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Topics - Sister Fracture

Pages: [1] 2
1
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / An observation. (2)
« on: February 23, 2012, 09:48:52 pm »
If one doesn't drive north of Lambert, east of Pantano, west of I-10, or south of Barrazo-Aviation highway/Broadway or Speedway, one doesn't really understand how close to the essence of Tucson the inhabited portions of The City are.  The Fearful are too busy ignoring their lot, being messy, being normal, being human.  The City's truth gets covered by what might laughingly be called 'civilization.' 

These things, ideas, of being normal, being civilized, they are imaginary in the face of Tucson.  Even inside the perimeter outlined here, Tucson shows through the cracks in humanity. 

During off traffic hours, one might think that the city has been abandoned. Empty roads, cracked and decaying, emanate sullenness and quiet horror, especially when the marks of the sausage creature are present.  Some great travesty might have taken place, robbing thousands of their lives.  Truly, such is the state of being in The Hive sections, very nearly literally.

The very houses themselves look as though they have lost all hope.  Shabby and slumping, they sit dark and gloomy.  The feeling is often magnified when the people who own the things inside the houses come and go, or play in the street with the other children of adults who own the things in the other houses.  The weeds choking these yards give a quaint touch of despondency.  I cannot call them homes.  The Fearful have no homes, because their life in Tucson is only ever temporary.  "Houses," they call their domiciles.  Never "home."  Never home.


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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / An Observation.
« on: September 15, 2011, 10:39:22 pm »
The season of Bake and Boil, which runs from WTF It Was Cold Yesterday (February for those of you in wonky, non-holy areas) to O Tucson It Is Hot, Is It My Turn To Shoot You Or Am I The One Getting Shot Today (late August, mid September, even as late as early October) has come to an end, but our normal season following that, Burn and Haze, hasn't begun.  In fact, the strange amount of rain that we've had (are still having, someone send Pixie some chocolates), pretty much assures us that there won't be one, either.  This leaves the inhabitants of our God-City feeling anxious and uncertain, if vastly more comfortable. 

You see, Burn and Haze serves a very important purpose.  When the weather turns nice after Bake and Boil ends, people are more apt to go do stuff like camping and hiking.  However, this is dangerous, since any exposure to the wild parts of Tucson result in a powerful urge to wander emanating from the land itself.  Most people who've already gone that far out of the city already can't resist such an alluring call, and so they disappear, feeding Tucson and making it stronger.  Burn and Haze prevents these doomed excursions by activating some survival instinct in certain people who are more, umm, malleable and are prone to silly acts.  These people suddenly decide it would be a good idea to go camping, usually up Mt Lemmon or out Tombstone's way, get out for the weekend, have barbecques, get some friends together, yeah it'll be awesome!  And one thing that is a camping staple anywhere is the campfire.  The unprotected and unwatched campfire is the ritual that summons Burn and Haze itself by setting the entire county on fire, surviving the ritual is optional, and after this point it is too dangerous to go [alone, take this!] out there, and Tucson remains in a perpetually weakened state once again.

But there is more danger than just Burn and Haze not beginning as planned.  The wilderness has actually infiltrated the city proper with all the rain.  The winds smell not of heat and bile, as during Bake and Boil, nor do they smell of smoke and death.  The wind smells like green, green growing things.  The panorama doesn't make one say "Fuck that, it even looks too hot," and isn't covered in smoke.  Everywhere you look, inviting plants (I think it's called "grass") and flowers and bushes cover every square inch of soil that is poisoned with hate.  This City is more dangerous than ever, because it is falsely alluring, begging everyone, even the prodigal meth heads, to ravish its unexplored places, to run forever down forgotten roads, to laugh alone in the bright sunshine in the wide expanse and hear what it's like to speak into a void, to see the marvels that only exist in the pure and undefiled places. 

And therein lies our danger.  To follow this age-old call is to be destroyed utterly, for rare is the return from a spontaneous, ill planned venture into a God who is also our Enemy.

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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / A sermon.
« on: August 13, 2011, 06:48:12 am »
When there comes to be a soothing light at the end of your tunnel, it's just a freight train coming your way.
            - "No Leaf Clover,"  Metallica


My brothers and sisters Fearful, I come to you today to speak the word, the truth depressing, of our God-City, baking hell Tucson.  Among the truths there are, there are none quite as noticeable as the City's desire to cause us grief. 

We are born in the mouth of a great tunnel lying under a mountain.  Our journey through life is ever in darkness, a plodding monotony.  Throughout the great tunnels there are miles and miles of train tracks, and there is no other thing to follow, nor any other place to walk.  We know that one day the train will come bearing down the tracks, and we will not be able to jump aside.  But I am getting ahead of myself...

We walk the tunnels, mostly alone, along our own personal tracks to Hell.  Sometimes we glimpse a light, but it is usually turning down some other path, bound for some other poor bastard, and we may quietly praise Tucson's fickleness and our own insignificance.  But there is hope, you hear in distant echoes.  There is an end to your tunnel.

So during your travels, your non-metaphorical self attains your heart's deepest desire - stability, love, even a future doing something you WANT to do.  You begin to think that maybe you won't become a thin paste on a pair of tracks that you never should have gone down.  There are stories of people making it all the way to the end, after all.

And then, in your private world, you see the most beautiful light you've ever seen, and it's bright glare is a welcoming beacon.  You move faster, more confidently toward it.

In the real world you also gain confidence - confidence that this wonderful thing is really happening, it's really happening!  Things are moving so quickly, and there is no time at all for them to fall apart so that nothing can be salvaged.


And then:

woo woooooooo


Did you really hear it, or was it just something you imagined?
Why are you suddenly having a bad feeling?  How silly! 

You have available to you at this point two options.  Number one is that you run towards the light.  Hey, that might still be an out, who said these tracks are one way, right?  That train might be behind you, not in front.  Number two is to feel doubt about your course, whatever it is.  You can't ever, ever go back though.  You can never go back.

I'll let you know now, option two just leads you away from your current path to a different path without your heart's desire on it.

Let's say you take the first choice.  You run and run and run.

You continue your pursuit of happiness, and everything is fantastic.

That light is staying quite far off in the distance.  You were just hearing things.  El oh el!





wooo woooo

And suddenly you are two hundred feet from the light, charging right at it while it charges right at you.  There is no way out, there is no time to fix anything.  You can scream as defiantly as you want, but that won't stop that soothing light from being a thousand ton train bearing down on you at full speed and then you finally realize it was all a huge LIE, there was never any true hope to be had and

Your life is in shambles because you bet on good luck to help you through bet it all on wishful thinking bet it all on some kind of reality where fairness means something and you are well and truly fucked now and there's nothing to be done except

you get splattered along the old train track cover up the old puddles of blood because that's what greases the wheels is your own lifeblood and

weep in confusion and sense a great loss the things that could have been should have been might have been it doesn't matter anymore, nothing matters anymore, because it's your turn for Tucson to bat you out of the park.


Now, you can say anything you like about Metallica.  I myself am not a huge fan.  But my brothers and sisters, James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich knew a long time ago what the score was, and for that I respect them.

4
I hear them, and I sense what it is.  It's the call of Tucson, the sirens of the desert, they are calling to me.  For the moment, I'm safe.  But I know what they want, and I can't go through with it. 

To explain to the best of my abilities to non-Tucsonites, the call stirs a particular feeling or urge in the prey's mind or heart.  The "Siren's Harmony," it's called.  It aids the song of Tucson in luring its children out into the wastes, to consume them, body (if they're lucky) and soul. 

Every time a Harmony begins, it is a soft refrain.  The target hears the beginnings of discontent.  The music swells slightly, and the damned hear the gist of their "quest."  The song eventually builds to a cacophony of jangling, tumultuous nerves and instincts screaming to follow the call, whatever it may be, wherever it may lead, and damned be to anyone standing in the way.  Denying the call for too long ends in madness or a kind of death in one's head.

Tucson the God-City, as has been intimated before, wants only to bring harm and hell to everyone it touches, even briefly.  Pleasure soiled, love tainted, hearts, lives, souls all lying broken in the street; these are what Tucson wants, and Tucson will have them.  And the more you kick and scream, the harder the end will be for you.

So yes, I hear a gentle swell in the music, ever present to The Fearful, and I hear what my god wants.



My god wants to see me run.



He wants to play a game.


5
I awoke to find my knees resting in dirty clothes pile (mostly just worn a few hours and cast off after a sweaty day), my mind saying to represent the filth of the City Most Holy, with not a little satisfaction.  Hands came together, steepled; they rose above my head, back arching in a supplicating posture.  Spare the little one, the thought said.  The waist bent, and my forhead was pressed into a clothing strewn floor. Spare him, please.  Supplicate, genuflect, beg/pray.  Supplicate, genuflect, beg/pray. 

I regained control (I believe the City made the imperative too strong to resist), and returned to bed.  I am afraid I'll never see him again, alive or dead.

6
"I remember what I said, those months ago.  I didn't realize you would take it so seriously, I was only joking.  

I know you're taking me, and soon, too.  Can't you just let up a little bit between now and then?  I need to see that look on a face when they look at me, I need to hear that tone, those words, leave a pair of lips when they speak to me.  I would throw almost anyone under the bus that you drive, almost anyone.  Just leave him, and the little one, and her, and theirs, leave them out of it as well. Leave them for the time it takes, and it will be such a short time.  There are so many others you can focus on, and your reach is long and cruel.  I dream of what you'll do when you find them. And you'll find them all, one day at a time, and with all the time to find them in.  But please, it's just such a short time, grant me this last little mercy.

Please."

A frightened Tucsonite, taking a big chance by attracting attention to herself, and begging pointlessly to the God-city for mercy.

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RPG Ghetto / CONFUSION! :argh!:
« on: February 23, 2011, 09:41:08 pm »
Okay, let's say a creature has a natural claw attack, and then takes cleric levels. The domain (or domains) in question have touch attack abilities. Do the touch attacks provoke attacks of opportunity, or, since the claw attack is a part of the creature, does it effectively have Improved Unarmed Strike?

Also, and I think the answer may be "no," does the touch attack ability and the claw attack stack/can be rolled at the same time/whatever?

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Literate Chaotic / Very Short Story (1)
« on: February 12, 2011, 03:31:05 pm »
I had had enough.  Tears of anger rolled down my cheeks as I pointed at her and said "No, FUCK you!"  I turned around and walked away.  It hurt too much to stay, and she had everything I ever wanted.

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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / ATTN CUDDLYFISTER
« on: February 11, 2011, 10:12:49 pm »
I WILL FUCKING YOUR SHIT. YOU KNOW THIS IS TRUE.


Love and kisses,
Sister Fracture.

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CALL ME IF YOU DARE, YOU WHORE!

(520)240-3965

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Discordian Recipes / MOTHER FUCKING PIECAKE OMG
« on: February 10, 2011, 09:04:13 pm »
Ingredients:

Cake mix (any you prefer)
Pie filling (any you prefer)
Cake Icing (any you prefer)
Flour
sugar
water/juice
eggs
butter


Step 1: Make the pie crust. Let it sit in the fridge an hour or two.

Step 2: Mix up the cake mix.

Step 3: Choose your pie/cake pan, roll out the crust dough, and do whatchulike, maybe saving a bit of dough to put a criss cross thingy on top.

Sometimes I bite.

Step 4: Pour in the cake batter, don't fill the crust more than 2/3 of the way.

Step 5: Bake at 10 degrees (F) higher than the cake box says, until sticking a toothpick in and drawing it out reveals it clean.

Step 5: Let piecake cool completely. Put in fridge a few hours.

Step 6: Top with icing.

Step 7: Top with pie filling.

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Follow-up to my other rant. Here's the bad guys as I see them. My plan at the bottom.

Fnordie/Machine Grind Dream/who-knows-which-others: Crapflooder. Sometimes worthwhile to read, but with such an incredible post rate, it's no wonder the hit rate is so low. I think his quality has gone down recently, too. I used to like him.

TGRR: An ancient wise guy gone bad. Apparently always misanthropic, but used to produce enough good stuff to offset it. Seems like nobody has the heart (or guts?) to tell him off, so we just tiptoe around him. We're like a "battered woman" to his "abusive husband".

East Coast Hustle (In case he comes back from his trip sometime): Kinda like Roger, but without the redeeming qualities.  At least his post rate isn't quite so high as fnordie's.

...

I'm calling on the rest of you to join Bella, myself, and probably a few more posters in just plain ostracizing these people. Since we apparently can't just ban them, let's try and get them to become bored and leave.

And feel free to add your own nominations to the list. After all, it's not like somebody has to ratify the list or anything. (Obviously, posts to this thread by any of the bad guys will be ignored just as any of their other posts will. Don't waste your time.)

HAW HAW

Goddammit I just got a book in the mail. Now Im going to have sift through all this ancient butthurt before I can start reading it.
Maybe if we ask nicely, and then threaten with whips, chains, and 3-horsepower motors, we'll get a history lesson.

How about it, oldsters? Can we get a history lesson?

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Literate Chaotic / Like a red-headed step-child
« on: February 09, 2011, 12:32:19 am »
We all have our own personal terrors.  Some we let out in the backyard, so it doesn't fuck up the house.  Some we keep locked in the basement, until protective services comes and rectifies the situation.

Mine?  Oh, well, it's silly, really.  I don't even want to mention.  No really.

Well, I guess a vague idea woudn't hurt.  What I'm really most afraid of is you finding out how much I care.

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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Where'd Everybody Go?
« on: February 08, 2011, 09:20:33 pm »
It first happened a long time ago.  My family, my friends, I hung on to all of them.  But then the winds picked up, and then it started howling, and I was lifted off my feet. 

"Hey, hey, hold on to me, okay?" But my grip slipped, or their hands were too full. A few of them just disappeared forever.

I landed in the doldrums.  I stayed there for a long time, but not very many people came along to hold me down again.  There was too much distance between me and my family, and that never got fixed.  Eventually, I found a couple of people who let me cling to them.  Then the wind started to pick up again.

"Hey, hey, hold on to me, okay?"  But they decided they couldn't handle the winds, or things happened and nobody knew where the years went, and when the winds blew themselves out, I was down to just one.

I didn't stay in the doldrums for long this time.  Even if it isn't windy, you're still lost, you know?  Before very long, I had myself two lover-boys, one right after another.  It was too breezy for the first one, and the second one was couldn't bend and twist, which hurt after a while. I lost not just them, but through them everyone else that had come with them, or had had before, to anchor me whenever the gales whistled.

But it was sunny sometimes, so that wasn't too bad.  And I came to hold on to other people.  People who had more wind than I did.

"Hey, hey, hold on to me, okay?" I didn't want to let them go, because everyone needs a good handhold in a storm, right?

Just hold on, okay?

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The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / HAY ROGER
« on: February 05, 2011, 08:37:05 pm »
I'm gonna accidentally the Indian food Monday. Tuesday at the latest.

This is, in fact, the whole thing.

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