“Ashley, do you hear that?” She stopped and strained for a moment, but the sounds of panting and a woman crying out reached her ears. Danielle caught her eye and motioned toward an office door – it was labeled for Leon Kennedy, whom she had been told was a new recruit. Why they had given him an office and not a desk she wasn’t sure, but she just assumed it had something to do with his level of awesome and didn’t question it.
Holding her gun at the ready (exploding a head on fire near a survivor might not be the best way to make friends, afterall), Ashley nudged the door open as Danielle lifted her own handgun and kicked it the rest of the way.
“Oh god! Leon, harder! Please!”
“CLAIRE?!” Ashley’s mouth fell open and Danielle just blinked as the new recruit and Chris Redfield’s youngest sister realized they were there, lying still on the desk in shock. They pulled the door shut just in time for a lamp to smash against it, Claire yelling “Buzz off, jerks!”
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
...
His interest in humanity was fickle.
A sadist at heart, he enjoyed learning what made people crack from the inside out until the pressure finally broke them, but that was the extent of it.
There seemed to be three categories of "human": there was the general public, filled with silly dreams or pushing away their lives behind retail counters and video game consoles, then there were the overzealous who thought they could take his world (failures such as the Ashford girl had led to useful developments for him, but really they tended to only interfere), and then there were those with the hero-complex who felt it was their position to save everyone and everything they could, and even those they couldn't. They were all equally weak, for various reasons, and he did not miss being truly human.
He had surpassed the mold that all of those others fit into.
Even before the virus, he had been destined to become a god among men.
She, however, did not seem to fit into the neatly labeled sections either. His interest in her was curiousity more than caring - she intrigued him.
A civilian student thrown into a nightmare at only nineteen, she had come through exceptionally well. Not that her brother had never given her useful skills, but she still was nowhere near the level at which every other player had begun. He remembered the look of determination and defiance on her pretty features when he had nearly killed her at their first meeting. The image of sheer will imprinted on her face through the pain was one that had impressed him in some slight manner.
She was still weak. Pathetic, really. But she kept up such a show of bravado that he felt some credit must be offered to the girl.
He wanted to have her, and the motives amused him.
Oh sure, there was the additional perk of adding another crack to the all-too-thick glass that Redfield was made off, but more than anything, he wanted to study her.
When it came to manipulation and shattering, he was an expert.
Others it was easy enough to kill or leave to the ruin that was spreading, but she... she was different.
He wanted her, to test and to push.
Every creature had their breaking point.
Before he could finish his work, he had to see hers.
[[Credit to Capcom and all included: These characters are not, and never will be, mine]]
A sadist at heart, he enjoyed learning what made people crack from the inside out until the pressure finally broke them, but that was the extent of it.
There seemed to be three categories of "human": there was the general public, filled with silly dreams or pushing away their lives behind retail counters and video game consoles, then there were the overzealous who thought they could take his world (failures such as the Ashford girl had led to useful developments for him, but really they tended to only interfere), and then there were those with the hero-complex who felt it was their position to save everyone and everything they could, and even those they couldn't. They were all equally weak, for various reasons, and he did not miss being truly human.
He had surpassed the mold that all of those others fit into.
Even before the virus, he had been destined to become a god among men.
She, however, did not seem to fit into the neatly labeled sections either. His interest in her was curiousity more than caring - she intrigued him.
A civilian student thrown into a nightmare at only nineteen, she had come through exceptionally well. Not that her brother had never given her useful skills, but she still was nowhere near the level at which every other player had begun. He remembered the look of determination and defiance on her pretty features when he had nearly killed her at their first meeting. The image of sheer will imprinted on her face through the pain was one that had impressed him in some slight manner.
She was still weak. Pathetic, really. But she kept up such a show of bravado that he felt some credit must be offered to the girl.
He wanted to have her, and the motives amused him.
Oh sure, there was the additional perk of adding another crack to the all-too-thick glass that Redfield was made off, but more than anything, he wanted to study her.
When it came to manipulation and shattering, he was an expert.
Others it was easy enough to kill or leave to the ruin that was spreading, but she... she was different.
He wanted her, to test and to push.
Every creature had their breaking point.
Before he could finish his work, he had to see hers.
[[Credit to Capcom and all included: These characters are not, and never will be, mine]]
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Please pause for a moment of truth
"Catwoman is a prime example of the femme fatale (literally "dangerous woman") stock character. It's an archetype that goes way back to probably the first male to ever write a story right after a nasty breakup." -- Pulled from Cracked.com
Had a boyfriend once who was always going on about "ROAR, FEMINISM" in the most unintelligent and bullshit fashion that anyone ever could.
I guess there are points where suddenly you get into the problem of everyone making far too much out of every possible detail that ever existed.
And then of course, everything ends up being termed as feminist or anti-feminist or a cop-out.
Now if only the world could stop for a moment and think "Oh my, entertainment! How smashing!" instead of trying to relate everything - even down to Disney movies - back to feminism.
And let me say, I'm not defending anything here.
I just tend to believe that anyone who will run around crying as if they were set on fire about how terrible Disney is in portraying its women is roughly as stupid as someone who would let themselves be so influenced by a Disney cartoon that it really is damaging.
Let me also say that, with my two unfortunate experiences of "O MAI GOWD GUYZ ITS DISNEY AND THERE EVUL D<," I have not yet been proven wrong.
Had a boyfriend once who was always going on about "ROAR, FEMINISM" in the most unintelligent and bullshit fashion that anyone ever could.
I guess there are points where suddenly you get into the problem of everyone making far too much out of every possible detail that ever existed.
And then of course, everything ends up being termed as feminist or anti-feminist or a cop-out.
Now if only the world could stop for a moment and think "Oh my, entertainment! How smashing!" instead of trying to relate everything - even down to Disney movies - back to feminism.
And let me say, I'm not defending anything here.
I just tend to believe that anyone who will run around crying as if they were set on fire about how terrible Disney is in portraying its women is roughly as stupid as someone who would let themselves be so influenced by a Disney cartoon that it really is damaging.
Let me also say that, with my two unfortunate experiences of "O MAI GOWD GUYZ ITS DISNEY AND THERE EVUL D<," I have not yet been proven wrong.
Monday, November 23, 2009
33,031 Words - More than a little behind...
“Miss Lewis, be sure that such efforts are worth your while. He may not be waiting for you as you might hope. Apollo had me once and that was enough for him. He never came back for me, or for his children. We live a fraction of their lives – a laughable and forgettable span of time. When you can live forever, life becomes a game.”
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Since You've Been Gone
She thought of her life that morning.
All the things that had led her to where she was now.
She realized how it felt to be with someone who cared for her feelings - no more nights of angry phone calls with grown men acting like children as they threw petty tantrums and put her down.
No more feeling under-appreciated or putting forth effort that was never matched.
There was some relief to reminiscing.
Sure, they always said the true way to show you didn't care was to forget about it and let it go, but she liked reveling in the feeling of change and satisfaction.
There was something to remembering how he had been and moving forward with that full knowledge on her side.
Sometimes moving on with the memory felt better than leaving it behind.
"I could say that I'll always be here for you,
But that would be a lie and quite a pointless thing to do,
I could says that I'll always have feelings for you
But I've got a life ahead of me, I'm only 22,
Since you've gone I've lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you've gone I feel like I've gotten older,
And now you've gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you've gone it's like I've been let out of my cage,
You always made it clear that you hated my friends,
You made me feel so guilty when I was running around with them,
And everything was always about being cool,
And now I've come to realise there's nothing cool about you at all,
Since you've gone I've lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you've gone I feel like I've gotten older,
And now you've gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you've gone it's like I've been let out of my cage"
-- "I Could Say," Lily Allen
All the things that had led her to where she was now.
She realized how it felt to be with someone who cared for her feelings - no more nights of angry phone calls with grown men acting like children as they threw petty tantrums and put her down.
No more feeling under-appreciated or putting forth effort that was never matched.
There was some relief to reminiscing.
Sure, they always said the true way to show you didn't care was to forget about it and let it go, but she liked reveling in the feeling of change and satisfaction.
There was something to remembering how he had been and moving forward with that full knowledge on her side.
Sometimes moving on with the memory felt better than leaving it behind.
But that would be a lie and quite a pointless thing to do,
I could says that I'll always have feelings for you
But I've got a life ahead of me, I'm only 22,
Since you've gone I've lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you've gone I feel like I've gotten older,
And now you've gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you've gone it's like I've been let out of my cage,
You always made it clear that you hated my friends,
You made me feel so guilty when I was running around with them,
And everything was always about being cool,
And now I've come to realise there's nothing cool about you at all,
Since you've gone I've lost a chip on my shoulder,
Since you've gone I feel like I've gotten older,
And now you've gone it feels as if the whole wide world is my stage
And now you've gone it's like I've been let out of my cage"
-- "I Could Say," Lily Allen
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
22,497 Words
He was torn on what he had wanted to see – he knew the mechanics of love better than anyone, and he knew that it rarely was as selfless as so many tried embellish it to be. Morals, legends, and romantics all would have agreed that his hope should be to find her happy despite his absence. That he should hope she had found something or someone else to fill his place in her heart, if he truly and honestly loved her.
The truth of love, however, was that it was often selfish and driven by desire. It was not at all that he wanted to see her torn by grief and fading away with want, but he could not imagine accepting it if she had pushed the departure from her heart and gone on without him. Love rarely took the form of wanting the object of one’s affections to be happy in any fashion. Much more common was the overwhelming desire to provide that happiness. Watching Psyche find joy and comfort in the arms of another, or without him at all regardless of another’s presence, would have hurt him greatly, because he was in love with her, and therefore some part of his heart inevitably wished her to only find joy and comfort with him.
The truth of love, however, was that it was often selfish and driven by desire. It was not at all that he wanted to see her torn by grief and fading away with want, but he could not imagine accepting it if she had pushed the departure from her heart and gone on without him. Love rarely took the form of wanting the object of one’s affections to be happy in any fashion. Much more common was the overwhelming desire to provide that happiness. Watching Psyche find joy and comfort in the arms of another, or without him at all regardless of another’s presence, would have hurt him greatly, because he was in love with her, and therefore some part of his heart inevitably wished her to only find joy and comfort with him.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
NaNo Break for other projects
I realized it then - the truth about Ben.
Kat had been right to warn me about him in the first place, but there's a point where passion takes over and the overriding of logic goes unnoticed.
I no longer saw a man who could move me with the slightest touch or perfect word.
I saw a man who was growing old before his time, with thinning hair and always a drink in hand. I saw a man headed toward alcoholism, who would never be happy because he was so skilled in making himself miserable, behind the cover of a pointless job every day and meaningless bar gatherings every night. I saw a man so obsessed with one thing, one person, that he would forever let it affect everything he thought and did.
I saw weakness and I finally saw someone who was everything I never wanted and never wanted to be with, which scared me. How could I have put so much into someone like that?
Dahlia continued giggling in that way she had. It was the way that I had fallen in love with at first, but now it just disgusted me.
"That's okay," I said eventually, looking up. Dahlia's giggling ceased and Ben raised his eyes to me. "It's okay. You know why?" I stood, and felt Kat take my hand. She had rarely offered comfort throughout it all, but I knew she considered me a friend to her and sensed that I needed the feeling of support. I ignored Dahlia, looking Ben directly in the eye. She didn't deserve attention. She was just a little girl playing games, and she could find someone new for that. It was Ben that I felt angry with, and betrayed by.
"I may be a joke to you, and that's okay." He kept a straight face. "Because you're a joke to everyone else."
I never saw his response to that. Kat tugged my hand, leading me out of the building.
I had expected to feel heartbreak, or anger. I had expected to be overwhelmed with breaking off from him.
But at that moment, the only feeling I had was of freedom.
The story was almost over.
"It's the same old story-
all of the glory is a pantomime;
if you're looking for love in a looking glass world,
it's pretty hard to find"
Kat had been right to warn me about him in the first place, but there's a point where passion takes over and the overriding of logic goes unnoticed.
I no longer saw a man who could move me with the slightest touch or perfect word.
I saw a man who was growing old before his time, with thinning hair and always a drink in hand. I saw a man headed toward alcoholism, who would never be happy because he was so skilled in making himself miserable, behind the cover of a pointless job every day and meaningless bar gatherings every night. I saw a man so obsessed with one thing, one person, that he would forever let it affect everything he thought and did.
I saw weakness and I finally saw someone who was everything I never wanted and never wanted to be with, which scared me. How could I have put so much into someone like that?
Dahlia continued giggling in that way she had. It was the way that I had fallen in love with at first, but now it just disgusted me.
"That's okay," I said eventually, looking up. Dahlia's giggling ceased and Ben raised his eyes to me. "It's okay. You know why?" I stood, and felt Kat take my hand. She had rarely offered comfort throughout it all, but I knew she considered me a friend to her and sensed that I needed the feeling of support. I ignored Dahlia, looking Ben directly in the eye. She didn't deserve attention. She was just a little girl playing games, and she could find someone new for that. It was Ben that I felt angry with, and betrayed by.
"I may be a joke to you, and that's okay." He kept a straight face. "Because you're a joke to everyone else."
I never saw his response to that. Kat tugged my hand, leading me out of the building.
I had expected to feel heartbreak, or anger. I had expected to be overwhelmed with breaking off from him.
But at that moment, the only feeling I had was of freedom.
The story was almost over.
all of the glory is a pantomime;
if you're looking for love in a looking glass world,
it's pretty hard to find"
Saturday, November 14, 2009
21,136 Words
“Oh, it’ll be fun!” She cried enthusiastically. “Have you ever been to Paris? I’ve been to Paris! It’s lovely! Oh, it’ll be just like a sleepover, you’ll see – will you tell some of those fancy stories your brother was telling on the train? I’d like that!” Psyche blinked, unsure of how to respond. Instead she focused on what she had been wondering when Madame Chiu had called Kay into the room.
“Why did she call you Lei?”
“Oh. That’s my real name.” Kay crinkled her nose at the word “real.” “I don’t really like it. Sounds too stuffy and pretty. So I call myself Kay instead! But don’t tell grandmamma. Jun once decided it would be cute to call herself JunJun as a nickname. Grandmamma got so mad! She started saying all these things about how names are gifts from heaven and you shouldn’t be allowed to play with them like they’re toys. Personally I think that’s silly – JunJun would have been adorable! Perfect for Jun’s personality. Kind of like Kay is perfect for mine!” Kay always seemed to be going a mile a minute, leaving nearly no room for Psyche to jump in. Instead she just tried to keep up with what was being said.
When Madame Chiu came back upstairs, Psyche had honestly lost track of what she was talking about now, and was a bit grateful for the interruption. Kay certainly was likeable, but the amount of energy it took to keep up with her was quite intimidating.
Madame Chiu held out a change-purse. “That should be enough to take care of your travel and necessary expenses. Miss Lewis, will you need to return home before you leave?” Psyche nodded, reminding Madame Chiu that her younger brother had also come to London. “Kay, take the train back with Psyche so that she will not need to come back to London before departing.” Kay bounced again and Madame Chiu gave the softest smile that Psyche had seen from her yet. “Both of you be careful. The French can be bitter creatures. Especially when it comes to the English, Miss Lewis.”
------------------------------------------
Going slowly. It would help if I didn't have a rather painful issue at the moment which requires some heavy painkillers. But I'm having fun writing, my friends are amazing, and my boyfriend is a dream.
So I don't mind the pain.
Afterall, it could be worse.
Haha, oh god... it could be way worse.
Sometimes you don't realize what you have until it's gone. And sometimes that is a very, very, very good thing.
Not to mention at least my significant other will openly say he's dating me. That's always a plus.
“Why did she call you Lei?”
“Oh. That’s my real name.” Kay crinkled her nose at the word “real.” “I don’t really like it. Sounds too stuffy and pretty. So I call myself Kay instead! But don’t tell grandmamma. Jun once decided it would be cute to call herself JunJun as a nickname. Grandmamma got so mad! She started saying all these things about how names are gifts from heaven and you shouldn’t be allowed to play with them like they’re toys. Personally I think that’s silly – JunJun would have been adorable! Perfect for Jun’s personality. Kind of like Kay is perfect for mine!” Kay always seemed to be going a mile a minute, leaving nearly no room for Psyche to jump in. Instead she just tried to keep up with what was being said.
When Madame Chiu came back upstairs, Psyche had honestly lost track of what she was talking about now, and was a bit grateful for the interruption. Kay certainly was likeable, but the amount of energy it took to keep up with her was quite intimidating.
Madame Chiu held out a change-purse. “That should be enough to take care of your travel and necessary expenses. Miss Lewis, will you need to return home before you leave?” Psyche nodded, reminding Madame Chiu that her younger brother had also come to London. “Kay, take the train back with Psyche so that she will not need to come back to London before departing.” Kay bounced again and Madame Chiu gave the softest smile that Psyche had seen from her yet. “Both of you be careful. The French can be bitter creatures. Especially when it comes to the English, Miss Lewis.”
------------------------------------------
Going slowly. It would help if I didn't have a rather painful issue at the moment which requires some heavy painkillers. But I'm having fun writing, my friends are amazing, and my boyfriend is a dream.
So I don't mind the pain.
Afterall, it could be worse.
Haha, oh god... it could be way worse.
Sometimes you don't realize what you have until it's gone. And sometimes that is a very, very, very good thing.
Not to mention at least my significant other will openly say he's dating me. That's always a plus.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Because following "head" with "shaft" sounded far too phallic after good smut.
11,721 words
The next morning, she awoke nude beneath the blankets. On the pillow next to her there was a single arrow, a red ribbon tied beneath its head, with the name Teodore carved delicately into the stem.
She knew it then.
Heart in pieces and mind filled with memories of the previous night, Psyche stared at the empty right side of the bed. Eros was gone – fled to the place from which he had come.
She was alone now.
The next morning, she awoke nude beneath the blankets. On the pillow next to her there was a single arrow, a red ribbon tied beneath its head, with the name Teodore carved delicately into the stem.
She knew it then.
Heart in pieces and mind filled with memories of the previous night, Psyche stared at the empty right side of the bed. Eros was gone – fled to the place from which he had come.
She was alone now.
Shut off my heart, please.
10,684 words.
She pressed her body against his with so much force that he stumbled backward into the desk, catching himself on its edge with his hands. A book hit the floor loudly, but Psyche didn’t let go, her hands moving to clutch the fabric of his shirt. She couldn’t let go now - for everything she knew, the moment she let go of him he would be out of her reach forever. He was hers and she was his and no one was going to take them away from each other because it just wasn’t fair.
“I need you." The words were out of her mouth without her mind's permission. "I need you so much.”
She pressed her body against his with so much force that he stumbled backward into the desk, catching himself on its edge with his hands. A book hit the floor loudly, but Psyche didn’t let go, her hands moving to clutch the fabric of his shirt. She couldn’t let go now - for everything she knew, the moment she let go of him he would be out of her reach forever. He was hers and she was his and no one was going to take them away from each other because it just wasn’t fair.
“I need you." The words were out of her mouth without her mind's permission. "I need you so much.”
Monday, November 2, 2009
5,234 words so far!
Cynics in the world often said that love at first sight doesn’t exist, but if he made love at first sight, didn’t that mean that it might be somewhere in the cosmos on its own? It was a law of reality that one cannot make something out of nothing, so the materials were out there, in the forests and oceans, in the skies and on moutaintops. It did not seem so unbelievable that they could put themselves together without him. Love and adoration and the joining of hearts happened without his help all the time.
He wanted to believe in these affections and their ability to develop without time, because he knew that feeling by now after seeing it in so many others. He knew what it meant and where it was supposed to lead.
He knew then, that he was in love.
He wanted to believe in these affections and their ability to develop without time, because he knew that feeling by now after seeing it in so many others. He knew what it meant and where it was supposed to lead.
He knew then, that he was in love.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Ah, the temporary farewell.
While I am unfortunately awake, disliking the feeling of knowing I drank slightly more than I should've last night but loving that I had the best Halloween that I ever have (finally one that was neither spent at a party, nor doing the honorable thing for the children) and the fact that I've once again seen outright proof that certain people definitely are not high-quality enough to fit in my life, I am going to make my mini "goodbye! See you in December!" note.
I might be back to post up bits and pieces of my NaNo novel (and really I don't think anyone actively comes here so perhaps no one will even notice. I don't like whoring out my blogs because at some point it just starts to seem self-involved, I guess) but otherwise I will be gone to focus on schoolwork while striving for over 50k.
Have a good November, and good luck to all the other NaNo participants!
I might be back to post up bits and pieces of my NaNo novel (and really I don't think anyone actively comes here so perhaps no one will even notice. I don't like whoring out my blogs because at some point it just starts to seem self-involved, I guess) but otherwise I will be gone to focus on schoolwork while striving for over 50k.
Have a good November, and good luck to all the other NaNo participants!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Bonjour, mes amis <3
The ever-illustrious (.... or not quite) and charming Rae has just finally decided to do NaNoWriMo after years of saying "I don't have time for that!"
This means two things:
1) My unnamed project that has been unfolding here in bits and pieces is on hold as of November first
2) This blog will be seeing a small burst in pieces of the rough draft for my steampunk-inspired mythological fiction, which may or may not be a good thing.
Please ignore anything awful that should be burned and beaten and buried in some Texan desert.
Here goes nothing!
This means two things:
1) My unnamed project that has been unfolding here in bits and pieces is on hold as of November first
2) This blog will be seeing a small burst in pieces of the rough draft for my steampunk-inspired mythological fiction, which may or may not be a good thing.
Please ignore anything awful that should be burned and beaten and buried in some Texan desert.
Here goes nothing!
Monday, October 19, 2009
Hello, Real Life, how are you?
You know, I had this all typed up.
It was elegant and it was angry and quite beautiful, if my opinion counts.
But forget that, because layer upon layer all leads up to the same thing:
I am better than that, and I am better than you.
And focusing on lifestyle or hypocrisy or all the things I do hate and have always hated about you - whether as a boyfriend, friend, or even going back to the unbelievable days when we were just acquaintances - don't really matter anymore.
I have no desire to speak to you and haven't in weeks (though I am sorry to demean your apparent blocking and unblocking and reblocking of me? I can pretend it hurts, if you'd like), unless telling you exactly what I think counts and I've always been a little too soft and empathetic to do things like that, but I also have no need for you to know how I feel about the fact that I've been dragged along for weeks with small changes, or had horrendously spelled blog entries written about me (yes, I did see.)
It just doesn't matter.
And that is more wonderful than anything I could ever hope to write.
It was elegant and it was angry and quite beautiful, if my opinion counts.
But forget that, because layer upon layer all leads up to the same thing:
I am better than that, and I am better than you.
And focusing on lifestyle or hypocrisy or all the things I do hate and have always hated about you - whether as a boyfriend, friend, or even going back to the unbelievable days when we were just acquaintances - don't really matter anymore.
I have no desire to speak to you and haven't in weeks (though I am sorry to demean your apparent blocking and unblocking and reblocking of me? I can pretend it hurts, if you'd like), unless telling you exactly what I think counts and I've always been a little too soft and empathetic to do things like that, but I also have no need for you to know how I feel about the fact that I've been dragged along for weeks with small changes, or had horrendously spelled blog entries written about me (yes, I did see.)
It just doesn't matter.
And that is more wonderful than anything I could ever hope to write.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Studies in Ambiguity
It is not the horrific procession of Amoret, with bleeding hearts in silver basins before Eros, hidden behind veils of ill-intended magic.
It is only a rainstorm, with the challenge to find shelter.
It is only a rainstorm, with the challenge to find shelter.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Wireless
headphones on and volume up
contemporary romance connecting
...connecting...
...connecting...
...connecting...
there.
we call it easy,
never ones to be ungrateful
but when those signals disappear
the anxiety settles in,
distance clear
contemporary romance connecting
...connecting...
...connecting...
...connecting...
there.
we call it easy,
never ones to be ungrateful
but when those signals disappear
the anxiety settles in,
distance clear
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Missing you.
And we wonder what beauty is, hiding behind blue eyeshadow and candied lips. The clouds are in the sky, darkened above with threats of the storm to come. I watch the rain fall with wonder and cold sets in.
This is beauty beyond the aesthetics.
Empty, lonely, hidden from sunshine: reality's reflection.
Silk and cotton in pretty colors only cover so much of the frayed wires and damage underneath.
Fully exposed, contemplating the universe with childlike fear and awe.
Bare.
Frightened.
Vulnerable.
Alive.
The world is on fire tonight.
Please come home?
Love,
Missionary Doll.
"It's funny how things, they change
the clouds they part, rearrange for me
Faces of strangers and I have no familiars to help me see
Where is home?
I want you to know
That I wish you were here"
- Stefani Germanotta/Lady Gaga; Wish You Were Here
This is beauty beyond the aesthetics.
Empty, lonely, hidden from sunshine: reality's reflection.
Silk and cotton in pretty colors only cover so much of the frayed wires and damage underneath.
Fully exposed, contemplating the universe with childlike fear and awe.
Bare.
Frightened.
Vulnerable.
Alive.
The world is on fire tonight.
Please come home?
Love,
Missionary Doll.
the clouds they part, rearrange for me
Faces of strangers and I have no familiars to help me see
Where is home?
I want you to know
That I wish you were here"
- Stefani Germanotta/Lady Gaga; Wish You Were Here
Monday, September 21, 2009
Write first, polish later?
There are two things that the world cares about: death and passion.
Go ahead and list off anything you think people are invested in – I guarantee they can be linked back to one of those two.
It was pure passion that was the driving force between Ben and me. Not love or caring. Not to say neither of us cared about the other at all, but that wasn’t why we were together. Maybe to some level there was curiosity there too, or at least on my side. Ben was sure he understood me. He said he knew how I worked and what pushed me. Occasionally I told him that he didn’t know me as well as he thought he did, but he always brushed it off so I had stopped trying to get it through to him.
You can’t push much past an ego.
The difference between us was that I had no delusions about what parts of him I understood and what I didn’t, despite his constant protest that I didn’t know him at all. I probably knew things about him that he was ignorant of.
The first of these things was that he had some baggage that terrified me.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I’m over it.”
“You’re making too big a deal out of it.”
He would throw out brush-off after brush-off if I dared to bring it up. When he didn’t get angry, anyway. He rarely told me anything about before I met him. I knew small bits of an issue with Kat and Peter, and something about his family, and something further about some girl from his hometown.
But details were few and far between.
No one ever seemed keen to tell, and I was too nervous to really ask further.
At this particular moment in time, he had me backed against his bedroom wall, hands against what he always referred to as my “cute round ass,” pulling me up to him roughly. Sex was our weekly ritual. Occasionally we would get together at other times, but it was always a given that I was going home with him after the circle’s Friday night at the club. I’m not really sure many of them noticed, though Kat was most likely observant enough to know something was happening. She never really said anything.
Go ahead and list off anything you think people are invested in – I guarantee they can be linked back to one of those two.
It was pure passion that was the driving force between Ben and me. Not love or caring. Not to say neither of us cared about the other at all, but that wasn’t why we were together. Maybe to some level there was curiosity there too, or at least on my side. Ben was sure he understood me. He said he knew how I worked and what pushed me. Occasionally I told him that he didn’t know me as well as he thought he did, but he always brushed it off so I had stopped trying to get it through to him.
You can’t push much past an ego.
The difference between us was that I had no delusions about what parts of him I understood and what I didn’t, despite his constant protest that I didn’t know him at all. I probably knew things about him that he was ignorant of.
The first of these things was that he had some baggage that terrified me.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I’m over it.”
“You’re making too big a deal out of it.”
He would throw out brush-off after brush-off if I dared to bring it up. When he didn’t get angry, anyway. He rarely told me anything about before I met him. I knew small bits of an issue with Kat and Peter, and something about his family, and something further about some girl from his hometown.
But details were few and far between.
No one ever seemed keen to tell, and I was too nervous to really ask further.
At this particular moment in time, he had me backed against his bedroom wall, hands against what he always referred to as my “cute round ass,” pulling me up to him roughly. Sex was our weekly ritual. Occasionally we would get together at other times, but it was always a given that I was going home with him after the circle’s Friday night at the club. I’m not really sure many of them noticed, though Kat was most likely observant enough to know something was happening. She never really said anything.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Do you want to play?
“Are you in the game?”
These days I would have said no and walked away. I always wonder how to step into this story after that line. I’m tempted to begin by explaining that I was twenty-two, stupid, and considered myself hopelessly in love, but sometimes I wonder if it needs a little more background than that.
No matter where I go next though, this always has to start with Ben’s question because those were the five words that have shaped everything I’ve become: “Are you in the game?”
Kat shook her head, her violet bob bouncing in a neat circle around her face as she did so.
“Fuck that, man. It’s like goddamn Russian roulette without bullets.” Despite being the quietest, she had always been sort of the leader of the pack for them (and now us, though I still didn’t see myself as a full part of the circle) and it was surprising to see her step away. I was hesitating at that point, because the whole idea sounded dramatic, risky, and honestly just frightening.
“I’m in.”
That was what got me to join as well.
You see, fairy tales like to tell you about how a princess meets her prince and true love carries them through forever. What they do not tell you about are when princess meets princess and chemistry rapidly turns into destruction. They don’t tell you how much of a headrush it is to meet someone who you think must have been made for you and who gets you.
They certainly don’t tell you that this rush of passion will destroy you from the inside out if you let it. Passion is beautiful, but it’s just as dangerous as any other drug and it’s too easy to fall into the trap of pursuing something without realizing that you will never quite have it the way you want.
But who can blame me? Dahlia was beautiful, inside and out. Or at least I thought she was beautiful on the inside back then. I thought she was the most gorgeous creature in existence. At that time she was a brunette but her penchant for being noticed had her waiting eagerly to dye it a bright forest green, which she would do shortly after everything wrapped up. She kept it long, putting it up in clips and under hats, and when she let it down she looked like some kind of urban goddess.
I didn’t usually go for anyone younger, but she was just twenty, which seemed fine enough to me. Two years wasn’t such a big deal, and I was already breaking my own rules by wanting any woman so much in the first place.
So anyway, that was what got me into “the game.” I’d have followed her to the ends of the earth, and didn’t want her to see a coward when she looked at me from then on. Kat could step out if she wanted, but I was going to participate and pull through with a bang.
“I’ll play.” I glanced quickly at Dahlia and saw her lips form a knowing smile. In hindsight it seemed a little sinister. I guess she always knew that I would let her push me in whatever direction she wanted and I guess she must have found that fascinating, knowing what I know now.
One by one, the entire table responded. Kat and Michelle were the only ones to opt out and Kat’s eyes flashed darkly when her not-quite-boyfriend Peter announced his intention to join with a grin. It was a risky bet and we all knew it. I think she was the only one who knew just how thin the ice was though.
Ben downed another vodka shot and leaned forward. There was a genuine amusement in his eyes.
I guess I really should have started worrying much earlier than I ever did. Especially when he turned his gaze onto me before addressing the group.
“Friday night. Same place. I’ll bring the rules and the details. It’s your last chance to back out.”
These days I would have said no and walked away. I always wonder how to step into this story after that line. I’m tempted to begin by explaining that I was twenty-two, stupid, and considered myself hopelessly in love, but sometimes I wonder if it needs a little more background than that.
No matter where I go next though, this always has to start with Ben’s question because those were the five words that have shaped everything I’ve become: “Are you in the game?”
Kat shook her head, her violet bob bouncing in a neat circle around her face as she did so.
“Fuck that, man. It’s like goddamn Russian roulette without bullets.” Despite being the quietest, she had always been sort of the leader of the pack for them (and now us, though I still didn’t see myself as a full part of the circle) and it was surprising to see her step away. I was hesitating at that point, because the whole idea sounded dramatic, risky, and honestly just frightening.
“I’m in.”
That was what got me to join as well.
You see, fairy tales like to tell you about how a princess meets her prince and true love carries them through forever. What they do not tell you about are when princess meets princess and chemistry rapidly turns into destruction. They don’t tell you how much of a headrush it is to meet someone who you think must have been made for you and who gets you.
They certainly don’t tell you that this rush of passion will destroy you from the inside out if you let it. Passion is beautiful, but it’s just as dangerous as any other drug and it’s too easy to fall into the trap of pursuing something without realizing that you will never quite have it the way you want.
But who can blame me? Dahlia was beautiful, inside and out. Or at least I thought she was beautiful on the inside back then. I thought she was the most gorgeous creature in existence. At that time she was a brunette but her penchant for being noticed had her waiting eagerly to dye it a bright forest green, which she would do shortly after everything wrapped up. She kept it long, putting it up in clips and under hats, and when she let it down she looked like some kind of urban goddess.
I didn’t usually go for anyone younger, but she was just twenty, which seemed fine enough to me. Two years wasn’t such a big deal, and I was already breaking my own rules by wanting any woman so much in the first place.
So anyway, that was what got me into “the game.” I’d have followed her to the ends of the earth, and didn’t want her to see a coward when she looked at me from then on. Kat could step out if she wanted, but I was going to participate and pull through with a bang.
“I’ll play.” I glanced quickly at Dahlia and saw her lips form a knowing smile. In hindsight it seemed a little sinister. I guess she always knew that I would let her push me in whatever direction she wanted and I guess she must have found that fascinating, knowing what I know now.
One by one, the entire table responded. Kat and Michelle were the only ones to opt out and Kat’s eyes flashed darkly when her not-quite-boyfriend Peter announced his intention to join with a grin. It was a risky bet and we all knew it. I think she was the only one who knew just how thin the ice was though.
Ben downed another vodka shot and leaned forward. There was a genuine amusement in his eyes.
I guess I really should have started worrying much earlier than I ever did. Especially when he turned his gaze onto me before addressing the group.
“Friday night. Same place. I’ll bring the rules and the details. It’s your last chance to back out.”
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Rough beginnings.
It was that nauseating feeling of "Oh fuck, it's going to happen" that tightens your stomach in the worst way. Like there's nothing to do but fall to your knees and throw up not only everything you've eaten that day, but everything you haven't even touched yet for the next week and a half. Like some obnoxious little time warp of dread that gets inside you and ignites every cell into a microscopic timer counting down and you've seen the inevitable future already.
That's where I was at.
Absolutely and pathetically defeated, which is a miserable place for any heroine.
I guess this isn't really the greatest place to start a story either, given the great tragedy of the whole situation. By this point I was almost unable to feel anything. I could tell my arm was broken, and probably other bones were too, but I couldn't pinpoint spots of pain past feeling like one giant injury and I hadn't been able to keep up with the damage as it happened.
If I tried hard to peek at the wall, I could see M practically wrapped around his computer. He was still alive I think, but how long was kind of a big question. I didn't even want to know what had happened to his girlfriend, because before the first blurry ambush, I'd seen the state of the place and all the blood had to have come from somewhere.
You see, they say that cliched line about life flashing before your eyes in like... every movie, book, song, play, awful teenage poem... It's everywhere. But either it's not true or it's a fluke, because my mind was going a million miles a second to try to figure out two things: what to do next, and what I could have done differently beforehand. I was always one of those people who thought everything added up, and my current hazy thought was that maybe if I'd had breakfast, I would have been late that morning, and M would have met me somewhere else, and this and that and the other. It was comforting to blame the cheerios, in some sickeningly odd way.
It's funny how quickly you can think when you're panicking inside and funnier how (no matter what you actually think about) you rarely reach a good solution.
So let's start this differently and rewind a little. Back before I finally collapsed to the floor, with that irksome little bubble of blood dripping down my lips, and back before I walked into he house to find it looking like the set of a horror movie. Back before whoever the hell was rolling me over now had attacked M and before our argument that morning that sent him home early to talk to Amy. Before that day, or that week actually.
Back to about three weeks ago, which may just be the beginning.
That's where I was at.
Absolutely and pathetically defeated, which is a miserable place for any heroine.
I guess this isn't really the greatest place to start a story either, given the great tragedy of the whole situation. By this point I was almost unable to feel anything. I could tell my arm was broken, and probably other bones were too, but I couldn't pinpoint spots of pain past feeling like one giant injury and I hadn't been able to keep up with the damage as it happened.
If I tried hard to peek at the wall, I could see M practically wrapped around his computer. He was still alive I think, but how long was kind of a big question. I didn't even want to know what had happened to his girlfriend, because before the first blurry ambush, I'd seen the state of the place and all the blood had to have come from somewhere.
You see, they say that cliched line about life flashing before your eyes in like... every movie, book, song, play, awful teenage poem... It's everywhere. But either it's not true or it's a fluke, because my mind was going a million miles a second to try to figure out two things: what to do next, and what I could have done differently beforehand. I was always one of those people who thought everything added up, and my current hazy thought was that maybe if I'd had breakfast, I would have been late that morning, and M would have met me somewhere else, and this and that and the other. It was comforting to blame the cheerios, in some sickeningly odd way.
It's funny how quickly you can think when you're panicking inside and funnier how (no matter what you actually think about) you rarely reach a good solution.
So let's start this differently and rewind a little. Back before I finally collapsed to the floor, with that irksome little bubble of blood dripping down my lips, and back before I walked into he house to find it looking like the set of a horror movie. Back before whoever the hell was rolling me over now had attacked M and before our argument that morning that sent him home early to talk to Amy. Before that day, or that week actually.
Back to about three weeks ago, which may just be the beginning.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Half-fictive, skill-free self-therapy.
A curved line. Circle. One stroke here, one there. A small but lively eye slowly appeared out of the graphite marks, and soon its partner came into existence as well. Several whimsical movements framed a freshly-drawn face with windblown hair, and a body started forming below a brand new smile.
And there she was: Thumper. Rae sighed, adding on a pair of floppy rabbit ears and preening the simple outfit. Finished, Thumper blinked up at her expectantly.
"What's up, buttercup?" The miniature image flashed a toothy smile. She lacked the two pointed canines that Rae was somewhat fond of in her own mouth, so she touched up the smile, prompting an indignant nose-scrunch from her two-dimensional likeness. "Hey!" Thumper huffed, "At least warn me before getting out the eraser..." Rae gave a half-hearted smile in return.
"Things aren't really so awesome here." The bunny-girl blinked, waiting for elaboration. "Boys, friends, family... the works. What do you do when life gets... hard?"
"Well..." Thumper twitched her left ear for a moment in thought. "You see, it's like this. We superheroes are always getting in trouble. We lose people a lot - sometimes in fights or whatever, and sometimes... from more permanant stuff. We fight monsters and villains and get hurt in lots of ways. We go through hell. You know why?" Rae shifted in her seat, quirking one eyebrow.
"Mm?"
"Because we exist. Yeah, sure, there are some grudges and sometimes a bad guy is like 'Grr, I'll get you for destroying my super atom smashing weapon of doom!' but I could throw away my costume, become a total pacifist, and lounge in front of the tv nightly. Stuff'll still show up, stuf will still come after me, and life will still be a harrowing rollercoaster ride with the most undependable safety bar ever. So you know what I do?"
"Save the world?" Thumper gave her biggest smile and bounced a little.
"Mhmm! Cause it's all there is to do!" Rae smiled back - Thumper was the real her in a lot of ways and seeing it played out was a good reminder that she wasn't one to spend so long feeling down and out. A good reminder of who she really was.
"You forget - I'm not exactly a vigilante world-saver. Kind of lacking." She drew hairclips at the base of each of Thumper's ears. "Maybe they should be clip-ons..." The mini superheroine's face flashed with horror as she unsuccessfully tried to twitch one of her ears, and Rae giggled, turning them back into a legitimate part of her anatomy. She let out a little "hmph" sound and tested one to make sure before moving forward.
"You're missing the point! My point here is that stuff'll go wrong. Lotsa stuff. But most things are either fixable or heal with time. So stop worrying. Breathe, let things relax, and learn to give it time. If your friend won't talk to you, give them some space and it'll probably work out in the end. If you're feeling down, find a good book to read or go out. If life feels hard, just stop and let it go on around you, silly. You've got all the tools, you're just not using them. It's easy to get scared, 'specially after some of the stuff you've been through. But since Jay left you you've been a wreck constantly and -"
"And it's not me." Rae concluded, sketching on some hairclips.
"No. It's not. And now all these great new people you're friends with now think it is you! And you're unhappy. So... Smile, sillyface!" And she did, because it was true. And that smile was refreshing in too many ways to count.
Because there are ways of dealing with oneself, and therapy is found in a lot of places. She was reaching closure with the entire underlying problem now, and maybe the rest would follow naturally.
She sketched Thumper a cape, then got rid of it again. Attached some earrings.
"How about we get you a story, dear?"
And there she was: Thumper. Rae sighed, adding on a pair of floppy rabbit ears and preening the simple outfit. Finished, Thumper blinked up at her expectantly.
"What's up, buttercup?" The miniature image flashed a toothy smile. She lacked the two pointed canines that Rae was somewhat fond of in her own mouth, so she touched up the smile, prompting an indignant nose-scrunch from her two-dimensional likeness. "Hey!" Thumper huffed, "At least warn me before getting out the eraser..." Rae gave a half-hearted smile in return.
"Things aren't really so awesome here." The bunny-girl blinked, waiting for elaboration. "Boys, friends, family... the works. What do you do when life gets... hard?"
"Well..." Thumper twitched her left ear for a moment in thought. "You see, it's like this. We superheroes are always getting in trouble. We lose people a lot - sometimes in fights or whatever, and sometimes... from more permanant stuff. We fight monsters and villains and get hurt in lots of ways. We go through hell. You know why?" Rae shifted in her seat, quirking one eyebrow.
"Mm?"
"Because we exist. Yeah, sure, there are some grudges and sometimes a bad guy is like 'Grr, I'll get you for destroying my super atom smashing weapon of doom!' but I could throw away my costume, become a total pacifist, and lounge in front of the tv nightly. Stuff'll still show up, stuf will still come after me, and life will still be a harrowing rollercoaster ride with the most undependable safety bar ever. So you know what I do?"
"Save the world?" Thumper gave her biggest smile and bounced a little.
"Mhmm! Cause it's all there is to do!" Rae smiled back - Thumper was the real her in a lot of ways and seeing it played out was a good reminder that she wasn't one to spend so long feeling down and out. A good reminder of who she really was.
"You forget - I'm not exactly a vigilante world-saver. Kind of lacking." She drew hairclips at the base of each of Thumper's ears. "Maybe they should be clip-ons..." The mini superheroine's face flashed with horror as she unsuccessfully tried to twitch one of her ears, and Rae giggled, turning them back into a legitimate part of her anatomy. She let out a little "hmph" sound and tested one to make sure before moving forward.
"You're missing the point! My point here is that stuff'll go wrong. Lotsa stuff. But most things are either fixable or heal with time. So stop worrying. Breathe, let things relax, and learn to give it time. If your friend won't talk to you, give them some space and it'll probably work out in the end. If you're feeling down, find a good book to read or go out. If life feels hard, just stop and let it go on around you, silly. You've got all the tools, you're just not using them. It's easy to get scared, 'specially after some of the stuff you've been through. But since Jay left you you've been a wreck constantly and -"
"And it's not me." Rae concluded, sketching on some hairclips.
"No. It's not. And now all these great new people you're friends with now think it is you! And you're unhappy. So... Smile, sillyface!" And she did, because it was true. And that smile was refreshing in too many ways to count.
Because there are ways of dealing with oneself, and therapy is found in a lot of places. She was reaching closure with the entire underlying problem now, and maybe the rest would follow naturally.
She sketched Thumper a cape, then got rid of it again. Attached some earrings.
"How about we get you a story, dear?"
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Why am I watching Gay Purree?
She imagined herself most properly as Meowrice, really. Not that she wasn't pretty enough to be Mewsette, the heroine, or any of the other sleek, soft felines haunting the streets of Paris, but she simply wasn't soft enough. And, of course, there was the fact that he fit the character so much more fully.
The naivete and blind hope hidden beneath a layer of arrogance and confidence was too obvious a likeness, but if she ever were to tell him, she knew he would turn away, tail in the air, and refuse to speak to her until the comment was pushed aside.
Granted, she was not quite likely to attempt packaging him up to send off as a mail-order bride (though she idly wondered what price he might fetch)... but she was using him for her own needs all the same.
It wasn't that she didn't care about him. She just cared more about herself and things were much better that way. It was like Eve biting into the apple - nothing was really wrong until she selflessly offered the fruit to Adam, and they together realized their state of affairs. If she had kept the dream and the knowledge to herself, it may have gone forever unnoticed.
It took two.
It always takes two for one to get hurt.
He had his own female Jean-Tom too. She didn't know much about the girl - had only seen her briefly once or twice while out and had had to deduct her identity in the first place - but she seemed genuine enough. Almost genuine enough to make her feel guilty for her mastery at what she was doing. But she seemed genuine too, outside of her inner workings. It didn't mean she was.
Not that any of it mattered. It was a game.
The traditional dog and cat and mouse.
Fuck, She thought, taking a drag of her cigarette and turning off the television. I need to stop watching kids movies.
The naivete and blind hope hidden beneath a layer of arrogance and confidence was too obvious a likeness, but if she ever were to tell him, she knew he would turn away, tail in the air, and refuse to speak to her until the comment was pushed aside.
Granted, she was not quite likely to attempt packaging him up to send off as a mail-order bride (though she idly wondered what price he might fetch)... but she was using him for her own needs all the same.
It wasn't that she didn't care about him. She just cared more about herself and things were much better that way. It was like Eve biting into the apple - nothing was really wrong until she selflessly offered the fruit to Adam, and they together realized their state of affairs. If she had kept the dream and the knowledge to herself, it may have gone forever unnoticed.
It took two.
It always takes two for one to get hurt.
He had his own female Jean-Tom too. She didn't know much about the girl - had only seen her briefly once or twice while out and had had to deduct her identity in the first place - but she seemed genuine enough. Almost genuine enough to make her feel guilty for her mastery at what she was doing. But she seemed genuine too, outside of her inner workings. It didn't mean she was.
Not that any of it mattered. It was a game.
The traditional dog and cat and mouse.
Fuck, She thought, taking a drag of her cigarette and turning off the television. I need to stop watching kids movies.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
And of course there's nothing quite like delusion.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I find myself wishing for things I should not. Normally I prefer to keep things like this to personal journals, but there's never a good place to think out loud when you're constantly drowned in well-meaning and often (though not always) appreciated advice.
It's funny. When someone is out of your life, you can finally see what it was doing to you. You can see the years of desperation, and the lies whether they were intentional or not. You can see that it dragged you down. Was no good for you.
You can see beyond the hurt and the loss that maybe it is best to move on.
The moment they come back? It's gone.
There goes the reasoning. There goes the new relationship with the boy next door or the cute girl who was warm and made you smile. You'll drop the boyfriend or girlfriend or casual date because you like them and they are cute and they're nice and fun and loveable.. but they're not them.
You get caught up in the phone calls and conversations, and the idea that maybe, just maybe, they have changed. Are ready and willing to truly put you first. You can be together and be happy. Everything will be okay.
There is hope.
And it is the worst fucking lie you will ever tell yourself.
Quite often there is no change. We're doomed to repeat things.
If something happens once, it may be a fluke.
Twice could still be a self-contained incident, but it's not quite likely.
Any more than that? It's not going to stop.
Take it from someone who had the "We're over. Get out of my life. We can't talk anymore" conversation twice before the final fall. I should have seen it then. That it wasn't going to stop and he would never be coming back for good.
It was always going to be short-lived and painfully cut off.
As to the aforementioned in the beginning, my current wish - tugging at the corners of my reasoning and trying to clamber in - would be to go back to someone I have known for quite some time and very well. "Boyfriend" is not necessarily true. We actually officially dated for a whole of twenty-three hours if I remember correctly. "Lover" is an irksome word, but it's as close as it gets.
No one knew me like he did. We were best friends and fought hard to keep ourselves that way. We made it work despite all opposition, and at some point we had synced together so fully and so well that you'd have thought we were made for each other.
I dropped someone good for him too, the final time he came back.
A boy with his own fair share of issues, but who did so much for me and cared about who I was and how I felt.
I wonder why I didn't just say no.
I guess I'm just weak. Maybe gullible. More likely just too hopeful.
We all learn the hard way.
It's funny. When someone is out of your life, you can finally see what it was doing to you. You can see the years of desperation, and the lies whether they were intentional or not. You can see that it dragged you down. Was no good for you.
You can see beyond the hurt and the loss that maybe it is best to move on.
The moment they come back? It's gone.
There goes the reasoning. There goes the new relationship with the boy next door or the cute girl who was warm and made you smile. You'll drop the boyfriend or girlfriend or casual date because you like them and they are cute and they're nice and fun and loveable.. but they're not them.
You get caught up in the phone calls and conversations, and the idea that maybe, just maybe, they have changed. Are ready and willing to truly put you first. You can be together and be happy. Everything will be okay.
There is hope.
And it is the worst fucking lie you will ever tell yourself.
Quite often there is no change. We're doomed to repeat things.
If something happens once, it may be a fluke.
Twice could still be a self-contained incident, but it's not quite likely.
Any more than that? It's not going to stop.
Take it from someone who had the "We're over. Get out of my life. We can't talk anymore" conversation twice before the final fall. I should have seen it then. That it wasn't going to stop and he would never be coming back for good.
It was always going to be short-lived and painfully cut off.
As to the aforementioned in the beginning, my current wish - tugging at the corners of my reasoning and trying to clamber in - would be to go back to someone I have known for quite some time and very well. "Boyfriend" is not necessarily true. We actually officially dated for a whole of twenty-three hours if I remember correctly. "Lover" is an irksome word, but it's as close as it gets.
No one knew me like he did. We were best friends and fought hard to keep ourselves that way. We made it work despite all opposition, and at some point we had synced together so fully and so well that you'd have thought we were made for each other.
I dropped someone good for him too, the final time he came back.
A boy with his own fair share of issues, but who did so much for me and cared about who I was and how I felt.
I wonder why I didn't just say no.
I guess I'm just weak. Maybe gullible. More likely just too hopeful.
We all learn the hard way.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
"It's complicated, isn't it?" She was turned over, her face resting on a pillow, watching his bare back as he leaned forward. At one point she might have felt awkward with how exposed she was, but she didn't really mind these days. Her breasts pressed against the cool sheets felt good, and she liked the barely-there presence of a blue, silky blanket covering her backside.
"What is?"
"Us," She replied, rolling over onto her side and reaching out a hand to trace his skin. He breathed in a bit, taking a drag on his cigarette, and let nothing more go than a thoughtful "Mm."
She sometimes wondered when he smoked. She knew other girls he was involved with did too. She wondered if he'd ever offered them to share his. She pictured them - redheads with fake breasts and slender blondes - and wondered a little what it was like to be one of them, before she realized it made her stomach lurch in a nauseous little effort at rebellion. She did not want to be one of them. She wanted to be the one.
The soft sound of movement brought her from her masochistic fantasies, and she realized that he was pulling on his shirt.
Getting ready to leave.
"Can't you stay tonight?"
She knew every word before he said it: "I've got work in the morning."
Sighing, she rolled over, resigning herself to ignoring him now. There was a silence and a halt in movement. A soft sigh and then a shuffle.
"I have to leave early."
A soft smile blossomed on her lips as she felt him pull up behind her: a reminder of how well they fit.
"What is?"
"Us," She replied, rolling over onto her side and reaching out a hand to trace his skin. He breathed in a bit, taking a drag on his cigarette, and let nothing more go than a thoughtful "Mm."
She sometimes wondered when he smoked. She knew other girls he was involved with did too. She wondered if he'd ever offered them to share his. She pictured them - redheads with fake breasts and slender blondes - and wondered a little what it was like to be one of them, before she realized it made her stomach lurch in a nauseous little effort at rebellion. She did not want to be one of them. She wanted to be the one.
The soft sound of movement brought her from her masochistic fantasies, and she realized that he was pulling on his shirt.
Getting ready to leave.
"Can't you stay tonight?"
She knew every word before he said it: "I've got work in the morning."
Sighing, she rolled over, resigning herself to ignoring him now. There was a silence and a halt in movement. A soft sigh and then a shuffle.
"I have to leave early."
A soft smile blossomed on her lips as she felt him pull up behind her: a reminder of how well they fit.
Monday, June 22, 2009
These are the symptoms of letting go.
Dragged up and drugged up.
What had she taken?
Something or other. Lots of somethings or others really.
There was incense spiraling somewhere.
She didn't believe in smoking. But she was a contradiction.
Hypocritical.
Because it was all the same thing.
But self destruction is self destruction and she was self destructing at the speed of sound, wrapped in jasmine and spread out on silk.
And if it got a little dark.
That was okay.
Nightime hides you away from everything that's not there anyway.
Because nothing's really there, now is it?
And oh it was getting heavy now.
Something was weighing her down and she was drowning in it.
Maybe the pills or maybe the smoke.
Maybe herself.
She smiled as the curtain closed.
Oh how beautiful that performance was.
"We woke up this morning to a sky with no air in it,
And all the streets are filled with a thousand burning crosses.
And what we thought was sunrise? Just passing headlights.
Still the choir girls sing,
"Oh lord, can you save us? Can you save us?""
What had she taken?
Something or other. Lots of somethings or others really.
There was incense spiraling somewhere.
She didn't believe in smoking. But she was a contradiction.
Hypocritical.
Because it was all the same thing.
But self destruction is self destruction and she was self destructing at the speed of sound, wrapped in jasmine and spread out on silk.
And if it got a little dark.
That was okay.
Nightime hides you away from everything that's not there anyway.
Because nothing's really there, now is it?
And oh it was getting heavy now.
Something was weighing her down and she was drowning in it.
Maybe the pills or maybe the smoke.
Maybe herself.
She smiled as the curtain closed.
Oh how beautiful that performance was.
And all the streets are filled with a thousand burning crosses.
And what we thought was sunrise? Just passing headlights.
Still the choir girls sing,
"Oh lord, can you save us? Can you save us?""
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Musings on... I don't know.
{Truthfully this was in a word document on my computer, and I don't really remember when I wrote it. But I liked it. I'd like to edit it and do something with it someday}
I suppose I’ve known it longer than I like to entertain sometimes. Not that I’ve ever been the perfect portrait of decency, but there’s a certain weight carried with being sure you’re falling in love with someone who is not a part of your very current romantic relationship.
It’s not quite just love, and it’s not quite just romance. It is (figuratively of course) an ever-present wreath of ribbons – all colors of the rainbow. People like to think of the lustful reds and innocent pinks of pure love, but denying envy-green or tearful blues is foolish. It’s so much more than that. It’s not always fun. It’s not always pleasant. But we face those woven moments with brave faces, tight lips, and steadied hearts because we know it is worth it.
We face those moments because we can think back on the times spent holding hands in toy stores, or the long, warm minutes spent in each other’s arms in crowded spaces. We face those moments because when they are finished, they are gone forever, but what comes next might just be infinite; might be kept forever fresh in our memories.
The art of loving is similar to the art of writing in this way. We, as writers, learn to weave stories. We collect thoughts and create ideas. We form characters and place them where they need to be, in our own minds and in our own stories. There is no universal answer. Everything is dependent on how we feel and what we think. What makes us happy or sad. What we desire and what we turn away from. Our stories can become every bit as erotic and complex as our affections, and that may be the sole reason that something has been building inside of me, no matter how silly and over-worded it is.
It’s some ridiculously done way of telling you that I love you, and love so many things about you. You are incredible, no matter how ridiculous you may be at times. You can be a selfish and self-contained man, but, somewhere inside, there is something pushing at the surface. The glimpses are fleeting but I know that it’s there, and I have treasured those moments when it has come out for a glance at the world.
There is a reason for my loving you, and a reason for the urgency of being with you. There was a reason that something clicked when I met you again – something strong enough that I couldn’t stay where I was because I thought of you in the distance and knew I couldn’t stand to keep you that far away from me.
And there is a reason that, through six paragraphs of nonsense and false paths, I felt the need to tell you that I would do so much to have you here with me in my bed tonight, if only I could.
I suppose I’ve known it longer than I like to entertain sometimes. Not that I’ve ever been the perfect portrait of decency, but there’s a certain weight carried with being sure you’re falling in love with someone who is not a part of your very current romantic relationship.
It’s not quite just love, and it’s not quite just romance. It is (figuratively of course) an ever-present wreath of ribbons – all colors of the rainbow. People like to think of the lustful reds and innocent pinks of pure love, but denying envy-green or tearful blues is foolish. It’s so much more than that. It’s not always fun. It’s not always pleasant. But we face those woven moments with brave faces, tight lips, and steadied hearts because we know it is worth it.
We face those moments because we can think back on the times spent holding hands in toy stores, or the long, warm minutes spent in each other’s arms in crowded spaces. We face those moments because when they are finished, they are gone forever, but what comes next might just be infinite; might be kept forever fresh in our memories.
The art of loving is similar to the art of writing in this way. We, as writers, learn to weave stories. We collect thoughts and create ideas. We form characters and place them where they need to be, in our own minds and in our own stories. There is no universal answer. Everything is dependent on how we feel and what we think. What makes us happy or sad. What we desire and what we turn away from. Our stories can become every bit as erotic and complex as our affections, and that may be the sole reason that something has been building inside of me, no matter how silly and over-worded it is.
It’s some ridiculously done way of telling you that I love you, and love so many things about you. You are incredible, no matter how ridiculous you may be at times. You can be a selfish and self-contained man, but, somewhere inside, there is something pushing at the surface. The glimpses are fleeting but I know that it’s there, and I have treasured those moments when it has come out for a glance at the world.
There is a reason for my loving you, and a reason for the urgency of being with you. There was a reason that something clicked when I met you again – something strong enough that I couldn’t stay where I was because I thought of you in the distance and knew I couldn’t stand to keep you that far away from me.
And there is a reason that, through six paragraphs of nonsense and false paths, I felt the need to tell you that I would do so much to have you here with me in my bed tonight, if only I could.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Unrefined tidbit backing Rupture?
"Lie to me -
convince me that I've been sick forever,
and all of this will make sense when I get better
but I know the difference
between myself and my reflection
I just can't help but to wonder...
which of us do you love?"
Her head had smashed in the bottom half of the hallway mirror - not enough to break it apart, but enough to leave a thick spiderweb of cracks dipping into shallow curve that marked the point of impact.
Kanako looked down, eyes darkened by her black curls falling into her face.
"Bitch."
And as Urara awoke at the bottom of the stairs, she looked up to see her own broken reflection peeking over her mother's body.
convince me that I've been sick forever,
and all of this will make sense when I get better
but I know the difference
between myself and my reflection
I just can't help but to wonder...
which of us do you love?"
Her head had smashed in the bottom half of the hallway mirror - not enough to break it apart, but enough to leave a thick spiderweb of cracks dipping into shallow curve that marked the point of impact.
Kanako looked down, eyes darkened by her black curls falling into her face.
"Bitch."
And as Urara awoke at the bottom of the stairs, she looked up to see her own broken reflection peeking over her mother's body.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
In these times that are full of angels
One
Brief
Cold
Sinking
Moment
Phone ringing off the hook,
wall stained red,
eyes open,
mind closed.
Bang bang - you're dead
Brief
Cold
Sinking
Moment
Phone ringing off the hook,
wall stained red,
eyes open,
mind closed.
Bang bang - you're dead
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
From a product of the Disney generation
But of course, didn't Petrarch fall in love with Laura for the rest of his life after only a glimpse?
Friday, April 3, 2009
Oh fuck it.
Fourteen people died near me today in a shooting. By "near me" I mean half an hour away, in the city where I go shopping and fly into and out of for trips. Close enough to be considered "in the area."
What happened? He blocked the back door with a stolen car, meaning it was premeditated. And then he simply walked in and started shooting.
It's a reality check.
A disturbing, surreal, cold, harsh reality check.
My friends and I have been saying the same things that the news stations and residents are saying: "These things don't happen here."
It's frightening to think of. The fact that, in a small area where little to no violence ever takes place, you can get up one day to go to work or to volunteer and end up dead.
I have been frightened of life a good deal already.
I have one shot that I want to make count. I want to be someone and I want to be someone I can be proud of. I want to be happy and have worthwhile experiences.
But what have I been doing?
Sitting around waiting for life to come to me.
I'm a mediocre student studying twenty minutes away from home. I have taken risks but never ones that would cause long-term consequences. With the exception of college, which I'll be paying off for half of my life.
I don't want to make the wrong decisions and not be able to correct them before it's time to go.
And it was proven to me again today that life is too short to be hesitant, but that scares me more.
And right now? I don't know what to think.
I'm mostly alone tonight. No one is reachable or if they are, they're busy. It's quiet.
I'm sitting with my laptop in front of the television and I can't help but be reminded of the weekends when my grandmother was in the hospital. I would come home to take care of the house, and sit alone quietly for two or three days.
I can feel myself closer to that emptiness again - the feeling that there is nothing and no one there. The loneliness of no one to turn to.
Logically I am perfectly safe. I am sitting in my warm, lighted home in a completely quiet little town.
But I don't think I have been this terrified in a long time.
What do you do where there is nothing to do?
What happened? He blocked the back door with a stolen car, meaning it was premeditated. And then he simply walked in and started shooting.
It's a reality check.
A disturbing, surreal, cold, harsh reality check.
My friends and I have been saying the same things that the news stations and residents are saying: "These things don't happen here."
It's frightening to think of. The fact that, in a small area where little to no violence ever takes place, you can get up one day to go to work or to volunteer and end up dead.
I have been frightened of life a good deal already.
I have one shot that I want to make count. I want to be someone and I want to be someone I can be proud of. I want to be happy and have worthwhile experiences.
But what have I been doing?
Sitting around waiting for life to come to me.
I'm a mediocre student studying twenty minutes away from home. I have taken risks but never ones that would cause long-term consequences. With the exception of college, which I'll be paying off for half of my life.
I don't want to make the wrong decisions and not be able to correct them before it's time to go.
And it was proven to me again today that life is too short to be hesitant, but that scares me more.
And right now? I don't know what to think.
I'm mostly alone tonight. No one is reachable or if they are, they're busy. It's quiet.
I'm sitting with my laptop in front of the television and I can't help but be reminded of the weekends when my grandmother was in the hospital. I would come home to take care of the house, and sit alone quietly for two or three days.
I can feel myself closer to that emptiness again - the feeling that there is nothing and no one there. The loneliness of no one to turn to.
Logically I am perfectly safe. I am sitting in my warm, lighted home in a completely quiet little town.
But I don't think I have been this terrified in a long time.
What do you do where there is nothing to do?
When it gets cold...
The trampoline dipped under my weight slightly - not really enough to offset his at its central point though, and when he shifted the whole thing pulled, knocking me to my hands and knees. He laughed a little as he bounced a couple centimeters in the air, while I carefully crawled to join him.
The physics dynamics of a trampoline are tricky.
I rolled over onto my back, and I could feel gravity lightly press my side into his after he flopped backward to join me.
Now I'm not sure if you've ever seen the moon from New York in the spring. No, I don't mean New York City. You can't see anything from the city - it's too loaded up with streetlights, cars, neon signs... The city can't give you nighttime, just nightlife.
This is the moon from real New York. Streetlights are few and far between. Houses give off some soft light and the only neon sign in town is fairly unoffensive.
The stars shine out like little holes poked through a velvet blanket, with Heaven peeking through. And the moon? It's huge. Bright. Beautiful. Like some sort of divine jewel - you can't help but wanting to try to reach for it no matter how far away it is.
"I'm scared." I said. Nothing more. I didn't look to see his reaction, but I wondered what he was thinking.
He didn't respond, so I felt for his hand. He took mine, squeezing it lightly, and I wondered if he knew the feeling.
I wondered if he ever felt afraid of being far from his boyfriend, or the legal trouble he had gotten in. I wondered if he was afraid of losing the friends he had left. Was he afraid of losing me too?
We laid there for at least half an hour. The air was getting cold, but neither of us moved. He'd had the common sense to wear his hoodie out, whereas I was stuck in just a t-shirt, but I blocked out the chill and sighed softly.
It was then that I heard, very quietly to the point of almost being nonexistant, the sound of his voice saying the words, "Me too."
The physics dynamics of a trampoline are tricky.
I rolled over onto my back, and I could feel gravity lightly press my side into his after he flopped backward to join me.
Now I'm not sure if you've ever seen the moon from New York in the spring. No, I don't mean New York City. You can't see anything from the city - it's too loaded up with streetlights, cars, neon signs... The city can't give you nighttime, just nightlife.
This is the moon from real New York. Streetlights are few and far between. Houses give off some soft light and the only neon sign in town is fairly unoffensive.
The stars shine out like little holes poked through a velvet blanket, with Heaven peeking through. And the moon? It's huge. Bright. Beautiful. Like some sort of divine jewel - you can't help but wanting to try to reach for it no matter how far away it is.
"I'm scared." I said. Nothing more. I didn't look to see his reaction, but I wondered what he was thinking.
He didn't respond, so I felt for his hand. He took mine, squeezing it lightly, and I wondered if he knew the feeling.
I wondered if he ever felt afraid of being far from his boyfriend, or the legal trouble he had gotten in. I wondered if he was afraid of losing the friends he had left. Was he afraid of losing me too?
We laid there for at least half an hour. The air was getting cold, but neither of us moved. He'd had the common sense to wear his hoodie out, whereas I was stuck in just a t-shirt, but I blocked out the chill and sighed softly.
It was then that I heard, very quietly to the point of almost being nonexistant, the sound of his voice saying the words, "Me too."
And here we go...
A beautiful writer named Alice once told me that the most important thing is not what you write or how well you write, but that you write at all.
I suppose somewhere along the way I forgot about this rule, because what inevitably happens when I begin is that I can't recognize the writer I once was, and the frustration leaves me sick of my own words. I've left behind many stories.
So many characters.
The funny thing is that the best writers are ones who did not create their characters, but let their characters create themselves. I wonder if the young girl with the rare variation of color-blindness has gotten to find out what blue means. Or if April's day got better - did her boyfriend finally propose? What did Sarah's baby boy look like, and did Andrew step up to the responsibilities of a father? How did Brian Shaw feel about his son's lie?
I should feel like I let them down, but I'm sure they feel it through me already.
I have been convinced for some time that I simply have lost any and all feeling, and that this loss has killed the writer inside me.
My best times writing fiction were when I was at my lowest. I could only write when I was unhappy because the emotions were strongest then. My last works of pure beauty were written in the final months of my grandmother's life, and after that I thought maybe I had lost it all, because no point could go lower than that. No sadness could ever compare.
Right now I'm happy.
All I want to do is talk about it.
Not here. I can't do that here in detail.
I can't really do it anywhere in detail.
But I can feel that passion that I had at one point welling up in me again, and I have realized that my inspiration did not come from sadness or anger, but from feeling in general. My passion wasn't locked in the lower parts of myself, but I'd simply convinced myself that it must be because of who I was during the majority of my time as a writer.
Who am I now?
That's a question I am tackling every day.
You can't be someone until you know who you are.
But I do know I am a writer, no matter how my talent has shifted or what I need to recapture and learn how to weave again.
Writing is the desire to share something. I want to describe and define. I don't care if it's a walk down the street, an easy character, or an elaborate fantasy world.
I want to explore language again. I want to sort out the cacophony in my head so that I can file away the insecurities and articulate the music. I want to play with my vocabulary and relearn how to fit completely unrelated words into one coherent character.
Fortunately I think this is a good mix: the low chance of anyone running across this will keep me free, while the chance at all will keep me at least slightly contained.
Here goes nothing.
I suppose somewhere along the way I forgot about this rule, because what inevitably happens when I begin is that I can't recognize the writer I once was, and the frustration leaves me sick of my own words. I've left behind many stories.
So many characters.
The funny thing is that the best writers are ones who did not create their characters, but let their characters create themselves. I wonder if the young girl with the rare variation of color-blindness has gotten to find out what blue means. Or if April's day got better - did her boyfriend finally propose? What did Sarah's baby boy look like, and did Andrew step up to the responsibilities of a father? How did Brian Shaw feel about his son's lie?
I should feel like I let them down, but I'm sure they feel it through me already.
I have been convinced for some time that I simply have lost any and all feeling, and that this loss has killed the writer inside me.
My best times writing fiction were when I was at my lowest. I could only write when I was unhappy because the emotions were strongest then. My last works of pure beauty were written in the final months of my grandmother's life, and after that I thought maybe I had lost it all, because no point could go lower than that. No sadness could ever compare.
Right now I'm happy.
All I want to do is talk about it.
Not here. I can't do that here in detail.
I can't really do it anywhere in detail.
But I can feel that passion that I had at one point welling up in me again, and I have realized that my inspiration did not come from sadness or anger, but from feeling in general. My passion wasn't locked in the lower parts of myself, but I'd simply convinced myself that it must be because of who I was during the majority of my time as a writer.
Who am I now?
That's a question I am tackling every day.
You can't be someone until you know who you are.
But I do know I am a writer, no matter how my talent has shifted or what I need to recapture and learn how to weave again.
Writing is the desire to share something. I want to describe and define. I don't care if it's a walk down the street, an easy character, or an elaborate fantasy world.
I want to explore language again. I want to sort out the cacophony in my head so that I can file away the insecurities and articulate the music. I want to play with my vocabulary and relearn how to fit completely unrelated words into one coherent character.
Fortunately I think this is a good mix: the low chance of anyone running across this will keep me free, while the chance at all will keep me at least slightly contained.
Here goes nothing.
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