Sure, lol, Kalique just spoiled their personal party.
Was this Jesus? I can’t believe it’s not Jesus, so it is Jesus. Were you not bound, bloodied, and wearing a crown of thorns?
If he flunked Mariology, would coach get him out of hot water? Are you there, Jesus? It’s me, Margaret. It’s me, Margarine. I can’t believe it’s not Jesus. All Gay, I Dream About Sects, Yes All Gay, I Dream About Sachs, Saks Fifth Avenue, Mr. Saxobeat by Alexandra Stan, and, not to mention it, but… fucking.
It wasn’t until he was out of football, away from the church, that he’d be on his knees groaning for a facial of cum, coating the brown bristles of his goatee white with the unholy spirit.
And you, great ape, with all your pain and pressure , could not understand or find the time to lengthily sympathise with a guy like me.
Seven Dolors for Mary, she who took on suffering so that we must not suffer, she who reveals that we must not waste these lives that God has given to us by wallowing in our pain and our own self-pity, and yet I manage to find so many more ways to be doloroso than seven.
I snivel for my own damaged collagen, my cysts and scars, my flawed complexion, my perennial farmer’s tan, my sun-damaged nose, my breakouts of cold sores, my acne and seborrheic derma-titus, my blepharitis, my unattended moles and skin tags, my wrinkles, the grey in my beard, my stringy, scanty fur, my astigmatism and nearsightedness. I ululate inside about my Potemkin village of a childhood, which in retrospect was about four makers of spoons, none which which knew how to craft a spoon or much of anything, waiting around for a rich old farmer and his wife to die. I thusly ululate over the silverback nature of those who must claim victory over a human by rearing up like silverbacks. A silverback does not care for a human that tries to get ahead. A silverback simply sits on it and eats its lunch. The patriarch has the patriarch’s favourite, the most alpha and heterosexual of its progeny, and there will be no consequences for the winners, for a gorilla has ten toes and an opposable big toe. Most shalt never know, or care, about the difference. If they were to detect even so much as the broader strokes of the differential, they would forgive it, and the troop would continue, unabated.
For you can work harder, work harder they say. Work harder, not smarter.
You must be set back into your place, pipsqueak, to know your place, and once detained and sent there, you must be told that you are meant to be running the race to bump off that lion, and why have you not done so yet, pipsqueak? You worthless and naughty pipsqueak! Were you ever a member of the pipsqueak club, those perpetually dramatic, malcontented girls who would swarm down through the halls of padlocked lockers like a tempest? Ripping each other’s hair out and attacking with their fingernails as they scream-squealed, you just leaned in closer to your locker. No, you didn’t even bother to learn the names of the girls in the club, did you?
The pipsqueak club had nicknames, and surnames, formal first names and abbreviated names of endearment, and you can’t remember a one of those names, can you? Michelle is always a safe bet, but is it a Michele with one L or two? Perhaps a Nichole or a Nicholle? You need two capital Ls to spell H-E Double Hockey Sticks. The shape of an L on his forehead and laughter as your cousin tears by, speeding off in his car with laughter, past the basement you were living in for two years, offering your assisted living services to two men in the community via a non-profit organisation.
It is verifiably.false, the antiquated notion that in order for there to be winners, there must be losers. Oprah’s studio audience knows, but let us not forget the stay-at-home audience and the global poor. Can we treat a planet of billions to ice cream?
But back to your lamentations, putrid pipsqueak, o ye, of little faith. For it’s your self-pity party, and you can cry if you want to, just like you were bummed out when a stuffed kangaroo arrived for your birthday instead of a real one. You wanted to see that strange offspring of a land mammal wriggle down into that pouch, grow up securely in it, and hop around your father’s backyard. He’d been a landscaper, and you had too, pipsqueak, for a much briefer while. You never did learn as much about the black pruning seal he sprayed on trees struck by lightning or plowed into by some neighbour kid on his bike, or the Plant Doctor fertilizer he’d put in a plastic cup on a stake, to which he attached the garden hose so that the nitrogen and nutrition could gradually be dispersed to the ground.
Your encrusting eye weeps for itself, just like you weep for whatever rot it is upon your upper back, the result of rarely showering, a reminder of your many personal failures. You, and, and he are all the same matter, pipsqueak, part of Gawd’s creation, part of the macromolecular make and model of the universe, and so the structural lines set aside are all just labyrinthine minuttiae. You’re minuintiae. I don’t know how to spell minutiae. Ah, there we go. You and Saint Mary’s 25 are His Play-Doh, hastily smooshed back into His containers.
His eyes weeps for itself as he keyups upon the MacBook Air, picking bugs off the skin of his ass as they try to crawl inside his red Express underwear. The band is black and red letters say Express. Is this the highway to hell? It’s raining bugs, hellelujah,,which is much different from the time you saw one of the Weather Girls sing this hit just as the storm began, only to later take home a quasi-closeted coastie living on Fraternity Row to your duplex, where the heartbeats of your Balance 014 double album by Joris Voorn provided him the excuse to decide you weren’t attractive enough to be worthy of his hookup after all, and thus, with a parting hug and his fake fear, you had to drive him all the way back again in your Toyota Corolla while using the opportunity to tell him about how dry cleaning chemicals poisoned the city’s water supply. He pretended to be extra horrified since pretending to be extra sensitive was his cop-out game that night. For you are just dogmeat, pipsqueak, never quite the right supple moisture and alluring scent these kitty cats deserve. They say men are like dogs, but a dog will eat anything. It’s not so easy to be eaten. Perhaps they are not hungry enough. Perhaps it’s the ribbon tape of the words and the pressure to muscularly flex in tight, sharp-coloured boxer briefs or some such, perhaps a jock strap, a mere strange of underwear thought, in our non-culture, to help you be able to distinguish the men from the boys.
Bugs are dancing on your laptop as you press them with your forefinger to kill them. Last night you quashed a good two dozen of them, often using an upside down water bottle. Anteayer, the day before yesterday, I’d say at least six plopped down from the ceiling last night onto my laptop alone. Of course they rain down onto me, too. At one point I had three bugs separately dancing on the caps of my three bottles of water, which all stood alone. Stuff like that would almost make me superstitious. What possesses a bug to climb all the way up a bottle of water, only to rear itself up onto its hind legs and dance for me? What possess three of them to do it at the same time?
What possesses a CEO to climb to the top of a skyscraper and don the Daddy Warbucks persona that is so in demand by the free hand of Adam Smith’s market? The wealth of nations is the question of the day. The anti-China and anti-USA hysteria is mostly about smug, jealous, and power-hungry crapola humans, who give zero fucks about helping Africa or fixing Brazil, S. Africa, India, Russia, etc., fighting for more power for themselves. That’s why this chatter dominates. Money power China bad money money USA bad money power gimme USA gimme China bad money power China China China China China!! What a woild.
Seeing the problems, delineating and enumerating the, isn’t a solution, pipqueak. PIcking bugs off yourself, you would at least need a small stool en route to reach the most meagre pedestal, wouldn’t you? Now, if you had a body that could be an Instagram sensation, and the algos and the people liked you, you could be the leader of one million followers virtually overnight, and then start to spew your cray until a good tenth of them deleted you in fear, horror, and disgust, just like you’re disgusted by the bug that perched on your middle toe and reached for the sky from that vantage point. How paradoxical that the bugs rain from the ceiling only to seek out the toes and the water bottle caps as they dance for the sky? We’re all sky cultists, I guess. Gawd’s up there, the CEOs are up there, the politicians, the air force, the eagles and the vultures, both as bald as Daddy Warbucks himself. Don’t trust any entity unless you have to descend the stairs for it, perhaps, but then you’re going against the grain. Then you’re swimming downstream as all the other salmon swim upwards to spawn, and what will become of your seed then? Left to the Ravens of Dispersion, you idiot, that’s what will become of it. Caw Caw!
A bug bit you on the nutsack while you slept. The shit-caked walls in the village outside, in which a shit cake is made with Nandi’s shit, stacked so high, and his piss, His piss, by a child who’s eating Skittles with her other hand. The handprint on the shit cake makes it look like Sujata’s version of the hall outside a kindergarten classroom, caked on everything from the walls to the trees, only to be burned for fuel for shit fires at a later date. As for Sujata herself, she may have offered the Buddha rice and milk to snap him out of six years of asceticism, but it is not evident what is left of her other than the mound of a stupa. I like em big and stupa’d, I guess, but I was too fearful to tread around and wander inside it, not wanting to be… rude. Wanting to defer, respectfully, because the heat is aww-aww-awe-awe-awe-on, in the process turning yourself into a quiet, paralysed dolt who strangers find to be quite disrespectful in his apparent cluelessness. But you never could get it right, because the silverbacks got the long knives out for the tall poppies. You never made it to Eagle Scout, and one of them, a radio dj who ran a progressive radio talk show called Forward, even shamed you with a song written by a member of The Eagles. It was You Belong To the City, you villain, you shit-Scar with the scar permanently cracked into your forehead by your young brother’s baseball ball, you incus, you would choke on Glenn Frey, hopefully, and thusly eat dirt for daring to move to the big city Minneapolis. You’d learn. You’d pay. The apes would maintain their rightful place, including the metal and Metallica-loving silverback who warned you.
A bug again. It’s almost enough to make you think this village is cursed and that you are cursed, you, rotting in an orphanage, you who daddy does not love, you who cannot call her dad and he’ll stop it all, as, hardly for the first time, you watch the bugs as they climb the wall, even as you hate the aggressive arrogance of that song, even as you cashed the fifty-four hundred dollar check from living in a roach motel for years in the prime of your life, you who said you were going to Kolkata where it’s trashy because you were thrown away like trash, you who cries his self-pitying backpacker travel tears for his own meagre abodes, you who did not even manage to fail enough to lay claim to the glory of tragedy.
You are not very superstitious, but you must admit this is one hell of an unhealthy place.
The mice that scuttle about on the floor and the g – excuse me, I just had to pick up a bug, roll it between my fingers, and toss it onto the floor – the geckos that – excuse me, I want to use my cell phone to look at the current state of my inflamed, pustulent eye, and to wipe a drop of snot from my nose and lick it – the geckos is that… i forget and it doesn’t matter.
You who would never repent before Gawd, what are you sad about again, aside from the eye, the paltry food stocks you have in this crisis, a crisis you don’t even seem to believe you’re a part of because you think you’re just a naughty boy, a spoiled brat, a reckless monied mess, with one orange left and those nasty chips, Mast Masala Tomato Punch chips by Harshit, I shit you not, that’s the brand name… you’d just like a Culver’s Butter Burger, a double, even, but you’re not greedy, right, so a single is fine, isn’t it? Whichever you go for, you’re bound to regret not choosing the other option, just like your daddy. You’d like it with french fries, ketchup, and a large blueberry shake or malt, again, a matter of debate and the road not taken to be infinitely regretted.
The problem with the socialists is they don’t care about the poor, just socialism, per se. Harsh shit. The world often seems to balance itself out into a perfect hell, and would you expect it to be otherwise? Laura Ingraham has three adopted children and they’re bound to all be hellraisers. But there is a sort of bumble and stumble progress, bleak as it feels. You’re just a piece of shit who tends to look at the dark side and the problems, aren’t you? Good vibes, homely. Keats saw truth and beauty in a fucking urn, but at least he made it pretty, even as we now put the ashes in an urn and unrwap our Choco Treat by Sobisco. You were buying Rebisco donuts in Vietnam. The Nabisco logo, of course, traces back to the Cross of Lorraine, the circle topped with the two-bar cross, used in the First Crusade by the Knights Templar. You learned this from reading Barbarians at the Gate: the Fall of RJR Nabisco behind a retractable metal wall in a hostel in Kingston, Jamaica.
Oh yes, you sure have stories. And what for, puppet? Disneyboi? Derivative healthen? Useless piece of shit? Geppetto’s crippled son, if only Geppetto were a pig, just a fucking boar of a man, the one you said ate your future until he was twice the size of you, the one you said disgraced his own father’s funeral with his sow of a sister as he forced you to carry a cookie tray to the car for him, a cookie tray you said you’d gladly carry but you didn’t need to be snapped at, you didn’t have to hear his sister snort and laugh that we all accept you for your homosexuality, the implication that you’re just a piece of shit who wants free money, but we don’t all think alike, that’s just presumption that we all think like you, so fuck you you Potemkin village silverbacks, all fucking four of you, you think I’m intimidated by numbers, ha, I’m repulsed by numbers, the madness of a world gone apeshit and their power plays, so fucking putrid, and that’s all it is and nothing can break it, it seems, i will move to Japan, for everybody always acts like the collectivist termite mound is Japan or China but trust, the collective android asshole silverback-worshipping hostility infused shithole is much more in the USA, and the apes from my place de naissance and the whole surrounding thousands of miles are going apeshit because they cannot handle that humans are outstripping them, to them it’s an existential threat, and I hope it is, I hope the ape-o sapiens do go the way of the dinosaur over there, and I don’t care if they have to be reduced into the unglory, unglory hellalujah of the last men who blind and blind and fucking blink in their decrepit, scrawny bodies as they march off like worker bees, because that has to be better than apes slopping around the office with their gigglangry bullshit, the ones who had to win King of the Mountain and are still winning it, and it’s disgusting to me that they know no shame, or so it seems, disgusting as a bug wriggling its abdomen as it tries to scootch its way into a slit in my laptop.
I had a cousin who was called Scooter for ages because he scooted across the floor, and I had a cousin who gave birth to a boy known as Skeeter or Scooter on the matrilineal side, too. In fact maybe there were two boys on that side, a Scooter and a Skeeter. I believe one of them was called Chris and he may have died playing chicken on the road, the game where you drive your cars at each other and one chickens out and takes the ditch. I think this game was in Rebel Without A Cause, though I could be mistaken, as with most things, it seems. I cannot remember if Chris died in chicken or not, but either Scooter or Skeeter definitely did kill himself, and I do not remember how, if I ever knew how. His mother always seems to have dark racoon circles around her eyes, whether through cosmetic application or Weltschmerz or both. I think it’s cosmetic. But I guess always isn’t always when it’s just a Facebook profile picture that surfaces in your memory.
messages: M. Sakamoto
Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.
[sent]: Of course we can go for a run together!
[sent]: I’m really glad you asked :)
Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT.
[draft]: I’m so sorry, Mary, for so many things I can’t ever expla
Send “☎” for a RUSHED text.
[sent]: Hey, I’m stopping by the room to drop something off for Val, I hope you’re there so I can say say hi!
Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group?
5 siblings, 4 cousins- shes the middle child-
Which one are they closest with?
she was forced to stop talking to them by her husband-
What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?
she loved her!
What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?
she loved him! but she hasnt seen either of her parents in years
Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?
yes, and only a select few know- :)
On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?
breath mints, a secret 20 dollar bill, an old pendant-
Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?
painting, clouds, running away-
Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?
getting stuck, suffocating
Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?
Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?
yup- shes poorer-
Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?
In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?
when she got carved and she watched Melissa get carved- equal amounts of fear-
In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?
when she was in high school-
Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?
very much- she wants to vomit when she sees it-
Does your character remember names or faces easier?
Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?
not usually, but now she is a little- because she isnt allowed to have much bc of her husband, what she is able to keep she cherishes-
Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?
What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?
watercolor finger paints!
Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?
What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?
shes learned to not be super attached to people- it has, but shes slowly mending it-
In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?
she does- she uses it for self-criticism-
If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?
shes quick to think she deserved it-
What does your character like in other people?
kindness, warmth, and patience-
What does your character dislike in other people?
cockiness, bravado, and arrogance-
How quick is your character to trust someone else?
used to be quick- now its not so much-
How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?
about medium quickness- it does drastically-
How does your character behave around children?
she loves them! she tries her best to keep them entertained-
How does your character normally deal with confrontation?
she gets apologetic immediately even if she shouldnt be apologizing
How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?
What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?
becoming a kindergarten teacher! nope- she wants to go back to college to finish her degree-
What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?
her brother in law, sauerkraut, and the smell of eggs-
Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.
in a sunny room, painting a picture of what she sees out the window, with a cat in the background sleeping-
Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.
standing in the dark with her husband before a ritual.
In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?
shes trying to improve-
Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?
she moves on to a new method-
How does your character behave around people they like?
relaxed, calm, feels free to speak about whatever, gets rambly-
How does your character behave around people they dislike?
nervous, doesnt speak much-
Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?
protecting her status!
Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?
Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?
she hasnt yet-
How does your character treat people in service jobs?
Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?
she feels like she should earn it-
Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?
Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?
the cult’s children-
How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?
its difficult, but when she is able to shell say is every 5 seconds- she cant-
What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?
she doesnt know- and that scares her-
I would expect not.
When Brian got back home his mother was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping at a glass of water. It struck Brian rather suddenly how out of place she seemed there, as if someone had gone through the photo album, cut her out and stuck her back somewhere else. Finally he decided to clear his throat, causing her to whip her head back rather quickly.
“Hi,” He smiled with a tight lip, taking the seat across from her. Mary took another sip of water, glancing about the room before finally locking eyes with him.
“I owe you an apology, Brian.”
“I said, I owe you an apology. Ever since I’ve arrived I haven’t been listening to you,” She swallowed, absent-mindedly fiddling with the ends of the table cloth. “In fact, I haven’t been treating you right at all for far too long. I want to say..I’m sorry for, for all the times I’ve made you feel inadequate. And, for never taking the time to listen to you; no child should ever be a-afraid to talk to their own mother.”
Brian stared at her, blinking harshly a few times to see if he’d wake up.
“And,” Mary’s brows knitted together, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “I am so, so sorry that I ever blamed you for your father and I splitting. You, you didn’t do anything wrong Brian, and I never should have said that to you. I’m sorry.” She looked across to Brian, her brown eyes watery. “I can only hope that my apologies are sufficient after all the harm I’ve caused you. You’ve done nothing to deserve the way I treated you, a-and,” She paused momentarily, swallowing thickly. “And you’ve become a fine young man without me present in your life."
Brian was silent for a few moments before speaking slowly. “Um, thank you.”
Mary just nodded at him. “Now, if there’s anything you want to say, please go ahead. I promise I’ll listen.”
“Er,” He fiddled with his hands, not looking directly at her. “I, I don’t want to stay with you over summer.” When there was no response he swallowed, raising his head slowly to look her in the eyes. “And I want to keep living here too. I like it here. I-I’ll still phone, and visit sometimes, I just don’t think I can do more than that right now.”
Brian blinked; there was no backlash, no telling him he didn’t know what was good for himself, no patronising, no yelling. Just ‘okay’.
“Is…there anything else you want to say?”
Brian looked at her for a second and, after realising this wasn’t a calm before the storm, shook his head. “Nah. That’s everything.”
Mary nodded, finishing her glass of water that had been forgotten during the conversation. “Well,” She smiled weakly at him. “There’ll be no changes to our current arrangement, then.”
She washed the glass and Brian followed her to the door, watching as she rummaged through her handbag to make sure she had everything.
“Right, I’d better be off then.” She tucked some hair behind her before looking back at Brian; she looked as if there were a thousand more words she wanted to say, but she instead settled on; “I’ll look forward to your next phone call.”
Brian nodded. “Goodbye, mum.”
Mary smiled at him. It was a small, awkward smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Goodbye, Brian. Take care.”
Brian watched as she walked down the long street, her figure getting smaller with each step. At some point she turned around and Brian waved at her. He couldn’t make out her expression from his distance, but she waved back. He watched until her silhouette was no longer visible before heading back inside, closing the door and leaning against it with a soft sigh, his shoulders feeling a lot less heavy.
Mary sent Maxie a harsh glare. “The only consequence I care about is keeping my dad alive!” She crosses her arms. “Besides, the world would be better off without that tyrant. Most of the legendaries agree.”
Justice and Chaos were in an uproar in his mind tonight, he walked the keep and checked briefly on his students. Then Mary, making sure she was alright before he continued his wanderings. He began to dance about, light on his feet and elegant for a brief moment before tending to some of the unlit candles. He tried to refocus his visions upon the future before them all, the grandness of the school and how much good it would do. Yet Chaos shrieked with defiance where normally they were often alright with such.
“Ỹ̸̙͉O̵̺͇̊Ù̵̩̯͘ ̸̯̥̆͝W̵̮̍Á̵͉S̷͖̘̐͝T̶̨̾͒Ē̴̖!̵̭̾ ̸̡̈́͊Y̵̘̊̀Ǫ̶̘̾U̶̖͊ͅ ̷̦̀W̵̩͎̽Ā̶̹Ṡ̶̖̯̅T̸̤͘Ȅ̶̼̱!̶̩̚ ̵͎̯͋H̴̰͖͂̓ȩ̸͠ ̸̦͂̋e̶̘̕v̶̛̞e̴͙͗n̸̗͋̚ ̷̰̑̒s̸̝̋ü̵̬s̴̪̈͊p̶̢̤͑ȩ̵̨̂̀c̴̳͑̆t̵̜̙̐̈́s̶̘̹̊͝ ̸̦̆s̷̤̓o̶̗̽m̷̟̖͂e̷̥̲͝t̷̥̓h̶̺̹̍͛ȉ̷͙n̸̫̄g̴̩̐̑ ̴͍́i̵̟͒̾ṅ̶̟ ̶̙̖̽͝h̷̢̨́̈́i̶̪̊s̵͗ͅ ̸͕̻͑͘ḟ̸̻̳u̷̻̦͌ẗ̴̡͓̂u̵̖͑ŗ̸͊͠ḛ̷̓.̷̙̲̐”
He covered his ears, he couldn’t deny his desires of earlier but at least he was striving towards a balance. He laughed a bit before stepping outside as he spoke aloud in return. “I don’t…Want that.” He rumbled firmly at the voice. “This…I want this.” The first statement a lie, he wanted both of these things. They seemed to quiet to the normal volume as he recalled the Magistrate’s talk within the Cathedral to Cameron. Brief talk of watching over family and such should something happen to him. He kept his gaze away, proud of himself for avoiding temptations but cursing himself for entertaining the thought. “Don’t get caught up…” he tsked at himself.
Hands went into his pockets, he wandered out and looked for Berry. Though the rabbit found him first, the familiar tug at his trousers. “Hello…” he scooped the little rabbit up and pet him gently as he wandered along. Passing by a calm little fox, the one Nyura had given him. He sat down with them, enjoying the company of creatures.