I've been thinking about you all day. Saying things like, "Yes, we've met. But you can call me Headache Woman." and "Our bodies make their own decisions. We know that." But now I'm here and my thoughts are so scattered.

I had lunch with Cinderella today-- just now, in fact. She had a barbecue-stuffed baked potato, and I had a roast beef sandwich smothered in mashed potatoes and gravy. We tried to talk about things, but I was scattered then too, and I couldn't pay attention to anything. But she touched my neck, and that was nice. She has a girlfriend named Leia now, and she says she's just like me. And I started singing a song out of nowhere, and she said, hey, that's Leia's song.

Hey, Ely. I know you're out there. I know where you're sitting. Be afraid.

--Or, don't be afraid. But think, hey.

Let's listen to some music, shall we? Let's listen to Heartbreak Hotel. I listened to that yesterday, and thought about Vic. Or rather, I was thinking about Vic yesterday, and then I listened to this song. Because Whitney sings, Look what you did to me. Look what you did to me.

Can't take what you did to me.

Anyway, I remembered something today, while I was sitting on the couch listening to Sinead O'Connor's "Fire On Babylon" and reading through Peter David's run on Wolverine. I thought of the time that Cindy told me about, when she and Brandon were fighting, and.

Eh. I've lost interest in telling that story.

See, this is what I'm saying-- no attention span. It makes conversation hard. And so I think Cindy thinks I'm miserable now.

But I'm not.

Except, now I read NSync slash. And that's miserable. Except, actually, I only pretend to be embarassed about it. Actually, I'm kind of pleased with myself in a kinky boyband way.

I downloaded an NSync parody song, "Bi Bi Bi."

Hey, hey. Justin's bi. Bi, bi, bi. Oh, oh. And so on.

So not only can I now identify the boys of NSync and their individual personality traits-- I can picture them dry-humping.

I'm meeting White and Chad and Lori and maybe Kodi for dinner tonight at Perkins. I'm going to bring along Cindy, so that White will kick me under the table, or something.

All I really wanted was some of your time.

Alright, let's shift gears. See if we can't get into anything interesting here. I'm changing the music to blues funk.

Some people can't dance if they don't know who's singing.
Why ask your head-- it's your hips that are swinging.
Life's for us to enjoy.
Woman, man, girl and boy.
Feel the pain. Feel the joy.
It's all just a little bit of history repeating.

Aww, yeah.

I'll tell you what. I'll take you guys through my bookmarks. And then I'm going to go think about Vic more. Sound good? Sound easily-scrolled-through?

First on the list-- due more to timing than to importance-- is the Complete Kingdom of Slash. This is the Big Lots of slash on the Internet. Where you go for all your A-Team, Dead Poets Society, Inspector Gadget, Planet of the Apes, Suddenly Susan, Sandman slash needs. I've only got one thing archived here-- which means that they go for obscurity over quality.

hee. I'm so kidding.

Below that is a similar site, Slashville: Your One Stop Slash Shop. Despite its name, it's smaller than the Complete Kingdom. Still, I'm they have stories the Kingdom doesn't have. I don't remember seeing Scooby Doo slash at the Kingdom, for example. So.

I have a link the messageboard which my fan-fiction others frequent, but I never go there, or post anything, or reading anything that anybody else has posted. It's here. It's not that I don't like talking to comic book people. I *love* talking to comic book people. They're my people. God bless them. It's just that, I get used to particular comic book people-- so that I can say, "Jubilee. Dyke." and they'll nod, instead of saying, "What? How the fuck do you substantiate that?"

Okay, here we got some action. It's Shug's OZ fiction archive. That's OZ-- Tom Fontana's gritty prison drama on HBO. Not with the munchkins and the lunch-pail forests. OZ fiction is some of the best-written stuff out there, next to Sports Night and *cough* X-Men.

Our first non-fanfiction link. It's a quiz to find out what sort of animal you were in a past life. I was a circus monkey.

That was a refreshing respite. More slash. But not just any slash. X-Men slash. And not just any X-Men slash. Mooky X-Men slash. At Mooksville, Earth. The term "mook" has been losely defined by me as-- I guess, the opposite of bad love. Love that can be goofy. Cute.

I'm archived here. But don't really any of my stuff. Or, if you absolutely have to, look at it, but don't read "Autumn Leaves" or "Sunrise." That is: the two stories with sexual content. I wrote them long, long time ago. They suck.

I can recommend the work of Kaylee Jaya, first and foremost. She's the original Mook. This is her archive. A long time ago, she was hanging out in a chatroom, talking the talk, and homosexuality came up. And one guy spoke up, all, eww, and so she wrote a tiny little Bobby/Remy bit and spammed it in the room in order to chase him out. And that bit grew into a whole story, which grew into a series, which grew into a subgenre of slash, which grew into a huge multi-fandom movement. It's wonderful. God bless her.

Let's see.

--Diamonde. She's Australian. That's where they have all the meanest sharks and spiders. She wrote Sam/Alex stories, and I thought, what? But she's a wonder. Let's get a quote.

Dani caught the jar with the ease of long practice. "Okay, catch up poor lost little me. Sam, since when did you like guys?"

"That's a kinda personal question, wouldn't y' say?"

"And not the important one." Julio looked repulsed. "Since when did you like _Summerses_?"

--JB McDonald rides horses in California. And she writes cuteness. Check her out. I just finished reading the latest installment of her Waterlines storyline, "Uncharted Waters". It's a Bobby/Jamie story, see. And it's interesting. Because, I mean, you know Bobby. Insecure, goofy, kid-like, grinning. And you know Jamie-- the Bobby of X-Factor.

But when you put them together, Bobby is the mature one, the confident together one. It's an interesting perspective. Lots of writers tend to forget that whatever else Bobby is-- he's been an X-Man for the last, what, at least twelve years. So he's not a *pansy*. He's just an Everyman. Surely to god there's a difference.

--There's "The Taste of Letting Go" by Dyce. Wonderful fun. Kurt Wagner says to Pete Wisdom-- "No. You're a closet idealist posing as a cynic, and I'm a realist pretending to be an idealist so people will like me." And then later he says, "Are Catholics really gay, now?"

--And, with that. Looking through this list, I came upon a story by Lise that I hadn't read called "In His Arms." Which is a horrible title, god bless Lise. But Lise has a miraculous ability to step back from things long enough to slide you in there where you can really, really see what's going on.

So, but. I got all wrapped up in that. And I stopped listening to r&b and started thinking Nameless again.

*shit-eating grin*

Oh, well.

I guess that means we'll continue this meaningless self-indulgent sinus fun later, huh?

Love you.

--Alestar
***
the spaces
they don't fill up
and he might want them to
so he pours himself out, in his mind.