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Messages - Eater of Clowns

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91
Grandmother died last night.

Previous statement of not being around much still applies.

Terribly sorry, Cain.

93
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: You bastards
« on: May 22, 2014, 01:17:27 am »
MY TEETH HURT.

THEY NEED TO CHEW TO FEEL NORMAL AGAIN.

94
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: You bastards
« on: May 22, 2014, 01:16:37 am »

95
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: You bastards
« on: May 22, 2014, 01:15:38 am »

96
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: You bastards
« on: May 22, 2014, 01:14:12 am »

97
Quote
Lara wasn't just the indebted she was the payment, a life to be pulled apart by force and then becoming another Necronomicoin, so unlike my own made willingly, so much lovelier in origin and wretched in creation and valuable in tender.


Fantastic line.

I made my legion mangle it in the audio realm and they me this
http://panchronos.com/mp3/NecronomiTango.mp3

 :mittens:

98
If she'd come back to the room, the caretakers must have been in here just afterward to tidy up. It was much as we'd left it. The few items she'd brought with her remained in their places. Her blue hat lay across an unused pillow. I walked over to the far bed and sat on it, picking up the hat with its soft brim, fidgeting my hands around it. I placed it carefully back down.

I could leave. I could simply leave, pay the bill, and find the simplest ride back to Bogota. My family would be worried. The Necronomicoin was in the bank. Would it collect interest there? What kind of interest does something like that collect? Probably similar to the kinds of debt collectors that enforced it. I looked at the hat again. And the kinds of thieves it attracted.

Befriend the Thief. Beware the Debt Collector. I couldn't leave a friend to that thing I saw in the cave, and I would hardly be bewaring anything if I set about forgetting it. I had to find her; it was prophesized on a bathroom stall. I sighed and picked up the hat again and crumpled it. I laid down on the bed and rested the hat on my chest. I knew what I had to do the moment I opened the room door, and before that, when my bloodied and tired and shoeless self saw no trace of my companion in the tunnels below the earth. I had to find her because that was the only option. Nothing else would do. I closed my eyes.

When they opened again I was rolled onto my side and the hat was lying on the floor next to the bed. The shutters were still closed so I couln't tell what time it was. I shouldn't have slept I should be looking for Lara. I had to sleep; I wasn't thinking straight. I picked the hat back up again and put it on the pillow, now used. I stripped and made my way to the bathroom.

I haven't had a decent shower since I came to this country. Hot water was a major problem in Colombia. It didn't matter, here. My injured leg was propped up awkwardly to avoid ruining the bandaging that I had no replacement for and I needed to go. I slept to think properly, I showered so a cab driver might allow me to get into his car.

I barely knew Lara. A few days in stretched Necronomicoin time at most. The first thing she did when I confronted her back at the brewery was plan our trip to the Catedral de Sal. Ridding me of the burden of that currency couldn't have been a priority of hers unless it served a plan. Why would she go through the trouble to help a relative stranger? Lara had a plan and it was unfathomable to me. The shower was freezing one moment and then merely icey the next. It was impressive that so many places couldn't keep a beer cold in the country when the showers were such easy refrigerants. Still the water ran pink down the drain.

When it dawned on me the one standing foot nearly slipped on the wet ceramic tiles. Just before the nightmare in the Cathedral we'd stood at the base of the mountain, about to trespass into the park. I said something about the Museo de Oro. I felt like Archimedes, I wanted to run in the streets and scream Eureka!

I said I'd wanted to see the Museum of Gold, but we weren't breaking into that. Lara said, “That's next.” She wasn't in the Catedral, she wasn't in the room. She had a plan and whatever it was the next part of it was in the Museum of Gold, back in Bogota. I shut off the frigid water, shivered, and dried myself as quickly as I could. Some part of me, the pre-Necronomicion J., perhaps a part that was even encapsulated in one of the damn things, lamented my lack of fresh clothes as I dressed.

99
Quote
Lara wasn't just the indebted she was the payment, a life to be pulled apart by force and then becoming another Necronomicoin, so unlike my own made willingly, so much lovelier in origin and wretched in creation and valuable in tender.


Fantastic line.

Thanks. I get worried about overuse of purple prose, but I really do like to write it.

100
Oh that is chilling. Now is that the end of just Scollay Square or is that the end of the whole series?

101
I am so glad this is still happening.

With any luck it has a ways to go still. This last one took a distressing amount of time to do properly, but I think I like the result. I have a new schedule at work, the first time in five years that I have evenings free. There isn't a ton of time there, but with it I want to make writing a priority, and in writing make Necronomicoin a priority.  :)

102
I could not face the room. Passing thoughts and funny little fantasies have ways of working themselves around in my head until they become reality and the room was where I'd find Lara, safe, and the Debt Collector thrown far away on its search. She'd be there as bright as Zipaquira, as lovely as Cali, as cultured as Bogota, and it'd be like that day on the patio of the brewery when time kept itself in little uneven pockets.

The shoes pinched at the toe, just a little, but that was alright because as likely as finding Lara I could click my heels together and find myself back in Massachusetts. Necronomicoin would be a thing of Oz, left behind for the life I'd learned to treasure again, though I knew I wouldn't. People aren't made to see the familiar as wondrous, nor should they. Then how could the wondrous be so?

I came back to the central plaza. The day was coming into its own and the plaza with it. In the little park a father tossed a soccer ball to two boys while a pair of women talked on a nearby bench. A couple strolled aimlessly around the outside rim, looking into the shops and stopping in front of one every so often. I no longer fit among them.

Our hotel was on a little street not far from the plaza. It was a classic looking place, with solid dark woodwork framing the doorways and shutters that opened inward to the rooms. Inside a balcony connected the four rooms and common area, overlooking a small garden. The owners lived in a suite tucked away by the kitchen. I could hear them rustling about, working in the laundry room and shuffling papers around in the office. A hallway carpet splashed a strip of burgundy, the path to the room a glamorous arrival for Lara and I not so very long ago, two beautiful young people at their most natural.

The room was off to the right, here, steps away. I reached into my pocket and had a horrified moment of missing the weight and feel of the Necronomicoin, patting at my jeans until I remembered I was looking for the key. It was where I'd left it. I stood before the door, key raised, elbow at a right angle, my off hand flexing open and closed, open and closed absently.

This is the singular anxiety of a parent, distracted a moment in a shopping mall and turning back around and the child no longer there, a hope mixed with panic. They're just barely out of reach, haven't gone far, haven't gone far. This is time coming unfolded around me, back to its normal state, and my father and step-mother and our Colombian family just noticing, just now, that I haven't been gone for a few hours back at the Bogota Beer Company but for days, missing, a non-native speaker in an unfamiliar world, still to them a child. Always to them their child. I knew their terror then, with the key in my hand and the door so many possible worlds, all of them real until the lock clicked and the door crept open slowly on its hinge and the hallway light cast a beam that started thin and then widened across a room darkened by shutters blocking out the day.

I wasn't breathing. Lara was dead, Lara was captured, Lara wasn't just the indebted she was the payment, a life to be pulled apart by force and then becoming another Necronomicoin, so unlike my own made willingly, so much lovelier in origin and wretched in creation and valuable in tender. The door opened slowly. I stared a fixed spot on the floor, where the hall's light first touched the rug in the room, my arm still pushing the door but the door ajar as much as it could go.

I looked up, finally, and saw nothing. A pair of small beds and a shared nightstand with a darkened lamp, a tall bureau and an old tube televsion atop it, a mirror and an armoire and a desk and a chair and not Lara. Lara was gone.

103
I want to put one of those next to my couch, filled with gin.

 :lulz:

This is why greatness comes to you LMNO, because you are its harbinger.

104
All my best, Cain. My own memere's passing is still very recent in my mind. As much preparedness as we convince ourselves we had beforehand, the event itself remains a trying one.

105
I want to post a general Life of EoC update, just so I'm not only doing them when I'm venting about how shitty everything is.

I've been on a crest, the last few weeks. I'm in good shape, my social life is awesome and exhausting, and I'm producing, regularly, what I feel is some of the best writing I've ever done. I feel like I'm, finally, over the issues about my last relationship. This is a long awaited episode of mania, and as much as I dread the inevitable fade I find it hard not to enjoy what it's like to finally be functioning at my peak again. I feel expansive.

That'll be all, for some time.

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