Below are the 18 most recent journal entries recorded in suturemeup's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, June 6th, 2006
12:13 am	Atonement "All that I wanted were things I had before All that I needed I've never needed more All of my questions are answers to my sins All of my endings waiting to begin" -"Circle" by Slipknot And now I must answer for the sins of my past. (Comment on this)
Saturday, May 27th, 2006
9:34 am	it's not fair... I keep having dreams about you and it's driving me insane. How do you live without me? I really want to know how to live without you, cuz this shit is killing me like cancer... "I love you, I hate you, I cant live around you. I breathe you, I taste you, I cant live without you! I just cant take anymore, this life of solitude. Im guessing Im out the door, And that Im done with you." -"Always" by Saliva Current Mood: pathetic (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, May 22nd, 2006
9:38 am	... ...if it's love you're looking for, look no futher i would love you until the day i died... Current Mood: sad (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 8th, 2005
3:53 pm	Random Stirrings May 8 Dreamscape May7th-May8th Carried along a soft sea’s breeze, the salty air was pleasant upon my nose. I took in the chill night air and stared up at the crescent moon in the dark, star-splintered sky, where it emerged from the light fog that surrounded us. We were paddling along through the large marsh system near the coastline, but, as far as we knew, no one had ever made it this far down the Great River to the sea before. The three of us were on watch for anything along the steep banks that towered over us; we watched for the fabled tribes of fierce hunter folk that were said to inhabit these parts. We were a long ways from our homeland up in the steppes of the country, two hundred miles to the east, but we were fanatical explorers. The banks had begun jutting out into the wide river/marsh system like an archipelago of green mesas: tall, flat-topped, moss- and grass-covered mountains in the water. The divine twinkling of the stars and sickle-thin moon looked so much lovelier out in the sweet sea air. Somehow, it seemed to me, the air would be almost green if the sun were out then; surely it wouldn’t be the dark blue of their homeland in the foothills and mountains. I could sense the imminent danger of the lantern-lit mesa island up ahead, but I was so enraptured by the cosmos dancing above the seaborne air that it scarcely registered. As we neared an outthrust of land, we could make out that there was a bonfire up in the center of it and that the perimeter of its rim was beset with lanterns every few paces like embattlements. Closer yet and we could hear the tribal beats of their drums. A thick, heavy percussion it was that pierced the fog and echoed unsettlingly in our ears. We stopped paddling then and let the weakened current and our momentum carry us. Slowly we drifted past the tall outcropping of land. After ten minutes more of the drumming, we had floated by far enough as to feel comfortable paddling on. The green mesas had begun to thin out and come down in altitude up ahead as we approached a roar that sounded like the breath of a dragon. It came in pulses, this rough sound, and we soon cleared through the last strait and into a sandy delta to see what was making the ruckus. It was the sea, surging up and violently crashing against the smooth, sandy beach. It was a sight none of us or our kind had ever seen, yet there it was just a hundred yards before us. We all gazed on in wonder at this delightful ruse of nature. Its pulse was so rhythmic, lulling me so well with its song as to put the very beauty of the stars to shame. I barely even registered as the missiles began striking our small boat. The leader flipped our boat, and I found myself suddenly in the cool water. The water wasn’t terribly deep, it came up to our chests, but the current was carrying us out towards the sea. Instinct took over, and I joined the other two in holding up the boat along our left flank, to protect ourselves from the unseen source of the missiles. Current Mood: weird Current Music: Battle of Evermore by Led Zeppelin (Comment on this)
Friday, May 6th, 2005
5:07 pm	Random Stirrings May 6, 2005 Sylvie was sitting by the window, patiently tracing the slow, gentle tumble of a snowflake down towards the earth. She followed it from as high up as she could see it, where it began its descent among its bretheren, till it passed her 12th story window, and then all the way down to its untimely splattering across the windshield of a car in traffic. She then cast her gaze back up into the dark heavens and plucked another snowflake out in her mind, so that she could follow this one's careful trajectory as well. She was being far more patient than any nine year old on Christmas Eve ever had, but soon she felt she would need a book or some Mozart, or even both, if she were to endure this trial much longer. Her mother had been slaving away at her makeup for over an hour by then and it was beginning to get on young Sylvie's nerves. Soon, she thought to herself, soon they would be at the theatre and she could perform her cello piece and go to sleep. She had been, after all, anxiously awaiting her Christmas gifts. The thoughts of what they could be had been filling her mind with wonder all evening, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and see what may come. The snow was falling a little bit heavier, a little bit thicker, and a lot faster now. "Mommy," she cried out in a two part, singsong wail, where the rise of her first sylable was countered by the decline of the second. She had seen children do it on television programs from time to time and had adapted the whine to her own musical styling. Her mother found it rather humorous that ever her daughter's whine was musical in execution, following a splendid minor third up and down. She even used a minor third, she thought to herself as she applied the last throes of mascera, remarkable. "Sylvie, there's some Mozart in my MP3 player; it's on the kitchen counter," she yelled out from the bathroom; that should buy her some time. Sylvie plopped down onto the floor and dragged her feet for audio effect as she made her way across the hardwood towards the kitchen. She found the small, electronic device and fired it up, searching with the wheel to find some Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. She employed the random function and was pleased with the string quartet the player began pumping through the earbud headphones. A small smile bubbled up across her face as she seated herself at the kitchen table, content. She would be performing a cello concerto by Debussy later, but she much preferred Mozart and Haydn to the impressionist. Her mother emerged from the bathroom before the first movement had finished. "Ta da," she proclaimed. "Good, let's am-scray," Sylvie announced as they both grabbed their jackets and headed for the door. Luckily, Sylvie's mother had had the foresight to pick an apartment just a few blocks from the theatre; a move that had proved most beneficial in the last nine years. The two wandered along, her mother carrying the large cello in its case and Sylvie dancing along in the snow, grasping at snowflakes with her tongue and humming in some random key. It was around nine o'clock at night or so, and the streetlights were the only source of illumination in the overcast, winter cityscape. A full moon was up there somewhere, casting its reflected rays through the cloud cover and rendering the world in a sort of suprisingly bright gray overtone. It was one of those nights where light bounced off of the snow and then back down from the clouds. Sylvie continued her antics and started twirling in rhythm to her humming. Her mother laughed pleasantly as the pair turned the corner and came within sight of the theatre. "Yaay," Sylvie let out a cheerful yell and raced ahead through the two inches of snow to the brilliantly lit theatre standing proud in its stark reds and golds. "Now you go get 'em," her mother told her as she handed Sylvie the case. The cello was larger than Sylvie still, but somehow that hadn't prevented her playing it. Her mother displayed her ticket and sat in the second row, beeming proudly at her talented daughter throughout the entire performance. (Comment on this)
5:05 pm	Star Date 829103 It was May of that year when the crew of the Dakota class spaceship undocked from their spaceport and raced out into the galaxy. They were to be one of three spaceships to explore out into the Alpha Centauri system. They were nicknamed the Santa Maria, in honor of Columbus's expedition over half a millenium before. The Nina and the Pinta had left a few months before them, and at their warp speed, it would take them all six months to get there, as opposed to the eight years it took light to travel. Along the way, they were to stop and pick up a couple of satelites that had been sent out in that direction a few years prior, thus making their journey a little bit longer. Colonel Brad Autumn had been chosen to captain the crew of six flight specialists, five scientists, and three medical staff members, as well as a pair of private investors who were along for the ride. Autumn's second in command was Major William Radford; the two were said to be one of the finest duos in the UN Air and Space Force. Captain Patricia Wallace was heading up Communications, Major Mark Turquoise was the Navigator, Lieutenant Regina Macnamara was his assistant, and Lieutenant Thomas Collins was the technical specialist, whose job it would be to monitor the systems, a job that would later become "engineer." For the scientists, there were the biologist, Dr. James Polk, the botanist, Dr. Isabella Bocini, the physicist, Dr. Nelson Orla, the chemist, Dr. Reginald Williams, and the planetary atmospheric and geological specialist, Dr. Linda Klein. There were also two MDs and a nurse, should things take a turn for the worse. They were Dr.'s Emir bin Analah and Lucy Kim and their nurse, Walter Jeurgen. The two investors were Walt Terrance and Jose Segundo. The craft itself was a sleek-looking thing. Much like the flying saucers of old; it was built around a central warp engine, which supplied the craft with propulsion and energy through certain reactions. Nelson Orla, the physicist's primary job was to monitor the engine until they got to Alpha Centauri; then his primary role would be to collect and interpret astro-physical data. Meanwhile, James Polk, Isabella Bocini, and Reginald Williams would work on experiments with life in space. Linda Klein was the odd one out for the first six months, she would have to restrict herself to making countless projections and conditional scenarios regarding the possible atmospheres of the planets orbiting Alpha Centauri. Once they got there, though, she would become the star of the show, with Orla right behind her. They finally took off on the ninth of May, gunning up the warp engines and exiting the orbit of Earth. Two months of experiments and board games later, they found themselves at their first calculated stopping point. Based on the engine with which the satelite Hermes had been sent out, it should be about a quarter of the way to Alpha Centauri. They reversed the warp engine and brought the craft to a crawl, engaging the sensors to sweep the area for signs of the craft. Knowing that they would want to find it again someday, the designers had built in a rare, radioactive isotope, whose half-life was ninty-two years. By searching for a particular radioactive signature, they were able to locate the satelite not far off of its projected path. They accelerated to investigate it. (Comment on this)
Thursday, May 5th, 2005
10:48 pm	A continuation and conclusion to April 27th Smokebreak. Somehow Phillip had been dragged into the corporate moneyfest that was the smokebreak. He took his five dollar packs of cigarettes outside during a normal lull in the action to smoke away the pittance they paid him. For the economic reasons, he wished he could stop, but for the health reasons, he sought to breathe in the tinted air even more. He lit up and the smoke slid down his throat as it always had. Nicotine rushed in and smoke blew out. He felt his nerves calming and his mind’s fury dulling a little. He surrendered to the feeling of artificial calm, even though he could see it plainly for what it was. It helps me get by, he thought to himself. He’d just stay outside and smoke until he didn’t care anymore, until he didn’t care that They liked it when he didn’t care. His mind spiraled down in circles as he breathed the grayish stuff in and out. Air was overrated anyways, there was no better stimulant/appetite suppressant out there either, and it helped him get his task done. These rebellious thoughts would, as they always have had, to wait for another day, perhaps an extravagantly gilded day in which he was free of this place. He checked his watch; it was about time to resume his work. He pocketed the smokes and the lighter and stubbed out his cigarette. Watch that money bleed away with the care. Such a perfect system, how could he not buy into it?... Lunch in the library. Time for Bethany to run a homework dash in an overstressed effort to catch up with all of her work. By the time she got home every day, she was so worn that she usually just unplugged her mind and sat in front of the wall or the television. An entire hour, sometimes two would pass before a thought dared creep up into her skull again. She was blistering her mind every day, she knew, but she saw no viable alternative. As soon as they take me in to Vanderbilt or Stanford or wherever, then I’ll be able to breathe, she thought to herself as she pressed pencil to paper and nose to grindstone. Just a little bit of calculus, some history, and then some research for her English term paper. She sighed loudly enough to attract the attention of several people in the vault of books. She ducked her head in embarrassment and focused on her studies. Before she knew it, the bell had rung and she had to pack up her books and such for the next class. Having made it this far in the progress of his company, Bill found that it pretty much ran itself. The board of directors dictated what he should do, he passed the orders along to his underlings, and then he kicked back and read the progress reports. For six years it had been absolutely fool-proof. They needed no research, no development, they just had to pump out the product and await its profits. Soon, he felt, that would be changing. Despite the stabilized, positive trends of sales, Bill sensed with his business intuition that their simple “office solutions” would be quickly outdone by some upstart company, just as he had displaced a prominent member of the marketplace just over half a decade ago. It was a position always under attack, that number one spot. Granted they were only leading in their local market, but that had seemed to be profit enough for him and his. A paranoia gripped him suddenly and he began to mull over possible reforms. He had no idea that his wife’s last stand could possibly be the source of his fears. He couldn’t possibly believe that she had somehow touched his small, iron heart, because he had no idea such a thing even existed in him. But there it was, pushing him ever so slowly towards neurotic insanity. It would start with this reforms and then mushroom cloud into even bigger things. Reclusion would overtake his battered psyche and he would hide himself away forever in that penthouse until his business would be reduced to mere tatters around him, something to match his physical appearance. Phillip would get at least one of his wishes as he drove home from work. Smoking, though he was, would not be the thing to do him in, but rather the oncoming car would sever his body in two, effectively ending what he saw as a pitiful existence anyhow. The oppressively blue sky was still holding dominance over the night when he got into his car, lit up, and began to drive towards home. Because of the odd length of shift he worked, he never encountered the heavy traffic that others put up with every day. Instead, it was a fairly smooth, fast trip home. It proved a little too fast for him that day as he tried his luck at a burning yellow light. It turned red a good five feet before he hit the crosswalk, but he was impatient for something, perhaps it was just a rare moment of precognition that caused him to gun the accelerator and race her for all it was worth. A large SUV from the other direction collided head on with his door and split it in the middle, which would then split him in the middle. A couple hours and the Jaws of Life later and they finally recovered the two split halves of Phillip. Bethany triumphantly graduated her high school as valedictorian and gave a moving speech about the emptiness of the job market that lay before them. She vehemently encouraged her fellow graduates to pursue that one thing that drove each and every one of them. It seemed cliché at the time, but she began to break down halfway through her pontification. She, herself, felt moved by the institutionalism of it all, and she began to fear greatly the prospect that she would turn up a nobody, a face in the crowd. She screamed at her audience at one point, screaming her defiance of this fate, immutable as it seemed to her at the time. She would make it into Stanford and attend there, graduating with a B.A. in her double majors of Philosophy and Political Science. As simple as her majors seemed, Bethany eventually went on to found several non-profit groups, pen a few inspirational books, and win a seat in the Senate for twenty-four years, where she found a pulpit for her desire to aide the ailing nobodies out there, those for whom no one fought. In her late years she began to echo the same things told once to her when she gave commencement speeches; youth are the future of this world; it becomes their responsibility to move society in its proper direction and never let it stagnate. Generation after generation, the world is changed by the marks left behind by those who rise above it and steer the blind vessel into the future. Go! Current Mood: calm Current Music: Identity Theft - Sinch (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Monday, May 2nd, 2005
5:39 pm	More random scrawlings A swirling, dust-gathering wind had kicked up and driven dirt over the roadway. Behind him as he stumbled along at snail's pace there was a slightly off-tune guitar wailing to life as a glass slide grazed its steel strings. A voice like a somewhat masculine banshee followed shortly in off-key. The street sign up ahead had been outdated and unreplaced for years now, but David didn't much care about that; all he wanted to do was make it out of this sandblasted dustbowl in just one piece. Several factors had colluded over the past sleepless 48 hours to keep him in a desolate little place just outside of Shreveport, LA, near the Texan border. He couldn't even name the place where he was, that's how desolate it was. The dirt-filled wind stung his eyes and nearly knocked him over in his weariness and its present strength. I've got to get off this rock, he thought to himself, the world just isn't for me any more. He thought about the choices avaibile to him but ultimately decided on the quietest. Just a little while longer, he assured himself. Grace was surely in sight. The sun was drilling down on him with its piercing rays. He began to feel heavier and heavier with each step. Suddenly, a strong wind surged up behind him, and before he knew it, he was facedown in the gravel at the side of the road. The relentless wind continued to ripple through his clothing, as if trying to violently pick his pockets clean, if not buffet his cracked dry skin outright. The squeal of brakes and the rumble of an automobile engine just a few yards from his head was all that his senses could take in at that moment. "David, this is silly," a sonorous female voice called from the open window. "Come on, you can have a ride with us." There was a sneer behind the voice, he didn't have to see it to detect its sardonic presence. He mumbled something inaudible, unintelligble even to himself. His face stung hard from the tiny rocks that had been embedded into it upon semi-conscious impact. He thought he raised his hand then and gave the car and its passenger the finger, but he could have been dreaming of doing that. "David," she was pleading. "You need us right now, and we'll need you later; let's make a deal here," she said. He could tell from her voice that she knew he knew she had a point. His mind hurt about as much as his face, and he was damn tired of trekking all over the wastes. Slowly he began pushing up with his hands, driving some of the sharper rocks into his palms. A small flurry of dirt descended from his figure as he rose to a kneeling position. A backdoor thrust itself open and a suited man stepped out to help him. David threw the man off violently and nearly fell facedown again. He mumbled something violent and angry and then finally made it to his feet. He leaned on the car for support and put his head through the front passenger window. "You owe me," he muttered through his broken face and broken being. He stumbled in through the open door and plopped himself down on the seat. The car roared to like and peeled away. Several moments later someone thrust a waterbottle into his hand. It was Dasani, and David couldn't help but think to himself, yeah, you type always liked that kind. He was still unable to open his eyes, but a brilliant dazzle was forcing its way through his lids anyways. "Where are we going?" he finally verbalized after downing half of the water. "Texas," the woman's voice announced. "That's just your favorite place in the whole wide world then, isn't it?" he shot back, as sarcastic an ass as ever. She smiled, he couldn't see it, but he could feel it permeate the air. "One of these days we will just leave you to die," she told him confidantly. He thought of several comebacks, but decided on the simplest in his state. "Not if I see you first," he spat blood in her general direction, but it landed harmlessly in his own lap. He smiled a childish smile despite himself. "Laugh it up now," she said, turning cold. "But the day will come when you're of no further use to us." "Not if I see you first," he echoed stupidly and renewed his own broken chuckling. His left eye shot open - a blazing azure pierced the dusty yellow of the scenery - and began to take it the interior of the car. It was a mercedes of somewhat late model. The interior was a fine, gray-ish "leather" and the dash was accented with a marbled, wood-looking inlay. The driver and the man sitting next to him were both in simple black and white suits with black sunglasses. Fairly... standard issue, he thought to himself. Azrael was seated in front of him. She was in a lovely yellow sundress to match her brilliant, golden locks of slightly curly hair. They fell in plaits from her head in a sort of ponytail. Her dress was a full yellow with red and white highlights here and there worked into the pattern. It fit her quite becomingly. "Still the same old man," Azrael commented then. "You know my mind better than it knows itself," he said with a grin and a whistle. She didn't comment any further, but rather repositioned herself in such a way as to draw his attention even further in to her. "Still the same old vixen," he shot back and began to look out the window with a pang of regret. As different souls on another plane, he thought to himself bemusingly but knew that that couldn't happen either. He sighed and watched the flat, dusty landscape roll by through his one good eye. Sometime shortly after he finished his water he passed out, this time awaking to a much different scene. It was night, finally, and the wind had turned from a pummelling boxer to Death blowing a cold winter chill across the land. How could anyone love this place, he thought bitterly to himself. Then he began to consider the windy feeling and started to wonder how he got outside. He slowly opened his left eye, not sure if the right one was ever going to open again. Azrael stood before him, facing to her left; she had changed into something more befitting the chilly night. David felt a slight disappointment, but that was, of course, as nothing compared to his predicament. He slowly became aware that he was tied to something. His arms and legs were utterly immoble and he could feel the pressure points of where the rope was securing him to whatever it was. He then came to the realization that his head and neck were secured fast as well. "Well, what do you call this one?" he asked her casually. "Ah, David, how kind of you to wake up," she said teasingly. "What do you need from me now?" he asked. "Well, David, it's rather simple. You see that complex over there? Oh, how silly of me, of course you don't." She stepped forward then to cut the ropes around his neck and head. He made several fierce biting motions towards her, the first of which caused her to stop for a second until she realized he was still harmlessly strung up. He smiled relentlessly for five minutes then as she undid a few of the bands of rope. She took a few steps back, blushing of embarrassment. "That complex there," she pointed towards the western horizon. "There's something in there we need; you're going to get it for us." "Excuse me?" he said. "Why would I do anything for you?" "Would you rather we left you for the Others?" she asked knowing his answer. "Fine, but when this is over with you better send me on a plane back to Seattle," he demanded. She mused to herself. "I suppose that will be reasonable," she agreed. "Deal," he said. "What am I looking for?" "It's a small computer console of sorts," she told him. "Well, what does it do?" he asked. "I don't want to grab the wrong thing." Current Mood: devious Current Music: "Highway to Hell" by ACDC (Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 27th, 2005
5:04 pm	He awoke stiff that morning; an indicator of the rotten, foul day to come. The sun was shining and the skies were blue but it was all a sick farce to him; his real fate lay two hours ahead of him in the Great Beyond. Working under these conditions had never really bothered him much, but the pay was just not worth the effort. Input in does not equal input out, he thought to himself as he sluggishly stumbled to his feet and began making his way through his stringent morning routine. A crazy bastard god it was that made such beautiful 6am's for such enslaved laborers. Might as well throw the whole day into a dizzying hurricane, he thought, at least that would be (scenery that matches the mood). He always hated these parts; these mornings in which he was crudely ripped from blissful, dream-filled sleep as a pre-veal calf is from its mother. Surely, if the veal knew what real life was like, as Phillip did, they would kick, scream, protest, and maybe even do themselves in, what with what all was coming to them and such. That was exactly how Phillip felt, chained to a stake of inevitable pain, with his talents atrophying into oblivion as they fatted him up with bullshit. Perhaps, he considered, he was something of a cynic... Across the city a ways and under the same unrelenting blue sky was a young woman struggling to wake up for her classes. Senioritis was a blissful affliction of which there was no cure but summer. Graduation would be soon and the light weight would be lifted for oh-so-brief a moment. The real tortures, she knew, awaited her after the next four year cycle of standardized education. Somewhere in the middle of State U, she prayed she would stumble into the snares of a passionate revelation, one fraught with all the pitfalls of a bona-fide dream; she hoped then to find out this meaningless direction to her life, for she sure as hell wasn't divining any sagic-mystic interpretations of her life's currently well-beaten path. The road less traveled indeed, this was the road almost all traveled these days, and she'd seen where it led. Her parents, mindless automatons of the middle-class, white-picket-fence-painting machine known to some in darkly humorous euphemisms like "progress" and "economic stability." The real life was out there, very far from her and growing further removed by the day she knew. Even hour spent in the institution was another month promised in middle management, which was an empty receptacle that they liked to label as the American dream in an effort to idealize the place where they cut the rug out from under you just before retirement, squeezing you like a dry cactus for all your last juices. The divine spark was in her, she was sure, but the world had a way of throwing large quantities of manure of such thoughts and violently suppressing any sense of individuality that this beautiful country once had. The New American way was one of blinding, domineering, and greedy, bloodless conquest. Occasionally it spills over into blood bathed conquest; but just as often one is able to escape the cycle and explode up from underneath the surface of the water, thrashing violent and gasping at air for the first time. Pull yourself together for just a little longer, Bethany told herself. Summer's Surprise would be along shortly. A liberating experience, that was all she wanted... A stirring in the dark, somewhere between the sheets. Christ, not again, how could she be awake at this godless hour? 7am, no one wakes up at seven am anymore, so why was this woman tossing and turning. He opened his eyes slowly with an exasperated grumble. What is she thinking he thought bitterly loud to himself. Does she need me to slap her again, that had gotten her to sleep pretty good last night; finally some peace had been reached. But no, she was standing and dressing, still not saying a word. But even in this wordless space he could feel her hot anger like a brilliantly lit furnace just a couple yards from his naked body. Soon, he knew she would explode in some uncontrollable burst of anger. She'd been seething last night, he remembered, and he knew the end was in sight now; that's how he'd had little reservations about what he'd done. That damn whore, he mused fumingly, she'd done it to herself. No one runs my life, I make the calls, I own and operate a whole fucking corporation for Christ's sake! He was screaming inside his own skull, just waiting for any little excuse to unleash his cycled up anger. He was practiced in the art, all he needed was a reason to unload the guns. Just throw the first punch, he said to her in his mind, I'll give you a freebie! "It's over" she said in a calm, collected voice. "I'm leaving you now and I want to sign divorce papers as soon as possible," she added in a low monotone. Her fury was dispelled, she stood there cool as an icicle. The wintry witch, he thought to himself, she thinks she can just disarm me so easily. All the things he wanted to say somehow constipated themselves at his lips, utterly unable to escape his mouth, even as he opened it to let them fly free. She didn't taunt him, she didn't say anymore, she just turned and walked away slowly, but full of purpose. "You fucking whore!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. I should've killed you, he thought ruefully, but then flushed with embarrassment at the crass thought. He revised his thinking and decided to cool down. He turned on the television and started his morning routine at a leisurely pace, especially so since it was two hours early. Elane, he thought to himself, what have you done to me?... A long, rude car horn snapped him from a brief nap at the wheel. Yeah, yeah, Phillip thought to himself, let's see you do this five days a week, asshole. He gently laid down on the accelerator; he had no hurry to be at the factory for another ten hour spree. It wasn't supposed to be for ten hours and it hadn't always been that way, but with the "layoffs" and all that had been happening, they were making sure to maintain present levels of production with less labor. The cold, faceless white collars were getting more bang for their buck and probably blowing the money they saved on elaborate, alcoholic pats on the back in the form of "celebratory" parties. What did they have to celebrate, they removed some people from their only source of income and made the lives of those still left behind living hell. A pat on the back, indeed, Phillip had a good one he'd been wanting to give them for some time now. He pulled reluctantly into the parking lot and checked his spiteful thoughts at the gate. God only knows what these jackasses monitor around here, he told himself by way of excuse. He stepped out of the car and lumbered his way into work. Another day, another dead ten hours. What was living exactly, he felt he'd forgotten long ago... It was only after she'd won her election as ASB president that Bethany came to her stunning realizations and saw the hollow center for what it was. It allowed her to pad her resume and college applications, but those cost fifty dollars each and she was pretty sure she'd wind up getting in to only her "safety" school. The SATs had screwed her over a good number, something which, after she read up on, she found out happened to a lot of the female population - something about the way the feminine mind operated, she couldn't remember it. Of course, to her, a 1350 was getting screwed; to most of the people she passed in the halls, that would've been a golden ticket - or at least a silver one. She sighed to herself as she entered her first class. AP History and the gearing up for the test to be taken at the end of the week. Gearing up, she thought to herself, the entire class had been a one-track CD aimed squarely at feeding the bullshit to be offloaded on the AP exam. Had it been any other class, the teacher would've been free to think up the syllabus, even if it was within certain parameters, but this class, this one was entirely scripted. It pained her to sit through, as she was sure it pained her teacher to cold read every morning. After that, it was a hop and a skip to her AP English class and then to the ASB quasi-class during the twenty minute break, followed closely by AP Biology and Economics all before lunch. She sighed again to herself, but remembered that it would only be a couple more weeks. Freedom was close now, it was in the air. Lunctime. He always loved how his lunches were always a brief three hours after he came down the elevator from his penthouse apartment. It was the simple things in life, he thought to himself, not those complicated things like women and, well, other people in general, he decided. That bitch could rot in hell, he would find hotter and better, he assured himself. Being at the top wasn't easy, and it was often accompanied with a strong sense of loneliness. He liked to combat it when he could with his women, but occasionally that just wasn't enough or wasn't available. He didn't know it, but few people pat themselves on the back as much as he did, it was beyond masturbatory to him. During his hour lunch, he sat and tossed the prospects in his mind. His secretary he'd done, some of the upper management females he'd tried at but failed and several of the middle and lower management females he'd been successful with. Those were the ones that he could bowl over, those were the ones that lacked any sense of self respect or self confidence. Those upper management bitches, they could drive slaves as well as he could for the most part. Those ones could only come to him and never the other way around. His eye began to twitch. A stress was settling over him, but he had no idea it was due to his lifestyle. He just tried to comfort it by reading over the latest economic performance and projection reports. He'd hired an incredibly attractive woman to produce one of these per week, but so far she'd been far too intelligent to be lured into his devices. As puppet master, he'd seen almost everyone come around at once... almost everyone. Prospects were good; green light means go... (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 19th, 2005
4:07 pm	Interview responses 1) Not sure about "single most hillarious" but I'mma go with one of the longest times I've laughed in recent memory was when your dog slammed his muzzle into the corner of the table. It just had the funniest damn sound that accompanied it... 2) 3???? You're the foulest, most obscene woman ever! Okay, here's my shot in the dark... Bear in mind that I'm choosing primarily songs over 10 minutes so as to maximize my song-age. A) "Cassandra Gemmini" by The Mars Volta (33 minute song, I'll take it) B) "Achille's Last Stand" by Led Zeppelin (a hefty 10 and a half minute song and a wonderful musical whirl at that) C) "Third Eye" by Tool (a sweeping 13 minute behemouth that marked my entry into prog-rock) Seriously tho, how many people could come up with three favorite songs that total nearly an hour? That's what I thought!!! 3) What do I think about when I wake up? "God I wish there were ten more hours stuck in around 5am!!!" 4) Ah, now this one's difficult, lemme think (waits ten minutes). Okay, so I have to have a social/philosophical role model and a guitar legend/role model. Obviously if there was one guitarist I wish I could be more like, it'd be Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, because the man is amazing and could do anything with the guitar. Jimi doesn't take that honor because if I were Jimi, I'd be dead, although that's along those lines. As for socio-philosophical, I'd probably say........ I dunno, Jesus, he was pretty coo. 5) The one thing to hang onto? Probably just my super-individualism, cuz from that the rest of my being springs. :-P bonus answer - content, they all just need to cool the fuck out and be happy.... man Now, your questions! 1) If you could only watch three movies for the rest of all time (not TV shows on DVD, actual movies!) what would they be? 2) Captain James T. Kirk or Captain Jean-Luc Picard? 3) What's your favorite meal? 4) This one's a two-parter. What's your favorite literary technique to read or use? What's your favorite cinematic technique to watch or use? 5) What's your favorite sci-fi (excluding Star Wars and LOTR, which isn't sci-fi per se)? ****bonus q**** What would you like me to cook for you some night this summer? Current Mood: contemplative Current Music: Achille's Last Stand :-D (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 20th, 2004
2:47 pm	A continuance The wind and rain continued to assail the building through the night, but Julia managed to drift off into sleep with relative ease and I followed not too long thereafter. When morning came, the gray storm clouds were still overhead and still sobbing, though it was nowhere near the torrential downpour it had been hours before. When I awoke, Julia was lightly sleeping, and though I tried my best to not disturb her as I pulled away, her eyes fluttered open all the same. Halfway out of bed, I stopped and sat back down, murmuring an apology. She glanced over at the alarm clock, one of the few visible things in the curtain-drawn room. “It’s a little after noon anyways, we should be up and about,” she passed it off. “Soon as possible,” I said and lurched towards a standing position. “Some lights would be good,” I said. “Mmhmm.” I knocked my knee hard into the other bed in the room as I worked my way towards the door where I thought I remembered the light switch being. Once I finally made it there I ran my hand up and down the wall, flailing in vain to find the switch. “Hmm,” I mused, “I thought all hotels were of more or less the same design.” “Problems?” she inquired, with a slight tint of amusement. “Perhaps,” I replied. “I think the switch was by the hallway, let me get it,” she said and stood, which I knew by the groan of the bed’s springs. There were some footsteps and then light. “I really wish Elly would’ve been able to come with,” she said as she sauntered over to me, stretching her arms into the air as she went. “Are you sure about that?” I grinned. “Having your little sister around might get in the way of some things,” I said casually and with a shrug. She stopped toe to toe with me. “You dirty, dirty man,” she grinned, with her brilliant brown hair falling down over her shoulders as she stopped stretching and slid her graceful arms under mine. “Touché…” I smiled. She had caught me speechless and she knew it. “But yeah,” she said, returning to a normal tone of voice and walking casually towards the bed, “I haven’t seen my sis in like half of a year now, I’m pretty anxious to get back to her.” “We’ll be there soon enough, I’m sure,” I conceded. “I’m gonna go hop in the shower, okay?” she replied. “Yeah, knock yourself out,” I said and hunkered down on the previously untouched bed as I reached for the remote control. I scanned wildly through the channels and then stopped on a Gene Hackman flick. The water started up. “Hey, which Gene Hackman movie had Will Smith in it?” I called out. The name of it had been right on the tip of my tongue. “Enemy of the State,” she called back. I decided to lay back and watch it. As Julia got out of the shower and got dressed, we both decided it was time to be going. In the distance I could hear police sirens, slowly approaching. The only part about it that caught my attention was that there sounded to be more than one and this was, after all, a pretty small, pretty secluded town. “You hear those too, huh?” she asked, worry sketched lightly on her face. I nodded. “Let’s just go…” I said. “Hey, if this drizzle dies down even more, we could even go see the beach here,” I offered. She seemed to perk up at the idea. “Sounds excellent.” (Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 7th, 2004
5:35 pm	Open Source Project Tucked into the forests of the upper frontier of National Olympic Forest on the northwestern peninsular, stretch of Washington State lay a small town of around a thousand people by the name of St. Clare. As with many costal cities on the continental-American Pacific edge, it was once a cache for explorers and smugglers alike. As time passed and the western frontier expanded out beyond the Pacific Ocean, such caches became obsolete and were instead chosen as homestead sites. As a town recognized by the state of Washington, St. Clare never existed until 1921, but its de facto existence stretches much further back into the shady, unknown past. By chance, I was spending my second summer between semesters of graduate studies at the University of Washington driving up and down the Pacific Coast with Julia, my then girlfriend. She had been pursuing a masters in mathematics, with which she hoped she would become a teacher in the Seattle area, and I had been working on a masters in English. We had met shortly before the end of our first spring term of grad work and, on a whim, I had invited her to road trip with me up and down the Pacific coast of southern Oregon and northern California. The trip had been so relaxing and so much fun that we had decided upon exploring what Washington had to offer, beginning in Astoria down in Oregon. We had been traveling for two weeks by the time we reached the upper boundary of the Olympic peninsula. From there we would have driven down the peninsula, stayed over in Olympia and then driven home to Seattle, but it was a particularly stormy July night, which had forced us to the side of the road. We happened upon an exit as we were slowing down and sought shelter in its dimly lit streets... Buildings that could only have been constructed around the 1950's lined Main Street as we approached the town from the south east. In the dark and rain they were ominously standing over us as our car coasted down the avenue. Not a single light was on, save a handful of streetlights down the mile long stretch and the town's one stoplight in the center, at the cross of Main and St. Clare Avenue. Somewhere, a snail's crawl past the fabled stoplight was a half-lit building boasting a sign that I could barely make out in the rain. "Hotel de la St. Clare" I read aloud from the sign. "Are there any vacancies?" Julia piped up. I turned and looked at her and paused while I waited for the effect to sink in. "I'm sure there are," I grumbled as I put the car in park and began to open my door. Outside the relative warmth and objective dryness of the car, the rain had picked up and was dumping down even harder. My hair was matted down onto my face in streams despite that the wind sliced through the falling sheets of water. I jogged quickly to the door and tried the handle. It rolled open with a push. Inside I found a room only sparsely lit by the lamp in the corner, which was, after all, in sore need of a dusting. A television was on in the background and its fuzzy hollow noises were the only sound that filled the room. A young man in his mid twenties laid face down on the desk, snoring so softly as to be under the blare of the television behind him. I suppressed a grin and stepped forward to ring the bell. He awoke with a predictable start. "Yes, sir?" "I was wondering if I could get a room for the night," I informed him as water rolled down my nose and onto the counter top. "Well..." he said slowly, calculating; he was almost definitely still mentally asleep.”Sure thing," he said at last, after having arrived at the solution. "You have your choice of rooms and suites," he said raising his arm and swinging it wide and slowly so as to reveal some treasure in the board behind him that contained around thirty or so keys on little hooks. Only one hook was unoccupied. "Suites?" I repeated. "Why yes," he began with a well-greased smile, "no wonderful, little, topnotch inn could ever be without them!" He seemed to take some laughable measure of pride in this fact. I smiled back. "Alright, I'll take one of your suites," I said and added to myself if only to see it! "Just the night then?" he asked as he swiveled his chair around to face the board. "Yes, hopefully we'll be able to leave tomorrow," I answered. He nodded. "Is your lucky number 17, 18, 19, 20, or 21?" he called back as he surveyed the options. I was a sucker for prime numbers, "How about seventeen?" "An excellent choice," he said, again filled with a comical pride. He removed the key from its hook with a sort of bob of a move from his index finger and swiveled back around to hand it to me. He set it down on the counter and immediately began punching out numbers on an old typewriter. "One night in suite seventeen..... that'll be..." he trailed off as he calculated by pencil on a scratch pad next to the carbon-copy receipt he had printed up. "Forty-six dollars and seventy-two cents with tax," he concluded. "Do you accept credit cards?" I asked. I had thought it was a logical question given the condition of everything else in the hotel. He looked at me as though I regarded him as some country bumpkin, which, in his defense, I suppose I did. "Yes, of course we do," he muttered curtly and then set about connecting the credit card swiping machine. I produced my Master Card and then signed the bill and took the key with me as I left. As I raced back to the car, there was a brief interlude of absolute downpour between the dry places, enough to soak me through my clothes once again. I drove the car around to get as near as possible to seventeen so as to avoid getting further drenched. We both launched from the car and bounded up the steps to the second floor, where rooms twelve through twenty-four were. As we entered the somewhat spacious room I noticed the red glow of the clock on the nightstand between the two queen sized beds in the center of the room; it read 3:14. As Julia flicked on the lightswitch, I realized that the room wasn't quite as large as I'd first thought. There were the two beds pressed up cozily against the wall, under a cheap reprint of some painting I'd never seen, and then there was the twenty-four inch television set atop a four-drawer bureau across the room and against the other wall. There were a lamp, desk, and chair set in the far alcove of the room. The bureau ended as the wall against which it was set ended and turned inwards towards a sort of hallway that sectioned off the bathroom and linen closet of the suite. "It's three in the morning," Julia said dismally. "How about some sleep?" I nodded. "That's what I was hoping you'd say." And then with a grin I added, "Here, let me help you out of those wet clothes." "Tsk tsk," she smiled as we made our way towards the far bed, removing outer clothing as we went. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, March 29th, 2004
12:06 am	Do you want a song of glory? Well I'm fucking screaming at you! Why oh why Did I venture out alone? Why oh God why? What was I looking for? That which could not be found Those which didn't exist These that are only what I had? Does anyone out there Know what I was thinking? Does anyone out there Know what I hoped to accomplish? Is there even anyone out there? More questions than answers they said Indeed (Comment on this)
Saturday, March 27th, 2004
12:39 am	I'll defend it... And when the sun set that night There was only his resolve Pitifully dwindling down the sinkdrain And when the moon rose that night There was only his desperation Evidently exposed upon his sleeve His heart beat through his chest Spilling out onto the moonlit floor Across the black and white Blending into the shadow, Contrasted against the light His soul screamed silently in the dark Silenced by its own solitude Wailing in pain, bleeding from the wall Let me out, let me out, let me out I've had enough of this, If you want me, You'll know where to find me Run away... The snow is so soft and white here The wind so cold but comforting The plains so eternally unbroken Here it's so everywhere Everytime, everyplace We're all alone here We're all desperate Desolate, depraved here (Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 16th, 2004
3:07 pm	A Bleak Passing Into the yawning hollow, A chasmal pit dug deep, This black soulless box sank Waning gracefully From the sight of those gathered Onto the empty receptacle, A gateway to another life, Grimy mud made from an afternoon's rain Fell softly To cover the pain memorial Into the dismal crowd, Those few souls left to fight, These words were cast Bleeding slowly From the irreparably fatal slits Onto the anonymous marker, An ever-present reminder, Dazzling red roses were thrown Weeping softly To mourn the loss ominous Into the faint hearts, Whose beats steadily stirred, That unbending will was delivered Fading never From the minds of those who knew (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 11th, 2004
7:07 pm	Specter will lurk... Can you help me, dearest friend? There's somewhere I'd like to go That's neither here nor there But I think you know the way all the same Could you guide me, good friend? It's only on the way down Just drag me by the arm Because I think you'll have to force me Blistered, bruised, bleeding Broken, belittled, benumbed Bleak - this place is Bewildering - how far a tumble Bitter - that metallic taste Burdensome - these broken wings Baleful I circle the debilitated parts Oh the disrepair To think One day, all of these functioned Fluid in motion Perfect in execution As flawless as fulfillment I pray for communion with the disarray of clutter Something to take me from this visible loss Loosen my sight Loosen my thoughts Loosen myself Into the debris I slide defective Fragmentary, disconnected Unbind my sight from me Unbind my thoughts from me Unbind my will from me I won't need them anymore (Comment on this)
Wednesday, March 10th, 2004
10:14 pm	First go-round Sepulchral in mood The atmosphere I would have willingly been dragged into The lowest level of lonely, abysmal hell I somehow would not have cared Deprave in implication That I would have gladly stayed there That for just one moment I would endure an eternal loss I somehow would not have cared Disturbing upon reflection The pain I would have easily ignored The intensity of the negative I could cast aside for a span of seconds I somehow would not have cared Oh the places I’d have been led Oh the things I’d have seen Oh the ways I’d have learned I gasp at the shockingly fantastic horror of it all So esoteric is its malignant beauty So mystical is its brutal allure That I cannot help but be perverted to its cause I would let myself be wholly engulfed I would drift aimlessly among the dregs For but a whiff, a taste, a glimpse Of that deformed machinery That bleeds like oblong clockwork That looses pieces in locomotion And assimilates those it touches I would not run from it I would climb into the piecemeal cogs If only to witness The beating, frozen heart of blood Blue where it spills upon the floor If only to witness The dim light gasping for air Starved on its own choking emissions What is this thing that rolls before me, That threatens to truncate my existence In so that it may prolong its own? What have I become, That the loss should not deter That I cannot even feel it go? Defeated in spirit That I possess not the will to cease it That I accept its dark invitation I somehow do not care As you may note, dictionary.com is my new bestest friend (Comment on this)
9:57 pm	The Beginning of All Things to Come i'm just gonna be bouncing random, loose doggerel off of this site, but do feel free to check up every now and again http://dictionary.reference.com/search?r=2&q=suture refer also to Cicatriz ESP for further clarification (Comment on this)