Shit.

I've had an awful epiphany about X-files I don't want to believe. The whole thing is driven by Mulder trying to find his sister. WTF. I'm going to keep watching some more because that's what I do. Scully only stays in because she's in love with Mulder. It's not about finding the truth. And you know what else it's not about. Having a fucking awesome job as an FBI agent that works on supernatural cases. What's that degree? Scully and Mulder should talk more about their weird experiences, maybe talk about it over a glass of wine or beer.

Blood Ending

I'm addicted to this show's ending song. My armhair stands on end.

The show itself. So deep and multi-layered. For me. I had been avoiding it for a time on the evil/soso Netflix. It kind of hurt me to look at. It was too beautiful. I was afraid of letting myself feel like that.

I try to go over why it affects me so deeply. Makes me feel alive. The risk, the way in which his actions separate him from almost everyone in society and yet he has people who love him. And that doesn't matter to him. His love is strong for a few. Everyone else he could care less about. And his addiction is executing. And he is smart. Very smart.

I lost this feeling. I have to do German now.

Yorgo's in Norfolk

So while visiting my fam in Virginia, Bakersfield and I came upon this wonderful place. They had an amazing vegan menu. We split a BBQ gardein chicken bagel and a philly cheesesteak wrap.

 

Yum

Christ-Mass Schtuff & New Year's

I went to Virginia Beach to visit my mom's family. 

                                                                  my uncle joey

 

aunt stacy and danny

             I was able to go to two vegan-ish restaurants while here. So I will post about those next.

Short Story #2: Make-Up Monsters

Make-Up Monsters

 

Something so insignificant as a cotton ball can instill fear. It’s called Sidonglobophobia. Silly, right?

My brother is afraid of cotton balls. It’s the texture he says, it’s the feel. If I touch him with one he yelps and scurries off. This is new to me. My stepmom acts like it’s been going on forever.

We used to call him Q-tip on account of his white hair, but he says, I’m not afraid of Q-tips. Yeah, yeah. We all choose our problems.

777

I watch my brother, Alex, file down the off-white hallway to be married off with his diploma, apathy is written all over me. I can’t wait until this is over. Too many women here. I see angel wings sprouting from his back. I remind myself to tell him that he isn’t free and none of us will ever know what free is. Keep dreaming. Seriously. And while I’m thinking this exact thought, something I’ve been waiting for, it just happens. Light-headedness ensues. Slow-mo. Stop the tape. Rewind. I want to watch it again.

777

Billy picked on me since 8^th grade. When he moved to Cincinnati from L.A. everyone swooned over his shininess. I didn’t care. I cared about what I’ve always cared about: writing. Hiding away in my head. Bent over in class, scribbling away, a heroine story underway. He had tried at first with friendly conversation of course.

“Hi, how are you? My name is Billy. I’m from L.A.” He looks down at the ground, adding in, “It’s not that cool.”

I’d blow him off. “Yeah, I’m Lizzie. Gotta go. Bye.”

A couple of girls would crowd him at his locker and he’d stare me down as I walked by. Billy was clean-cut, tall, a real looker. I could tell he hated it, but I’d ignore him. I dated football players and stoners and through the years he started calling me “Lizzie Borden”. The old maid who murdered her parents. She bludgeoned her dad on the first floor and axed her mother in bed.

Both of my parents are dead. One died in a plane crash during a storm. The other in a flood. My stepmoms take care of me and my brother even though I’m 23. They’ve become friends over the years. Way too much estrogen in my life.

My fear is dying in a freak accident or natural disaster. George says this is an irrational fear. That it’s more likely I’d die from heart disease and/or cancer. I tell him I’ve got that covered. I’m vegan.

George is my buddy Sheila’s dad. The degrees he got in psychology are not posted in Iris Book Café. He assures me he has them.

The lighting is low and I’m contemplating purchasing a book called Doktor Snake’s Voodoo Spellbook.

“Lizzie, are you still being OCD about emergency plans?”

“Um...” I scuffle my feet around under the table. George is a distinguished older man with a not-so-hot wife. He wears dress shirts and jeans and he has a just right tan from traveling on his boat. I’m always thinking he wants to bone me. He probably sees me as a child.

“A little OCD, just a tad.” Pizza would hit the spot right now. The spot being my belly in this case.

“Betty tells me you’ve been really withdrawn, too.”

“Being ready for all imaginable catastrophes takes planning, George. It takes concentration.” Tsunami: find higher ground. Hurricane and tornado: ditch or basement.

“How long do you think your stepmother should take care of you?”

“Forever,” I say meekly. He knows having a job gives me high-anxiety. I change the subject. I talk about my little brother growing up, the new book I’ve started and my stepmoms being best friends weirding me out. They do everything together. Especially girly stuff. Checking my phone discreetly I realize it’s almost 6.

“George, I gotta go. Flash mob at 6. I get up, go to the counter and then throw some cash down for the voodoo book.

“Next week, Lizzie. Same time, same place. I told Betty not to worry. Now have fun and try to relax. We’ll work on finding you a job next time.” I cringe.

“Thanks. See ya.”

777

      The news comes on at 6. I wasn’t going to any freaking flash mob. I mean kudos to them. Just not me. It’s a step in the right direction for people hanging out without being connected to technology though. It means a lot to Betty and Veronica, my stepmoms that I assimilate. Quit laughing. They bonded over those names. But I can’t do it. I don’t have many friends because no one’s paying attention. If they aren’t on F@#$book then they are still on their phone, laptop, or watching tv. What are they diverting their minds away from? Forget the individual. We’re cattle, we’re sheep, we’re zombies. Here come the barcode tats.

Straight to my basement I went to lie in a beanbag chair surrounded by water jugs and flare guns.

I flip on the tv to watch the news, turning to the very thing that is the source of my distress.

George doesn’t understand. Something’s happening. Everyone’s too wrapped up in apps, video games and Netfli# to see. They’re too in love with money, violence, and sex. Women obsessed with looking young, intent on turning back the clock. They might turn it back too far.

I watch more tv but it’s boring stuff. Shootings, store openings, holiday shit. I play music with the tv on (nine inch nails-“The Perfect Drug”)

%Breaking News%

“Bob, we’re here at Orchard Lane...” I turn the music down and lean forward. “We’ve been here before Over-the-Rhine, Bob. The shootings, the robberies, the riots. I’m disturbed, Bob...” She puts her head down, holding back tears, collecting herself. “A mother of three murdered her three children.” I turn the tv off and go upstairs.

In a world filled with distraction, I brush my teeth, wash my face, put on moisturizer, and coconut oil for my skin then I stretch and put “X-Files” on my laptop. I leave it as my lullyby while I curl up in bed.

Reality turns into a netherworld where the dead walk the earth. My parents are naked and rotting.

“We’re so hungry dear,” my mom says. Alex runs out. I yell for him to watch out, but he hugs dad and dad takes a big chunk of his shoulder. Mom starts going for me and I’m just running and running. I run into Billy. I think he’s a zombie. He’s not. We run and run. We never get tired.

My phone incessantly buzzes beside me and I try to ignore it for as long as I can until I’m awake and it’s just pissing me off.

“Hello?” It’s Billy.

“Hey, it’s 1pm. Wake up.”

“Ugh.”

“C’mon. No, really, I heard about Kid Eater. I want to see the aftermath. Take some pictures, ya know.” I get up because this could be interesting and if it’s not I’ll just tag the Newport Bridge on the way back. Maybe finally use my beat up skateboard on the half-pipe over there. We walk in muddy grass and through a forest littered with discarded food wrappers and empty 40s bottles. We hope to sneak into the site of carnage this way. My shoes are kinda wet.

“The cops probably didn’t clean up anything. Probably just took the bodies.”

“Cool.” It’s not a run down house. We break in through the basement door. There’s blood everywhere. Billy is kneeling and angling his camera to get the perfect shot. Then I remember it’s my brother’s graduation today.

“Billy, isn’t your cousin graduating this year, too?”

“Yeah. You want to meet up there?”

“Sure,” I say. I can’t believe a woman savagely ate her kids. WTF.

“This is fucking crazy, right? Lizzie, 3 children under 10 died here, eaten by their matriarch.” I’m silent.

“What’s wrong?” he says.

“I just have a bad feeling about this.” Right after I say this, we hear a door open. Billy gives me a look. Did they even catch her? Shit. I hadn’t paid attention. We run into a kid’s room. Hiding under the bed is all we have time to do. I see feet. Dainty in black flats. Has she come back to eat the rest of her offspring? My heart is beating hard while my head says I’m not going to die from A, B, or C. I die from “other”. Eaten by crazy lady.

Red globs hit the floor. I try not to breath even though I feel like throwing up. A dirty faced woman puts her head down, face to face with me.

This is it.

“Whatchya doin’ down dere?” It’s a drunk homeless person eating cherry pie. She must have wandered in after stopping at a church serving free food.

My body is tense and still in shock.

I feel stupid. There’s human being juice everywhere. Fear is pulsating through every part of me. We got the hell out of there.

Calming down at Fusian, bestowed with 2 veggie tofu sushi rolls and miso soup, I stared at the passer-byers. I got scared shitless. Meaning I’m afraid to lose my life. I’m afraid to die and yet I find my life to have no value. I want to drink and smoke cigarettes.

I want to forget all my conspiracy theories and escape plans and just enjoy life. I can’t do it though. This fear of death is constantly hanging over me.

There was a stretch of new information about an anti-aging cream. Lawsuits were all over the news and papers from two people claiming it made them sick. If it was a mom who killed her kids, I mean, she could have used it.

“Did you have an emergency plan for creepy homeless women?” Billy said slicing through the silence as if it were a plastic sheet.

“No,” I smirk, “but the rest are all in working order.” He laughs.

We finished out lunch talking about scary movies. When I got home Alex and Betty were gone. Already at school, I suppose. I sat down and started a new story. About a girl who had no problems and how boring she was, all she cared about was her looks and she got really excited about this new face cream because it would make her super beautiful. Then one day she had a problem. A bloodthirsty creature she became. Wow. She was so interesting now. She had such a passion for human life now. Best person I never want to meet, I swear to the god I don’t believe in.

777

      I walked into my ugly old school. Fuck, I need a drink. All the moms, all the dads. All the moms. Shit. I was getting alarmed. How many women used the cream? The results were incredible.

      Linda the bank teller at FNB, looked like a damn moldy raisin when I got my first bank account at fifteen. Now men opened checking accounts just to gawk at her, parked their cars to go inside instead of using the drive-thru. Getting laid for sure.

      It scared the shit out of me.

      Men didn’t notice. I mean they took notice to all the hot women. They don’t pay attention to shit until all the chips are down. That’s poker folks. That means we’re all fucking in.

      George was the guidance counselor here. His chair was empty. Could his not-so-hot wife be using the cream? Maybe they’re banging on the kitchen table. The casserole lying untouched beside them.

      My brother and his classmates are lining up outside the gym to get his diploma. I’m trying not to freak out and run away. Where are my stepmoms? Oh, there they are. Up front. Video camera in hand. A scream cuts through all chatter and everyone turns their heads.

      I would say the most horrifying thing to hear is a man scream. I would say the most horrifying thing to see is a man trying take a video with his phone while a woman bites his hand off.

It all goes crazy. The gym becomes a sea of violence. I grab Alex but he shakes me off.

“Lizzie, moms are in there.”

“Alex, they’re gone. C’mon.” We look at each other one long moment. I know they both used the cream. Maybe he knew, too. And the same kid who’s afraid of cottonballs he dives into the gym of people. Bile comes up my esophagus. The girls in his graduating class start acting weird. I scoop out the keys from my pocket and run out the door.

      I find the key for the extra gym class closet outside. I scramble to get what I need since I don’t want to be stuck in here. In the back of the closet I find my backpack. Those monsters will get here...

      The door is flung open. A disheveled blonde hunched over in a blue polo, bares her teeth at me. There’s already blood around her mouth. I grab the closest object that resembles a weapon. I throw it past her.

      The red dodgeball hits the pavement, bouncing. It gets her attention for a few moments and gets her growling. I see a chainsaw next to my feet under some whiffleball bats. In my hands it’s heavy but with adrenaline coursing through me I rev it up with ease. I’ve always wanted to do this. Chainsaws weren’t meant to cut down trees. She growls louder and lunges forward snapping at me. Slobber sprays out from her mouth. The chainsaw swoops down to swing up and chop her head off. I look to see if anyone is coming as I put the chainsaw down.

      Coast is clear...damn, no they’re coming.

      Our school was built on a cliff. I take a running start. This is as close as I’m going to get to free. Hangliding. Time has slowed way down. My chest is so tight. I’m claustrophobic in the sky. It hurts. Not feeling it. I hear something. I land horribly in rocky sand. The sound is so close but I don’t know where it’s coming from.

      I’m sobbing. Alex. WTF. I didn’t have that in my plan (KNOCK OUT BROTHER IN CASE HE DOESN’T COOPERATE). The sound is almost on me now.

777

      I used to run away from home to practice hangliding to one of my safest places. One day I stupidly went right before a storm. It was fierce.

      And as I lay nestled in a cubby hole on the side of a cliff I realized someone was standing near my hidey hole. They got closer and closer. Thunder struck as our faces met causing us both to shriek.

      It was Billy. His parents had had a huge blow-out. He wanted to get away.

      He was crying.

      “You can fit in here,” I had said. That was a year ago.

777

      By the time I get to the hidey hole I know the sound is a helicopter. Is it going to shoot me? It hovers in the air like a gigantic prehistoric insect waiting to strike its prey.

      Then it crashes into the rocks. Was there a woman in there?

      Billy is already here.

      “My mom killed my family.” I hold Billy close and we cry.

      I think about all the guns I’ve hidden away. I think about how I’ve prepared for this moment. About how I pause too much for effect. I look into Billy’s eyes. I see forever. I see hope.

      I whisper to him, “I’m not ready to be free yet.”

 

 

 

 

 

Maynard Interview

No tv today. Man, I am braindead. I am listening to a Maynard Keenan interview which is not tv. And I watched a Tool video. Thinking about when to do a run. Just made vegan sloppy joe and vegan cole slaw. They are both pretty good. Nayonaise is not my favorite. Vegenaise is the best and I did not have any.

On the way to ultimate health I have decided to concentrate on mind health. On the body side I just try to exercise everyday and if I don't I don't and I don't eat as much as I usually do or I try not to. I ate three fucking amazing cookies today. No, 4. and Pho and a high sugar ginger ale which sucked. but at least it tasted good. Anyway, I'm going to put up some stories I've written recently.

I'm going over to some friends' house to eat dindin.

E.L. is a 5 at this moment. That's pretty good. I was pretty much 1 yesterday and that's not good. (Existential Level:1-12, 0 is dead, 12 is insanity of feeling unreal.)

Short Short Story #1: The Places You Never Go P1

It was Sunday and she raced down the stairs in a white flowy nightgown thingy, but it was really a dress. She had convinced them to let her do it. And she was gleeful as hell. Quite proud of herself. There were terms, though. A small contract.
She couldn't steal things out of the gift shop. Pfff. She could buy the whole damn gift shop. She had rolled her eyes at this one. She must not ruin anything especially not the art. Duh, she thought.
Not a single thing about large gala parties. The rest was normal mumbo jumbo and including utility costs and installing a fancy schmancy Frank Lloyd Wright-Andy Warhol shower/bath/sauna combo. She signed on the line because dotted lines didn't exist anymore.

Penelope E. Clare

With such flourish. The board of directors made a good show of acting like she was no one. That's fine by me, Penelope thought and she smiled a terribly fake smile. With her sunglasses still on, Penelope left going to collect her prize.
The first thing she did was eat a candy bar. Peppermint. The second thing she did was search the internet for a moonjump, bumper cars, and a trampoline in the shape of a penis. The third thing she did was climb to the very top of the roof and dangle her feet over the side. She dropped a penny on a man's head. He cursed, but he wasn't dead. Penelope threw down a red rose. The man didn't see it and walked on his was rubbing the crown of his head right until he disappeared into a taxi. A group of middle-aged guys and gals were coming upon the abandoned rose. One of the women, picked it up and carried it off, giggling.
There was a rail on the roof perfect for coupling with a grappling hook. Penelope used this beneficial rail to repel down. She was thinking that she needed a drink.
Of water and some tacos, but Nada's was too full. Penelope meandered around seventh street and found Gilpin's, the bagel sandwich place. One hummus bagel, please, all the veggies, no cheese.
She plopped down in their little loft-like dining space. Excitement coursed through her when she spotted the Nintendo. Mario, please. She did the ceremonial blow and played for a minute while shoving bagel sandwich in her mouth. Then she glanced down at the door only to see her nemesis walk in.