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Topics - Sister Fracture

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.

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.
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.

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.
"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.


A frightened Tucsonite, taking a big chance by attracting attention to herself, and begging pointlessly to the God-city for mercy.
RPG Ghetto / CONFUSION! :argh!:
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?
Literate Chaotic / Very Short Story (1)
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.
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / ATTN CUDDLYFISTER
February 11, 2011, 10:12:49 PM

Love and kisses,
Sister Fracture.

February 10, 2011, 09:04:13 PM

Cake mix (any you prefer)
Pie filling (any you prefer)
Cake Icing (any you prefer)

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.
Quote from: Lord Glittersnatch on February 09, 2011, 03:44:53 AM
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on February 08, 2011, 09:09:42 PM
Quote from: ataraxia on October 08, 2005, 01:31:42 AM
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.)


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.
Quote from: Sister Fracture on February 09, 2011, 04:18:24 AM
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?
Literate Chaotic / Like a red-headed step-child
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.
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?
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / HAY ROGER
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.
RPG Ghetto / Hypothetical questions ITT, answers needed.
February 04, 2011, 08:32:42 PM
Okay. Let's say I have a Lawful Good (for the most part) party of four 7th level characters. One of these characters in particular is a beatstick at heart, and will fucking anything, because he doesn't afraid of anything. now, he's obviously going to attack the very evil guy, who then teleports away. Does the party get any XP, or just a little bit, or what?

Also, how much NPC nerfing is too much? How much treasure weeding (taking out stuff you don't want in your campaign) is too much? What sort of gear should the party have between 6th and 8th level?
"You know that feeling when the truss lets go, and all the horrible drops down one side of your pants?"
      - The Good Reverend Roger, describing the effects of a fine July day in Tucson.

The sun, while not truly good or evil is, in the Holy Land, a Holy Thing.  

In the Time of Great Heat, Tucsonites hide from its burning gaze during the day, fearful of a slow, painful death from melanoma, at night enjoying the cooler (but still hot) air. In the Time of Dry, Cracked Lips we seek the sun's feeble rays before the temperature begins to plummet at sunset.  

Like a god, we love, hate, fear, and ignore the sun, hoping against hope that if we don't bother it, it won't bother us.  This is not to say that it isn't ruthless and uncaring, because it is.  Its victims are random, could be anyone at any time.  In this way, too, it is most Stinking High Holy.  Only a foreigner would think to try and defend themselves from its holiness.

That's another thing. People from all over the world chase the sun into our parts.  Sometimes they do not understand why. Nobody quite does.

It calls to many people to do many things. To Tucsonites, it calls us away from the Holy Land, but we cannot heed its call, for the Call of the City is far stronger, and the dangers of disobeying far more hazardous.  How do you think Davidson Canyon, out by I-10, was formed?  Various impact craters, correct.

It is important to note that the sun doesn't necessarily notice Tucson. However, that's like saying most people don't necessarily notice the homeless--keep walking, don't stop, if they ask for some spare change give them a glare to send them running.

Or something like that.
Shit is too easy for you. You have not one, but TWO damage monkeys in the party, not counting the rogue when she gets sneak attacks. How the fuck am I supposed to challenge you when you can kill the boss in a single round?

Or Kill Me / An observation. (1)
January 24, 2011, 10:29:05 PM
People come, and people go,
and people always seem to know
that they are empty.

How many people that you've met (and knew well) do you remember? It's always your best friends, or people you hated most passionately, that you clearly remember. But then again, don't you remember the people who didn't really stand out, too? But not all of them. Oh, definitely not. A handful, and fewer as you go back, but them you remember, you know you always will.

I have a guess for this. My guess is because they were more vibrant in some way (even the ones who didn't stand out, because they did, didn't they? You wouldn't remember them, otherwise.), more full of life, more full of... something. My personal philosophy is that these people had souls, and the others didn't.

See, my explanation is, some people who just seem more there have to have a little something extra inside them, otherwise they would be as unremarkable and empty as everyone else. Something that is neither inherently good or bad, just, just more there. I have known a few.

Natalie Hollenbeck: She was my best friend from preschool all the way through 5th grade, when the pecking order established her too high up to safely acknowledge me anymore. She had brown hair, brown eyes, very pretty, born prematurely. Her mom was a kindergarten teacher (mine, in fact). I don't know what happened to her after 5th grade, she was, as I said, in a higher order than my own. But how can I remember her, and some of our adventures together, when I can't remember most of the others I played with just as often, not their names or faces, nothing? She was just more there.

I know a few people I suspect of having a soul. I am not among them. I know better, see. Sometimes I feel like I have one, but it's mostly when I'm in the presence of people who have that little something extra, and when the City is presenting us with entertainment and adventure. I feel more like a mirror, I guess, showing whatever is to be seen, empty (except for the furniture) when there is naught.

I believe I don't have a soul, and probably will probably cease to exist when I die. But then again, I hope to die in a very exciting way, when I feel like I have a soul, because they gotta go somewhere when they die, and there might be a slight mix up, and I'll be able to sneak in for a bit. I hope when I die, I have time enough to give a good word for the people I think, hope have real souls, because the ones I know now are the only reason I didn't stay at the bottom of that well I was in, not so long ago.

And now if you'll excuse me, I feel so filthily emo I have to go flense myself.
Or Kill Me / Another Rant
January 24, 2011, 09:43:43 PM
Cherished Memories or I get why some people go nuts with home videos, now.

What's your most cherished memory? Pick one, go on. I'll wait. Got one? Okay. What do you remember about it? Not a lot, I'll bet, not in any tactile way, particularly if it's been a while since you've done something similar. Oh sure, you know it happened or was real, but the weight of it, anything that made it seem more substantial, is gone now, or near gone.

Do you remember the exact flavor of your favorite dish the first time you had it? I bet you don't if you haven't had it the same way again. Do you remember how soft your now-dead first dog/cat/other pet's whatever was? The precise sounds they made? The way they smelled?

I bet you don't. I bet you can't remember the smell of your first lover, how they felt snuggled up against you, the way they looked at you, the words they said to you that made the world seem okay. And you won't, ever again, if you're even the least bit lucky, because God help you if you get even the slightest reminder but have no way of knowing if you'll ever get that feeling again.

Of course, the first few tears might seem like a relief, having only offered and experienced surface emotion for fuck knows how long, at least where no one else could see, and you can't remember the last time you felt so human, having been an automaton to keep people thinking you're "okay" and "like you used to be." Everyone knows that everyone feels things, but don't show it too much, because nobody wants to hang around with someone who thinks it's a natural thing to do.

Look here, you. I have something to say about this. It SUCKS. Big time. But you know what? It's not as though there's no point to living, because while you're having fun, while you're really LIVING, you have your soul in hand. That's more than most people can say. So don't be passive, waiting for opportune moments to just show up on your doorstep. That'll just leave you with fewer memories, and all degraded past the point that you just know it happened.
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / ATTN SQUIDDAY!
January 23, 2011, 10:02:56 PM
I feel like I broke my ass, and have just over an hour to make all the foods ready for monkey's birthday party, but I just wanted to say


You know I love me some soap! :D <3

Someone's got a shiny new button! :fap:

Baaaaw, need to get my ears pierced! They are SO GODDAMN PRETTY!

Lol wut iz dis? I love how adorably small it is (and I did spot "Alice's Tea Party" on it. :D )
Pick me up some slave toy boys on your way home, will you? We've run out again. I know my tastes run towards the small, emo, and/or hipster, but see if you can find a few sturdy ones. There's probably some at the meatrack tonight, come to think of it.
Aneristic Illusions / Congressman Holt Letter
November 25, 2010, 08:08:40 AM


The pessimist in me all but accidentally the whole thing under the strain of this, but the above letter, even if I've misguidedly misinterpreted it and it doesn't really say "Hey, jackass, get your shit together, these people are figuring things out!" the above letter will let me sleep a little bit tonight.

Time for an equation, boys and girls.

If Rich is to Has as Poor is to Can't Has and Money is equal to or greater than Justice, where do you see yourself in five years? (Don't say doin' your wife. :horrormirth: )
Or Kill Me / A rant. (1)
November 23, 2010, 03:55:50 AM
So the world is full of injustice, the universe isn't fair. "Life's hard, wear a hat," amirite? Well, so what?

Fuck you, in the ass, with something hard, sandpapery,dipped in ghost chile seeds, covered in BP oil and set on fire, that's what.

What, is that too harsh? What are you going to do about it? As far as I can tell, you're just going to sit there and WHINE like a little girl. A spoiled, rotten brat-fucker who needs a goddamn punch in the twat. It's what (as far as I can tell) we've been trained to do. "Oh, you don't like this? Well, if you complain enough, maybe things will change!"

Things don't have to be fair, but I see no reason to just let the universe shit on my life. Or anyone else's. No, we do that to ourselves. But it's reasonable to think that maybe, just maybe, it's up to us to dole out a bit of justice (or injustice) from time to time.

So I say again, fuck you. What are you going to do about it?

I'll tell you what I'M going to do about it. I'm going to make as many people as miserable as I can. I'm going to rip away their precious warm blanket preconcieved notions, and fuck them with The Emasculator while they watch, tied up and naked, and then set it aflame. I am going to insert my "Justice" inside their "entitlement complexes." I AM GOING TO LOSE FUCKING MY SHIT, FOR I AM TUCSON, MOST HOLY AND WRETCHED.

May Tucson smile upon your smoking, greasy remains.
Literate Chaotic / A Parable (2)
November 21, 2010, 01:18:28 AM
The Tale of Shitneck M

Shitneck M was a popular girl, sort of.  In her days, "popular" meant "skinny bitch competing with other skinny bitches to not get eaten by the other skinny bitch peers."  She was a selfish little thing, with a troubled family history, and all she wanted was attention.

One day, she went to a party with a friend of an acquaintence.  All the kids were drinking.  Do you want some, she was asked. She spotted her friend happily gulping down a cup of spiked punch.   "Sure!" she replied. This will get me attention, she thought, and she chugged that punch like a champ. 

One of the guys grabbed her hand and dragged her upstairs. She had seen her friend gallumphing merrily up the stairs with another such boy, so she didn't resist. Shitneck M and the boy fooled around. Hah, she thought, this will SURELY get me some attention.

She espied a jewelry box, such as an upper middle class wish-I-was housewife might own. Inside it she found various necklaces, rings, and other shiny things.  She took out the most expensive looking ring and necklace, put them on, and paraded around the stranger's house, inviting people to gaze upon what she had found.  If this doesn't ge me the attention I deserve, she thought, I don't know what will.

Outside, someone yelled.  Red and blue lights flashed through the windows.  There was a scramble; no one wanted to get caught.  Shitneck M spun around and around in a panic, wondering which way to go, and where her "friend" was - that was her ride home. 

At the last second, she darted out through the back door, but it was too late. She was busted for underage drinking and for theft - many of the people she had shown her prizes to affirmed that she admitted to doing the deed.  This, along with her poor school record, encouraged the judge to throw the book at her.

---Years Later---

Shitneck M was working the pole at Fisherman's Reef when someone called to her. It was that old, old friend who she had never seen again after that day. "Hey, I remember you!", the friend exclaimed..
Shitneck M started to feel... uncomfortable. She had lost the capacity for shame and embarrassment a long time ago, but remembering that night and the path it had eventually put her on - in and out of jail (what a wretched place it was, but there was people to talk to), drinking every night (just to stop thinking, she could stop any time she wanted), her family having lost all patience and rope ends - made her feel something similar. She stomped on those feelings. She was getting attention every night she worked, wasn't she?

"Yeah, hey, how've you been?" "Oh, you know. Drinking every night (that stuff is so good, I could drink it forever!), in and out of jail (people have no sense of humor!). I don't talk to my family much anymore because I dance, too. I always wanted to be a professional dancer, lie they have in Vegas, but my parents didn't like that too much, so we don't talk much anymore," she confided.  "All in all, I've been happy as a clam! How have you been?"

Shitneck M looked back at the things she had done. "Oh," she said weakly, "pretty much the same. Pretty much."

Linked for bigness.
Literate Chaotic / A poem (1)
November 20, 2010, 04:15:52 PM
Once I couldn't find my shoe,
I only had the one.
So what I did was shove it up your ass.
I fucking hate you.
Or Kill Me / Fearful. >:/
November 20, 2010, 08:07:29 AM
The City was calling me. It's still calling me. I resisted for a while, but I broke down. Everyone does, in the end. I broke down, but I didn't go. I couldn't. I knew better.

I couldn't stand the pacing in the hall, the racing in my chest. A bad night to be indoors. So I grabbed something warm and shoes and keys and went out and sat in the old, broken woman, but something was amiss. I put the key in the ignition, turned it to Accessory, and felt the Watching. You know the feeling.

I looked round, and at first saw no one. Then I saw- it was lurking, trying to hide. I saw it again, this time in less light. It blinked. It was a shape, sort of like people, but misshapen, wrong. Reddish shadow where it shouldn't be. The City, localized. It watched. Waited.

What could I do? I'm not lucky enough to test when the City comes to call.
Literate Chaotic / A Parable (1)
November 20, 2010, 07:31:19 AM
TGRR and The Calvinist

"Hey. Help me get my boot out of this toilet."

Reverend Bill looked up from washing his hands to find a large, bald man with an aggressive mustache leering at him. "Pardon me?" he said faintly. This man, he thought to himself, was most certainly A Sinner.

"I said, help me get my boot out of this toilet. It offended me, so I kicked it, and now it's stuck."

Reverend Bill dithered while attempting to sneer at the man. It was harder than normal. The  man really WAS very big... "It offended you? How on earth could it do that?" The man was insane. Clearly not one of God's chosen.

"Well, it wasn't a toilet when I got here. It was the fountain of youth, cleverly disguised as a toilet. And then she told me that there was no such thing as the fountain of youth, and to just 'flush the damn thing already, and to stop eating that fucking peyote all the time or fucking share', which is ridiculous, beacuse why does a fountain of youth disguised as a toilet NEED cactus anyway?" And then the man giggled. It was a sound that made the hair on the back of the man's neck stand up.

Now, Reverend Bill was a Good Christian. He had always believed the right things, and told other people to believe the right things as well, because they would Burn In Hell if they didn't, just like his father, and just like his father's father. But this man... This man was not really a man, but a demon. He was sent by The Devil to test him. Yes.

A sound came from behind the large man. It sounded like the voice of a woman at the other end of a phonecall. "Well, I could think of a few good reasons why a toilet would want to trip balls, but seriously, Roger, FUCKING SHARE next time. Greedy ass bastard."

"HAH!" Roared the man, apparently called "Roger," and he spun around and strode to a stall. The Reverend just now noticed that one of his boots was indeed off, and there was a growing puddle on the floor. "YOU'RE JUST TRYING TO MESS WITH ME AREN'T YOU? I SWEAR, HOLY MEN TEE EM GET NO RESPECT, NONE AT ALL!" And then he laughed.

While the man named Roger was busy shouting, Bill thought it best to sneak away. Watching for signs of Roger turning his attention back to him, Reverend Bill ran full force into the paper towel dispensor, giving his arm a good knock. It went numb, but Bill just ran toward the door.

Out in the parking lot, Bill tried to catch his breath. It was difficult. He supposed he ought to try and eat better, the wife had been mentioning how much weight he'd been putting on. Feeling was coming back into his arm, but it was pins and needles, and spreading to his shoulder. His breath wouldn't come, either. He panted, and tried to shake off the pain in his arm, when God showed up and started tromping on his heart. He had a brief flash of insight as the pain mounted - there wasn't a lot he could look back on and call --