Life to the outcast, death to the offspring

Originality, the approach towards it, varies generation to generation. My generation seems more to prone to swallow it whole, occasionally savoring the flavors that pass down the tongue of experience. Previous generation, let's say, my parents generation, wants to whip it with the thick leather belt of tradition. "No daughter of mine-!" While listening to a member of the older generation lament on his past, I realized how different we ALL are from one another and that is superb.

But this member of the past didn't think so. He saw himself as different from most people and that it should be "corrected" with his death. The girl sitting next to me watches me open my mouth to ask why and mouthed, "Don't say anything."

Fine, I thought, I'll leave the man to his misery and considering how I feel towards this man I'm not going to put too much thought into his suffocation of self.


It would appear the generation previous is still hunting for the approval of a society long since past. Still clinging to morals and values that seem to no longer apply. So that generation is attempting to shape this generation into what it was supposed to be. Our generation doesn't seem to care for that idea at all and is proceeding to make as many changes as humanly possible to the "good old days". Is this curse we have to face as the years fly past? Are we doomed to repeat that history?

God I hope not.

The LaNoira Family (Part One)

Note: There are approx. 20 people mentioned in this story. The following is the history of the nine oldest children in the LaNoira family, particularly Edward Gabriel, Lucinda Violet, and Julian Michael who appear in The City.

"Are you going to think of me as a giddy old bat if I forget a few bits, children? I've told this story so many times to you before."

Demitri scowled, "And in so many different ways." He said it low enough for his siblings, the other eight who were legitimate LaNoira. They stood around the den, dressed in black coats, watching Grandmother Marie tell the story of their family to the adopted LaNoira children. Lucinda Violet had asked for them to place bets on how many fallacies they would find tonight.

"Xavier LaNoira married Lydia Pierre in 1907* on the hill overlooking the Oxford Graveyard. It rained constantly the day the ceremony was to take place and Lydia's mother begged her to accept the church as a substitute. Xavier's father hinted consistently the suit was priceless as it has been in the LaNoira family for centuries and if it got wet, "Well, it isn't going to get wet, right my boy?" Both bride and groom were getting impatient and irked. When the guests were distracted by Lydia's younger siblings putting on a small performance in another room, Xavier grabbed the priest and the three of them ducked out through the back into the rain. 'Lydia,' Xavier asked, holding her gently, rain cascading from his hair, the suit now ruined. 'Is this what you want?' Your mother laughed at that, a laugh that sounded like a harp being lightly strummed. 'Yes, Xavier. You are what I want.' They were married happily underneath the rotted willow, and even the priest claims that lighting flashed across the sky when they kissed. They died together in bed at 90 years of age**. That's seventy happy years of marriage" Grandmother Marie laughed warmly, exciting the children before her. Of the seventeen LaNoira children, only nine were of blood to the LaNoira line. They each bore a crude black cross, the birthmark of the family and carried the crest with them whether on a chain of white gold around their neck or attached to their keys. The oldest and forever their parents pride and joy, Demitri and Isabella, were brought up in the Victorian ways. Due to the absence of the actual mother and father, they acted as loving parents and on rare occasion cruel siblings, only ever in jest, and managed the family affairs. Isabella was a blur of white satin as she left the room once the death of their parents was mentioned. Edward Gabriel, the third son and fifth child, shook his head, red dreadlocks dancing.

But Grandmother Marie continued her tale to the seven LaNoira children seated on the ground before her, ignoring the obvious but subtle discomfort spreading between the older eight.

"They lived a happy life, beautiful people attract beautiful people, remember that children. You attract what you are." Here the youngest Lily Anne giggled. "And you are such lovely-"

"Grannie Marie, tell the story!" Derreck whined.


These are Grandmother Marie's lies:
* They were married in 1965. The year is the only fault in this part of the story.
**They died by suicide, within a day of each other. Xavier hung himself at the place where they met and were married, Lydia swallowed 18 sleeping pills, ("one for each of my sweet dreams", she wrote on a blue post-it) and jumped into the lake near the LaNoira home.

Bacon Burgers and Book Reviews

I have no phone. For now. I will probably not have one for a while considering who my parents are. But it's fine. I only spoke to one person really, eventually I was going to crash and be silent, for an extensive period of time.

I spoke to my school counselor today. It's wonderful. It's fantastic. It's so unfail I could die from sheer joy. But I won't. There is much work to be done. (I feel like my own fairy godmother, beating mice into submission.) I might not have to go to community, no I lie. I DO NOT have to attend community college. I really, really don't. I was being lazy and underestimating myself.

The truth is I am a delightful, luscious, almost ineffable human being. (and you apparently did not know it.) I can't wait for next year!

As I sit here enjoying this delicious Bacon (i know, shameful) Burger someone is taking an impossibly long time doing whatever the hell it is they are doing behind me (you know....) If they are trying to get my attention they are going to have to do better than that. This burger is delicious!

The school I presently attend has been ordering new books, and since I frequent the library I get to peruse. This is probably the first time I have ever looked at a selection of books so seriously.

FIRST: Finally they leave the vampire subject alone and are now working on fouling up zombies, high schools and teenage romance (more so than usual). It's ridiculous. The nonsense piles up, fillinfg the shelves and no one can find anything adequate to read.

SECOND: The level of writing is sickening. No wonder no one even attempts to speak properly these days. I know, I know, I too am at fault of grammatical errors, but the sentences in some of these "books" are tragic.

Then again I have no real say yet what should be printed and what shouldn't. YET. So I shall watch, be disgusted, and ensure that I stay clear of the scum of the mas-no, it's too mean. I won't write it, but we're all thinking it.

Restoring the Diva to her(his?) former glory,
Z.E. Daniels

NOTE: There is not a single depressing thing.

Think of it this way

I could get mad. I could be really annoyed with the fact it seemed like you never wanted to be happy with anyone else but you and even then I was a disappoint despite not having even said a word yet. I could be relieved that I no longer have to deal with your nonsense and jealousy but the first time it happened I should have said fuck off and/or good-bye. I wanted to.

But I didn't. Why?

Why did I fight for you even when I was barely conscious? Why did I text you just to see if you text back? Why did I block you for no apparent reason? The list goes on.

I hate blaming things on my age. But it's part of the reason I don't have the experiences you've had, or the common sense you do. I'd like to, I'd love to learn half the things you know. I was raised by people who decided trial and error was the best method for teaching children. Extreme punishment (or so I find) when a mistake was made despite there being no prior knowledge of the degree of wrong that just occurred. I learn fast, but I make a lot of mistakes. I'm so unaware of so many things that I don't even know where to start to attempt to fill the void of knowledge. I guess answering the questions would be a start.

"Fight for you" meaning try and convince you I'm not a total failure, just a note. If I were a total failure then why would you have stayed even though you already made up your mind to drop me? Did I or did I not prove my worth when I made an effort for you? I texted you to see if you would text back because I was curious to see if you would. Why? Because you act and think (to some extent) frighteningly similar to my old boyfriend. The other guy I actually loved. I wanted to see if you would just cut me off like he did. Curiosity. The other more recent issue, blocking you. I thought you were getting sick of me, so I would leave. Why? Because I was getting too attached to you, and it was unhealthy for me. Why? Because there would be a point I would need your constant attention, I couldn't do without it. Hmm...

But I'm younger than you, and that's why I couldn't have you anymore. That's wrong. I couldn't have anymore as what you were. So I took care of it. I destroyed it, even though it hurt me in turn. It had to be done. So forget these past two months. It's easier that way. Because then I can maintain the veil, and you won't feel a thing for me. I haven't changed. I still feel the same way I did when I first heard of you. You've already done it. I can tell. I know how you feel, and that's good enough for me.

AFTER: I'll just go on lying, painting different masks to catch the attention of different people. But I promise I won't feel a thing for them and I have a tendency to keep my promises.

Losing it, right?

"You're consistently not good enough. You'd like to change it, and that's cute. That's wonderful, that's probably even flattering, but it's impossible. This is your limit and your limit has been reached. So stick with what you're good at. Watching everyone else have their grand moments, be there to cheer them up when they're down. You're fullfilled your purpose long ago, and any time you spend past when you were supposed to expire is just going to be constant failure."

It's sad. I want to give in to that voice. I want to believe it so bad, because then something would make sense. I could close my eyes and sleep forever. It's not him necessarily. It's knowing he'll be happier, he'll forget me, and that's one less person who wants a memory of me. It's so slittable. It's so fantastic.

I've spent a lifetime perfecting this illusion. But it's an illusion to the wrong people. I can't control that. What am I supposed to focus on? What am I supposed to be? Because nobody seems to want enough me to give me a clue. It was a dream, it was a dream, and nothing more.

If that's the case, then I've decided.

Let's go back to the way we were before. We could do it you know. Please.