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Messages - Sister Fracture

OMG I love hugs so much.  I HUG YUO BAKC.
Nigel, shitty week is shitty.  :(  I feel for you.

Having another emotional/mental breakdown. This is probably the fourth I've had in two months.  I just can't even anymore.  I'm so disgusted with myself (which, admittedly, doesn't help matters).  Whatever.  Who even cares.  Shut the fuck up, me.
Good day, my Fearful children.  I have apparently forgotten the password to my regular account, so I am here to be all spiritual and shit until Tucson's shadow washes over me.  Again.
One can never be holy enough.
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.

Sometimes not even tears.  Just a spiraling loss of what is real and what is fiction.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on February 23, 2012, 09:41:45 PM
Quote from: Sister Fracture on February 23, 2012, 09:40:06 PM
We're all out of bullets, thanks to TGRR's binge.  He took the Bisleys too, on his quest for Curly, damn him. 

I would never suggest against health insurance when it comes to Tucson.
HIS binge?

:lol:  So Enabler and I helped.  Big deal.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on February 23, 2012, 09:39:46 PM
Quote from: Queen Gogira Pennyworth, BSW on February 23, 2012, 09:12:27 PM
I smell "Book of Tuscon"

Careful, mister.

There has been a call for this, it's true.

I would posit, though, that it be relegated to restricted access until the would-be reader has proven that he has access to large quantities of medication.  There aren't really that many light-hearted Tucson writings.
We're all out of bullets, thanks to TGRR's binge.  He took the Bisleys too, on his quest for Curly, damn him. 

I would never suggest against health insurance when it comes to Tucson. 
"Oh my god.

Oh my god, will you just SHUT     THE HELL       UP.

I can't fucking take this shit, not today.  SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.



An informal prayer to The City's sirens.
We've been talking for ages about getting the Tucson works all put together, haven't we?

In any case, I nominate much of my Fracture stuff, if you would use it, with copyright leanings.  However, if you want to ask me to use my things, you'll have to PM my Freeky account or just ask out in the open.  I hardly ever use this one.
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / An Observation.
September 15, 2011, 11:39:22 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.
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / A sermon.
August 13, 2011, 07:48:12 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.
Quote from: Your Mom on June 11, 2011, 06:49:57 AM

If I might ask, at some point might all the Tucson mythology be collected into a single repository? It's developing into something mighty big. And scary.

Will definitely try.