Hey there all of you young, wild, and beautiful kids. Summer is almost here, and Billy has something to say to you. Take heed of his philosophy, listen to this song daily; do this, and I promise your summer will be 86% better. This will work even if you are not in New York.
Remember his words when you are:
Throwing up in the morning or night
When a long legged (this one is especially important) lovely walks by
When contemplating a high risk(perceived) action or decision
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
I don't want to embarrass you my friend... but...
I can no longer stand idly by, silent, hand resting on whiskered chin in a contemplative gesture, as you stand there -- also in a position that suggests contemplation.
You need to know what you're up against.
Do you really think you're ready for three dimensions? The interplay of light? People are talking. Of course you haven't heard it. It's in hushed and whispered tones, spoken only when you aren't looking, or after you've turned a corner. There really isn't any easy way for me to say this without offending you... I know you're very sensitive, so I'm just gonna throw it out there: You don't know how to appreciate a sculpture.
I think our friendship is stronger now than it was before.
You need to know what you're up against.
Do you really think you're ready for three dimensions? The interplay of light? People are talking. Of course you haven't heard it. It's in hushed and whispered tones, spoken only when you aren't looking, or after you've turned a corner. There really isn't any easy way for me to say this without offending you... I know you're very sensitive, so I'm just gonna throw it out there: You don't know how to appreciate a sculpture.
I think our friendship is stronger now than it was before.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Real stories from the streets
Today I was stopped at a redlight, as I sometimes do, and behind me was a Ford Expedition containing two female passengers. In my side-view mirror I noticed the driver's side door opening. An older woman -- probably in her late forties -- vacated the vehicle; this was at a very busy intersection. She dissapeared from sight toward the back of the car, and another woman appeared at the driver's side door. She was much younger than the first; the resemblance between the two lead me to believe they were mother and daughter. Each had the black hair and full cheekbones characteristic of those of Chinese descent. As the daughter climbed into the driver's seat our eyes met through my mirror. With a slight tilt of her head and a raise of her eyebrows, the daughter told me that she too, understood the irony of what had just occured.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The Last Goths
A bubbly white candle, thick, and nearly expired flickers, it barely illuminates the long white beard and cracked yellow teeth of what appears to be an old wizard. He speaks cryptically, in a hoarse voice, “You must not give in to your natural impulses. All the future depends on this”
On a quaint street in Arlington, Virginia, in a candlelit room, a dark and mysterious club by the name of Quoth the Raven was about to come to order. Jeremy Huttle’s bedroom was ground zero for this high school Goth cabal, which, including Jeremy, consisted of four members: Tabitha Melton, who held a special place in Jeremy’s black heart; Sam Greer, fifteen, he sported a maroon Flock of Seagulls do; and Selena Carter – black Clairol dye and humor to match. Right now -- as he would before every meeting – Jeremy is checking to make sure everything is just right.
Blow out candles: check.
Black lights: working.
KMFDM poster: glowing nicely.
The modus operandi of Quoth the Raven is not only to bask in the overwhelming darkness that is in everything; it also tries to contact the great originator of said darkness -- by means of Ouija board. Jeremy started the club three months ago, just after realizing that he would never have what it took to make it on the baseball team, or in ballet class, or anywhere, really. After three-weeks of what his school counselor called "One of the worst cases of depression I've ever seen," Jeremy bounced back hard -- and with the aid of several anti-depressant and social anxiety medicines found the courage to assemble Quoth the Raven. Now this group of odd-balls could -- just like members of one of the various athletic teams, or academic clubs -- feel a sense of belonging and camaraderie. This is never easy when a group of rogues such as those of Quoth the Raven are thrown together, as each one lives in it’s own private adolescent hell, which is not always easy to articulate and share. But together, these kids have managed spend their pain as if it were currency, and find solace in industrial music, and the hope that someday... just someday... their dark lord will ascend from his throne in the netherworld and place them next to him, as fellow dark masters. As of yet, they have not been successful in this endeavor.
On this evening though, something was to occur that was beyond even the twisted imaginations of these bright, and tormented youths.
But right now Jeremy is setting out four jewel-encrusted -- well, actually bedazzled -- goblets, which he fills with a fine boxed-wine because “It’s not easy to find good Mead in Arlington,” so they take what they can get. Let it be known: Quoth the Raven does not believe in drinking-age laws. Jeremy pays his older brother a three-hundred percent premium for the procurement of the sacred drink.
Jeremy stands back and takes in what he’s prepared; all is well on the dark side.
And there’s a knock at the door. Jeremy pushes his black bangs from his face, takes a deep breath and, as per Quoth the Raven protocol –- with an 18th century English twinge to his voice asks:
“Who is rap, rap, rapping at my door?” To which three voices respond:
“Tis three, but one.”
Jeremy responds “And shun what, not three, but one?”
“All that is light. Whether tis’ nature or blight” He nods solemnly to the solicitation, these are friends, not foe. And in walk Tabitha – the forbidden apple of his eye – and Sam, and Selena.
As if driven magnetically, Tabitha moves directly to Jeremy’s dresser, where she notices three black candles.
“Are these new?” she asks.
“Yeah. I got them from my grandma. They’re old Halloween decorations." said Jeremy, as he again pushes his bangs from his face.
"If I was able to feel love, these candles might elicit it in me," said Tabitha, the cryptic organ music crying out in the background adding a sinister bent to her proclamation. Jeremy’s lingering glance in her direction lasts a second longer than it should, that is, if he hopes to keep his affection for her a secret.
"I wish everyday was Halloween… and that the lord of darkness would descend on the hell that is Arlington, and wash its streets with the blood of innocents," said Selena.
To which Sam responded, "You're so deep."
"It's my sorrow. It cuts to the bone... my soulless and tired bones."
"Such is life... such is life." Tabitha sermonized. They stand, arms folded, breathing in this truth that they all understand too well.
"Are you sure it's cool to drink on your pills," Sam asked.
"It'll only be a glass. It should be okay," Jeremy answered.
"I don't want you to go all nutso on us. You were really fucked up," Selena quipped.
Jeremy offers her an artificial smile, "It's cool," he said.
"We're all crazy, Jeremy," Tabitha added. He smiled, it was an awkward smile, much to big of a response to her simple reassurance. And Sam asked:
"Shall we commence the summoning of our dark master?"
"We shall" they agreed, all heading toward the official Quoth the Raven Ouija board which was set up next to Jeremy’s bunk bed. They sat on the floor –- Indian Style -- QTR believed this position optimized the flow of darkness within, so it was imperative that sit this way while summoning. Jeremy took a seat next to Tabitha. They all closed their eyes.
Except for Jeremy, his open eyes were soaking in Tabitha’s essence; he could have sworn that she was the angel of death herself when he looked at her under the black light, her pentagram necklace glimmering with a blue tint. He looked down at the Quija board. His hand rested next to hers. He wondered if he should try to hold it. Could he be so brazen? He wondered.
“Not now. It’s not the right time. Concentrate on the darkness. Try not to get a boner,” he thought. “Project your voice,” he said to himself.
“I feel something in the air. I think this is the night,” Sam said with a macabre optimism.
“It’s probably that mile you ran in P.E today. Endorphins, or something,” Selena responded. Jeremy shot in her direction an evil look and said derisively, “It’s funny you should say that Sam… I feel something too,” and she shook her head in mimicry.
Jeremy cleared his throat, and turned up the chilling organ music with the round dial on his Ipod. Then he began:
"Ahuma...ahuuuma...ahuuuumaa...ahuuuuummmaaa"
As the group continued their summons, Jeremy preached:
"Spirits of the nether world, we summon you. Quoth the Raven; children of the dark, who shun the light. We ask your omnipotence for guidance. Lead us beyond the gates of what is knowable to your place of eternal flame where the pain of our hearts is played out in the flesh..."
Jeremy opened his eyes. He saw his compatriots in suffering, heads bowed, eyes closed, and still chanting softly. The room was covered in posters of Marilyn Manson, KMFDM, The Cure, and Nine Inch Nails.
"Quoth the Raven… lift your heads.” Jeremy ordered. And they did.
“We shall drink the ceremonial wine.” Tabitha was visibly upset that the dark lord hadn’t shown…again. Sam noticed her dismay -- and an odd rumbling noise -- and trying to bring some light -- or was it dark – back to the situation said, "Do you feel that? I can feel the dark lord’s presence! I hear a rumbling from below."
"Shut up Sam. He's not here. He's not coming... not now, not ever," cried Selena. “Even the dark lord thinks we’re lame! I’m out of here!” she said, rising up. And Jeremy stood...
"Blasphemer! How dare thee!" he shouted. "You doubt my relationship with the dark force?" Selena moved toward the door, but Sam blocked her path.
“Yeah. I do.”
And Sam pleaded, "Guys... stop! We're all in this living hell together. When he comes... and I know he will -- we must be in union… don't you see? So that we can rule with him on his throne… as… as dark feudal lords."
“Whatever… and that rumbling you hear is probably Jeremy’s brother’s Camaro.”
Tabitha’s eyes lit up upon hearing this.
"Crap. He punched me last time I was here. I better go," said Sam.
"He grabbed my ass after out last meeting," said Tabitha, and not looking unhappy about it. Jeremy’s brow furrowed at this, as he pulled open his Venetian blinds.
"You let him, slut" screeched Selena.
"Shut up! You know I'm only a slut for the dark lord."
"That's not what Brian Keegan said."
"You’re the one that gave him a hand-job!"
"Girls...girls!" Sam pleaded.
"There's no car. It's not my brother." Tabitha’s face fell and she uncrossed her fingers, disappointed. But the sound… the rumbling… it remained. Faint but, noticeable.
“Let’s go Sam. My dad just bought me the Charmed boxed set, we can watch it in my room.”
“Okay.” Jeremy's soul knew a great deal of suffering, but seeing what he percieved as Tabitha’s disappointment over the dark lord's no-show plunged him even deeper into the emotional abyss. He knew he had to keep QTR together.
“Guys! No… no… No one is leaving here! This meeting is not over! We haven't even read the poem yet,” Jeremy exclaimed, as he pushed himself in between Sam, Selena and the door.
“Seriously Jeremy… get the fuck out of my way… or I’ll kick your ass just like Tommy Bell did.”
And the sound grew… It was as if Aries himself was erupting from the bowels of the earth causing tectonic plates to strike and slip beneath them. But with Jeremy’s screaming, Quoth the Raven didn’t notice.
“You know what! Fuck you Selena! Your poetry sucks ass. You aren’t even that dark!”
“The only thing you know that is dark is Sam’s asshole!”
"Selena! Uncool! We're friends." Sam said. And before Jeremy could tell her to
“Just get the f—"
An Explosion rocked the room! Plaster fell from the ceiling, the ground shook. A Marilyn Manson poster is violently ripped from the wall as a gusty wind, and a thick cloud of dark smoke envelops the room. Styled hair flying in every direction. The kids are thrown to opposite corners of the hazy room. Through the smoke they hear heavy foot steps, and the clang of metal. They are dazed, and weak, but trying to see through the cloud before them, trying to make out a shape.
“It’s him… he’s coming… our hatred for each other...” Sam trailed off.
"This is it guys," Jeremy warned....
Then erupting from the smoke -- the most guttural, evil moan:
"Aaarrrrrghhhhh!"
A seven-foot-tall bearded Barbarian emerges from the smoke! The children cry out, running for the door. The Barbarian follows, his dirty animal skin jacket making him look like some sort of satanic elk. At the door, Sam tries in vain to turn the doorknob.
"Come on!" he said.
"Hurry up you pussy!" Selena yelled, just as a five foot sword impales the door, missing Selena's head by inches. Panic.
"We're on you're side!" Sam said. The gusty wind blowing away the smoke hiding the Barbarian's face. They look up; a scar runs down the Barbarian's cheek into his beard,where hair has stopped growing. It was, at one time, a painful wound.
"I am Theodoric the Great of the Goths, Conqueror of Italy," he said, raining rank breath and spit all over the kids, "…and you... you consider yourselves of our ranks?" They try to move closer to the door, cowering. Sam is in tears.
“I asked you a question! You call yourselves Goths?!” Selena and Tabitha push Jeremy forward to answer for them.
"Yyyyeeyyyeess sir," he squeaks.
"Hah! You are children! And weak ones at that! And you little boy, you are their leader? Jeremy looks back at his comrades, they nod to Theodoric.
"I g--g--gue-ss so, sir."
"Ha! You are not goths! Goths are big and strong! We value power! We pillage and rape and burn villages! What say you to this?
"Y-y-yess, sir. W-w-wwe are goths."
”By whose admission?"
"Uhm... ours?" Jeremy said.
"You are bold to say such a thing."
"The dark lord said we were. That's you isn't it?" Jeremy asked.
”Who is this dark lord? Tell me his name! I will cut off his head and rape his wife while his children cry out in pain, then drink goats blood!"
Confusion is mixing in with the kids fear.
“So you’re not the dark lord?” Selena asks.
“Tell me this dark lord’s name! I shall plunder his lands!”
Jeremy looks back at his friends, "What is the dark lord's name?" They at look at one another, confused.
"I don't know," said Sam.
"Beats me," said Tabitha. Selena whispers to Jeremy "All we ever called him was the dark lord." Jeremy looks up to Theodoric:
"We just call him the dark lord, sir."
"Shut up! So let me get this straight... you are what's become of the Goths?"
Jeremy answers for them:
"Yes sir."
“What year is this?”
“It's two-thousand-eight, sir,” Jeremy answered.
"My god! Ever since we sacked Byzantium back in 262! I noticed us losing our edge, but this is pathetic. Two girls, and two puny boys. I should roast you all over my hearth fire! You are not even worthy of enslavement!"
And Tabitha steps up,” Sir if you’re going to rape anyone, take me."
"God, you are such a slut," Selena whispered.
"I'm trying to save our lives here, bitch!"
“That was really insensitive, Selena.” Sam said.
“And this,” Theodoric said, pointing to the fallen Maralyn Manson poster, “Is this your coat of arms?”
“That’s Maralyn Manson, sir,” Sam said.
“So this is what Goths do in two-thousand and eight? You sit around a table made of white wood, with your hair painted black like a bunch of silly children?”
“We were trying to contact the dark lord.”
“What for? Battle tidings? Is there a problem with your crop harvest?”
“No, we just wanted to speak with the dark lord,” Selena answered.
“Shut up, woman! No Goth man lets his woman speak in public!,” He walks around the room, “ Where are your swords… your battle axes. I see no instruments of war?”
“We don’t fight wars, sir” Jeremy said.
“Goths who don’t fight! Than you are truly not Goths!” And Sam spoke up;
“Actually sir, that’s not true. We’re at war with society… a society that fails to see and respect our limitless pain.”
“You should bash their heads in! Give them limitless pain!”
“I don’t condone violence,” said Tabitha.
“Shut up girl. Do not speak unless spoken to, and even then, mind your tongue!”
Theodoric stalks about the room, sword and shield ready. He notices Jeremy's computer screen glowing in the dark room. He taps the screen with his sword, then punches the keyboard. A video opens up. It's a big-breasted blond toying with a large black dildo. Theodoric is confused.
"Huh. You've enslaved a woman inside this box! That's kind of Gothish," he said. Jeremy is embarrased. He had often told Tabitha that he didn't need porn, on account of all the chicks he had in other towns.
"I don't know what that is. Absolutely no idea how it got there," he said.
"Maybe you're not gay afterall," Selena said. Jeremy gave her a 'whatever' face. Theodoric was transfixed by the woman and her toy. On screen, the woman worked herself into a frenzy.
"She's so loud," Theodoric said.
"Wait like ten seconds. Then she gets way louder," Tabitha said. And upon saying that, she wishes she didn't. They all look over at her.
"I heard about it at school," she said. As the womans screams grow louder, a familiar rumble sounds, the same one that Theodoric emerged from.
"Oh wow... I like this," Theodoric proclaimed. And the rumbling rose to a roar! A whirl of wind kicks up Theodoric’s beard, and rips the KMFDM and Cure posters from the wall. Smoke rises up from the floor and Theodoric snaps out of his porn-induced-trance. He raises his sword, ready for battle. And from the smoke, a voice:
"Merci! ... Bounjour?
A figure emerges -- this one much smaller in stature than Theodoric. It’s wearing what looks to be an 18th century French military officers uniform.
"Napoleon? What are you doing here?" asks Jeremy.
"Yes, tis’ I, Napoleon Bonaparte of France." Theodoric scratches his head.
"Who are you tiny man, and why have you come?"
”I just told you who I am. And I’m here because I really hate these Goth kids! Seriously… they make me sick with their whining and bitching and crying about how everything is so bad. You know nothing of hardship and nothing of pain! You are weak!"
"Let's just see what happens in Russia," said Selena.
"Russia! What do you know of my plans for Russia! There is a traitor among my ranks!” He rushes toward her, unsheathing his sword "I demand you tell me where you came upon this information or I shall cut off your head at once." Tabitha steps in front of Napoleon’s charge.
"Sir take me. Do whatever you want with my body."
"Wow, you really are a slut Tabitha. You wouldn't even have to rape her Napoleon. This one is just trying to give it up everywhere," said Theodoric.
"Hey… don't talk about her that way!" exclaimed Jeremy.
"You dare address Theodoric the Great in that tone? I will crush your head like a grape beneath my horsehide sandal!" He whips his sword in Jeremy's direction, its point only centimeters from his nose. "Understand?" Theodoric asks. Jeremy nods profusely. This causes Napoleon to scratch his chin.
"Hmmm... the weakling shows some courage."
"That was really brave of you, Jeremy" Tabitha said. Jeremy shrugs, and smiles.
"Wait, wait, wait. I thought you’re all supposed to be lords or darkness. What is this lovey crap! You know nothing of the Goth way. You disgrace the good name of the Goth." Theodoric said.
"You are patheti-que." Napoleon added.
The children begin to cry. Their last refuge on earth, Quoth the Raven, crumbling before them.
“My god. You wouldn’t last a day in my time,” said Theodoric.
“Nor in mine,” Napoleon added. Sam bawls into his hands. His eyes bloodshot, his Flock of Seagulls do’ reduced to flatness. He looks up; resolve building, then finding courage through his tears, he says:
"Then why don't you teach us? All of our lives we've been looking for something... anything... We tried sports, acting, gardening, musical instruments. We've done nothing but fail miserably. Our parents don’t understand us. Kids at school make fun of us and beat us up… all we have is each other and this club." The kids huddle together and sob quietly. Theodoric and Napoleon look at one another, even these hardened warriors can't help but be a bit touched by Sam’s words.
"Well Napoleon... what do you say we help these kids?"
"You are thinking what I’m thinking Theodoric? Theodoric nods.
“Boys, Napoleon…let’s go!”
“What about us?!” The girls ask.
“What about you?! Clean this place up.” said Theodoric, and he jumps through Jeremy’s closed window, shattering it. He lands on the grass two stories below with a thud. Selena and Tabitha, though constantly chastised, in shock over the display of uber-male-chauvanism.
“Uh… we can take the stairs,” Jeremy says
“Get to it,” Napoleon says, pointing his sword at Selena’s throat. “Now!”
It’s a cold night on the streets of Arlington. Moonlight reflects off the damp shingles of stately colonial homes and smoke billows from chimneys like the spirits of ones passed. All is quiet here… except for the furious beat of pounding footfalls.
Appearing at the end of the street: Theodoric in full battle regalia, running beside Napoleon, sword at ready. Jeremy and Sam struggle to keep pace. Their urgent breaths materialize in the chilly air.
“You! Boy! You see that old man over there?!” Theodoric asks, referring to the elderly gentleman crossing the street twenty feet away.
“Yes,” Sam answered.
“Kill him!”
“What?”
Theodoric growls at Sam, pointing his five foot sword at his throat. Sam winces,
“I said kill him! ... Now!”
Sam reluctantly makes his way toward the old man. Jeremy looks on in horror. Napoleon smiles, and offers his support, “Geet that old bastarhd!”
“Give him no quarter!” Theodoric exclaims.
Theodoric, Napoleon, and Jeremy are standing on a wet sidewalk, illuminated by a dull street lamp overhead. Theodoric points to the Maroon 1984 Toyota parked next to them.
“You… other boy. What is the name of this metal chariot?”
“It’s called a car, Theodoric.”
“Destroy it!”
“What? I’ll get in trouble!”
“Trouble! How is this for trouble, boy?! I will kill your father if you don’t do it! And rape your woman friend!” Napoleon laughs and says:
“Probably wouldn’t have to rape her, Theo.”
“That’s true,”
Back in Jeremy's room, smoke still sits low in the air. Tabitha and Selena are huddled together on the floor. They have black tear lines running down their faces. Their white makeup now wearing off.
"I'm sorry I called you a slut," Selena said.
"It's okay. I kind of am one." Tabitha said.
"Yeah... you are," and they both laughed.
"I wonder if they're okay?"
“That’s it Sam-my! You’ve almost got him!” Napoleon said.
From across the street we hear the scream of the elderly man.
“Finish him! You’re almost a real Goth,” Theodoric yelled. “And you, boy. Kill the chariot!”
“Use you’re hands!” Napoleon said, making a fist. Jeremy is near tears…
“Do it now! Show me that you are Goth material!” Theodoric said.
Jeremy looks up to Theodoric, then down to the ground. He clenches both fists, looking around as if examining his own will, his own strength. Then he rears back! He throws a right-cross which lands in the center of the Toyota’s front passenger side window.
“Ahhh! I think I broke my hand!” Jeremy cried.
“Pain! Next to death in battle, the best thing for a Goth! Destroy the chariot boy!” Jeremy hits the window again, and again. He cries of pain growing louder with each blow.
Sam shouts in the background:
“I just killed a senior citizen! Oh my god! Forgive me Jesus!”
“Did you say Jesus?” asked Theodoric. “I thought you were one of the dark lord’s minions?”
A crash as Jeremy finally breaks the Toyota’s window with his fist. Blood flows down his wrists onto his clothing and the street.
"Yes!" Napoleon exclaimed, "You did it, boy!"
“I think I cut an artery! I’m getting light headed!”
“Shedding blood in battle! We just might make a Goth out of you yet! Said Theodoric, “Now drink it!” Jeremy moves limps to a nearby lawn, nearly losing his balance.
“You… want me to drink my own blood?” he asked.
“Do it now!” said Theodoric.
“It looks like you’re soldiers are fading, Theodoric,” Napoleon noted, pointing to Sam who was now on his knees, hands raised to the sky, crying out to a Christian God.
“I don’t wanna be Goth anymore,” Sam cried, choking up, wiping tears from his eyes.
A bright light flashes in the sky! A familiar voice calls out:
“Theodoric! What did I say! I clearly stated: you must not give in to your natural impulses”
“Egin? Is that you?” Theodoric asks, looking up toward the light in the sky.
“Who else would it be, you idiot!
“Shit!” Theodoric exclaimed.
"You may have set in motion events that will alter history forever! You must get out of there at once!” Theodoric walks over to Jeremy, who is now passed out with his wrist to his mouth. Sam is next to him, calling to the heavens. Theodoric raises his sword and bellows:
“Ha…Haahhaa! You are both weak! Neither of you have what it takes to be real Goths! We are strong! Goths will rule forever!”
“Actually, Monsieur, that is not the case. Goths will not rule forever.”
“You doubt my supremacy little man?!”
“Enough, Theodoric! Get out of there!” Napoleon interupts:
“It is simple historical fact. You Ostrogoths will last only until 588. Then you will be assimilated by other cultures and forgotten. The Visgoths will last until 711, though. It is simple Theodoric. Look around you!”
“You spout lies, little man!” Theodoric turns his sword on Sam, his hand shaking with rage. Sam pisses himself.
“Open your eyes, boy!” and Sam does.
"Theodoric!" Egin yells, "Now!"
"I'm just going to decapitate him and then I'll be on my way, okay Egin?"
"No! Now Theodoric! I will put a spell on you if I must!" Theodoric heed Egin's warning, and lowers his sword.
“Monsieur, I've studied war for many years... battles that predate even you. So, you must understand, what I say is the truth.” Theodoric kneels at Jeremy's lifeless form. Blood covers his face, his clothing, and the grass around him. Theodoric places a large scarred hand on the boys shoulder. Tears well in his eyes.
“Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooodddddddss!” Theodoric screams! Lightning erupts in the sky, thunder roars -- and just like that... he disappears. A wisp of smoke where he once stood.
“I am afraid I must be going, also," Napoleon says, removing his hat, and bowing deeply to the unmoving figures of Jeremy and Sam. Then, he too, disappears in a flash of light.
It’s morning. Crickets are chirping, and a bright fog shrouds the rising morning sun. Sam and Jeremy lay still, their bodies twisted at odd angles on the sidewalk and grass.
“Excuse me, son.” An old hand shakes Sam.
“Son, wake up. Looks like you’ve been doing some drinking, there hey boys?”
It’s the old man that Sam killed last night, and he is especially alive this morning. He shakes Sam again.
“Son!”
Sam’s eyes slit open, then wide! In fear, he scrambles away from the man on his hands and knees.
“Hey… I… you’re alive?” said Sam.
“Last time I checked,” the old man responded. Sam grabs his head. A horrible headache disrupts his thoughts. Jeremy lays a few feet away, passed out, dried blood caked on his face. Sam shakes him vigorously.
“Jeremy! Jeremy... wake up! We’re alive! The old man is alive!” Already moving away from them, the old man shakes his head, and continues on his morning walk at a gingerly pace.
“Goddamn Goth kids!” he says.
Jeremy opens his eyes, squinting at the sun. He looks toward the old man disappearing down the street.
“Sir!” he calls out. The old man turns back to them and pauses.
“What is it, kid?”
“We’re not Goths sir... we were... not anymore.”
“Bunch of damn freaks is what you are!” the old man responds, heading off toward the sunrise.
Sam helps Jeremy to his feet. He pats him on the back, and offers a knowing nod --no we’re not pal, not anymore.
“Let’s go check on the girls” said Sam.
“I think I’ll tell Tabitha how I feel about her.”
“You should do that. You really should”
Sunlight creeps into Jeremy’s room. It looks like… well, it looks like a third century Goth went on the warpath in here. Tabitha and Selena are huddled together on the floor among posters, candles, and empty bedazzled goblets. Wine stains the carpet. Jeremy and Sam walk in, beaten and battered, hairstyles long since destroyed.
“Should we wake them?” Sam asked.
“No. They need to sleep it off. The mushrooms I put in the wine will give them a horrible hang over.
The End
On a quaint street in Arlington, Virginia, in a candlelit room, a dark and mysterious club by the name of Quoth the Raven was about to come to order. Jeremy Huttle’s bedroom was ground zero for this high school Goth cabal, which, including Jeremy, consisted of four members: Tabitha Melton, who held a special place in Jeremy’s black heart; Sam Greer, fifteen, he sported a maroon Flock of Seagulls do; and Selena Carter – black Clairol dye and humor to match. Right now -- as he would before every meeting – Jeremy is checking to make sure everything is just right.
Blow out candles: check.
Black lights: working.
KMFDM poster: glowing nicely.
The modus operandi of Quoth the Raven is not only to bask in the overwhelming darkness that is in everything; it also tries to contact the great originator of said darkness -- by means of Ouija board. Jeremy started the club three months ago, just after realizing that he would never have what it took to make it on the baseball team, or in ballet class, or anywhere, really. After three-weeks of what his school counselor called "One of the worst cases of depression I've ever seen," Jeremy bounced back hard -- and with the aid of several anti-depressant and social anxiety medicines found the courage to assemble Quoth the Raven. Now this group of odd-balls could -- just like members of one of the various athletic teams, or academic clubs -- feel a sense of belonging and camaraderie. This is never easy when a group of rogues such as those of Quoth the Raven are thrown together, as each one lives in it’s own private adolescent hell, which is not always easy to articulate and share. But together, these kids have managed spend their pain as if it were currency, and find solace in industrial music, and the hope that someday... just someday... their dark lord will ascend from his throne in the netherworld and place them next to him, as fellow dark masters. As of yet, they have not been successful in this endeavor.
On this evening though, something was to occur that was beyond even the twisted imaginations of these bright, and tormented youths.
But right now Jeremy is setting out four jewel-encrusted -- well, actually bedazzled -- goblets, which he fills with a fine boxed-wine because “It’s not easy to find good Mead in Arlington,” so they take what they can get. Let it be known: Quoth the Raven does not believe in drinking-age laws. Jeremy pays his older brother a three-hundred percent premium for the procurement of the sacred drink.
Jeremy stands back and takes in what he’s prepared; all is well on the dark side.
And there’s a knock at the door. Jeremy pushes his black bangs from his face, takes a deep breath and, as per Quoth the Raven protocol –- with an 18th century English twinge to his voice asks:
“Who is rap, rap, rapping at my door?” To which three voices respond:
“Tis three, but one.”
Jeremy responds “And shun what, not three, but one?”
“All that is light. Whether tis’ nature or blight” He nods solemnly to the solicitation, these are friends, not foe. And in walk Tabitha – the forbidden apple of his eye – and Sam, and Selena.
As if driven magnetically, Tabitha moves directly to Jeremy’s dresser, where she notices three black candles.
“Are these new?” she asks.
“Yeah. I got them from my grandma. They’re old Halloween decorations." said Jeremy, as he again pushes his bangs from his face.
"If I was able to feel love, these candles might elicit it in me," said Tabitha, the cryptic organ music crying out in the background adding a sinister bent to her proclamation. Jeremy’s lingering glance in her direction lasts a second longer than it should, that is, if he hopes to keep his affection for her a secret.
"I wish everyday was Halloween… and that the lord of darkness would descend on the hell that is Arlington, and wash its streets with the blood of innocents," said Selena.
To which Sam responded, "You're so deep."
"It's my sorrow. It cuts to the bone... my soulless and tired bones."
"Such is life... such is life." Tabitha sermonized. They stand, arms folded, breathing in this truth that they all understand too well.
"Are you sure it's cool to drink on your pills," Sam asked.
"It'll only be a glass. It should be okay," Jeremy answered.
"I don't want you to go all nutso on us. You were really fucked up," Selena quipped.
Jeremy offers her an artificial smile, "It's cool," he said.
"We're all crazy, Jeremy," Tabitha added. He smiled, it was an awkward smile, much to big of a response to her simple reassurance. And Sam asked:
"Shall we commence the summoning of our dark master?"
"We shall" they agreed, all heading toward the official Quoth the Raven Ouija board which was set up next to Jeremy’s bunk bed. They sat on the floor –- Indian Style -- QTR believed this position optimized the flow of darkness within, so it was imperative that sit this way while summoning. Jeremy took a seat next to Tabitha. They all closed their eyes.
Except for Jeremy, his open eyes were soaking in Tabitha’s essence; he could have sworn that she was the angel of death herself when he looked at her under the black light, her pentagram necklace glimmering with a blue tint. He looked down at the Quija board. His hand rested next to hers. He wondered if he should try to hold it. Could he be so brazen? He wondered.
“Not now. It’s not the right time. Concentrate on the darkness. Try not to get a boner,” he thought. “Project your voice,” he said to himself.
“I feel something in the air. I think this is the night,” Sam said with a macabre optimism.
“It’s probably that mile you ran in P.E today. Endorphins, or something,” Selena responded. Jeremy shot in her direction an evil look and said derisively, “It’s funny you should say that Sam… I feel something too,” and she shook her head in mimicry.
Jeremy cleared his throat, and turned up the chilling organ music with the round dial on his Ipod. Then he began:
"Ahuma...ahuuuma...ahuuuumaa...ahuuuuummmaaa"
As the group continued their summons, Jeremy preached:
"Spirits of the nether world, we summon you. Quoth the Raven; children of the dark, who shun the light. We ask your omnipotence for guidance. Lead us beyond the gates of what is knowable to your place of eternal flame where the pain of our hearts is played out in the flesh..."
Jeremy opened his eyes. He saw his compatriots in suffering, heads bowed, eyes closed, and still chanting softly. The room was covered in posters of Marilyn Manson, KMFDM, The Cure, and Nine Inch Nails.
"Quoth the Raven… lift your heads.” Jeremy ordered. And they did.
“We shall drink the ceremonial wine.” Tabitha was visibly upset that the dark lord hadn’t shown…again. Sam noticed her dismay -- and an odd rumbling noise -- and trying to bring some light -- or was it dark – back to the situation said, "Do you feel that? I can feel the dark lord’s presence! I hear a rumbling from below."
"Shut up Sam. He's not here. He's not coming... not now, not ever," cried Selena. “Even the dark lord thinks we’re lame! I’m out of here!” she said, rising up. And Jeremy stood...
"Blasphemer! How dare thee!" he shouted. "You doubt my relationship with the dark force?" Selena moved toward the door, but Sam blocked her path.
“Yeah. I do.”
And Sam pleaded, "Guys... stop! We're all in this living hell together. When he comes... and I know he will -- we must be in union… don't you see? So that we can rule with him on his throne… as… as dark feudal lords."
“Whatever… and that rumbling you hear is probably Jeremy’s brother’s Camaro.”
Tabitha’s eyes lit up upon hearing this.
"Crap. He punched me last time I was here. I better go," said Sam.
"He grabbed my ass after out last meeting," said Tabitha, and not looking unhappy about it. Jeremy’s brow furrowed at this, as he pulled open his Venetian blinds.
"You let him, slut" screeched Selena.
"Shut up! You know I'm only a slut for the dark lord."
"That's not what Brian Keegan said."
"You’re the one that gave him a hand-job!"
"Girls...girls!" Sam pleaded.
"There's no car. It's not my brother." Tabitha’s face fell and she uncrossed her fingers, disappointed. But the sound… the rumbling… it remained. Faint but, noticeable.
“Let’s go Sam. My dad just bought me the Charmed boxed set, we can watch it in my room.”
“Okay.” Jeremy's soul knew a great deal of suffering, but seeing what he percieved as Tabitha’s disappointment over the dark lord's no-show plunged him even deeper into the emotional abyss. He knew he had to keep QTR together.
“Guys! No… no… No one is leaving here! This meeting is not over! We haven't even read the poem yet,” Jeremy exclaimed, as he pushed himself in between Sam, Selena and the door.
“Seriously Jeremy… get the fuck out of my way… or I’ll kick your ass just like Tommy Bell did.”
And the sound grew… It was as if Aries himself was erupting from the bowels of the earth causing tectonic plates to strike and slip beneath them. But with Jeremy’s screaming, Quoth the Raven didn’t notice.
“You know what! Fuck you Selena! Your poetry sucks ass. You aren’t even that dark!”
“The only thing you know that is dark is Sam’s asshole!”
"Selena! Uncool! We're friends." Sam said. And before Jeremy could tell her to
“Just get the f—"
An Explosion rocked the room! Plaster fell from the ceiling, the ground shook. A Marilyn Manson poster is violently ripped from the wall as a gusty wind, and a thick cloud of dark smoke envelops the room. Styled hair flying in every direction. The kids are thrown to opposite corners of the hazy room. Through the smoke they hear heavy foot steps, and the clang of metal. They are dazed, and weak, but trying to see through the cloud before them, trying to make out a shape.
“It’s him… he’s coming… our hatred for each other...” Sam trailed off.
"This is it guys," Jeremy warned....
Then erupting from the smoke -- the most guttural, evil moan:
"Aaarrrrrghhhhh!"
A seven-foot-tall bearded Barbarian emerges from the smoke! The children cry out, running for the door. The Barbarian follows, his dirty animal skin jacket making him look like some sort of satanic elk. At the door, Sam tries in vain to turn the doorknob.
"Come on!" he said.
"Hurry up you pussy!" Selena yelled, just as a five foot sword impales the door, missing Selena's head by inches. Panic.
"We're on you're side!" Sam said. The gusty wind blowing away the smoke hiding the Barbarian's face. They look up; a scar runs down the Barbarian's cheek into his beard,where hair has stopped growing. It was, at one time, a painful wound.
"I am Theodoric the Great of the Goths, Conqueror of Italy," he said, raining rank breath and spit all over the kids, "…and you... you consider yourselves of our ranks?" They try to move closer to the door, cowering. Sam is in tears.
“I asked you a question! You call yourselves Goths?!” Selena and Tabitha push Jeremy forward to answer for them.
"Yyyyeeyyyeess sir," he squeaks.
"Hah! You are children! And weak ones at that! And you little boy, you are their leader? Jeremy looks back at his comrades, they nod to Theodoric.
"I g--g--gue-ss so, sir."
"Ha! You are not goths! Goths are big and strong! We value power! We pillage and rape and burn villages! What say you to this?
"Y-y-yess, sir. W-w-wwe are goths."
”By whose admission?"
"Uhm... ours?" Jeremy said.
"You are bold to say such a thing."
"The dark lord said we were. That's you isn't it?" Jeremy asked.
”Who is this dark lord? Tell me his name! I will cut off his head and rape his wife while his children cry out in pain, then drink goats blood!"
Confusion is mixing in with the kids fear.
“So you’re not the dark lord?” Selena asks.
“Tell me this dark lord’s name! I shall plunder his lands!”
Jeremy looks back at his friends, "What is the dark lord's name?" They at look at one another, confused.
"I don't know," said Sam.
"Beats me," said Tabitha. Selena whispers to Jeremy "All we ever called him was the dark lord." Jeremy looks up to Theodoric:
"We just call him the dark lord, sir."
"Shut up! So let me get this straight... you are what's become of the Goths?"
Jeremy answers for them:
"Yes sir."
“What year is this?”
“It's two-thousand-eight, sir,” Jeremy answered.
"My god! Ever since we sacked Byzantium back in 262! I noticed us losing our edge, but this is pathetic. Two girls, and two puny boys. I should roast you all over my hearth fire! You are not even worthy of enslavement!"
And Tabitha steps up,” Sir if you’re going to rape anyone, take me."
"God, you are such a slut," Selena whispered.
"I'm trying to save our lives here, bitch!"
“That was really insensitive, Selena.” Sam said.
“And this,” Theodoric said, pointing to the fallen Maralyn Manson poster, “Is this your coat of arms?”
“That’s Maralyn Manson, sir,” Sam said.
“So this is what Goths do in two-thousand and eight? You sit around a table made of white wood, with your hair painted black like a bunch of silly children?”
“We were trying to contact the dark lord.”
“What for? Battle tidings? Is there a problem with your crop harvest?”
“No, we just wanted to speak with the dark lord,” Selena answered.
“Shut up, woman! No Goth man lets his woman speak in public!,” He walks around the room, “ Where are your swords… your battle axes. I see no instruments of war?”
“We don’t fight wars, sir” Jeremy said.
“Goths who don’t fight! Than you are truly not Goths!” And Sam spoke up;
“Actually sir, that’s not true. We’re at war with society… a society that fails to see and respect our limitless pain.”
“You should bash their heads in! Give them limitless pain!”
“I don’t condone violence,” said Tabitha.
“Shut up girl. Do not speak unless spoken to, and even then, mind your tongue!”
Theodoric stalks about the room, sword and shield ready. He notices Jeremy's computer screen glowing in the dark room. He taps the screen with his sword, then punches the keyboard. A video opens up. It's a big-breasted blond toying with a large black dildo. Theodoric is confused.
"Huh. You've enslaved a woman inside this box! That's kind of Gothish," he said. Jeremy is embarrased. He had often told Tabitha that he didn't need porn, on account of all the chicks he had in other towns.
"I don't know what that is. Absolutely no idea how it got there," he said.
"Maybe you're not gay afterall," Selena said. Jeremy gave her a 'whatever' face. Theodoric was transfixed by the woman and her toy. On screen, the woman worked herself into a frenzy.
"She's so loud," Theodoric said.
"Wait like ten seconds. Then she gets way louder," Tabitha said. And upon saying that, she wishes she didn't. They all look over at her.
"I heard about it at school," she said. As the womans screams grow louder, a familiar rumble sounds, the same one that Theodoric emerged from.
"Oh wow... I like this," Theodoric proclaimed. And the rumbling rose to a roar! A whirl of wind kicks up Theodoric’s beard, and rips the KMFDM and Cure posters from the wall. Smoke rises up from the floor and Theodoric snaps out of his porn-induced-trance. He raises his sword, ready for battle. And from the smoke, a voice:
"Merci! ... Bounjour?
A figure emerges -- this one much smaller in stature than Theodoric. It’s wearing what looks to be an 18th century French military officers uniform.
"Napoleon? What are you doing here?" asks Jeremy.
"Yes, tis’ I, Napoleon Bonaparte of France." Theodoric scratches his head.
"Who are you tiny man, and why have you come?"
”I just told you who I am. And I’m here because I really hate these Goth kids! Seriously… they make me sick with their whining and bitching and crying about how everything is so bad. You know nothing of hardship and nothing of pain! You are weak!"
"Let's just see what happens in Russia," said Selena.
"Russia! What do you know of my plans for Russia! There is a traitor among my ranks!” He rushes toward her, unsheathing his sword "I demand you tell me where you came upon this information or I shall cut off your head at once." Tabitha steps in front of Napoleon’s charge.
"Sir take me. Do whatever you want with my body."
"Wow, you really are a slut Tabitha. You wouldn't even have to rape her Napoleon. This one is just trying to give it up everywhere," said Theodoric.
"Hey… don't talk about her that way!" exclaimed Jeremy.
"You dare address Theodoric the Great in that tone? I will crush your head like a grape beneath my horsehide sandal!" He whips his sword in Jeremy's direction, its point only centimeters from his nose. "Understand?" Theodoric asks. Jeremy nods profusely. This causes Napoleon to scratch his chin.
"Hmmm... the weakling shows some courage."
"That was really brave of you, Jeremy" Tabitha said. Jeremy shrugs, and smiles.
"Wait, wait, wait. I thought you’re all supposed to be lords or darkness. What is this lovey crap! You know nothing of the Goth way. You disgrace the good name of the Goth." Theodoric said.
"You are patheti-que." Napoleon added.
The children begin to cry. Their last refuge on earth, Quoth the Raven, crumbling before them.
“My god. You wouldn’t last a day in my time,” said Theodoric.
“Nor in mine,” Napoleon added. Sam bawls into his hands. His eyes bloodshot, his Flock of Seagulls do’ reduced to flatness. He looks up; resolve building, then finding courage through his tears, he says:
"Then why don't you teach us? All of our lives we've been looking for something... anything... We tried sports, acting, gardening, musical instruments. We've done nothing but fail miserably. Our parents don’t understand us. Kids at school make fun of us and beat us up… all we have is each other and this club." The kids huddle together and sob quietly. Theodoric and Napoleon look at one another, even these hardened warriors can't help but be a bit touched by Sam’s words.
"Well Napoleon... what do you say we help these kids?"
"You are thinking what I’m thinking Theodoric? Theodoric nods.
“Boys, Napoleon…let’s go!”
“What about us?!” The girls ask.
“What about you?! Clean this place up.” said Theodoric, and he jumps through Jeremy’s closed window, shattering it. He lands on the grass two stories below with a thud. Selena and Tabitha, though constantly chastised, in shock over the display of uber-male-chauvanism.
“Uh… we can take the stairs,” Jeremy says
“Get to it,” Napoleon says, pointing his sword at Selena’s throat. “Now!”
It’s a cold night on the streets of Arlington. Moonlight reflects off the damp shingles of stately colonial homes and smoke billows from chimneys like the spirits of ones passed. All is quiet here… except for the furious beat of pounding footfalls.
Appearing at the end of the street: Theodoric in full battle regalia, running beside Napoleon, sword at ready. Jeremy and Sam struggle to keep pace. Their urgent breaths materialize in the chilly air.
“You! Boy! You see that old man over there?!” Theodoric asks, referring to the elderly gentleman crossing the street twenty feet away.
“Yes,” Sam answered.
“Kill him!”
“What?”
Theodoric growls at Sam, pointing his five foot sword at his throat. Sam winces,
“I said kill him! ... Now!”
Sam reluctantly makes his way toward the old man. Jeremy looks on in horror. Napoleon smiles, and offers his support, “Geet that old bastarhd!”
“Give him no quarter!” Theodoric exclaims.
Theodoric, Napoleon, and Jeremy are standing on a wet sidewalk, illuminated by a dull street lamp overhead. Theodoric points to the Maroon 1984 Toyota parked next to them.
“You… other boy. What is the name of this metal chariot?”
“It’s called a car, Theodoric.”
“Destroy it!”
“What? I’ll get in trouble!”
“Trouble! How is this for trouble, boy?! I will kill your father if you don’t do it! And rape your woman friend!” Napoleon laughs and says:
“Probably wouldn’t have to rape her, Theo.”
“That’s true,”
Back in Jeremy's room, smoke still sits low in the air. Tabitha and Selena are huddled together on the floor. They have black tear lines running down their faces. Their white makeup now wearing off.
"I'm sorry I called you a slut," Selena said.
"It's okay. I kind of am one." Tabitha said.
"Yeah... you are," and they both laughed.
"I wonder if they're okay?"
“That’s it Sam-my! You’ve almost got him!” Napoleon said.
From across the street we hear the scream of the elderly man.
“Finish him! You’re almost a real Goth,” Theodoric yelled. “And you, boy. Kill the chariot!”
“Use you’re hands!” Napoleon said, making a fist. Jeremy is near tears…
“Do it now! Show me that you are Goth material!” Theodoric said.
Jeremy looks up to Theodoric, then down to the ground. He clenches both fists, looking around as if examining his own will, his own strength. Then he rears back! He throws a right-cross which lands in the center of the Toyota’s front passenger side window.
“Ahhh! I think I broke my hand!” Jeremy cried.
“Pain! Next to death in battle, the best thing for a Goth! Destroy the chariot boy!” Jeremy hits the window again, and again. He cries of pain growing louder with each blow.
Sam shouts in the background:
“I just killed a senior citizen! Oh my god! Forgive me Jesus!”
“Did you say Jesus?” asked Theodoric. “I thought you were one of the dark lord’s minions?”
A crash as Jeremy finally breaks the Toyota’s window with his fist. Blood flows down his wrists onto his clothing and the street.
"Yes!" Napoleon exclaimed, "You did it, boy!"
“I think I cut an artery! I’m getting light headed!”
“Shedding blood in battle! We just might make a Goth out of you yet! Said Theodoric, “Now drink it!” Jeremy moves limps to a nearby lawn, nearly losing his balance.
“You… want me to drink my own blood?” he asked.
“Do it now!” said Theodoric.
“It looks like you’re soldiers are fading, Theodoric,” Napoleon noted, pointing to Sam who was now on his knees, hands raised to the sky, crying out to a Christian God.
“I don’t wanna be Goth anymore,” Sam cried, choking up, wiping tears from his eyes.
A bright light flashes in the sky! A familiar voice calls out:
“Theodoric! What did I say! I clearly stated: you must not give in to your natural impulses”
“Egin? Is that you?” Theodoric asks, looking up toward the light in the sky.
“Who else would it be, you idiot!
“Shit!” Theodoric exclaimed.
"You may have set in motion events that will alter history forever! You must get out of there at once!” Theodoric walks over to Jeremy, who is now passed out with his wrist to his mouth. Sam is next to him, calling to the heavens. Theodoric raises his sword and bellows:
“Ha…Haahhaa! You are both weak! Neither of you have what it takes to be real Goths! We are strong! Goths will rule forever!”
“Actually, Monsieur, that is not the case. Goths will not rule forever.”
“You doubt my supremacy little man?!”
“Enough, Theodoric! Get out of there!” Napoleon interupts:
“It is simple historical fact. You Ostrogoths will last only until 588. Then you will be assimilated by other cultures and forgotten. The Visgoths will last until 711, though. It is simple Theodoric. Look around you!”
“You spout lies, little man!” Theodoric turns his sword on Sam, his hand shaking with rage. Sam pisses himself.
“Open your eyes, boy!” and Sam does.
"Theodoric!" Egin yells, "Now!"
"I'm just going to decapitate him and then I'll be on my way, okay Egin?"
"No! Now Theodoric! I will put a spell on you if I must!" Theodoric heed Egin's warning, and lowers his sword.
“Monsieur, I've studied war for many years... battles that predate even you. So, you must understand, what I say is the truth.” Theodoric kneels at Jeremy's lifeless form. Blood covers his face, his clothing, and the grass around him. Theodoric places a large scarred hand on the boys shoulder. Tears well in his eyes.
“Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooodddddddss!” Theodoric screams! Lightning erupts in the sky, thunder roars -- and just like that... he disappears. A wisp of smoke where he once stood.
“I am afraid I must be going, also," Napoleon says, removing his hat, and bowing deeply to the unmoving figures of Jeremy and Sam. Then, he too, disappears in a flash of light.
It’s morning. Crickets are chirping, and a bright fog shrouds the rising morning sun. Sam and Jeremy lay still, their bodies twisted at odd angles on the sidewalk and grass.
“Excuse me, son.” An old hand shakes Sam.
“Son, wake up. Looks like you’ve been doing some drinking, there hey boys?”
It’s the old man that Sam killed last night, and he is especially alive this morning. He shakes Sam again.
“Son!”
Sam’s eyes slit open, then wide! In fear, he scrambles away from the man on his hands and knees.
“Hey… I… you’re alive?” said Sam.
“Last time I checked,” the old man responded. Sam grabs his head. A horrible headache disrupts his thoughts. Jeremy lays a few feet away, passed out, dried blood caked on his face. Sam shakes him vigorously.
“Jeremy! Jeremy... wake up! We’re alive! The old man is alive!” Already moving away from them, the old man shakes his head, and continues on his morning walk at a gingerly pace.
“Goddamn Goth kids!” he says.
Jeremy opens his eyes, squinting at the sun. He looks toward the old man disappearing down the street.
“Sir!” he calls out. The old man turns back to them and pauses.
“What is it, kid?”
“We’re not Goths sir... we were... not anymore.”
“Bunch of damn freaks is what you are!” the old man responds, heading off toward the sunrise.
Sam helps Jeremy to his feet. He pats him on the back, and offers a knowing nod --no we’re not pal, not anymore.
“Let’s go check on the girls” said Sam.
“I think I’ll tell Tabitha how I feel about her.”
“You should do that. You really should”
Sunlight creeps into Jeremy’s room. It looks like… well, it looks like a third century Goth went on the warpath in here. Tabitha and Selena are huddled together on the floor among posters, candles, and empty bedazzled goblets. Wine stains the carpet. Jeremy and Sam walk in, beaten and battered, hairstyles long since destroyed.
“Should we wake them?” Sam asked.
“No. They need to sleep it off. The mushrooms I put in the wine will give them a horrible hang over.
The End
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
More word origins and their cultural influences, bitch.
This is why he called himself Ziggy, and we weren't sure if he was a boy or a girl.
"In psychology, Carl Jung used the term "syzygy" to denote an archetypal pairing of contrasexual opposites, which symbolized the communication of the conscious and unconscious minds: the conjunction of two organisms without the loss of identity."
I learned this by reading a book.
"In psychology, Carl Jung used the term "syzygy" to denote an archetypal pairing of contrasexual opposites, which symbolized the communication of the conscious and unconscious minds: the conjunction of two organisms without the loss of identity."
I learned this by reading a book.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Interview with Dr. Stephen Bristol OB/GYN
What follows was to appear in the Orange County Register's 'People' section. It was never published.
JG: Hello, Stephen. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule for this interview.
SB: It's nothing really. I'm actually on a bit of a sabbatical right now.
JG: Really? I recall an article I read in Contemporary OB/GYN Magazine, in which you stated that you hated being away from work for more than a weekend...
SB: Yeah. That was the March 2007 issue, right?
JG: Yes it was.
SB: I'm taking some time off to reflect on where I'll be taking my practice in the future. This is difficult to do when I'm working so much.
JG: Of course. Are you thinking of expanding your practice?
SB: Well... no. This is more of a spiritual sabbatical. I'm taking some time to re-assess myself, and examine if I really want to continue working in the field.
JG: You'll understand my surprise hearing this from man who is so preeminent in his field?
SB: Again, it's just a period of reflection.
JG: That's funny, you usually reflect on periods... but now you're taking a period to reflect, heh?
SB: The issues I'm dealing with are very serious... so I hope you'll understand that I don't find that funny.
JG: Duly noted. You were educated at the University of California at Irvine School of Medicine, correct?
SB: That is correct. It is a wonderful school, and program. The faculty at the time was brilliant. There is no end to the good things I have to say about my education there.
JG: So my next question is... Why OB/GYN? Did you know at an early age that this was an area you hoped to enter?
SB: Well, I knew from an early age that I wanted to be involved in medicine in some capacity. I think I made the decision to go into OB/GYN just after my first semester in college.
JG: According to reports from some of your old school chums you were a bit of a jokester in those days. A "true rascal" as one of them said.
SB: Sure, I guess. We had fun back then. We spent alot of time in Newport Beach, and there was alot of partying going on all the time. It was good fun.
JG: What was it that year that influenced your decision to go into Gynecology?
SB: Well, Johnny, herein lies the rub. You see I was a bit of a jokester back then, as were my friends. We were always trying to one up each other. It got pretty out of hand at times.
JG: You cad! So you're thinking of leaving the practice for a life of partying? Yuck it up like the old college days? Bally-hooo, heh!
SB: No. That is not the reason. Not at all.
There was an awkward silence, in which Dr. Bristol stared at me with what I can descibe only as pure hatred.
JG: Where were we? Ah, yes. So what was it that lead you to your decision to go into Gynecology?
SB: Like we discussed, I was a jokester and all that... fun loving guy. Well... as far as I can remember... I guess I was immature at the time... I just thought it was really funny to say that I was going to become a Gynecologist.
JG: I'm sorry, did I hear you say that Gynecology is funny?
SB: No, no, no. I was in college, Johnny! You know how college kids are. One night a cute asian girl asked me what my major was... I was seriously wasted... and I was just like 'I'm going to be a P*@&y doctor.'
JG: Oh my--
SB: I know, I know. It snowballed from there. One of my friends overheard my saying it, and for the rest of the night he wouldn't stop telling people 'That's Steve, he's going to be a p*&$y doctor.' And I'll admit, at the time I thought it was fricken hilarious. It just stuck. It made me interesting -- and funny. That's a killer combo, you know? Girls actually liked me for it. They thought I was sensitive. I made up a whole back story about how my mother had an irregularly shaped uterus and that her OB/GYN was the reason that I was alive.
JG: So you did it all for the chicks? So that your friends would think you are funny? That is insane!
SB: Yeah, when I think about it now it, is.
JG: Well, I understand your taking of sabbatical now. Do you feel that your practice will suffer when this knowledge is made public? How will your patients react?
SB: I'm pretty sure this is going to destroy my practice. Do you think you could maybe just forget this whole thing? I'd like to leave my options open.
JG: You are quite a piece of work, Dr. Bristol.
SB: What! I said that I feel bad about all this! Do you now how gross my job is? I've got intimacy issues now! And I've got my employees to think about and there's the mortgage and the car-payments and so many bills. This is really a horrible time for me.
JG: I'm sure it is.
SB: Everything just got out of control.
JG: Why did this not occur to you in the eight years that you were studying?
SB: Jesus! Haven't you been listening? I thought it was funny! My friends thought it was funny! We were assholes okay! Fuck!
And with that, Dr. Bristol abruptly stood up and walked off, ending the interview. He has since, left his practice. He is now living in Bucharest, Romania on a work Visa where he is employed as a bartender at Club Maxx.
JG: Hello, Stephen. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule for this interview.
SB: It's nothing really. I'm actually on a bit of a sabbatical right now.
JG: Really? I recall an article I read in Contemporary OB/GYN Magazine, in which you stated that you hated being away from work for more than a weekend...
SB: Yeah. That was the March 2007 issue, right?
JG: Yes it was.
SB: I'm taking some time off to reflect on where I'll be taking my practice in the future. This is difficult to do when I'm working so much.
JG: Of course. Are you thinking of expanding your practice?
SB: Well... no. This is more of a spiritual sabbatical. I'm taking some time to re-assess myself, and examine if I really want to continue working in the field.
JG: You'll understand my surprise hearing this from man who is so preeminent in his field?
SB: Again, it's just a period of reflection.
JG: That's funny, you usually reflect on periods... but now you're taking a period to reflect, heh?
SB: The issues I'm dealing with are very serious... so I hope you'll understand that I don't find that funny.
JG: Duly noted. You were educated at the University of California at Irvine School of Medicine, correct?
SB: That is correct. It is a wonderful school, and program. The faculty at the time was brilliant. There is no end to the good things I have to say about my education there.
JG: So my next question is... Why OB/GYN? Did you know at an early age that this was an area you hoped to enter?
SB: Well, I knew from an early age that I wanted to be involved in medicine in some capacity. I think I made the decision to go into OB/GYN just after my first semester in college.
JG: According to reports from some of your old school chums you were a bit of a jokester in those days. A "true rascal" as one of them said.
SB: Sure, I guess. We had fun back then. We spent alot of time in Newport Beach, and there was alot of partying going on all the time. It was good fun.
JG: What was it that year that influenced your decision to go into Gynecology?
SB: Well, Johnny, herein lies the rub. You see I was a bit of a jokester back then, as were my friends. We were always trying to one up each other. It got pretty out of hand at times.
JG: You cad! So you're thinking of leaving the practice for a life of partying? Yuck it up like the old college days? Bally-hooo, heh!
SB: No. That is not the reason. Not at all.
There was an awkward silence, in which Dr. Bristol stared at me with what I can descibe only as pure hatred.
JG: Where were we? Ah, yes. So what was it that lead you to your decision to go into Gynecology?
SB: Like we discussed, I was a jokester and all that... fun loving guy. Well... as far as I can remember... I guess I was immature at the time... I just thought it was really funny to say that I was going to become a Gynecologist.
JG: I'm sorry, did I hear you say that Gynecology is funny?
SB: No, no, no. I was in college, Johnny! You know how college kids are. One night a cute asian girl asked me what my major was... I was seriously wasted... and I was just like 'I'm going to be a P*@&y doctor.'
JG: Oh my--
SB: I know, I know. It snowballed from there. One of my friends overheard my saying it, and for the rest of the night he wouldn't stop telling people 'That's Steve, he's going to be a p*&$y doctor.' And I'll admit, at the time I thought it was fricken hilarious. It just stuck. It made me interesting -- and funny. That's a killer combo, you know? Girls actually liked me for it. They thought I was sensitive. I made up a whole back story about how my mother had an irregularly shaped uterus and that her OB/GYN was the reason that I was alive.
JG: So you did it all for the chicks? So that your friends would think you are funny? That is insane!
SB: Yeah, when I think about it now it, is.
JG: Well, I understand your taking of sabbatical now. Do you feel that your practice will suffer when this knowledge is made public? How will your patients react?
SB: I'm pretty sure this is going to destroy my practice. Do you think you could maybe just forget this whole thing? I'd like to leave my options open.
JG: You are quite a piece of work, Dr. Bristol.
SB: What! I said that I feel bad about all this! Do you now how gross my job is? I've got intimacy issues now! And I've got my employees to think about and there's the mortgage and the car-payments and so many bills. This is really a horrible time for me.
JG: I'm sure it is.
SB: Everything just got out of control.
JG: Why did this not occur to you in the eight years that you were studying?
SB: Jesus! Haven't you been listening? I thought it was funny! My friends thought it was funny! We were assholes okay! Fuck!
And with that, Dr. Bristol abruptly stood up and walked off, ending the interview. He has since, left his practice. He is now living in Bucharest, Romania on a work Visa where he is employed as a bartender at Club Maxx.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
What is a Reading Rainbow?
As a youth I took more than one look, and never, to my dismay, found a 'Reading Rainbow' in a book. Those lying scum! They said it was there! One can only wonder how many innocent little children were brought to insanity by their search for the elusive 'Reading Rainbow' like a bunch of miniature treasure hunters in a life consuming pursuit of the Holy Grail. Can you picture a possesed five year old ripping his entire prized Berenstein Bears series to shreds, manically searching the mangled spine for any sign of the multi-colored phenomena? "Mommy! They said it was in a book! It's not here! Where is it?! Ahhhhwaaaaahhhhhhh!"
I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a cosmic sense of well being while listening to the final echoes of the synth-sound heavy RR theme song as it's joined by a soulfoul repetition of the words "...a Reading Rainbow...Reading Rainbow..."
I would be lying if I said I didn't feel a cosmic sense of well being while listening to the final echoes of the synth-sound heavy RR theme song as it's joined by a soulfoul repetition of the words "...a Reading Rainbow...Reading Rainbow..."
Thursday, May 8, 2008
If I had a Myspace page...
In the "who I'd like to meet" section, I would have Carl Gustaf Jung listed.
Why?
Because I would like to punch him right in his goddamn jaw, and say "What does that represent, Carl? Huh, huh? Does that 'spring forth' from something?"
"Of course not" he would say, as "Once the archetypes become conscious they fail to have meaning."
Fucking Carl.
As I continued to beat him, in between "Ow" and "Ahhh" he would probably mutter something about how the physical personification of the animus was quite painful, and that the aggression built into it was what made the beating possible. Marvelous, Carl! Marvelous!
And can you picture the trial? If it would even go that far...
The firey and eloquent prosecutor would point a finger, trembling with passion, in my direction and scream "...and this is the man before you today!" The crowd, enraptured by his sermonous tone, would be affected to the point that they would, themselves, feel guilty.
"If you would please, Carl, explain to the court what transpired that day."
"Yes" he would say, pointing in my direction, "This is the man who punched me in the face."
He would pause, and gulp nervously -- a clear sign that something profound was working its way out of the old CGJ...
And with the crowd captive, he would continue: ".... But as I sit here listening to this... this assassination of character that we civilized persons call a 'trial' I cannot merely proclaim: guilty! Not with all I know, not with all that I've seen." Carl would look down, head in hand and say quietly to himself "Oh, mother, you were right! Damn you, collective unconscious! How you haunt me."
Then, summoning the courage of one-thousand warriors he would somberly say: "You see, my fellow citizens, an indictment of this man is not just an indictment of a single brutal act, committed by a single man. No, this would be an indictment of all of US!
And there would be UPROAR in the crowd as people lept from their seats, with cries of "outrage... blashpeme" clearly audible over the cacophony of vocal rumbling, and shuffling bodies.
"And I, Carl Gustaf Jung, could not and will not, be so brazen and ignorant as to place judgement on all of us! For we are but... but... Humans! Thinking, feeling creatures... Don't you see? We all punched me! Oh... my... MY! Demeter! Gaea!" And in a final plea, not to man, but to something greater and undefined, Carl would stand and shout to the sky: "Why gods? Why have you cursed me? Why?
Why?
Because I would like to punch him right in his goddamn jaw, and say "What does that represent, Carl? Huh, huh? Does that 'spring forth' from something?"
"Of course not" he would say, as "Once the archetypes become conscious they fail to have meaning."
Fucking Carl.
As I continued to beat him, in between "Ow" and "Ahhh" he would probably mutter something about how the physical personification of the animus was quite painful, and that the aggression built into it was what made the beating possible. Marvelous, Carl! Marvelous!
And can you picture the trial? If it would even go that far...
The firey and eloquent prosecutor would point a finger, trembling with passion, in my direction and scream "...and this is the man before you today!" The crowd, enraptured by his sermonous tone, would be affected to the point that they would, themselves, feel guilty.
"If you would please, Carl, explain to the court what transpired that day."
"Yes" he would say, pointing in my direction, "This is the man who punched me in the face."
He would pause, and gulp nervously -- a clear sign that something profound was working its way out of the old CGJ...
And with the crowd captive, he would continue: ".... But as I sit here listening to this... this assassination of character that we civilized persons call a 'trial' I cannot merely proclaim: guilty! Not with all I know, not with all that I've seen." Carl would look down, head in hand and say quietly to himself "Oh, mother, you were right! Damn you, collective unconscious! How you haunt me."
Then, summoning the courage of one-thousand warriors he would somberly say: "You see, my fellow citizens, an indictment of this man is not just an indictment of a single brutal act, committed by a single man. No, this would be an indictment of all of US!
And there would be UPROAR in the crowd as people lept from their seats, with cries of "outrage... blashpeme" clearly audible over the cacophony of vocal rumbling, and shuffling bodies.
"And I, Carl Gustaf Jung, could not and will not, be so brazen and ignorant as to place judgement on all of us! For we are but... but... Humans! Thinking, feeling creatures... Don't you see? We all punched me! Oh... my... MY! Demeter! Gaea!" And in a final plea, not to man, but to something greater and undefined, Carl would stand and shout to the sky: "Why gods? Why have you cursed me? Why?
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