This place was always dark, the City where we live. None of us were born into the City with its stony tress, wrought iron flowers and cement born flora. Eventually all pass into the City, but I've simply found the people who want to stay. Every day usy, productive, stressful, but fun, every even constant music pours from every speaker. Occasionally a few will partake in different activities, and some will break their routines for a taste of change. But the City has rules, rules that must be followed.
The people that reside in the City, that care for the City like flesh and blood, have not met yet. You see something terrible is about to happen to the world they built to be a sanctuary.
At the corner of 9Th and Main there is a theater. The Hourglass stands four stories tall, not necessarily looming, but proud and elegant, commanding the attention of all that pass. The blend of architecture call to most the idea of Greece's, Paris's, and London's love child, no quite sure whose it is. On the bottom floor is a set of offices lining the lobby, hidden behind trick doors and thick red walls. As director and owner of the Hourglass, Gabriel Dammel sits checking over the cast list. His office is nothing like that of conventional business men as it appears to be the back of a theater most of the room shadowed in darkness. Posters adorn the walls, made by past students, dancers immortalized in the City because of his skill, his vision. There's no one else in the theater at one in the morning as he reaches for his bottle of brandy, but withdraws when something out of place catches his eye.
James Alexander Michaels is running in a pair of white gogo boots and torn fishnets, his black mini skirt slightly riding up his long slender thighs with each stride. Some contruction works call out to him, "Hey baby!" Good thinks James Alexander and thanks his effeminate genes for the sixth time this week. It's one in the morning, but in the Razor Bubble its forever 11pm, hours more to party, the night still so young. But the tall, dark, and lovely tranny is broke, flying solo and tonight the bouncer is Samuel "Wasp" Jackson, who rarely works but enforces his fifties ideas on the guest list. For a minute he's disappointed, they were supposed to have a new DJ, but then he notices Carla Mendez, the most attractive tramp in all the City, chatting up the bouncer. With a short sprint, James Alexander slips in unseen, ready and willing to give his soul over to the music.
Margo Brown appears plain to most people, particularly boys. Instead of hanging out with other girls her age, young and hip 17, she spends her nights writing. Her second novel titled, "The Crushing of the Cage" is coming along in short bursts of inspiration that don't seem to last more than a page, is due on Friday. On this glorious Wednesday morning she looks out her apartment window, the City clearly visible. She can see the other girls having the time of their lives, losing their hearts to one night stands. Whatever Margo rolls her eyes and continues writing, I have a deadline to meet.
Across the street from the Razor Bubble, sits the faded blue apartment building. Mostly abandoned only the boldest tenants or the fresh and innocent newcomers of the City live there. In a tangle of limbs, smoke, and a half forgotten sheet, Lucinda Violet Williams wakes in a cold sweat. Another nightmare, another death she had to play witness to. A boy to her right wakes up for a moment, fighting sleep to cradle the now terrified girl. A second boy lights a cigarette, Camel no. 9, and goes to the window. Lucinda Violet sighs and tries to find her way back to the hallways of broken children; abandoned lovers and lost souls. The boy at the window takes a deep breath, "Luci, I have something to tell you."
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
There are those who use Twitter obsessively, people who use Twitter generally (like me), there are those who hardly go on at all (normal people) and there are those who have no idea what Twitter is or what it is for.
Twitter is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddO9idmax0o
Basically.
Which is great if you want to know what your friends are up to, what they think is interesting enough to link to, so on and so forth. But Twitter is like any other site, i.e. Myspace, Facebook, etc. It is what you make of it. So I don't understand why these comments have to be posted on this video:
< http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALbH63Ali9U
Twitter is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddO9idmax0o
Basically.
Which is great if you want to know what your friends are up to, what they think is interesting enough to link to, so on and so forth. But Twitter is like any other site, i.e. Myspace, Facebook, etc. It is what you make of it. So I don't understand why these comments have to be posted on this video:
< http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALbH63Ali9U
- You suck bitch !!!!!! Give up comedy and choose another carreer, preferably porn or prostitution !!!!! Do you spit or swallow ??? YOU FILTHY CUNT !!!!
- twitter is the most fucking idiotic thing cause in all reality.............WHO GIVES A FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!
- so stupid, and annoying.wow.
I don't care about other people thinking (quietly) Twitter is stupid. That's fine, go ahead hate it. It's the "you're stupid for liking it" bit that they seem to HAVE to say. It's sickening, and what's worse they don't care they come off to other people as sickening and disturbed. It escapes me entirely. I know people like this, who put down whatever you like just because they don't like it, or they can't understand it. I find that to be so trashy. I hate those people, but I'll continue to pretend to be their friend.
It's war is what it is.
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.
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.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
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.
"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.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 25, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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