RIP Princess Kaosuu

[Eater of Clowns]

"At first I thought it was, well yeah, classic Suu."

I can't speak to the rumors.  I've heard the talk, that she isn't dead at all.  That what happened was ascension, more like.  Becoming something greater and everlasting, maybe even divinity.  Ask the followers and I'm sure they'll be glad to tell you.  Thing is, this one took off.  It grew like no tall tale has ever done, and faster.  What I can speak to is what actually happened, what led to the picture that set eyes unfocused and the jaws of hardened men dangling in disbelief.

It started with a trip to Jo Ann's.  Row after row of fabric, all so common, so everyday.  She was about to give up hope for a fruitful trip when underneath some mundane roll of cotton a spark caught her eye.  In respect of her memory I'll forego describing it, failing to do it justice.  It spoke to her, Suu later said.  Divine, perhaps.  Demonic, possibly.  To hear her tell it, that is.  To the rest of us, it looked like a run of the mill psychological snap.  That day, she bought a few yards.  Nothing extravagant.

It disappeared.  Like that drink after the day from hell, like your favorite book, Suu devoured the cloth.  But there was no discernible product from her labor.  Someone asked her where it all went and she just glared and said she needed to get more.  She did get more.  And then more after that.  Yards and yards, days and weeks of work until finally she'd bought the place out.  We all hoped it would end after that last trip, but seeing her clutch those precious remaining yards we all should have known better.

The last time we all saw her it was the evening of some PD outing or another.  The way Luna and Richter talked, they had to drag her out of her place.  The whole night, I remember, she was just not there.  She was distracted and mumbling crazed talk about period garb, colors, stitches, authenticity.  We were being treated like distractions to her or, more appropriately, obstacles.  Somewhere in the revelry we lost her.  She must have gone home, we figured.

Her neighbors called the authorities after a few days of discomforting silence, both from her sewing machine and the music generally aimed in wrath at their apartment.  They had the landlord unlock the place, to a scene of beauty and horror both indescribable.  Everything was garbed.  Her pots and pans, the futon, a toothbrush.  The floor, a dresser.  Her spatula wore a gown that would bring envy from the haughtiest of queens.  Each piece, from the most ornate to the most elegantly simple, perfect but for one small spot on each.

What remained of Suu was a husk hunched before her beloved table.  Where her skin had been borrowed for her masterpiece, the fabled cloth replaced it.

[Luna]

...  damn ...

[Suu]

I couldn't ask for a better way to go.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Perfect!

[Suu]

Stealing as a note for the Facespace to creep out my friends.

[Eater of Clowns]

This Draft 2.  The first one died due to browser mishap.  It was the same gist but I liked the wording way better on the first version and I couldn't remember what exactly it was.

[Suu]

Always word process it, dude. ALWAYS.

[Richter]

[Eater of Clowns]

Always word process it, dude. ALWAYS.

You would think that with all the writing I've had ruined that way on this site that I would learn.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

 

[Suu]

I scared my parents by posting this on Facebook. 

[Richter]

Should we have seen this coming?

Hell, people always say that after a tragic death.  The fact is no one would have expected this.  The analytical part of my brain play Sherlock with the facts constantly, highlights her fascination with fabrics and sewing, her need to challenge herself with ever more elaborate projects, the exclusion of food or sleep, and the Catholic background perhaps justifying personal suffering and corporal mortification.  There may have been a certain amount of masochism there too, but I was never able to exclusively rule it out.  So much to consider...

Plainly put, no one thinking like a NORMAL human would have seen it coming, and I won't punish myself with superhuman expectations.  It's a bit beyond the point now.

Christ, even the TOILET was garbed.  It was a midget sized Landsknecht, and the bowl was the codpiece, distended beyond parody, and bespangled in a pattern cited in the Pope's excommunication orders.  Yes, calculus would have been required to plot those curves, and a sighting of the formulae scribbled on a torn notebook in the trash.

The whole scene was truly priceless.  I spoke with her parents and her University (also me own alma mater), and arranged to have as many of the pieces as possible displayed anonymously.  They sent our old faculty advisor over, who looked at it all obviously enthralled by the quality, but close to tears from the cost.  It would have to be displayed anonymously, of course.

The engineers and philosophy majors have their own failures.  Mathematics majors are almost required to.  Now the textile artists have their Van Gogh. 

[Suu]

o_O

[Richter]

....aaand there goes the envelope.

[Suu]

Nah. I'm just trying to see my toilet dressed in puff n' slash. That's all.