Ashke
Bluelighter
(A glimpse into Ashke's restless brain while she's still half tripping and therefore suffering through a very long day at work.)
I keep my beads and scissors and string in a scuffed Jem lunchbox that I carried as a little girl. Back then I was facinated with the idea of a guardian angel who came in the form of a cosmic lightshow and echoing voice, Synergy. Stuck on the side of the lunchbox is a glow star sticker, off the same sheet, the same size and shape as the two stars I stuck to the toes of my flower doc martins, and after the party I came online and told you how proud I'd been of the two stars as they flashed in glimpses from beneath my huge rainbow-stripe jeans as I danced at Tangent, and how you'd smiled and understood entirely and your appreciation for things so small is just one tiny reason alongside a thousand other tiny reasons that interweave and take structure to become this overwhelming concept of you and me, how easily my thoughts fall into sync with yours, and why I am so lucky to have found a friend in you. Inside the lunchbox the ocean of beads is overwhelming and I can only blink at it for a span of time and try to comprehend how clear purple can exist next to glittering green next to construction cone orange next to... S. The letter, in a block bead, blue. So I think to start there, because this is the start of you, and my thoughts are already dancing your direction anyway. But perhaps you would rather take your party name, your bluelight name, and wear it proudly on your wrist, so I search now discarding G and N and D and file U away for later until I come across L, pink, and so I start there. And now I have a path so it's not hard to pick out the rest of the letters, my mind races through the task, goes beyond the necessary lengths until I've picked out every L and O and U and P and Y bead in my possession, and I'm staring at them, and arranging them in a million different ways, fretting over the fact that I'm going to have to reuse a color in the spelling. There is not enough purple and green in the world. And for some reason purple and green has decided to both flock to the O (the 'big O' heehee) and not any other color, so now your bracelet can have either purple or green but not both. My own heart naturally turns to purple because I associate this color with magic and wonder, things that glitter and frost, elusive sparkles. But then I think of how this bracelet does not spell out Ashke, it spells out Loupy and when I think of you your concept sings to me in celtic reels and in the folds of leaves and in the gentle natural way you carry yourself, and all these things say GREEN and so it is. I think of how there is something tragic perhaps in the fact that I cannot spell out your name with both our colors. But I quickly pacify the thought, knowing before I start that as the rest of this bracelet strings itself out, in the filler there will have to be purple here and there, because I linger fondly on the idea that through plastic beads and thread sent to span two thousand miles and reach you, you could take some of me and slip it onto your wrist, and carry me with you.
I will send it tomorrow. Love you, hon.
~*~ Ashke ~*~
I keep my beads and scissors and string in a scuffed Jem lunchbox that I carried as a little girl. Back then I was facinated with the idea of a guardian angel who came in the form of a cosmic lightshow and echoing voice, Synergy. Stuck on the side of the lunchbox is a glow star sticker, off the same sheet, the same size and shape as the two stars I stuck to the toes of my flower doc martins, and after the party I came online and told you how proud I'd been of the two stars as they flashed in glimpses from beneath my huge rainbow-stripe jeans as I danced at Tangent, and how you'd smiled and understood entirely and your appreciation for things so small is just one tiny reason alongside a thousand other tiny reasons that interweave and take structure to become this overwhelming concept of you and me, how easily my thoughts fall into sync with yours, and why I am so lucky to have found a friend in you. Inside the lunchbox the ocean of beads is overwhelming and I can only blink at it for a span of time and try to comprehend how clear purple can exist next to glittering green next to construction cone orange next to... S. The letter, in a block bead, blue. So I think to start there, because this is the start of you, and my thoughts are already dancing your direction anyway. But perhaps you would rather take your party name, your bluelight name, and wear it proudly on your wrist, so I search now discarding G and N and D and file U away for later until I come across L, pink, and so I start there. And now I have a path so it's not hard to pick out the rest of the letters, my mind races through the task, goes beyond the necessary lengths until I've picked out every L and O and U and P and Y bead in my possession, and I'm staring at them, and arranging them in a million different ways, fretting over the fact that I'm going to have to reuse a color in the spelling. There is not enough purple and green in the world. And for some reason purple and green has decided to both flock to the O (the 'big O' heehee) and not any other color, so now your bracelet can have either purple or green but not both. My own heart naturally turns to purple because I associate this color with magic and wonder, things that glitter and frost, elusive sparkles. But then I think of how this bracelet does not spell out Ashke, it spells out Loupy and when I think of you your concept sings to me in celtic reels and in the folds of leaves and in the gentle natural way you carry yourself, and all these things say GREEN and so it is. I think of how there is something tragic perhaps in the fact that I cannot spell out your name with both our colors. But I quickly pacify the thought, knowing before I start that as the rest of this bracelet strings itself out, in the filler there will have to be purple here and there, because I linger fondly on the idea that through plastic beads and thread sent to span two thousand miles and reach you, you could take some of me and slip it onto your wrist, and carry me with you.
I will send it tomorrow. Love you, hon.
~*~ Ashke ~*~
