(no subject)

In Vienna there's ten pretty women
There's a shoulder where Death comes to cry
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows
There's a tree where the doves go to die
There's a piece that was torn from the morning,
and it hangs in the Gallery of Frost -
Ay-ay-ay...
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws

Oh, I want you - I want you - I want you
In a chair with a dead magazine;
In a cave at the tip of the lily;
In some hallway where love's never been;
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand
Ay-ay-ay...
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand

There's a concert hall in Vienna,
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking;
They've been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
with a freshly-cut garland of tears
Ay-ay-ay...
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz, it's been dying for years

There's an attic where children are playing
Where I've got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of Hungarian lanters
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow
All your sheep and your lillies of snow;
Ay-ay-ay...
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its "I'll never forget you, you know!"

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and death
Dragging its tail in the sea

And I'll dance with you in Vienna;
I'll be wearing a river's disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty,
my cheap violin and my cross
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist

Oh, my love, oh, my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It's yours now. It's all that there is.



[trying to write my own words underneath these feels so crude hah]
I heated up a pot of tea and used the remains from our smores night to make tea, as in the meal. As soon as I got back to the bedroom to set down my plate it started raining. The most beautiful of brief afternoon summer downpours. I propped open my broken window and put on Leonard Cohen - the song that stuck with me like a burr, the song that I first listened to almost as a joke but somehow has become so close to my heart so quickly - watched the flooding and listened to the cars on the wet road and dreamed of the girl that I love teaching me to waltz. I needed that moment. Felt so myself, so pure and true and clear. And I have since then. Like I might finally know who I actually am. At least when all the rubbish gets cleared away and I can see it, like right now.



I'm someone who is really into antiquated technology. Who chases after these things. And doesn't really think about it, about what my interests all seem to have in common is that they're sorta outdated. My typewriter [sadly neglected, needs a ribbon], my game boys and other old game systems, my Polaroid camera, my hopefully soon to begin vinyl player and record collection... these things are all so tactile, so tangible. I'm such a touch-based person, so to feel the shift and clunk of typebars as you write or to feel the hinge on your camera swing back and kick into place, the healthy heft of a full film cartridge in your camera or load of batteries in your game boy... it's so right. How things should be. I've got no grudge against things like cell phones or computers, hardly, I love them and can't get away lol. But to me there is just something about certain older technologies that I'll always pursue and make part of my life I think.



Want to write about some thoughts I've been having regarding my sex lately. I know this isn't the universal opinion but I more or less fall in line with the idea of sex being your physical geno/phenotype [i.e. what's in your genes/between your legs at birth] and gender being your identity and personality. So my gender is male, effeminate but solidly male. My sex is what you would call female although we really need a different word for these things that isn't the same word for a gender presentation :p. My sex is... "receptive"? I'm a vagina person? LOL. What I'm saying is... although I'm solidly a male person and want only to be treated as a man by society, I'm pretty happy with being born the way I was. Being the smaller, alluring sex. The one I find almost universally appealing. [I maintain that girls are magical and mysterious creatures with awesome intoxicating powers, and the more they know how to wield it the more helpless I am to resist them lol]  Like if only society was set up in such a way that a boy of short stature with big hips and a vulva was widely accepted bc I feel happy that way. Happy invoking my feminine side even while my body is so feminine that everyone thinks I'm a girl. Feel solid enough in my masculine identity that I can wear pretty rocks on my finger, paint my nails, actually like the color pink. Feel comfortable in my cute and somewhat femme demeanor. It's been a long time coming.

And god almighty I'm a fucking nerd but another thing that's made me more comfortable in my sex is steven universe LOL. Like yes the gems aren't TRULY female but you know what, they all present female and seeing so many strong capable female bodied people doing work and getting shit done makes me feel good about myself. When I get dysphoria I always feel so weak and stupid and seeing these women [alien women, but whatever :V] being shown as no-bullshit powerful and wise and worthy of respect and even awe from the protagonist.... feels really good. Makes me feel more confident in my shapely legs and big hips. And even my hated chest feels a little better knowing I'm shaped like a gem. :p