rose"

Jezebel from Israel
Who never read a book
Charmed the literati
And a smile was all it took.

I was laughing with Picasso
When she first entered the room
But Gershwin, Tristan Tzara
And Man Ray saw her too
There was never any doubt
All would try to take her home
But she refused their every move
Preferred to be alone

And a rose...a rose is a rose

Zelda had a breakdown
Fitzgerald hit the bar
His hand was broken, words were spoken
Didn't get too far.
Hemmingway was smoother
More debonair and fun
But he would say her repartee
Was meaner than a gun.

And a rose...
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Said my good friend Gertrude Stein
She knows that I go to the ol' Deux Magots
And I drink Pernod through the night.
Jezebel from Israel
Who never read a book,
She charmed the literati
And a smile was all it took.

Before her Joyce will babble
And Pound has gone insane.
Eliot is paralyzed by
Thoughts of April rain.
When she refused Lennin
He vowed to start a war
Stravinsky beat The Rite of Spring
Right there on the floor.

And a rose...a rose is a rose
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
Said my good friend Gertrude Stein
She knows that I go to the ol' Deux Magots
And I drink Pernod through the night

And then one night she's missing
A riot soon began
No one could stand the thought of Jezzie with another man
I raced down winding streets
I broke into her house
You'll never guess who Jezebel
Was kissing on the couch...

A rose...a rose is a rose...
Hi Jezzie. Hi there Gertrude
Am I interrupting something?
A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose...
-Poe, "A Rose"

What? Yes. Jazz. *melts into a puddle of goo* *jazz-tastic goo*

If I had to choose voices for my characters, this is Len's. Sex on legs, baby. It's no wonder half the heavenly host wanted to bang her. (By half the heavenly host, I actually just mean Catenus and occasionally Lucifer, but that's beside the point.)

naruto babble

So, the latest Naruto chapter?

I love Kisame. I love him so, so much. I'm even halfway fond of Itachi, even if he is a moron. (Squee, Kisame!)

Naruto gets the best facial expressions- the look he gives Kakashi over the whole "teamwork" thing is priceless. It's either a sign of Naruto's maturity (actually valuing teamwork) or his eagerness to fight. I'm hoping it's the former, though it's probably partly the latter.

Ch'. My inspiration really does work by induction; that's going to be the new blog title, I think. And I'll rearrange the links a bit, since that needs to be done...more, though, I need to finish my poems and at least one response (it's a sneeze, a fucking sneeze, why am I having so much trouble with this?) and I need to get supplies, ink, paper.

The depth of my experience is like unto a fucking puddle.
*sigh*

And now, your moment of Blindsided:

Naruto's bare feet tore gouges in the stone as he skidded away from Itachi. He shook ash out of his hair, grinning ferally. "You guys like playing with fire, right?" The hems of his pants were smoldering slightly; he ignored them. "You wanna play with fire, I'll give you fire! Kage Bunshin!" Three Narutos, in a row. They all opened their eyes at the same time, three identical sets of inhuman, slit pupiled fox eyes.

"Kitsunenomen!"

The last thing anyone saw was a wall of fire and nine lashing tails.

Naruto fic- To Carthage, Burning

To Carthage, Burning

Experimental, wanktastical tribute to the Kakashi Gaiden.

Ugh. That's it, I'm done. The tenses are completely off- I hate writing in present tense, but it lost a lot of it's effectiveness in past tense. Unfortunately, I know I missed a few spots when changing it over (never mind that I went over the damn thing with a fine tooth comb- there are still parts that read awkwardly and I don't know how to fix them).

Blaaarg. I need to do homework, but I'd rather sleep for a week and a half.

As for the title? I'm a fangirl. A silly, stupid fangirl. And now I'm going to be thinking of Obito as Tireseias- Oh Lord, thou pluckest me out, burning.

Damn you, T S Eliot. And damn you, Naruto.

Ugh. *frustrated*

Thicke, "Stupid Things"

Just charge it to my account
I hope I haven't gone over my limit
With interest rates so swift
No need to scream and shout
No doubt if women are from Venus now
I'll get to them somehow

All I want to do is please you
Please myself by living my life too

And all the stupid things I do
Have absolutely no reflection on
How I feel about you
How I feel about
All the stupid things I do
Have absolutely no reflection on
How I feel about you
How I feel about you, yeah

Oh yes I recall
Skipping on breakfast to play basketball
Then feeling two feet small
Sometimes you read like William Shakes
Your scent is sweet like Betty Crocker bakes
I'd love to have your cake and eat it too

All I want to do is please you
Please myself by living my life too

And all the stupid things I do
Have absolutely no reflection on How I feel about you
How I feel about
All the stupid things I do have absolutely no reflection on
How I feel about you
How I feel about you yeah

And all the stupid things I do
Have absolutely no reflection on How I feel about you
How I feel about
Oh how I feel about you
How I feel about you yeah
- Thicke, "Stupid Things"

Same guy who did "Lazy Bones." I love this song- it's an amazingly stupid song, but that's the point. And it's great. I mean, cake. That's the greatest pickup line in the world- but then, I am going to be spending the night baking banana bread. So never mind, I'm a little biased.

I'm also a sap. We all know this. But hey, at least this song has nothing to do with Naruto. I just cut out all of the Naruto wank to put in the next post.

I lose.

Dreamscrape- Sestina

Standing alone in the room, I am struck dumb by the blue
of the sky through the window, its subtle
colors shifting like the strange potential
of un-rippled water before the stone falls.
Enraptured, I watch the tiny cattle integrate
themselves into the landscape, which previously was bare.

An veiled man appears beside me and strips me bare;
the room is not cold but my fingers are blue.
He tells me it is time for me to integrate
myself into society, the blade in his hand unsubtle
in its warning, should I think to resist. Night falls
outside, as though it, too were aware of the potential

for disaster here. He says I have the potential
to be an upstanding citizen; sickened, I cannot bear
the thought of it. Rather than wait for his axe to fall
on my exposed neck, I flee through the blue
window, into the now gray night; gone are the subtle
sky colors. The cattle gather, excited; "Ain't it great?"

they ask, as their numbers change over time. I cannot integrate
this equation, though I tremble with electric potential,
and am shot through from toe to crown with a subtle,
insidious voltage. The current dances over my bare
nerves, stripped like wires to their copper cores. The blue
sparks shower my bovine audience like waterfalls

of violent light. Suddenly anti-derivative, the sky falls
and the cows go too, leaving as they came, with the integration
of new elements into the landscape. Figures in blue
surround me, dancing, singing, revelling in the potential
for joy in all things. Sparks still fly from my bare
soul, and I embrace the dancers, as filled with Sappho's subtle

fire as they are. Without music, we dance to the subtle
vibrations of the emotion, the rising and falling
of heartbeats marking time for the rhythm of bare
feet. In the predawn graylight we integrate
our voices into the morning-song; the air hums with potential,
and the sun explodes into being out of the blue.

The sky is unsubtle in its attempts to integrate
our whirling dervish dance of falling potential
into its bare and breathtaking expanse of blue.
---------------

What? Grammar? Cease your crazy talk!

I think, when I rewrite it, I may change a few of the words; "subtle," as much as I love it as a word, really doesn't work all that well in a sestina. I'm not getting rid of "integrate" or "potential," though.

It's funny how much easier it is to write a sestina when you aren't obligated to make sense. :P

Index of Song Lyrics

Song Call Index, 2002-2005

Barenaked Ladies, Alcohol
Barenaked Ladies, The Flag
Barenaked Ladies, When I Fall

Blind Melon, No Rain

Bob Dylan, All Along the Watchtower (by way of Jimi Hendrix)

Bonnie Rait, I Can't Make You Love Me

Breaking Pangaea, Wedding Dress

Carbon Leaf, Desperation Song
Carbon Leaf, Life Less Ordinary

Chad Kroeger, Hero

Chumbawamba, Scapegoats

Crowded House, Don't Dream It's Over
Crowded House, Private Universe
Crowded House, Weather With You

The Cure, Love Song

Don Henly, Boys of Summer
Don Henly, Walking in Memphis

Dresden Dolls, Coin Operated Boy

Duncan Sheik, A Body Goes Down
Duncan Sheik, Genius
Duncan Sheik, Half Life
Duncan Sheik, In the Absence of Sun
Duncan Sheik, On a High

Fall Out Boy, All The Gin Joints In All The World
Fall Out Boy, Sugar We're Going Down

Gavin Degraw, I Don't Wanna Be

Guster, Demons

Howie Day, Collide

Jason Mraz, Sing Glory
Jason Mraz, Sunday Night, Not Again
Jason Mraz, On Love, In Sadness
Jason Mraz, Dream Life of Rand McNally

KT Tunstall, Another Place to Fall

Lady in the Dark, Saga of Jenny

Live, Heaven

Loreena McKennit, The Old Ways

Lostprophets, We Still Kill the Old Way

Maroon 5, Harder to Breathe

Matchbox 20, Long Day

Metric, Raw Sugar

Michelle Cross, Cold Light

Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Nevermind Me

Natalie Imbruglia, Sunlight

Nightwish, Bless the Child

The Offspring, Self Esteem
The Offspring, Staring at the Sun

Our Lady Peace, One Man Army
Our Lady Peace, Annie

Poe, A Rose
Poe, Hey Pretty

Postal Service, Recycled Air

Seal, Kiss From a Rose

Shawn Mullins, Rockabye

Spock's Beard, The Doorway
Spock's Beard, Walking on the Wind

Sting, Tomorrow We'll See

Tears for Fears, Mad World (by way of Gary Jules)

Tree 63, The Glorious Ones

Tori Amos, Sorta Fairytale
Tori Amos, Winter

U2, Elevation

The Unicorns, Child Star
The Unicorns, Tuff Ghost

Thicke, Lazy Bones
Thicke, Stupid Things

Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts, Blue
Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts, Don't Bother None
Yoko Kanno and the Seatbelts, Gotta Knock a Little Harder

Pink, Just Like a Pill

polka dot slot machine

polka dot slot machine
baby, i'm ensnared by your smile
and all those other cliches
you keep in your teeth, still
bleeding, fresh torn from
the womb.
it's april, that cruel courier
month, the one that says it's
bringing sunshine but always
delivers rain and winds
that blow harder than they
should, like you and your filed
down teeth and the way
you tease.
polka dot slot machine
give another whirl, your skirts
are flying and i'm not even trying
to pretend that i won't look.
it's april that liminal month,
full of desperate urges and
whiplash surges of lust
and violence;
the wheels in your eyes
are promising fortune, but
your mouth never yields more
than steel.
polka dot slot machine, i'll
take what i can get, and hoard
my coins til you get tired
of pumping out those lies
(they're like babies, baby,
they'll leave stretch marks
if you're not careful).
mouth on overdrive, brain on neutral,
you stopped listening long ago
and god only knows what
you're really hearing,
because "subtle" ain't in my
lexicon, even if it's all you know.
polka dot slot machine,
keep turning, turning;
i'm in love with a cliche.

----------

Aw, hell, I don't know. I got another ten lines of sestina to write, and that bloody phrase got stuck in my head. I feel like a dada poetry generator, rocking back and forth and back and forth, a perpetual poetry motion machine...

And fuck if I don't already know "subtle" isn't in my lexicon, but I still enjoy it, even if I'm not very good at it. Sounds are fun to play with, and I'll get better eventually. Hopefully. Gourd only knows.

My dreams have no connotation; while I'm dreaming them, whether I'm being drugged and raped by space creatures or fed cake 'til I burst, the "me" in the dream doesn't really care. It's all part of the show; I may wake up and find the implications slightly disturbing, but the dream itself? If it was a proper dream, I'll just ride the high from the sensory details. Doesn't matter if those details are painful or not- having my skin blister or lying in feathers, it's all the same to me. The dream where I was nearly burned to death was a good one, as far as these things go- it hurt like hell, and I woke up aching afterwards, but the story itself was engrossing, and that was enough to make it enjoyable.

I'm something of a freak, I know. I haven't been remembering my dreams lately, and I miss them.

And now! Back to the sestina.

Handfull of Naruto recs and two others

Couple of recs, just because;

When the Cat's Away by Vee-sempai. Really cute, slightly smutty NaruSasu get-together one-shot. It's kind of a blanket scenario; Naruto and Sasuke are forced to share a bed on a mission, and Naruto starts asking questions that Sasuke would rather not answer. All of Naruto's lines fill me with outrageous joy; his characterization feels particularly apt, even if Sasuke is a little bit on the touchy-feely (in a prickly sort of way) side. Be quiet, I like fluff.

Still Life in Monochrome by Kimi no Vanilla. Kakashi angst. I actually suggest that you read all of this author's fics, because they're all wonderful (and there's so many of them..._. They ooze angst like nobody's business, but they do it well. She's definitely one of my absolute favorite Naruto writers.

Softly Say Goodnight by Chevira Lowe. Sannin-fic, focusing on Orochimaru's descent into eeeevil. Well written and well characterized. Chevira is another one of my favorite Naruto authors, and I recommend all of her other fics as well. There's a lot of them, but they're all worth it- I'm especially fond of the SasuSaku ones, oddly enough, and the Kakashi angst. Mmm, Kakashi angst.

Forests in the Desert Sand by cneko. Gaara/Naruto future-fic AU; Naruto gets kicked out of Konoha because of the kyuubi, and goes off to live in a hut in the mountains for eight years. Gaara goes looking for him, because really- what else is he supposed to do with his time? Naruto has a kid, but she's not as rabidly annoying as she could have been; the whole story is full of excessive sap, but it's cute, and Gaara is snarky. It may be a little implausible, but it's fairly well written. It's got a sequel and a few side stories that are pretty good, as well.

Crossover Madness!

To the Living by vagabond sal. FMA/FFIX crossover; Vivi/Al. No, seriously. This is beautiful beautiful beautiful writing, and I'm not even particularly attached to FMA or FFIX, but this is an amazing story. And it's a Full Metal Alchemist and Final Fantasy IX crossover. Done. 'Nuff said. Finite. Go, read it now. I promise you will not be disappointed, though perhaps you will be heartbroken. So good.

Whatcha Gonna Do, Lil' Buckaroo? by jennyo. Cowboy Bebop/Firefly. So, so, so wonderful. Because when you really think about it, Ed and River really do belong together, and it's only a matter of time before Serenity runs into the Bebop, if only because Spike and Co are out for the bounty on their heads. But- dude, Ed/River. OTP, right there. Wonderful fic, and the concept of it just kills me dead.

I'm done.

babble babble babble

Working on the end of Sorrows and Rejoicings; it's still awkward and unweildy, and the whole thing does not flow but limps instead. However, I like it, and possibly someone else will, too, if excessive angst is their thing.

I don't know what it is about the Naruto fandom that makes me want to indulge in being an angst whore, but it's just so easy.

S&R is full of angst; it angsts like an amazingly angsty thing, but Naruto himself mostly refrains from indulging in that angst. He's tired, he's dying, and he's resigned to his fate- but he's not going to give up, regardless. He sees everyone giving up around him, and it pisses him off; he doesn't want to deal with that. Even on his deathbed, he manages to be more alive than most of the other characters.

What it boils down to is the fact that I really love Naruto, and I always do horrible things to my favorite characters.

And now, your moment of Blindsided:

"In your presence even a batallion of body builders could pass the New York State driving exam."

"Damnit, Gaara, stop it with your fucking Zen!"

feeling random

Blarg blarg blarg. *curls up into a ball and dies* I hate having such lame problems with my body, seriously.

Anyway. I'm curious. If you are reading this, take a look at that little link at the bottom of the post- the one that says "whisper in my ear." That's the comment link, lovelies. The one nobody uses; I understand this is mostly because no one reads my blog (can't blame 'em, really), but I know some people do. And yeah, I know the comments are kind of buggy sometimes, and you can only post so much text, but still. It's there for a reason.

So leave me a comment. I don't care what you say, or who you are- in fact, if you can't think of anything, just copy and paste a few sentences from some other open window on your computer. Bonus points if it's porn. Bonus points if you came here through a search engine, looking for porn. That's where most of my hits come from, if the tracker is to be believed.

Boffo- a woman walks into a bar...

I don't often write things in script form, but since a lot of my scenes are heavy on dialogue, it's nice to not have to worry about narrative sometimes. I started this about a year ago, and only just got around to posting it. I *heart* Dei and Lyra in all their dysfunctional glory.
-----------------
(The bar appears respectable, if somewhat run down at first glance; the clientele is mostly made up of older, working class men and aging, dried up intellectuals. Upon closer inspection, beneath the layers of dust and grime, the furniture and tables are all fairly new, the bar is stocked with a variety of expensive liquors, and the small stage a the back is set up with state of the art and high quality equipment. Tonight's act has just finished her set, and is sitting at the bar with Dei, who has been somewhat unsuccessfully trying to hit on her since she first started singing.)

Dei
I am an overused cliche, that's what I am!
Lyra
You're drunk, that's what you are.
Dei
Precisely! I'm a spoiled intellectual, an exceedingly attractive, alcoholic rich boy with nothing to live for.
Lyra
Are you really?
Dei
And you- you're the beautiful, talented, razor-witted down-on-her-luck woman who's going to redeem me and make my life worth living.
Lyra
Funny, I don't think that's in my script.
Dei
It's perfect- we even met at a bar, where I noticed your obviously underappreciated talents because they stirred me out of my drunken stupor. And I bought you a drink-
Lyra
You haven't actually done that yet.
Dei
Bartender! -And you first felt scorn for my dissolute state, but then you decided that there might be a real person beneath the crumbled bits of bar peanuts and the haze of alcohol and decided to stick around and listen to my sad, woeful tale.
Lyra
Right. How sad and woeful is it?
Dei
Oh, very. Tragic, even.
Lyra
Tragic. Right.
Dei
No, really. This is the stuff Greek plays are made of.
Lyra
What, daddy didn't buy you a pony when you were seven?
*pause. they stare at each other.*
Right, that was uncalled for. How rich did you say you were?
Dei *pointing*
Six of those drinks on the menu? Named after me.
Lyra
That doesn't make you rich, that makes you an alcoholic, and we've already established that.
Dei
That piano, that sound equipment, those bottles of alcohol, all of the new furnishings, not that you can tell they're new because somebody refuses to clean properly. My donations to a place that's kept me from going home for years.
Lyra
The Steinway? You bought the Steinway?
Dei
Your voice does it credit. *he raises his glass*
Lyra
Flattery will get you nowhere.
Dei
You should see half the places I've been. But flattery nothing, it's true.
Lyra
Okay, so you're richer than God, and you spend your days in a hole in the wall getting smashed off your ass; I don't see what that has to do with me.
Dei
Everything! You need money to get your career off the ground- money, or connections. I have both. I'll be your producer or your manager, or whatever the word is, and we'll go on the road together. Or we can hire a manager and I'll just be your piano player.
Lyra
You can play?
Dei
Can I play, she asks? Can I play? Joe, tell this woman I can play.
Malcolm
He beats me at chess every time. And my name ain't Joe.
Dei
You have a lousy sense of strategy. I'm talking about the piano, Joe. The piano.
Malcolm
Oh, that. Yeah, he can play.
Lyra
Prove it.
Dei
*cracks knuckles* Sure. Any requests?
Lyra
Oh, I don't know, surprise me.
Dei
*plays a few arpeggios, and a few chords; pulls down the microphone* Hey there, everyone, Miss Lyra's done for the night, so you're stuck with me again.
Lyra
Again?
Malcolm
Yeah, ever since he got the piano, he plays it like every other night. It was his idea we start takin' in music acts, 'cuz he got tired of listenin' to himself sing. Everybody else was too drunk to care.
Lyra
He sings, too?
Malcolm
Yeah, sounds kinda like whatsisname, the blind guy.
Lyra
Stevie Wonder?
Mal
No, not him, the other one.
Lyra
Ray Charles?
Mal
Nah, the other guy, the tenor.
Lyra
Andrea Bocelli?
J
Damned if I know. I look like a musician to you? He's good, though. Does a killer Billy Ray Cyrus impression.
Dei
*speaking into the mic* I do Billy Joel, too, but only when I'm drunk! *he winks at someone in the audience* Right-o, everybody, this's one of my favorites, but I've refrained from playing it for you in the past since it really is that cliché. But you know what? I like Leonard Cohen. Fun times, and all that shit.
*the arpeggios get more organized, and a fairly familiar tune sounds*
Dei
*singing*
Put on my blue suede shoes and I
boarded the plane
touched down in the land of the
Delta blues, in the middle of the pouring rain...
Malcolm
Aw, god, I love this song!
Lyra
He's not a tenor. At all.
Dei
*singing*
Then I was walking in Memphis, walking with my feet
ten feet off of Beale...
Lyra
But damn, does that piano sound good.
Dei *singing*
And Reverend Green, be glad to see you,
When you haven't got a prayer...
Lyra
And so does he. *knocks back her drink*
Dei *singing*
Put on my blue suede shoes...in the middle of the pouring rain...
Lyra
Give me another, would you?
Malcolm
Sure. He's something, ain't he? Still beats me at chess, too.
Lyra
He's a shiftless alcoholic, and he still hasn't proven anything. That's an easy song.
Dei *smiling*
And now for a purely instrumental interlude...*plays Flight of the Bumblebee* Just for you, Miss Lyra. I always liked this song, you know. Good for those long, sleepless nights when the voices in your head just won't shut up...
Lyra *shouting across the bar*
Alright, I get the point. You can buy me another drink.
*random bar flies hoot; she glares*
Dei
Thank you, ladies and gents, but that's all you're getting from me tonight. I'm letting you off easy. *shakes hands with a couple at one of the tables on his way back to the bar*
Lyra
Okay, so you're not bad. But you're still crazy, and I don't see why I should trust you, much less let you play piano for me.
Dei
You've got talent, and I used to have talent. I don't want to see yours go to waste- what do you do for a living, wait tables? Take phone calls? You should be able to sing. I can make that possible for you. I wouldn't really end up playing for you, except maybe at gigs like this. Like you said, I'm not bad. But with proper backup and mixing, and a real recording studio- you'd be amazing.
Lyra
You want me to go corporate? Didn't my songs scream "bleeding heart liberal anti-capitalist hippie" loud enough for you?
Dei
Actually, they screamed, "Notice me, I have talent and ambition, and fuck you if you're not going to listen." Trust me on this, I'm a linguistic expert when it comes to pianos. I want you to meet with Opal Karolus tomorrow afternoon. Three thirty good for you?
Lyra
Karolus? The cello player?
Dei
Wife of Tyler Karolus, owner of Karolus Incorporated, the guy who owns the ground you walk on and the shirt on your back. She's CEO of Firestar Records, particularly the branch for bleeding heart liberal anti-capitalist hippies like you, known as Melisma Enterprise. You know, the non-profit one Opal runs out of pocket for new artists like yourself. But yeah, she plays cello, too.
Lyra
I think you were less creepier when you were drunk and trying to marry me.
Dei
This is all part of my nefarious plot, don't worry. Once you've got a record out, you'll go platinum in about a year, and then the media will ask you the secret of your success, and you'll have to say it was me, and then we'll be married. Because you'll have given me a reason to live again, and I'll have given you a career.
Lyra
Way less creepy when you're drunk. How am I supposed to meet with Opal Karolus tomorrow afternoon?
Dei
One moment, please. *pulls out cellphone, hits speed dial* Mornin' beautiful, it's me. Yeah, I'm not dead, tell Ty before he has a heart attack. Christ! No... no...yes, I have been drinking, no, I'm not prank calling you- Opal! ...Okay, can you be in the Chicago office tomorrow by three thirty? ...Oh. *looks up at Lyra* Actually, is noon better for you? It's better for her-
Lyra
Noon is fine.
Dei
Excellent. Yeah, she's great. No, I haven't slept with her. She thinks I'm a loser. ...Okay, see if I send either of you Christmas gifts this year. Christ! And don't wake up Tyler, I'm not talking to him. I'm talking to you, you're the one with the record label. ...Melisma. Definitely Melisma. Maybe Angel Dust after she goes platinum, but Melisma to start out. I told you, I'll cut a record with you when Tyler does. We should do a threesome. ...Bitch. Yeah, yeah. ...I know, quit making me feel guilty. 'Kay. Love you too. Bye. *shuts phone*
Lyra
Now what, I'm supposed to sleep with you out of gratitude?
Dei
Miss Lyra, I know who and what is in my league and who isn't. At the moment, you aren't, and I fully understand and accept that. *sighs, raises glass, takes a drink* When I was in my prime...but never mind. I promise you, if you go to that meeting tomorrow, you won't be disappointed.
Lyra
Okay. Clearly I'm crazy, since you could have just been talking to anyone on that phone, and I have no guarantee that there's actually a meeting with Opal Karolus waiting for me at Firestar Records tomorrow. But I'll go, since you did serenade me with Leonard Cohen, and since that Steinway was a pleasure to play on.
Dei
Thank you. You won't regret this, I promise you. Can I buy you another drink?
Lyra
*laughing* No, I think six is well past my limit. I need to get sleep if I'm going to face the music industry tomorrow.
Dei
I'll take you home, then. It's the least I can do for getting you drunk.
Lyra
I can take a cab just fine, thanks.
Dei
No problem, wait right here.
Lyra
I said-damn.
Mal
Creepy bastard, ain't he? Does that kind of thing all the time- he gets an idea in his head, he don't let go 'til it's gone.
Lyra
Are you trying to make me feel better about this or not?
Mal
Ah, you don't got nothin' to worry about. He wouldn't hurt a fly, unless it tried to bite him. You don't bite him, he don't bite back.
Lyra
Your powers of metaphor leave something to be desired, Mr. Bartender.
Mal
Powers of what? What's a metaphor?
Dei
You pick your teeth with it, I think. Put Miss Lyra's drinks on my tab, Joe. Miss Lyra, your cab awaits.
Malcolm
(as they leave) My name ain't Joe!
Lyra
*stopping at cab door* Hey, thanks- you never did get a chance to tell that tragic tale of yours.
Dei
Nah, it's not that tragic. I'll tell you some other time.
Lyra
*smiles* I'd like that, I think.
Dei
*grinning* I'm glad. Good luck with your meeting tomorrow. *helps her into cab*
Lyra
Yeah, thanks. Hey- *leans out the window, grabs his hand* Here's my number. *scribbles it on his hand* Don't get too many ideas, okay? I might just want you to play backup for me.
Dei
Of course. *takes a card out of his jacket* And if you ever need anything- anything at all, ever- you can find me at that address, or with that number. I mean it. If you need a babysitter in twenty years, drop me a line. Or...if you just want to talk, I'll be there.
Lyra
Th-thanks. *reads card; her eyes widen*
Dei
*smiling* No, thank you. *steps back, bowing slightly as cab pulls away*
(He watches the cab drive off, still grinning, then walks down the street, whistling)
D
*singing* Tell me, are you a Christian child, and I said, "Ma'am, I am tonight!"
Walking in Memphis...
-----------------------

Oh, Dei. Such a spaz. *luffs the spaz* Of course, when Lyra does go platinum and people ask her the secret to her success, she doesn't even mention Dei. He gets over it, eventually. (No he doesn't.)

Jason Mraz- Sing Glory (That'll Do)

Say when I wake up
and the day begins,
will I hold my breath
and count to ten,
or will it be three?
We'll see, we'll see.
It depends on which day of the week.

So I sing out, I sing out loud.
I'm just one tiny motherfucker singin' proud.
Singin' glory glory hallelujah.
Yeah that'll do...Say that'll do.

In the arms of a city
that holds no trace
of a face and the face replaces you and me.
So go make a life
and not a living
singin' glory glory hallelujah
yeah that'll do

There's things to know
so we're told,
but the days they keep rollin on so
painfully playin' slow,
and there's ways to grow yeah
but blow by blow
see it all gets lost somewhere now
see I already forgot.

So sing out, sing out loud
you're just another motherfucker singin' proud
singin' glory, remind me, glory hallelujah
yeah that'll do, yeah that'll do

see we should all keep pretending
that our dreams are patent pending.
You should see some of the scenes that I've seen.
And I know love.
I've flown above and beyond,
but its still too long of a wait.

So I sing out, I sing out loud
see we can be ten thousand motherfuckers singin' proud
singin' glory, glory hallelujah
say that'll do, yeah that'll do

I sing my stories for you
you will sing for me too
and together say we can make it through.
They say when you're singin' you're prayin' twice
don't that sound nice
so rise up, come on now, and give it a try

so sing out sing out loud
we can be six billion motherfuckers singin' proud
singin' glory oh glory glory hallelujah
yeah that'll do yeah that'll do

This is no ordinary world
we need extraordinary glory
yeah that'll do
yeah that'll do

say that'll do
- Jason Mraz, "Sing Glory"

Dear Jason Mraz,
Marry me.

Totally my new favorite mellow/depressive/stabbing the world song. Replaces "Gabriel" by Lamb, it's that wonderful.

Welcome to Tuesday night.

Postal Service- Recycled Air

take a breath and pull the air in 'til there's nothing left
I'm feeling green like teenage lovers between the sheets

Ba ba ba ba ...

Knuckles clenched to white as the landing gear retract for flight
My head's a balloon inflating with the altitude

Ba ba ba ba...

I watch the patchwork farms' slow fade into the ocean's arms
And from here they can't see me stare
The stale taste of recycled air
I watch the patchwork farms' slow fade into the ocean's arms
Calm down, release your cares
The stale taste of recycled air
- Postal Service, "Recycled Air"

Mellow music. Also music for saying goodbye to people; travel music. I should do a mix to that, though I'm too lazy to ever get around to doing it. There are lots of good songs out there for going on journeys, though. This is probably one of my favorites.