On a somewhat lighter and brighter note than the last two posts:
It's New Year's Eve!!!
Soon we'll all be saying 'hello' to a bright new year AND decade. (Right? These things confuse me, I'm also bad at roman numerals...)
I'll be working tonight, which kind of sucks because I wont be able hang out with my loves, but I'll be paying rent in the morning, so that's a plus. Sorry kids, I adore you, but apparently not as much as my landlord adores taking my money!!
(I always feel like I'm being fake when I use '!'. I think it's because I so rarely vocalize this sort of excitment in real life).
I hope everyone has plenty of fun tonight, and stays safe. That's the most important part. I'd rather all my friends have horrible, awful nights and be safe than have too much of a good time and die. Hey, we've all got priorities.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Session Two
The WOMAN lets herself in through the back door. The GIRL is in the kitchen fixing two cups of tea, one with sugar, one without. GIRL enters into the living room to meet the WOMAN, who sits in her previous chair.
GIRL:
There's a woman somewhere. Somewhere near, or maybe not. I don't know. She is young, beautiful, and a widow. Her husband died in a car wreck, on his way home from working late. The Widow hates herself for thinking he was having an affair. She was going to confront him about his 'late work' and missed phone calls. She was going to do it that weekend. But he died instead. Right now it is snowing where she is. It's cold, but the air is still. It's been a week since they put her Groom in the ground. She walks around the house, carrying an icy mug of coffee. It used to be warm, but she can't bring herself to drink, she just goes through the motions of life, of humanity. The Widow wanders from empty room to empty room. She hasn't slept in her bed since he died. Sometimes she lies there, on her side of the mattress, just staring at his pillow, still holding the shape of his head. The blankets are still formed around the empty nest he formed for himself the night before he left. Widow should have made the bed in the morining, but was too upset about the hypothetical affair. Now she lies still in her cold bed, staring at the nest of sheets and blankets. The bed feels cold in the stillest way. Widow thinks she may be able to snap the corners of his pillowcase clean off, if only she had the strenght to reach out and try. She lifts her arm and stretches her fingers, but finds herself unable to cross the invisable lines of his body. Tears come to her eyes, but never fall, catching themselves in her eyelashes and swimming there instead.
The Widow sits in her home, where time has no hold and sips from glasses her Groom left around the house. Her lips settle to cover the spaces where his did. Even when the glasses are emptied of their dusty water she still does this. Her small ritual to remember not just his mouth, the way his lips formed not only for kisses but for the simple, necessary act of drinking water. She does this to remember that he was alive and in need of hydration. He was, but he is no longer. The widow breathes the scent of him from stale clothes. She wears his socks when she naps on the couch. She checks her voicemail obsessively, only to listen to his old messages.
GIRL:
There's a woman somewhere. Somewhere near, or maybe not. I don't know. She is young, beautiful, and a widow. Her husband died in a car wreck, on his way home from working late. The Widow hates herself for thinking he was having an affair. She was going to confront him about his 'late work' and missed phone calls. She was going to do it that weekend. But he died instead. Right now it is snowing where she is. It's cold, but the air is still. It's been a week since they put her Groom in the ground. She walks around the house, carrying an icy mug of coffee. It used to be warm, but she can't bring herself to drink, she just goes through the motions of life, of humanity. The Widow wanders from empty room to empty room. She hasn't slept in her bed since he died. Sometimes she lies there, on her side of the mattress, just staring at his pillow, still holding the shape of his head. The blankets are still formed around the empty nest he formed for himself the night before he left. Widow should have made the bed in the morining, but was too upset about the hypothetical affair. Now she lies still in her cold bed, staring at the nest of sheets and blankets. The bed feels cold in the stillest way. Widow thinks she may be able to snap the corners of his pillowcase clean off, if only she had the strenght to reach out and try. She lifts her arm and stretches her fingers, but finds herself unable to cross the invisable lines of his body. Tears come to her eyes, but never fall, catching themselves in her eyelashes and swimming there instead.
The Widow sits in her home, where time has no hold and sips from glasses her Groom left around the house. Her lips settle to cover the spaces where his did. Even when the glasses are emptied of their dusty water she still does this. Her small ritual to remember not just his mouth, the way his lips formed not only for kisses but for the simple, necessary act of drinking water. She does this to remember that he was alive and in need of hydration. He was, but he is no longer. The widow breathes the scent of him from stale clothes. She wears his socks when she naps on the couch. She checks her voicemail obsessively, only to listen to his old messages.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Maggie Macgill
or maybe its mcgill. i dont know and im much to absorbed to look at the track title. Michael, you have no idea what you're missing. this is fantastic. i dont recommend it, but i love it. such is my life. c'est la vie and all that.
i'm in love.
with just one boy. man.
jim morrison.
i was for certain born in the wrong time period.
i'm in love.
with just one boy. man.
jim morrison.
i was for certain born in the wrong time period.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Bones need Flesh
Usually I reserve stuff like this for another arena, but here are the bones of a story I am looking to write. Maybe. I can't decide and I haven't gotten far, but I like the concept and I think it's going to be one of those things that I won't stop dreaming until I finish it. Anyway, here goes nothing:
We open on two people sitting in an unkempt living room. The GIRL sits opposite the WOMAN. The WOMAN is clearly out of place, but tries to look comfortable. Perhaps it is her estranged mother or step-mother. As GIRL speaks, we, the audience, catch visual glimpses of what she describes. The GIRL begins to speak.
"You wanna know the story? Okay. Okay, here's a story. There's this girl, see, and she decides to go out to the club with a few of her girlfriends. They're having fun, having a good time. Drinking. Dancing. But then her friends get tired and they want to leave. The girl, though, she doesn't want to leave, she's having too much fun and she just met these guys who say they know an afterparty. And the girl, the girl just really wants to go. So, so she says goodbye to her friends and tells them she'll call when she gets there and she'll call when she gets home. Nothing shady if everyone is informed, right? Right say the friends, and they leave. Girl has a drink, has another drink and has another drink and pretty soon she can't see so good, can't walk so good. The guys she's with though, they seem real nice and they offer to take her on home. Poor thing can't drive, not in this condition. So she gets in the car and she calls the girlfriends, but it's late and they don't answer. The girl is still together enough to know this aint the way home, this aint where she lives, so she calls her guy friends, 'cause, you know, a girl all alone needs some backup. She calls and calls and leaves messages without remembering she hit 'dial'. But it's late and they don't answer. She seems antsy so the guys give her another drink. Then the girl can't remember anything. She's asleep and then she's awake and it's cold and it's damp and dark and it smells moldy. She catches conversation before she falls asleep again.
"...out cold..."
"..then?"
"....dump her....done"
"Overdose?"
"Does....matter, really?"
"...one for the road.."
And then she's awake and she's in someones arms and the ground is frosty, crunching under his feet. Sleep. Awake. Pavement and weeds. A parking lot? She's awake now and lost and only has one shoe. Her clutch is there, but no money, no I.D. Her phone lost somewhere in the grass. She gets up and walks toward the lights lining the road. She can't really see and she can't really walk and she stumbles like a zombie. She tries to close her mouth, but her lips are cut and swollen. All that registers is the iron taste of blood.
"Holy shit, is that Abby!?" the red headed boy in the car asks his driver. "Stop, stop, we've gotta get her!"
A car drives by, slams on its brakes and reverses back to the girl. She doesn't stop walking even when Norris, a boy she's met a few times thru some mutual guy friends, jumps out of the passanger seat and grabs her.
"Ab? Ab? What happened, oh my god oh my god, what happened to you?"
The girl doesn't respond, she can't really hear him anyway, her mind is a million places and none of them are on earth. Norris hauls her to the car, places her in the backseat and wipes some of the blood from her face. When he offers her a bottle of water, she starts to cry.
"What d'we do? Hospital?"
The girl screams, the only word she can form is 'No'.
"No, not the hospital"
Norris doesn't want to get in trouble, doesn't want to get the girl in trouble, not until he knows what happened, but he don't really know her, so he decided to bring her to her friends house. The place where they met a few times thru their mutual guy friends.
Norris rushes into the house, holding the once again unconcious girl in his arms. His friend the driver follows closely behind.
"Neil! Jesse! Where are you?"
Neil and Jesse run into the living room.
"What the fuck? What happened? Is she okay?"
Norris explains the situation and the girl begins to wake up again. Jesse holds a towel to the back of her head, trying to stop the bleeding. They get her to drink some water and then put in a the bath, running hot water over her clothes. When the water turns red, they drain it and Neil strips the silent and complient girl to her bra and underwear then dresses her in his own clothes. They put her to bed. In the morning the white pillow cases of Neil's bed are brown with dried blood and the girl is gone. They find her by following her whimpering. She has curled up in the corner of Neil's closet and refuses to move. Her hands are bleeding where her fingernails have bitten into the flesh of her palms. She looks up at the boys, asks for a trashcan. They provide and she empties her stomach. The boys back up and she closes the door on them."
The WOMAN has grown increasingly uncomfortable throughout the GIRL'S tale. The WOMAN gets up to leave and is only stopped by the GIRL'S words.
"Be sure to drop by next week to find out what happens to our brave herione."
The WOMAN exits.
We open on two people sitting in an unkempt living room. The GIRL sits opposite the WOMAN. The WOMAN is clearly out of place, but tries to look comfortable. Perhaps it is her estranged mother or step-mother. As GIRL speaks, we, the audience, catch visual glimpses of what she describes. The GIRL begins to speak.
"You wanna know the story? Okay. Okay, here's a story. There's this girl, see, and she decides to go out to the club with a few of her girlfriends. They're having fun, having a good time. Drinking. Dancing. But then her friends get tired and they want to leave. The girl, though, she doesn't want to leave, she's having too much fun and she just met these guys who say they know an afterparty. And the girl, the girl just really wants to go. So, so she says goodbye to her friends and tells them she'll call when she gets there and she'll call when she gets home. Nothing shady if everyone is informed, right? Right say the friends, and they leave. Girl has a drink, has another drink and has another drink and pretty soon she can't see so good, can't walk so good. The guys she's with though, they seem real nice and they offer to take her on home. Poor thing can't drive, not in this condition. So she gets in the car and she calls the girlfriends, but it's late and they don't answer. The girl is still together enough to know this aint the way home, this aint where she lives, so she calls her guy friends, 'cause, you know, a girl all alone needs some backup. She calls and calls and leaves messages without remembering she hit 'dial'. But it's late and they don't answer. She seems antsy so the guys give her another drink. Then the girl can't remember anything. She's asleep and then she's awake and it's cold and it's damp and dark and it smells moldy. She catches conversation before she falls asleep again.
"...out cold..."
"..then?"
"....dump her....done"
"Overdose?"
"Does....matter, really?"
"...one for the road.."
And then she's awake and she's in someones arms and the ground is frosty, crunching under his feet. Sleep. Awake. Pavement and weeds. A parking lot? She's awake now and lost and only has one shoe. Her clutch is there, but no money, no I.D. Her phone lost somewhere in the grass. She gets up and walks toward the lights lining the road. She can't really see and she can't really walk and she stumbles like a zombie. She tries to close her mouth, but her lips are cut and swollen. All that registers is the iron taste of blood.
"Holy shit, is that Abby!?" the red headed boy in the car asks his driver. "Stop, stop, we've gotta get her!"
A car drives by, slams on its brakes and reverses back to the girl. She doesn't stop walking even when Norris, a boy she's met a few times thru some mutual guy friends, jumps out of the passanger seat and grabs her.
"Ab? Ab? What happened, oh my god oh my god, what happened to you?"
The girl doesn't respond, she can't really hear him anyway, her mind is a million places and none of them are on earth. Norris hauls her to the car, places her in the backseat and wipes some of the blood from her face. When he offers her a bottle of water, she starts to cry.
"What d'we do? Hospital?"
The girl screams, the only word she can form is 'No'.
"No, not the hospital"
Norris doesn't want to get in trouble, doesn't want to get the girl in trouble, not until he knows what happened, but he don't really know her, so he decided to bring her to her friends house. The place where they met a few times thru their mutual guy friends.
Norris rushes into the house, holding the once again unconcious girl in his arms. His friend the driver follows closely behind.
"Neil! Jesse! Where are you?"
Neil and Jesse run into the living room.
"What the fuck? What happened? Is she okay?"
Norris explains the situation and the girl begins to wake up again. Jesse holds a towel to the back of her head, trying to stop the bleeding. They get her to drink some water and then put in a the bath, running hot water over her clothes. When the water turns red, they drain it and Neil strips the silent and complient girl to her bra and underwear then dresses her in his own clothes. They put her to bed. In the morning the white pillow cases of Neil's bed are brown with dried blood and the girl is gone. They find her by following her whimpering. She has curled up in the corner of Neil's closet and refuses to move. Her hands are bleeding where her fingernails have bitten into the flesh of her palms. She looks up at the boys, asks for a trashcan. They provide and she empties her stomach. The boys back up and she closes the door on them."
The WOMAN has grown increasingly uncomfortable throughout the GIRL'S tale. The WOMAN gets up to leave and is only stopped by the GIRL'S words.
"Be sure to drop by next week to find out what happens to our brave herione."
The WOMAN exits.
Monday, December 21, 2009
so i don't forget
That's the thing about love. It demands information. We will break your teeth out to get it, and then we will feed them back to you.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Won't you tell me your name?
Things I do not have:
Long hair
A flat iron
A tan
Fake nails
Ed Hardy anything
Spare money
A sports car
A boyfriend with a sports car
A real job
Bronzer
Things I do have:
A job(ish)
Good friends
Solid family
Sense of self
Spell check
Ambition (for better or worse)
A clean room
A (relatively) clear mind
Things I want:
More money
Spare time
.
.
.
That's about it really. I've got what I need and I love it. Peace Johnny, we're doing fine.
Long hair
A flat iron
A tan
Fake nails
Ed Hardy anything
Spare money
A sports car
A boyfriend with a sports car
A real job
Bronzer
Things I do have:
A job(ish)
Good friends
Solid family
Sense of self
Spell check
Ambition (for better or worse)
A clean room
A (relatively) clear mind
Things I want:
More money
Spare time
.
.
.
That's about it really. I've got what I need and I love it. Peace Johnny, we're doing fine.
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