Thursday, May 31, 2007

The Catalyst, chaptor three (Sorry again about the length)
(The following is an excerpt from a police report file.)
“Relations: Daughter of Molly and Alfred Burgham, sister to Laura Burgham. Age: Died at 15 years and 6 months. Description: Dark brown hip-length hair, hazel eyes, candy-red lips. Nice rosy, somewhat blemished complexion. About 5-foot-6 inches tall. Slender, statuesque, slightly athletic body. She had a birth-mark on her arm that looked like a “1” and mysteriously turned as dark as a tattoo when she died. Cause of Death: Was left with a bullet in the side of her stomach for too long, in an abandoned building. Identification: Nikki Alexandra Burgham.”

The corpse of whom was found in the exact same room of the exact same secluded Parish Center where I was told, for the first time, that the only reason I know is because I “was never there.”(Although “The Human Shields”/Nikki’s head-phones never told me what it was I know.) Yeah, on the 1st of December, 9:15 in the morning, there she lay in an unhappy heap on the cold, almost frozen floor. Her hair was bedraggled, her skin was ashen. You could tell Nikki had been crying by the mascara that had run down her cheeks. Plus, her expression was this really pathetic strife-filled attempt at a smile that should’ve been the very dictionary definition of “unconvincing.” She always did that when she was depressed. You know, pretend to be happy and try to hide her pain even though it was obvious that she was on the verge of a tearful break-down. Not that I blamed her for crying. I mean, not only had she been left with her side pierced and punctured open by a lump of steel and gun-powder at 100 miles per hour; but she had been shot my the man she’d obsessed over throughout her entire adolescence! And how did I know everyone’s favorite human Shield/Mardi Gras decoration was responsible for Nikki’s death, at the time? Well, actually I didn’t. Oh, sure, before dying Nikki had evidently written, in her own blood, on the floor, using her finger as the pen/blood-brush/stylus: IT’S OKAY, JAY. I STILL LOVE YOU
But, of course, I didn’t immediately assume that this poor girls “Jay,” was Jason Wenterz. Why? Because, honestly, has a world-renowned rock-star EVER been convicted of killing his biggest fan? No. Well, at least, it hasn’t been proven until now. However, I still refrained from making this conspiracy known to anyone besides Laura, for obvious reasons. The obvious reasons, being: (1.) no one else would possibly believe me, and (2.) I could get locked up in the mad house. I mean, sure, no one recognized the sun-glasses-clad bleach blonde, allegedly Albino, morbid-looking man at the funeral who mysteriously disappeared the second said funeral was over; and everyone found it a bit suspicious when Mobile Fallout Shelter released a song called “The Hands of Nikki Bhurgam” to the public, mere weeks after Nikki’s death. And, yes, they grew even more suspicious when they saw/heard the songs lyrics: “Oh, confessor,/I have another confession to make…/ [WHISPERING]/ How much repentance do you suppose it would take?/ Look at this tangled web of thorns and/ sores, and know/ she’ll never grow up./ Look at these tangles and brambles/ of sacrifice and wonder why./ The only reason I pulled the trigger:/ she was a shine, and I, just a glimmer./….Her last words:/ ‘It’s okay. I still love you.’/ Mine to her were: ‘Save yourself and die young.’/ Oh,/ murderer/ murderer/ Yeah, I asked her/, but she wouldn’t answer./ Not before or after I pulled the trigger./ She’s the gold, I’m the glimmer./” But it doesn’t matter. Because for one thing, in the minds of everybody else, the similarities in the song to Nikki’s death are/is all 1 big coincidence; and for another, the idea of a rock star shooting his biggest fan just sounds too fictitious to be believable. (In other words, Jason is literally getting away with murder.)
And then there are all those oh-so-aggravating Jason fan-girls who are constantly trying to convince themselves that Jason is a nice compassionate person, deep down, and simply refuse to believe that he would do half the stuff he does. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I admire them for having so much faith in him, and being able to see past all his many, many vices. But I just find it SO grindingly superficial when people only listen to Mobile Fallout Shelter for Jason’s so-called “sex appeal,” and don’t even know who all the other guys in the band are! (Not only that, but they don’t even know what genre of music Mobile Fallout Shelter is!) Seriously, I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard: “Yeah, that weird guy in the hat, with the guitar? He’s, like, SO freakin’ fat, innit he? It’s like, O.M.G., go on a diet!” It is at these times that I practically choke to death on self-restraint not to whip around, slap said Jason chaser across the face, and shout: “LOOK!! HIS NAME IS MIKEY RALPHSON, NOT ‘THAT WEIRD GUY WITH THE HAT AND GUITAR’!! AND HE’S NOT FAT!! HE JUST WEARS BAGGY CLOTHES, YOU IGNORENT DITZ!!” And don’t even get me started on the lack of appreciation for Andy and Brent. (Which is really ridiculous, because Andy “Sir Starburst Head” is the freaking name-sake of the band! Yeah, that’s right, without the scarlet wax-like tuffs of Mr. Dragon Ball Z Hair, Mobile Fallout Shelter would still be “Jay, Mike, Andy, And Brent.”) But I’m getting off topic. A fraction of my point is, like I said, Jason is an untouchable cause/catalyst.
The rest of my point is, he’s not just another pretentious, immoral, deceiving jerk on MTV, who no one except his neighbors and colleagues have to worry about. No, he’s the deranged, murdering, seemingly invincible, oh-so-hideously gorgeous compulsive liar adorned with every psychological complex and potential law-suit you can imagine. In other words- Yes. He’s dangerous. Suffice it to say, that if those provocatively dressed, heartless users, who loiter/lounge about in night clubs/bars and are the very definition of “compassionless”; are human strikes to the face, then Jason is a human kick in the stomach. (Ladies and gentlemen of “almost okay”, meet the epitome of brutally beautiful and maliciously magic.) However, you would never suspect that if you were to casually encounter and get into a conversation with him, before even knowing anything about Mobile Fallout Shelter, and Jays’ role in it. It’s true, he has a way with words. Although, he’s more amusing, than articulate; meaning he’s got every ounce of the antics, faux friendliness, and charisma to compensate for his lack of intellectual speech. (Not that most rock stars sound all that intellectual anyway, but you know what I mean.)
And, contrary to popular pre-conceived assumption, he doesn’t just babble about himself for hours on end. No, he’s perfectly capable of having (and enjoying) a conversation without boring his “audience”/listener(s) to tears. In other words: he is both a satirist and a sanguine. That’s probably the whole reason why he’s considered the front-man: because he is the most out-going member.
In fact, as he’s now politely listening (or pretending to listen) to me cautiously stammering out the flattering/polite version of why I’m not going to be the co-lyricist for Mobile Fallout Shelter, I almost dare to believe I’ll make it out of Chicago with my dignity and bodily health intact.( Ha! Yeah, right!) As I try to explain, my eyes are fixed on his nose because there’s no way I’ll be able to pronounce coherent sentences and look into the vacuum of Jays’ eyes at the same time. (Not that I’m doing all that well of a job without being sucked into his eyes, but you get the idea.) “….So, ummm, you see, if I started lyricing, er, I mean, writing lyrics for Mobile Fallout Shelter, then they just wouldn’t be Mobile Fallout Shelter anymore, so….Yeah.” I conclude, allowing my voice to trail off awkwardly, still stuck within the role/defense mechanism/barrier of the boring, ordinary, oh-so-unimpressive Nobody from Nowhere, MD. Its been about 2 minutes since Hell froze over, and in case you can’t tell by my loss of verbal fluency and “wounded-deer-caught-in-the-head-lights” look, I am baffled.(Still baffled, I should say.) Nevertheless, during these 2 minutes, I’ve been awkwardly trying to explain to Jay that without their semi-offensive, confusing lyrics, Mobile Fallout Shelter simply would not be Mobile Fallout Shelter; ergo, making me the co-lyricist would just positively ruin the band. (Although, as we all saw/read, it didn’t come out sounding quite that eloquently.)
Ignoring that for a minute (or this entire chapter, you decide), I choose this alternate explanation of my reason(s) for rejecting Jasons’ offer because I figured it would save Jay some dignity and not encourage him to hold a grudge. (After all, it’s bad enough that his band forced him to ask some 15-year-old, semi-poetic nobody [me] for lyrical help, but having said semi-poetic nobody TURN HIM DOWN? Now that’s just an insult!) But, as he stares inquiringly into my flushed, oh-so-uncomfortable face, in expressionless silence, I can’t help but wonder if he heard a word I said. That, and IT.IS.SO.QUIET! (Fortunately this won’t last long, as my head is about to explode from all the tension.) Now this painfully uncomfortable silence continues to repetitively bash against my skull for about a minute more, then Jay --his face still an unreadable mask of gorgeously feminine lashes, enigmatic dark eyes, and stainless alabaster skin--FINELLY asks, “So, we—Mobile Fallout Shelter, I mean— is really that precious to you?” For my reaction, I just nod, not daring to open my clumsy mouth again. “And what is it you like about us?” He asks, making the amount of curiosity in his tone equal to that of condescending malice. (Oh my Microsoft WordPad! Why doesn’t he just give me a lobotomy and get it over with?!) “Um…I don’t know, I just like your music, I guess…” I stammer, sounding just as quiet and almost as awkward as before.
At this, his eyes widen and brighten with a curious intrigue.(Yeah, I didn’t see what the big deal was either.) But all he says is: “What’s your favorite color?”
“Um….I don’t know,” I say, because I honestly don’t.
“And you like anime, right? I mean, you’re on Myotaku, so…”
“Uh-huh.”
“What do you like about anime?”
“Um….I don’t know, I just like how compelling it usually is, and how realistic the characters are, and stuff.” Strangely enough, instead of trying to clear up the lack of information in my reply by asking more questions, or doing whatever a normal/sane person would do, he just blinks, smiles, cracks up, and mutters something under his breath. (And now he’s talking to himself and laughing at nothing….Yup. Definitely insane.) Well, despite the fact that, by now, I have given up all hope of being able to understand him, I reluctantly ask: “Er… What’s so funny?” The only reply I get is a politely dismissive: “Oh, you just remind of someone I used to know…Or ‘not know,’ rather. That’s all;” along with a perfect, apologetic “I’m a psycho, sorry you have to deal with me” smile, and an indifferent shrug. “So…About the co-lyricist job…” I begin, FINELLY summoning the nerve to ask if he’s angry with me for not accepting the said job. But, before I can even begin finish the sentence, Jason reads my mind. “Oh, right. Um, it’s okay, you don’t HAVE to want to do the job.” He says, giving me a reassuring smile. “But, would it be okay if I, like, made a copy of that 1 song-slash-poem? I mean, I just really liked that 1, and I promise I won’t steal it from you, so...? Can I?” Being relieved that the most popular member of 1 of my favorite bands of all time doesn’t want to kill me and all, I’m in a rather generous mood, so I nod and say: “Yeah, sure, dude.” Then, of course, I pick up my portfolio of poems and drawings Jay took a look at earlier and ask him which poem he wanted. “Uhhh, it was the one that went”-and then, to my delighted amusement, he sings the first few lines of it-“ ‘Melatonin./and Motrin/and Morphine-Drip/ are just a few of my favorite things./’” So I flip through the pages of my work, find the desired rhyme, rip it out, and hand the paper, on which it’s written, to Jay. He then thanks me and goes to his computer/scanner to make a copy of it.
While, he’s making said copy, my mother returns from Jays bath-room, obviously completely oblivious to what just took place and greets me with a “Hey, Where’s Jay Wen?” (“Jay Wen” is Mother Dearest’s nick-name for Jason; and I only have one thing to say about it: Ew. Ew, ew, ew! EWWWWW!) At this, my face creases into a confused, perplexed frown as I consider the question: “how the hooblech am I supposed to explain to my mother that a world-renowned rock star just offered me a job writing lyrics, which I turned down; so instead he just settled for making a copy of 1 of my poems?” (Man, not even I understand it!) However, I do eventually come up with something, and it is: “Well, he had to go to the bath-room, but he thought you were still using it, so he went to use the one down-stairs, so…yeah.” At first, she just blinks and shrugs, then casually accepts my answer with an unsuspecting: “Oh. Okay then.” And with that, she takes a seat next to me, on 1 of the living room couches, and says: “We’re gonna have to go soon. Remember, you’ve got school tomorrow.” At the mention of my school, I can’t help but gag, to which my mother doesn’t react. She already knows perfectly well how I feel about traditional education/High school. (And yet, she still makes me go, the torturous mommy!)
Now the strange part is, when Jay gets back, he seems to already know I don’t want my mother to know what occurred while she was in the bath-room. Because, instead of just causally and openly handing me back the original poem/paper, he surreptitiously drops it unto my lap, as he walks by, without even glancing at me, while my mother is distracted by her thanking him for paying for our trip over here and informing him that in order to get back to Maryland in time for Monday/tomorrow, we must leave for the air-port right now. So, either Jason has hidden cameras in his living room, which are accessible from his computer, or he just loves sneaking things to and from people because he fancies himself quite the sapphire-haired, guitar-wielding, un-British version of James Bond. (The name’s Wenterz. Jason Wenterz.)
So, yeah, I agree with my mother on the time, not wanting to prolong the confusion that is the company of an insane incoherent poet; gather up my portfolio of drawings/poems and my coat, mom does the same only without the portfolio part, and Jay drives us to the air-port in time for our flight. So, I escape in time to not be murdered/beaten by Jason, Jason doesn’t kill/molest anybody, and my mother doesn’t suspect a thing. That’s how it ends, right? Wrong. Yeah, right as I dare to think this series of surprising events has come to an end, Jason surprises me. As I’m exiting his car, he grabs my wrist, violently yanks me back into whispering distance of him, swiftly brings his other hand to my up-side-down head so it’s being held inches away from his mouth, and murmurs insidiously into my face: “See you soon, Schnee. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Because, you know, Heaven forbid Jay Wenterz should ever be the least bit un-cryptic. And, then, immediately after saying this, he- now I must you warn you, upon reading this, you might just throw up in your mouth a little, but: immediately after saying this, he delicately brings my head closer, and closer, and closer, and CLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSER to his mouth…AND KISSES ME ON THE MOTHR-(BEEP)ING FORE-HEAD, THE HORRID CHILD SEDUCER!! Plus, while telling me to “enjoy it while it lasts,” he snaked his free hand down the back of my shirt and did something weird with his fingers once he reached the center of my spine.(The REALLY sad part is, that’s the most action I’ve gotten in 2 and a half years.) Luckily for Jason, I never get the chance to make my over-reaction verbally visible.
Because before even my mother, who is standing on the pavement, facing the air-port, can turn around in time to observe this scene, Jay rapidly pushes me out of his car, so that the first thing I collide with feels more like the side-walk instead of the air.(Yeah, first he kisses me than he shoves me out unto the side-walk. Well, isn’t he just the epitome of moral decency?) I only have one reply to this: “Ouuuuuuuuch!” However, he obviously hadn’t intended to push me quite THAT hard because the next thing he does is gracefully drop down beside me and play innocent: “Oh, what happened, sweetie? Did you trip? I’m sorry…” And Mr.Over-Cunning is so convincing as the innocent witness, that, once again, my mother doesn’t suspect a thing. Truth be told, I really don’t care what she thinks as long as we can get the Hell out of here before Jay tries to break my wrist again. And there is a God, because, due to us nearly being late for our flight back to Baltimore County, that’s exactly what we do. Now fast-forward past the entire flight and ride home.
When I take the first few steps across the threshold of said house, quite exhausted from the paranoia and unbelievablity of the previous hours, the first thing that pops into my head is the unjustifiably enormous pile of home-work my teachers gave me to do over the weekend. Translation/interpretation of thought: “Welcome back to reality, honey. Now shut up and get to work!”

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Tuesday, May 29, 2007

ghsrt5
Had a party today. I got to pet kittens.^^ Might post another chaptor of the story soon. But it's uber long, just like the other ones, so consider yourself warned.And my reply to comments:

RisqueGeisha: Yes.And, I'm glad you like it. Personally I think it's rather over-emo, but if you like it...*shrug*

Stefani/A13:Thanks man. *bows in response to clapping*

Rapidhopeloss: Thanks so much. But you must remember, I've been writing poetry for, like, 2 or 3 years now and sometimes my stuff does suck, so the only reason I'm the least bit better at it than you is probably because I've had more practice.


PaganAngel: ALMOST depressing...? It was the freakin' deffinition of emo poetry!

redmoonchick: I actually stole the electric violin part from an old Bob Dylan song called Desolation Row, so.. Yeah. '^^

Savestheday: Thanks. Glad you like it.

lost soal/Dani: My in-box is empty, it's just acting up so it won't let me talk to anyone. Blame the crappy internet connection.

Gumby: *huggles back8 Yesh, go me! X3
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Monday, May 28, 2007

Hell-bent on Heaven-sents
I've got the dread in my heart, my head doesn't know where to start, and the sinking has left me with all the wounds and none of the scars.
My hands are worthless, my mouth is wordless.
I've cried and called out all I could, now all I can do is wait.
Feeling empty and guilty and I don't know how to compensate.
Electric violins and apathetic sins.
It's not so much being horrible as much as it is being nothing at all.
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Sunday, May 27, 2007

BLAH!
Dude... I'm freakin' bored. *kicks trash-can* My PM in-box is still acting up so it won't let anyone talk to me. SCREWWWWWWWWWWWWWW YOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU, TECHNOLIGYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!! So... I'm going to go wallow in my loneliness with youtube videos... bye.~Shadowmesta~
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Wednesday, May 23, 2007

"You can lead a horse away from your water but you can't make it spontaneously combust."-Andy Warrest

Well... I'm a bit more centered than yesterday, thank God. *thanks God* But my sisters are being bitchs, so this probably won't last long. In the mean-time, I've got my emo-tastic music, so I should be good. I'm actually pretty numb right now. By the way, do y'all like my new theme? Shyeah, Alichinos be-eth teh sex, yo. Anyway, school, for the most part, ended yesterday. Now I've only got 1 question:WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW??!!! Ain't got nothing to do this Summer. *sigh* I foresee boredom and empty Saturdays... yup.'-__-
That's gonna be me this Summer, guys.




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Tuesday, May 22, 2007

I only have one thing to say: Boys suck ass. Elephant ass. SCREW THEM AND THEIR LACK OF CONVICTION!!!
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Saturday, May 19, 2007

gdgeg
What, only 2 fucking comments? You guys suck!
Anyway... Prolly won't be posting anymore chaptors for a while so whatever... Dude, I feel like suffocating something/someone. I got another shit-load of home-work I can't concentrate enough to do. Didn't get enough sleep either.Shmehh.......My family's so fucking loud. Sorry about all the cussing, but like I said, I wanna bash some skulls and oblitherate some necks... Here's a video.





Uh-huh...Eroth!
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Friday, May 18, 2007

The Catalyst, chaptor two (Yes, I know it's not as good as the first one but oh well)
Jason Cain Lethium Wenterz II looks fantastic. And I don't just mean fantastic as in "good," or "great." I mean, fantastic,as in "fantasy-like”, as in he looks like a result of C.S. Carrol's pre-Alice In Wonderland drug dosages. Just how much like the hallucination of an intoxicated, delusional, turn-of-the-century auther,you ask? Well,for one thing, he's Albino,so as you can imagine,he doesn't have much of a tan. For another,his hair is bleach blonde with thousands of pale tints of aqua high-lighted into various layers of his oh-so-chicly styled, wispy,silky,choppy hair.And for another,he's got the smoothest skin you've ever seen.(Then there's his unfathomably out-landish fashion sense, which I'm sure I'll get to rambling on about in more detail later...)
Now any other punk-rocker would probably be satisfied with the fabulous hair and lovely, translucent, luminous complexion, right? Not Jason Wenterz. No, he's not happy until he's practically mistaken for a human Mardi Gras decoration. Hence the 2 ruby-red studs pierced into the skin above his eye-brows on either side of his face. Hence the oh-so-'80s silver lip-gloss often decorating his oh-so-masculine mouth. And hence his middle name,(Cain), tattooed vertically down his left arm in big,bold,bloody-looking letters.(He also has various symbols and cartoon characters all over his other arm; and a demonic-looking heart just above his waist.)...But those aspects of his appearance don't really matter.Because those aspects of his appearance don't set him apart at all. Because those aspects of his appearance can be easily,(though somewhat painfully) mimicked.
No,the thing that matters,the thing that no die-hard,Jason Wenterz-impersonating Mobile Fallout Shelter fan could ever imitate, is Jason's eyes.His auburn,magical, naturally black-lashed,slightly mystified,not-so-slightly burning eyes.(Not smoldering,but BURNING.) Now some people might call the surrealism of this enigmatic bassists appearance sexy. I call it creepy. I mean,come on,white skin, light blue hair, and burning brownish red eyes? He looks like Rei Ayanami's punk older brother! (Only,more sinister,and alot more masculine. An actual relative of Rei's would shoot himself in the face if he had a chin like Jason's.) Not that I think Rei (or any of her look-a-likes/"relatives") are ugly,but you've got to admit-those auburn, heavily out-lined orbs with rims of white surrounding the pupils could (and often do) pierce (and/or even puncture) the very fabric of ones soul.
However, in contrast to their "fantastic" band-mate, the rest of Mobile Fallout Shelter,(Mikey Ralphson, Brent Janche, and Andy Warrest) look entirely normal. I mean,sure,the majority of the band are not-so-slightly over-tattooed in some places. And, yes, Andys hair is so spiky, stiff, and long/tall to a point where you have to wonder if its actually his hair and not just some really weird wax-like hat. But, hey, this a rock band; what did you expect?
Such were my thoughts upon first being introduced to said band about 2 years ago,by the musically educated hands of Nikki Burgham, during recess, during middle school. (The setting is a semi-disserted class-room in a somewhat exclusive,secluded Parish Center,right after lunch.)And begin flash-back sequence.......
"Isn't he simply GORGEOUS?" Nikki breathed dreamily,gazing longingly at a picture presenting said pioneer of incoherent poetry,on her desk ."Who, Jason?" Laura,Nikki's sister,asked,standing beside her."Eh, he's okay...But Brent is adorable!" Nikki turned around in her seat and gave her sister a demure, "I-ain't-gonna-humour-you" smile,with a raised eye-brow."Laura,he's got a beard. And,futhermore-he's the drummer!" She said,trying to sound subtle and failing miserably.
But,its true.I really wouldn't classify Brent as "adorable,” or even "cute",for that matter.But,I have to admit,the guy does have style.For one thing, he has hair down to his shoulders, his hair being a subtle,rather flattering shade of light red,with striking tangerine high-lights here and there.For another,his so-called "beard" is actually more like stubble and gives him that "Hippie politician" look.(Which makes sense,considering thats basically what he is.)And,for another,he's more than capable of looking good in his glass's.Plus,he's got the most original tattoo's I've ever seen.I mean,when's the last time you heard of a guy with the words "this ain't a tattoo,its a scar",surrounded by seemingly randomly-placed,incredibly realistic droplets of blood tattooed on his upper back? Um,how about never? (Oh,clever,Brent.Very clever.)
And,Laura obviously had alot of respect for Brent and his many,many original/clever tattoo's,which is why she frowned,and remarked to Nikki: "Why should that matter? Besides,I like his beard." Nikki opened up her mouth to reply/say something offensive,than hesitated,giving her sister the benefit of the doubt.
"Well,he WOULD look weird without the beard,I'l give ya that."Nikki conceded,only to ruin the subtle-ness of her reply again,by later adding-"But,he's SUCH a cynic!" Laura was not pleased. "Hey,I thought we were only talking about their looks." She said,sounding hurt,and making an effort to defend herself,but recovering quickly enough,with a-"But,if thats the case,then your precious Jason is a total perverted psycho!" This was received with what was a mixure of an arogant scoff and an appauled gasp. Not that I was paying attention.In fact,the entier time this was happening,I was safely and thoroughly engrossed in my oh-so-precious copy of "Mara,Daughter of The Nile." Now this is an Eloise J. Mccgraw novel we're talking about,so as you can imagine,I was far too immersed in the plight of the adurable,home-sick Canaanite Princess Inanni,to care what was happening around me.
Anyway,this debate between the 2 sisters went on for about 5 more minutes,then-"What about you,Belinda? What do you think? Who's better-Jason or Brent?" I was asked.At first,I just blinked. (Half because I didn't know who Jason and Brent were,and half because I didn't want to be disturbed from my reading.)"Uhhm,who now?" I asked,setting my book down for the first time since recess had started. "Oh,you know.The Bassest and Drummer of Mobile Fallout Shelter." Nikki explained."Oh,okay.Errrr...Who??" I asked again,obviously clueless. At this appairently ridiculous question,Nikki and Laura exchanged glances, then looked at me as if I had just asked who Jesus Christ was. "You don't know who Mobile Fallout Shelter is...?" Laura half asked, half stated."Ummmm....No,sorry." I confessed, a bit taken aback by the impact that last "who?" had had on the 2 sisters.
"Ohmigawd! You haven't LIVED!" Laura told me,dead serious; while Nikki frantically skimmed through the list of songs on her I-pod,the way a nurse would search for medical equipment,for a paitent with a brain-tomer."Found it!" she said,seconds later,her face a-glow with triumph. Before I could even in-hale another breath,the head-phones to Nikki's I-pod were fashionabley set a-top my head,the speakers perfectly aligned with my ear-drums,and on the other side,hooked-up to Nikki's I-pod. Then,of course,Nikki pressed the "Play/Select" butten. The next thing I heard was an explosion of guitar strings, drums,and,after the instrumental intro was over,the jazzy,Alto-ish,somewhat twangy voice of Mikey Ralphson.Its the kind of voice you'd expect to dance to,and be accompanied by either tuba's,trumpets,and ciallos,or violens,acoustic guitars,and banjo's; rather then electric guitars,bass's,and drums.
Now the first song of theirs I heard was this rythmic, sweetly simple,charmingly up-beat little number appropriately titled "Bang Your Head,Not My Heart." The first few lines of it were-"Hey,hey,hey,hey/if I give you something to bang your head to/ can I give you something to bang your head on as well?/...Keep quiet.Quit kicking./The only reason you know is because you weren't there./Oh, announcements, announcements! Excuses, excuses!./..No,wait.A precautionary warning./ Attention,all Androids and Automatic boys: When in doubt,write something down.When at a loss for words,qoute somone who's famous and no longer around/.When at a loss,/state the obvious.../" (This song was one of the rare ones where Mikey had decided to enunciate ,so I didn't have to search for the lyrics on-line later.) Of course,recess only lasted so long,meaning there was only so much knowladge about everyones favorite musical "human sheilds" Laura and Nikki could cram into my head before we were forced back into the disenchanting world of potential home-work,tests,and quiz's. They realized this,and wasted no time. So,while I was being introdueced to the sound of MFOS(Mobile Fall-Out Shelter),I was also introdueced to their image,as well,via the printed-out and down-loaded merits of the 2 sisters' obsession with said pioneers of incoherent poetry. The volume on Nikki's I-pod was turned down just enough so I could hear both the 2 sisters and MFOS,without getting a head-ache.
Once a group-picture of the band had been supplied,Laura pointed to the first 3 people in it,and said their names:"This is Mikey Ralphson,Brent Jenche,Andy Warrest,and-" Suddenly,before Laura could introduece the last person,or even protest about being cut-off,Nikki came out of nowhere,and slammed down the 2ed picture on top of the first,saying at first dramatically,then infatuatedily:"AND THIS!...is Jason Cain Lethium Wenterz II." Now I don't know weather it was the impact Jason was introduced to me with,or if he just looked that stunning-but the second I saw that picture,I froze.Well,no,perhaps "froze" isn't the right word. It was more like: the thoughts that usually acted as a key to Wonderland and sources of nostalgic/eccentric bliss just automatically shut-down, and all my sense's snapped to attention. But before I had time to ponder this, my train of thought was interrupted by the rising of alleged sickness in my stomach and the unexpected cold,hard,metallic taste in my mouth.This taste could've been anything-fear,discomfort,shock,disdain,indegestion,sickness... But I was too distracted by the intense acheing in my wrist and stomach to identify it accurately,at the time.
Not that it was a disgusting photograph. On the contrary,it was quite beautiful.But it was a viscious,fierce,intimidating,dark beauty.The kind you'd expect from a vampire in its "true form",or the glisteing claws and teeth of some angered exotic carnavor-dangerous enough to keep you at a distance,yet magnificent enough to keep you enchanted. So,yes,I was being very over-dramatic,and no,it wasn't a controversial picture. Oh,sure,the flash of the camera had been so intense that it made Jasons eyes look crimson instead of aubern,and his hair light saphire instead of blue-tinted bleach blonde.But,other then that,it was just your average glamourous result of a successful photo-shoot.Oh,you know- an extreme close-up of his mature face,cocked into his neck ever-so-slightly,to make it appear as if he's being shot at a semi-profile semi-arial view angle, (which you can tell by the posistion of his shoulders and neck that he's not;) with only one eye (and the gleaming bottem of one eye-brow piercing,) being shown looking directly at the camera, the other one obscured beneath the top-hat he's eloquintly tipping with the hand on the side of his body facing the camera,thus showing off the sleave of his exotic,allegedly Italian tuxedo jacket.
The only anti-Super Model quility about that picture was his slightly-OH.SO.SLIGHTLY- open mouth,curved in a perfect semi-snarl as if to say:"Okay,which one of you cynical,inconsiderate slobs was eating powdered jelly doughnuts in my car?!" (Yeah,he pulled off that stuck-up, angry prima-donna facial expression perfectly.) Unfortunately the modeling agency doesn't like the open-mouth concept; although,in this picture,it does do a great job of showing off the faded,almost flesh-colored pink in his lips. Still,Tyra Banks would not approve. But I digress....
But even with the unbelievably stunning quality of the picure, the first time I saw it,my thoughts of this photographical master-piece were more along the lines of :"Hey,I didn't know Jack The Ripper had great, great, great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great,great grand-children!" And, "Wow,psycho killers sure are photogenic these days." And, my personal favorite: "Now is this guy supposed to be impersonating a thin,blue-haired,red-eyed version of Mr.Penguin or an unanimated,butchier,formal version of Kai Hiwatari?"(I just figured because of the tuxedo and blue hair...) Of course, I didn't dare say any of these opinians out-loud,for fear that the Queen of Jason Adoration standing and swooning over the picture she had slammed down on my desk a mere minute earlier, would visciously rip out both my kidneys and feast upon my liver.So,instead I just did what Nikki's head-phones/M.F.O.S. told me to do-state the obvious. "Huh...He's got red eyes...And blue hair.And,Nikki,you're drooling on my desk." I said, looking reluctantly at the puddle of "love juice" dripping unto the floor,off the corner of a place mere inches away from my home-work containing binder.At first,she just blinked and,to my distaste, drooled some more. But,to my immense relief, eventually she reacted ("Huh?...Oh,sorry;") and put the treasured portrait of her "Jay" back into her "NOTE-BOOK OF SCHMEX!!.... and English."(Unfortunately she wanted her I-pod back too.)
Now fast-forward 3 months. Not long after buying the third M.F.O.S. C.D., "Lets All Slit Our Wrists And Burn Down Something Beautiful," I concluded that Jason was not psychotic-just really obscure and perhaps a little disturbed. It was songs like "A Prism, A Prophecy, A Paradox" that led me to this conclusion.(Excerpt: “Your mind is an open door/ you're eyes are dance-floors./A warning-sign of light and sound, before it all darkens into doubt./According to the shadows to my right, we're loaded bases/ just dying to go full-circle;/ with all the intricacy and/trickery to keep their gazes/ glued to the pages..../")
Um,"you'r EYES are dance-floors"...? I'm sorry, but, in my mind, the concept of using somebody's eyes as a dance-floor just doesn't paint a pretty picture. Then there’s the matter of the talking shadows to Jasons right labeling him and someone else as bases longing to go full circle...Erm...schizophrenic much? In other words, when it comes to the M.F.O.S. lyric book-lets,lets just say its not the "intricacy and trickery" that keeps mine and the majority of the bands fans gazes glued to the pages. No, it’s more likely the always unanswered question: "What the (INSERT NOUN/SWEAR-WORD HERE) is this supposed to mean?!" Or, in my case:"Hmmm....I wonder if lyrics as incoherent as these were used in Wolrd War II to get information out of the Nazi's." Well, that and the pictures of Mikey Ralphson, the ONLY un-tattooed/un-pierced/un-dyed "Human Shield." The only one in the Punk Rock band who’s a rocker and a punk instead of just a punk. You see, I love Mikey. But not simply because he’s an anti-poster boy. No, but because he's an amazing musician/singer and an honest, adorable person. Because the only 2 reasons he's a "rock-star" are, he loves music and is extremely talented.
And it’s because those gray, chocolate brown-dusted eyes, narrow, oval, apricot face, and straight, shiny, a little-less-than-shoulder-length, straw-berry blonde tresses are irresistible. But my printer’s running out of ink. So, suffice it to say that Jason is stylishly scary, Brent is over-ambitiously political, Mikey is sincerely adorable, and Andy "Sir Star-burst Head" Warrest is practically a hermit. For now, that’s all you need to know. So, fast-forward 11 months later. That’s right, past the part where I discover love is just another responsibility/commitment, only with better rewards. Past the part where I experience the true meaning of loneliness. Past the part where I nearly die of a Hot Chocolate over-dosage. Past the part where I learn that no matter how attached to someone you might be, for the first 5 minutes after you've severed the connection with them, you feel nothing but malice and mirth. Past where all that disappears and the heart-break/desolation sinks in. And past all the emptiness and after-shock of the agonizingly long weeks that followed. Yeah, just keep going until you see a 15-year-old girl lying on the floor --eyes mystified, stomach bullet-pierced and bleeding-- in a puddle of her own blood.
In other words: fast-forward to the death of Nikki Burgham

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Wednesday, May 16, 2007

sgste3te3st
*reads comments* Oh my! ^//^ *blushes* Your welcome, guys! But really, THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading it. I'm SO glad you enjoyed it, you rawx!
Anyway, umm... I dunno what else to talk about,so I guess I'll answer comments.

corn: Awww! Thanks, man! ^//^ Shyeah, Jay Wenterz is SUCH a prima-donna...

Aaya: Yesh, you did read it already, but I'm glad you like it.

DarkdestinedAngel: Shyeah, sorry it was so long. I'm actually rather worried about posting more of it because the second chaptor is even longer. But I'm glad you took the time to read and if I continue to post it, I hope you'll continue to enjoy it.

Savestheday: *hands you kleenex/tissue* Bless you. Umm... I think the second chaptor will be long enough for you to fix 2 drinks.>_> *cough,cough* Glad you enjoyed it though.

redmoonchick: Wow... I'm SO praised. *blushes to death* Anyway... I may post more, but like I said the second chaptors kinda long, so consider yourself warned. And of course you can have a cameo... Although I have no idea where or how to fit you into the story. Then again, you-know-which-scene-kid is getting a cameo appearance as well, so maybe you'll show up with him? I don't know, but you'll deffinately show up somewhere in there. And by the way, you know which famous real-life band Mobile Fallout Shelter is supposed to be based on, right? *hint,hint,hint,hint* Say no more, say no more!

Anyway... That's it. So good night and merry hampster-squashing day!~Shadowme(Yuki)~
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Tuesday, May 15, 2007

The Catalyst, chaptor one (I deeply appologize for the impossible length)
Well, I’m here. Here, as in Illinois. Illinois as in Chicago. Chicago as in, Jason Wenterz's house. (His kitchen, to be exact.)
And Jason Wenterz as in, none other then the bassist/lyricist/front-man of the infamously incoherent Alternative Rock-Band, Mobile Fallout Shelter.
More affectionately referred to as, The Human Shields.
Less affectionately referred to as, "those emo (OBCENE WORD OF CHOICE HERE)s’ with the bassist I'd like to hang for crimes against fashion."
Unfortunately, they’re more widely-known by the latter "nick-name." Why are they so hated, you ask?

Well, it’s just as I said earlier: they're incoherent. And I'm not just saying that because you can almost never decipher a word Mikey Ralphson, the vocalist, is singing. I’m saying that because even if Mikey did sing distinctly, seldom would the lyrics ever make sense. Why?
Because Jason Wenterz, the "poet" of the band; does not write poetry.
He writes long, contradictory, pre-musical rants that just so happen to rhyme every now and then. And even on the rare occasions Jasons lyrics do make sense, they make the reader/listener sick with disdain and/or disgust.
For example, he once wrote a love-song about his mother. It was called "The Only Good Thing About Divorce Is You Get To Sleep With Your Mom."
And it went like this: “Brace yourself, mother/ I'm picking up where/ dad left off. And, oh/ your skin and lips are just that soft/These slums/are/always/alive with/the smell/of deteorating skin-cells.../" Yeah, ew. My sentiments exactly.(That, and “Well, at least they didn't make a music video for it.”)

But, I'm sure somewhere beneath the "anthem of a mother-(BEEP)er" exterior of this musical rant, lurks the sweetly profound, Techno-style love-song of the decade. Its even got the ever-so-catchy, blithe melody, filled with ingenious hooks, to prove it. (Yeah, Mikey, the composer/vocalist, is a musical genius.) So, yes, despite the insanity, obscurity, and mother-complex semi-satire of Mobile Fallout Shelters' lyrics, I actually like these guys. Besides, when Jason was asked, on “Stevens’ Untitled Rock Show,” about the controversy of the "The Only Good Thing About Divorce..."s lyrics/title, he coolly retorted that the title did not mean "you get to have sex with your mom,” but that you simply get to sleep in the same bed as your mother.(Although it must've been a REALLY comfortable bed if he decided to write a song about this evidently rare privilege.) He also explained that when the narrator commented on the condition of the mother's skin/lips, he simply meant to compliment her on her complexion, not imply some weird, misplaced "mother-complex-esque" sexual tension. And, as for "I'm picking up where dad left off "? Apparently it was just a misunderstood way of saying, according to Jason: “Look, mom; everything's gonna be okay-I'LL take care of you!" Evidently, the song was about the after-math of his parents divorce.(Yeah, but that still doesn't explain the slums always being alive with the smell of deteorating skin-cells.) And, of course, after/while he explained all this, he did not hesitate to make his apparent lyrical superiority known by mercilessly berating/verbally throttling Steven every time he dared ask if (SUGGESTIVE LYRIC OF CHOICE HERE) was a sexual reference.
In fact, at one point, Jasons’ exact words were: “I can’t believe you, Steven! Why does everyone ALWAYS assume that just because it sounds beautiful, it has to be dirty?! Oh, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m a bit confusing, I can understand a few lyrical misinterpretations now and then. But, really, how lecherous can you get.” (Oh, yes, he was quite convincing as the “innocent fatality of social slander.”)
Although if that’s the case, (the whole "lyrical misinterpretation" thing) I have to wonder how "Brace yourself, mother" fits in to that.(It's like, “Well, if its not that kind of relationship, then what’s she bracing herself for?") But for those of you still offended by this example of incoherent poetry and have already lost all taste in Mobile Fallout Shelter, I must insist you have some tolerance. That was only one of their songs. They have lots of other songs. Lots of other chart-topping/dominating, delightfully nonsensical, provocative, original songs.(Plus, most of the cast of main characters in this story is comprised of the bands members, so if you don't like the band, you probably won't like the story.) Besides, if not for these guys, my poems would still be making sense. I mean, coherent poetry and sanity are over-rated, after all.(Happy un-birthday to most of you, by the way.)

So, as you can imagine, me getting invited to the home of Mobile Fallout Shelter's most popular member has made me completely, unbearably ecstatic, right? WRONG! I mean, come on, Jason Wenterz is a notorious satirous, surreptitious, insensitive, inconsiderate, arrogant party-boy punk! He's like the Punk Rock, masculine version of Paris Hilton. But, not only is he a dissolute compulsive liar and a pimp, he’s also a murderer. What proof do I have of this, you ask? Well, its just that the fact that he wrote a song titled “The Hands of Nikki Bhurgam” weeks after the funeral of my murdered friend, Nikki Burgham, is awfully suspicious.[I mean, “Bhurgam” is just an obvious anagram of “Burgham,” after all.] (But, more on that in the 2nd and 3rd chapter.) But let’s get to the point, shall we? The point is, he wouldn't just randomly message me, some lanky "eccentric artist" stereo-type, to compliment me on my poetry, then invite me over to his house and show him more. Plus, if he really wanted to see more, he could have simply asked me to e-mail some to him. So, yeah, of course I suspect something. I mean, come on, this whole thing is screaming ulterior motive. It’s screaming ulterior motive, and yet-I came. And yet-here I am.

And yet, as Jason happily chortles away about something having to do with Mobile Fallout Shelter and their recent tour of Europe, there’s a part of me that can't help thinking "Wow, famous, insensitive ass-holes are so much more charming in person!" Yeah, in case you can't tell, I'm really not that fond of Jason. But with his reputation, who could blame me? Not to mention, his lyrics make my skin crawl! Not to mention, he allegedly shot my class-mate in the stomach 2 years ago. (Well, the evidence of the whole murder scandal verifies it, he just hasn’t admitted to it yet.) And if that’s not enough of a scandal for you, he also had one involving soft-core gay-porn, which I'm not even going to attempt to explain.(Lets just leave it at this- it involved Kyo [from Dir En Gray], and impersonating a fictitious ironical Japanese Romance novelist.[Eiri Yuki from Gravitation])
But, no, this attitude towards him isn't simply because he can't write nice lyrics. It’s because he's a total enigma. Its because I have no idea what to expect. And its because in the past, I've been liable to accidentally say the wrong thing and be hated for it, and in the past, Jasons been liable to psychotically snap at anybody who says the wrong thing.(In other words, total recipe for disaster.)
Such are my thoughts as I smile nervously at Jason's kitchen table, frantically wondering what to say when Jason's done with his story, and it's my turn to contribute to the conversation.(That, and cursing my lover-of-all-things-social mother for leaving the room.)
Suddenly, Jason stops talking,and looks over his shoulder at the clock. "Oh...It’s lunch-time." He says,nonchalantly."And just in time, too. I don't know about you, Yuki, but I'm starving." And he rises from his seat to go over to the fridge, which he peaks into only to glance at me seconds later, with a "What about you, Yuki? You want anything?"
"Uhhhm...No thanks." I decline, in a mono-tone. I'm too sick with paranoia to eat anything. Besides, Jason might put something in my food. And by the way, my names not really “Yuki,” its Belinda something or other. In the Private Message (which is similar to an E-mail), Jason sent me,the first question he asked was what my name was. (I only told him my first name, Belinda.) The second question he asked me was, do I like my real name. And, I don't. At all. So I told him I'd much rather be called something like "Yuki." And, there you have it.

By this time, I figure if I'm left to worry any longer, I'll probably end up making myself sick, so I decide to speak up. "Uhhm...Mr.Wenterz?" I say cautiously.
At this, he gives me an extremely displeased look, and, to my well-hidden hysteria, picks up a butchers-knife…. to cut the lunch-meat, for his sandwich. (For a second there, I thought we were going to have a “Silence of The Lambs” relapse.)Once his lunch is completed-"Stop that! Your making me feel old!" He says, frowning, retaking his place at the table, holding a turkey sandwich."I'm only 29,damn it! Call me 'Jason.'"
"Okay...." I murmur, managing to sound pathetically dazed and confused. "Why'd you ask me to come out here?" For afew seconds he just stares at me seriously, chewing his sandwich, and blinking. Then, he takes a gulp, and says, "Okay. Would you like to hear the truth or something that’s not going to absolutely KILL me to say?"
"The truth, please." I say, without skipping a beat; no concern in the world for the condition of Jasons pride. I figure the humbling will do him good. Him, being an arrogant rock-star Prima Donna, and all.

Of course, he thinks I'm merely another obsessed fan-girl, and expects me to just worship the ground he walks on, which is why he frowns at the lack of hesitance in my reply, before saying: "Well...This may be hard for you to believe, but...-" and I can tell by the look on his face that this is the part he's DREADING having to say;-" my lyrics aren't very popular among the fans..."
"Uh-huh..." I say, wondering what any of this has to do with me.
"And, when I read your poems on Myotaku...-" Myotaku.com is a Myspace rip-off designed specifically for anime fans. And since most celebrities have myspace pages, I suppose they thought they might as well have Myotaku accounts, as well.-"Well...the poems just struck me as more...Uhhh..." Jason stairs at the table, scrunching up his face, looking for a word to describe it.
"Better?" I suggest, hopefully.
"Universal" he says, frowning at me.
"Look, here’s the point," he begins, FINALLY giving me the explanation I've so been longing for. "We're going to be recording a new album soon. Meaning, we need to write new songs. And, since I seem to be having writers block, we’ve got nothing....So-" No, actually THIS is the part that he's been dreading.

"You want me to join the band?" I finish for him. For a few seconds, he just glares at me in the manner a nun would glare at a hopelessly evil, satanic blasphemer. His probable thoughts: "Oh, horrid blaspheming Yuki! How dare she even think she's worthy of such a privilege!" (Actually they were probably more along the lines of: "OF COURSE NOT, YOU UNTALENTED AROGANT B---CH!!" But I digress...)
Then, taking a deep breath to regain composure, and managing to keep his tone casual, he says-
"No. THEY-as in, Mikey, Brent, and Andy-" Brent is Mobile Fallout Shelters drummer, and Andy is the guitarist.-"want you to be the co-lyricist." (Um, come again?) I'm shocked. And I don't know what to be more shocked by- the event of one of America's most notoriously arogant rock-stars admitting his lyrics suck, or the fact that he just asked me,some 15-year-old Myotaku cyber poet, for help. (Well, sure,he didn't exactly beg me,but still...) Jason takes another bite of his sandwich and shrugs off the irritation and embarrassment of his prior explanation/request. It is at this time that I expect him to say something clichéd like "Well, Yuki, the choice is yours." Or "now don't just rush into this ,think about it first and..." But instead, once he's finished with his sandwich, all he says is: “Well, anyway....Now you know." But it was said in a tone that was screaming "consider yourself warned." And he was wearing the matching facial expression.
So, I have to wonder-was that really an offer, or a warning?

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