Friday, June 30, 2006

whaddaya think?

inspired by our friend wch, i am trying wordpress again. this blog contains all the posts of my three blogger blogs. you will notice 2 blogs gone from the blogger profile. all those posts are contained in the new blog. check it out. then tell me what u think. i like blogger. i will continue posting in this here blog ... but ... i will be posting to the new wordpress also, and so ... who know?

Thursday, June 29, 2006


from: yahoo

stupid day out

a word to that cyclist that nearly t-boned me today. hey asshole, did u know that stop signs also apply to cyclists? that's u, you knob! well, what do i care? i'm in a car, enclosed by a tonne of steel. you, on the other hand, are not. if you wanna broken pelvis, i guess that's your business. how much fun do you think it would be to have to ask the nurse (lol ... that would be me!) to help you take a shit by bringing u the bedpan because u can't walk? and all because you are an imbecil. i can hardly wait.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006


sorry, but i think its f*cking ugly
photo credit: yahoo public domain

Saturday, June 24, 2006

its summmmmmer!

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

diet coke + mentos = explosion?

from: eepybird

Monday, June 12, 2006

very busy

Thursday, June 08, 2006

little neighbour

taken may 2004 from my apartment balcony in vancouver. this little critter used to come around lots when the homicidal neighbour cat wasn't around ...

photo credit: velvet acid tongue 2004

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

velvet is in, boys ...

Monday, June 05, 2006

velvet curls

i'm under all those curls ... somewhere!

Photo credit: velvet acid tongue, 2004

Sunday, June 04, 2006

tales from the front line

(written in january, 2006 for a previous blog)
the obit said you died peacefully at the hospital … a fucking lie … a real fucking LIE … and i should know - i watched you die. it haunts me still, your death. Filled with pieces of undigested food, mixed with old blood, vomit, bile, and scented with shit - i recall it as most violent, certainly not peaceful.

v-i-o-l-e-n-t. that’s how i categorize this story in my head. no weapons of any kind. no alteractions. no gunshot. no stabbing. merely violent death by cancer. what else do you call it when the paramedic is ‘bagging’ the patient (i.e. using a bag-valve-mask to artificially respirate the patient) and coffee ground, bloody and shit-scented vomit shoots out of the one-way valve? we were trying to breath for you and all we ended up doing is ‘pumping’ the fluid out of your lungs. you died before we could ever displace all that bloody, shit-vomit from your lungs with good ole oxygen.

you died with no loved ones around. no one to hold your hand. alone. is that how you envision it? with two nurses and two paramedics farting into thunder, trying save your life. the whole thing - undignified. grotesque. desperate.

the doctor, comfortably sleeping in his small town bed when i called to inform him of your sudden demise, snorted at the thought of leaving his nice warm bed to carry out his duty to his patient. and all he could say, when he did finally arrive to sign the death certificate, etc. etc., is stupidly remark how i should have taken my gloves off before entering the nursing station …

i recall the thick, sickly thud of the vomit hitting the tv cabinet beside the bed as it rapidly shot out of the one-way valve. i recall the gutteral wretching sound, orginating from the depths of your gut, and the force of the projectile vomit as it shot out of your mouth like a high-powered missile. i recall the frantic desperation that descended on all of us in the room as we saw you slip toward death.

i recall the lightening speed with which we erased all traces of the truth from the room - the tell tale linen, the resuscitation equipment, the splattering on the cabinet, floor and you, yourself. it haunts me. haunt. haunt. i did not know you. but i cried for you, we cried for you. did you hear us?

its all about ME

  • i'm roxanne, and this is velvet, the voice inside my head. and this -- this is her blog.
  • i'm that wild, passionate and unruly girl your mum warned you about

    i'm a maelstrom, a whirling dervish, a minx. i run from "same-ness" - i find it oppressive.

    change is good. change is necessary. life is change.

    if change scares you, if change intimidates you, if change makes you uncomfortable, then you're a BORE!

    this blog changes to reflect its continually evolving creator - moi.

    so ... adapt!

    you never know what you'll find when you get to velvet's place. that's the adventure of it all.

    this place continues to take shape, as velvet finds her voice in all this darkness.

    velvet rants, rages, throws the occasional hissy fit, launches the odd venomous tirade, and intellectually contemplates all the stuff of life, love, and soul

    its depressing, and enraging because the world burns and crumbles before our eyes. yet we sleep.

    we sleep. apathy, greed, power sit atop our eyelids like lead weights

    so, welcome to my world.

    i aim to pry your eyes open, to pry your mind open, to get you thinking outside the box, to shock you even.

    i ask the questions most choose to ignore. i think the thoughts most consider unthinkable. i'm alive. i'm awake. are you?

    hey -- WAKE UP!

  • fury wrapped in a daffodil, confused, undecided, wild child, indigo child, impatient, insomniac, rebellious, outspoken, artistic, restless, bored with routine, i love change, afraid of commitment, i work to live - not live to work, claustrophobic, perfectionist, odd and maybe downright wierd, anxious and maybe a l'il (ok, a lot) neurotic, dichotomous, a teensy bit vitrolic, prone to nastiness, a maverick and a cynic, highly intuitive, sensual, erotic, intense, spiritual -- NOT religious, a bitch, a wordsmith, poet, storyteller, addict, mother, caregiver, dog lover, voracious reader, Mac person, Coke drinker, cannibis appreciator, clean freak, prone to hissy fits, attitude - i got one, fav. colour: red, perfume: estee lauder pleasures exotic, voluptuous, afraid of falling asleep, afraid of the dark, hate being touched, still get flashbacks - PTSD, nite hawk, into fetishes, got a sadomasochistic streak in me
My profile

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my GRACE blog - giving thanx

methuselah lives here

    i have several poetry blogs on the 'net. essentially these contain the same stuff, just presented in differing formats. this methuselah just likes digging around in more than one corpse at a time!

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    scribbles & scratches



      afghan hound

      yes to madness





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    velvet poetry

      bell jar dreams

      you held me in your arms,
      my trembling alabaster fruit
      and savagely,
      you trampled me, underfoot
      as master of my shattered freedom
      you - the twisted and beautiful lord
      who sealed me in a windowless bell jar
      with anguish and solitude,
      as my only companions

      captor! my demented master!
      my withered soul screams for you
      it howls for the soothing barbs,
      hidden, in your voice
      and your frail, orgasmic vulnerability
      my withered soul screams your name,
      raging delicately,
      for the gaping hollows of my existence,
      which melted into yours:
      dessicated dreams,
      vanquished innocence

      this sick hunger in my heart for you -
      will it ever ebb?

      copyright ROXI G 2006

      your grace grotesquely crumbles

      your grace crumbled
      into grotesque flakes
      as your fingertips slashed
      my tender silken face
      with rage and vengence,
      that drench my frail child-spirit

      steeped in self-loathing,
      you infected me -
      my gauzy soul
      on your poisoned barbs
      of hatred and lusty greed

      once, i loved you -
      worshipped you, adored you
      and darkness
      eviscerated my heart
      as i watched this adoration stream past
      your inert, stoney heart

      my trembling eyes splinter
      into a thousand tears
      when i look upon your face -
      my reflection - in the looking glass
      you, who deserted my child-trust -
      remain, achingly, ever present

      this dark riverbed of adoration
      that flowed in my viscera for you
      has dried up; my heart --
      which once glistened sublimely inside yours,
      now lies in eternal anguish:
      dessicated, petrified, searingly denuded

      your grace crumbles
      into grotesque flakes
      of grief, rage and greed,
      soaked in the brine of remorse
      you beg, like i did, for a morsel of mercy
      but -- i will STARVE you of forgiveness

      copyright ROXI G 2006


        "there's no way around grief and loss: you can dodge it all you want, but sooner or later you just have to go into it, through it, and, hopefully, come out on the other side. the world you find there will never be the same as the world you left." (johnny cash)

        "i wore black because i liked it. i still do, and wearing it still means something to me. its still my symbol of rebellion - against a stagnant status quo, against our hypocritical houses of god, against people whose minds are closed to others' ideas." (johnny cash)

      poetry masters

        if only you would touch my heart
        if only you were to put your mouth
        to my heart
        if only you were to put your tongue
        like a red arrow
        there where my dusty heart is beating,
        if you were to blow on my heart
        near the sea, weeping,
        it would make a dark noise,
        like the drowsy sound of train wheels
        like the indecision of waters,
        like autumn in full leaf
        like blood,
        with a noise of damp flames
        burning the sky,
        with a sound like dreams
        or branches or the rain,
        or foghorns in some dismal port,
        if you were to blow on my heart
        near the sea, likea white ghost,
        in the spume of the wave,
        in the middle of the wind
        like a ghost unleashed,
        at the seashore, weeping.

        ... Pablo Neruda, from 'Bararole'

        By a route obscure and lonely,
        Haunted by ill angels only,
        Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
        On a black thrones reigns upright,
        i have reached these lands but newly
        From an ultimate dim Thule -
        From a wild wierd clime that lieth, sublime,
        Out of SPACE - out of TIME.

        ... Edgar Allan Poe, from 'Dream-Land'

      anais nin

        "and the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

        “i do not like to be just one anais, whole, contained. as soon as someone defines me. i do as june does; i seek escape from the confinements of definition.”

        “i speak of relief, perhaps when i write; but it is also an engraving of pain, a tatooing of myself.”

        “we are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.”

        “life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. this is a kind of death.”