Yeah, yeah, yeah, everyone else is doing "25 things about me", but I'm doing 30 cuz i'm 30. So there.
1.) i was born in Texas and yes, i lived in a trailer. as they say, you can take the boy out of the texas trailer park, but you can't take the Texas trailer park out of the boy.
2.) i have wanted to be a writer as long as i can remember. novels, comic books, movies, whatever. it's the whole reason i moved to New York City. and i finally got published this year. more to come...
3.) life has never really been easy for me. but since i moved to New York, i have found a kind of happiness i never expected to know.
4.) i was homeless once. homeless, as in living out of my truck, one time sleeping on the street, and often showering at the YMCA in New Orleans. it was only for 3 months, but it sucked. my dad had kicked me out for being gay, and i had no other family at the time. for that reason, i will never let a friend go without a warm meal or a place to sleep.
5.) i like comics books, bad sci-fi movies, good sci-fi movies, art history, and furry boys in jock straps. yum.
6.) did i mention i like furry boys in jock straps?
7.) i am 30. it's weird. with the things that came early in life, i never expected to make it past 18. then i never expected to make it past 25. now i'm 30. every day is a little surreal when i think about. life is good.
8.) my friends are my world. more than my gene donors (read: family), my friends are the thick and thin of it. they matter to me so much i can be a bit of a monster when i think one of them is mistreated. it drives my bf nuts.
9.) i drive my bf nuts rather often. sometimes in the cutesy "my bf is a monkey and makes me laugh" way, sometimes in the annoying "my bf is a jealous moody latino" way. but he puts up with me. and for that i am grateful.
10.) i have a bf (you may have heard of him: Stephen James Xanthos, he's well-bearded and apparently quite popular with bears between the ages of 18 and 104). i love him like i've never loved anyone else. i love him in a way i didn't think i was capable of. and i love him deeply and truly and passionately, and sometimes angrily. but i love him, and am still very much IN love with him. love is a weird creature, i've come to learn. it brings out the best and worst in me, but i have found myself striving to be a better person for stephen AND for myself. it's kind of a great feeling.
11.) because of stephen and a beautiful black pug named The Smoo, i have come to love dogs so much that i have exchanged my want for children for a want of dogs. and i want them now. I WANT PUPPIES.
12.) i love music. the way it makes me feel. the feelings and emotions they can invoke and instill in the breath of a single chorus. what's weird? i never pay attention to band names, song titles, or even lyrics. i literally ONLY let the music move me without giving it any more than surface thought. i often have fave songs for years before i sit down and read the lyrics and say, "ew. that's what that song is about??"
13.) i like tv more than i should, but i am proud to say i have cut way back. tv watching is the closest thing i've ever had to addiction...
14.) ...tv watching is the closest thing i've ever had to addiction. FACT. i tried smoking, but didn't like the way it made my clothes and fingers smell. and i've never been one for drugs, and i'm still not a champion drinker like my bf. i used to claim i was a sex addict, but the truth was (and is) i just enjoy sex... but there are times when i can't be bothered...thus, NOT an addict.
15.) i have renewed my love of video games. i have an xbox360, and there's nothing more fun than having friends come over and watch me play. ur, i mean, come and play WITH me.
16.) i don't like watching other people play video games. or sports. or anything of that genre. i am not for watching, i am for doing. except when it comes to some things, and then my anxiety takes hold and says, "I don't think so."
17.) i made it to the final round of Real World 10: Back to New York. I was cut last minute for the guy, also from austin, who had cancer. they said, and i quote, "You seem to have dealt with a lot of your problems, and become a more balanced person. You have told us about so much tragedy, but you haven't cried. Not once. Do you think you could try and cry for the camera?" my answer was no. but i'm in new york any way. :)
18.) i love to read. especially novels. i just rediscovered my love of 300 pages of story. all i did as a kid was read. when i moved to NYC i slowed down for lack of time in trying to get my writing career off the ground. but i'm back to reading. i wish every one had an 8th day in the week just to read. my faves go from All Souls Rising (about the Haitian rebellion) to Belle de Jour's Secret Diary of a Call Girl to Alice in Wonderland. ugh, give me a good book any day of the week.
19.) i find i never have enough time. to write. to read. to hit the gym. to hang with friends. to hang with stephen. to play with puppies. to breath. to relax. to sleep. it can be overwhelming at time. life seems to be going by way too fast. but i can't dwell on that...
20.) i can't dwell on the fast pace of life, because there is only one thing that terrifies me: death. it isn't the dying part (that part i'm rather curious about). it's what comes after. be there an afterlife or be there nothing, when i try to wrap my head around it, i shut down. i go into a dark place. i get depressed. and for a long time it was a kind of obsession for me. thus my useless degree in religion. but yeah, i am terrified of dying. the first part of my life was not fun. it was abuse and abandonment and people dying on me. my life now is nothing like that... but i dont want to lose any more friends. i want us all to be together forever and happy. not possible, but a boy can dream right?
21.) i have a tendency to get dark when i'm being honest with myself. i hope #20 didn't bring you down. apologies. i'll think of something brighter for #22.
22.) did i mention i like furry boys in jock straps? :)
23.) i love the sun. so much in fact i think i might be solar-powered. i'm serious.
24.) i have 4 tattoos but plan on getting more ASAP. i want my back done, and a sleeve.
25.) i have a niece and nephew who i think are the most amazing two people in the world. one day i hope to adopt them. or at the very least, move them to NYC when they're ready for college. i'd like to think i'd be a good dad.
26.) shit, now what i'm passed 25, my mind has stopped... but i started this so i have to finish it... which is another thing about me. i'm kinda OCD in that anything i am going to do, i am going to give it 105%, and i'm going to finish it. the only things this doesn't apply to is bad movies, dusting, and people who take too long to finish off.
27.) i am pumped about our new president, and have high hopes that humanity will turn the world around before we destroy it.
28.) i HATE people who litter. seriously, if i had a gun with free reign, it would be bad.
29.) i'd like to be god for a day. i have a lot of ideas on how to make the world a better place. (i think in a former life i was a dictator.)
30.) it's take me a long time, but i finally worked something out: LIFE IS GOOD. so take that in, put it in your pipe and smoke it, or just put it in your pocket for a rainy day. seriously, life is good and you should do your best to enjoy it. you only get this one, so take advantage.
thanks for reading. xoxo, gossip girl
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Friday, November 21, 2008
Ashes to Ashes...
Time is flying. It feels like time is being pulled out from underneath my feet. It is here, and then it is gone. It makes my anxiety and myself look like a fool… I worry over things that are here and then gone. My anxiety attacks me in the moment over the moments to come, and once they do, they are here so quickly, and then they are behind me.
S.W. was a man that Stephen met on the internet. They chatted many times. Stephen thought he was hot, and once I saw his pictures, and so did I. He came to New York maybe six months back. Maybe eight, I don’t know. Stephen ran into him out and about on a Friday night, and S.W. was apparently trying to get into Stephen’s pants to the point of being obnoxious. But who doesn’t after a few drinks? ☺ The following Sunday at the Eagle Beer Blast, S.W. came up to me. He behaved the same. I tried to speak with him, but he was very much focused on the one thing. I declined his advances for spending more time with my friends, but i thought good for him. After all life, is short, and he knew what he wanted and didn’t mind putting himself out there to get it. It's a lesson a lot of people could stand to learn. He was handsome, and you could tell there was a kindness in his eyes, but there was also hurt. He wanted desperately for someone to love him for who he was. I hope he found that.
Stephen got a call from his S.W.’s brother yesterday. S.W. passed away from spinal meningitis. When my boyfriend called me on the phone to tell me, all of my memories mentioned above came flooding back to me clear as day as if they were happening simultaneously. To think that this person, this stranger who I spoke with was here, and is now gone. Somehow it’s more bearable to deal with celebrities and rock stars and former president’s wives…but when it is a stranger that I spoke with…it is somehow more real. Those in the news media are like Greek gods to most people. I feel like I live in Olympus living here in Manhattan. I am not one of the gods, but I see them on the streets and in stores and in restaurants. But still, S.W. is someone who I actually spoke with, who I gave a hug to as I left. He was someone real to me, who I embraced, if only for a moment. And now his body is in the ground.
It seems like such a foreign concept. This morning I woke up and all I could think about was him. What was he like? Had he been a happy child? What things went through his mind as he was about to take his last breath?
It is a slippery slope for me to even think on it. I have never been good with death, having lost so many as a child and then later as a teenager. I have never feared rejection, for at least that person lives on. It is abandonment that devours my core at time. The fear of my friends and loved ones leaving me. And yet my greater fear is what comes next, for it is so uncertain. I don’t fear hell, because at least there would be an awareness. But what if there is no awareness. What if Rex is no longer Rex. Then Stephen and all that we had is gone. Carsin and Caleb, my niece and my nephew, their laughter is gone. My friends vanish. All of this, all of these beautiful and terrible things that we live through and cry over and squander and embrace and fight for … it is all gone.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
It is hard to even try and wrap your head around. So I won’t.. I will try to go about my day, breathing in the world around me, and trying to smile despite the tears that hide just behind my eyes.
I didn’t know you S.W. , and for that, I apologize. But I hope that your life was good.
S.W. was a man that Stephen met on the internet. They chatted many times. Stephen thought he was hot, and once I saw his pictures, and so did I. He came to New York maybe six months back. Maybe eight, I don’t know. Stephen ran into him out and about on a Friday night, and S.W. was apparently trying to get into Stephen’s pants to the point of being obnoxious. But who doesn’t after a few drinks? ☺ The following Sunday at the Eagle Beer Blast, S.W. came up to me. He behaved the same. I tried to speak with him, but he was very much focused on the one thing. I declined his advances for spending more time with my friends, but i thought good for him. After all life, is short, and he knew what he wanted and didn’t mind putting himself out there to get it. It's a lesson a lot of people could stand to learn. He was handsome, and you could tell there was a kindness in his eyes, but there was also hurt. He wanted desperately for someone to love him for who he was. I hope he found that.
Stephen got a call from his S.W.’s brother yesterday. S.W. passed away from spinal meningitis. When my boyfriend called me on the phone to tell me, all of my memories mentioned above came flooding back to me clear as day as if they were happening simultaneously. To think that this person, this stranger who I spoke with was here, and is now gone. Somehow it’s more bearable to deal with celebrities and rock stars and former president’s wives…but when it is a stranger that I spoke with…it is somehow more real. Those in the news media are like Greek gods to most people. I feel like I live in Olympus living here in Manhattan. I am not one of the gods, but I see them on the streets and in stores and in restaurants. But still, S.W. is someone who I actually spoke with, who I gave a hug to as I left. He was someone real to me, who I embraced, if only for a moment. And now his body is in the ground.
It seems like such a foreign concept. This morning I woke up and all I could think about was him. What was he like? Had he been a happy child? What things went through his mind as he was about to take his last breath?
It is a slippery slope for me to even think on it. I have never been good with death, having lost so many as a child and then later as a teenager. I have never feared rejection, for at least that person lives on. It is abandonment that devours my core at time. The fear of my friends and loved ones leaving me. And yet my greater fear is what comes next, for it is so uncertain. I don’t fear hell, because at least there would be an awareness. But what if there is no awareness. What if Rex is no longer Rex. Then Stephen and all that we had is gone. Carsin and Caleb, my niece and my nephew, their laughter is gone. My friends vanish. All of this, all of these beautiful and terrible things that we live through and cry over and squander and embrace and fight for … it is all gone.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
It is hard to even try and wrap your head around. So I won’t.. I will try to go about my day, breathing in the world around me, and trying to smile despite the tears that hide just behind my eyes.
I didn’t know you S.W. , and for that, I apologize. But I hope that your life was good.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Yesterday & Tomorrow, A Rant
Remember myspace? Most of my peeps in NYC are long over it and have since moved on to the new, more user-friendly facebook, but most of my friends back home in Texas are still avid myspacers. So I just hopped on myspace, which I haven’t done in a few months. And lo and behold, a few people that have recently popped up along the periphery of my subconscious had either friend-requested me or sent me a message. Be it psychic or simply synchronistic, as I read the messages, old vibes washed over me. Thoughts of not what it, but what could have been. What if I had stayed in Austin, or moved to a small town? What if I had opted to travel the world and not concern myself with my next paycheck or taxes as I once had planned? What if I ended up with a married to a woman and had 3 kids? Hehe. That is doubtful, but with this life, there are no guarantees.
As a kid I dreamed of a shiny jetpack future. Spaceships traveling to resorts on the moon, hover skateboards, personal flying rocket backpacks, tiny credit-card sized computers that guided you through everything you need… (okay, so iPhones are close on that last one). I could give you a total rundown of my expectations but neither of us have the time to write or read that much. Let’s suffice it to say, that this is not what I had envisioned. This is more of what I had hoped for, but then again i grew up on Star Wars. Sure, there are huge TV screens in Time Square, but where are the eco-friendly hover-cabs? I don’t know. I honestly expected us to be further along. In technology, in taking care of our planet, in taking care of ourselves. I mean, we don’t even have cures for cancer or AIDS.
I feel like the process got retarded along the way. The wrong people were put in power by people who rather fuel cars with gas and oil than help the earth. The people who control the world of medicine rather treat the symptoms than cure the illness… otherwise they wouldn’t stay rich. We don’t have hover-shit because we’re too busy fighting amongst ourselves down here. It’s sad. We could have done so much, but instead our petty squabbles and greeds have destroyed the hopes we had as a kid. It makes me worry for the future.
No, not all this comes at looking at myspace pictures of friends I haven’t seen in the better part of a decade. But it is good to see their faces. Whether they’ve gained weight or cut their hair, or popped out a few kids, their eyes still have the same glint of life. Some are sadder, some are happier, some are simply more wise, but their eyes still echo familiar with me. Flipping from album to album and pic to pic, I think of all the decisions it took for me to get here instead of there. It’s a bit of a mind-fuck really. Everything starts to feel like a dream, reality fades its light, and your mind wanders to other possibilities of what you could have had.
The funny part? When I come back to this life, I’m glad I made the choices I made. The reality I built for myself is a good one. It’s no doubt easier for me to say it because I have this great life with a great boyfriend and a great home and a rad job and rad friends, etc. etc. etc. I’m sure if I was miserable, I’d be less pleased, but for now? I couldn’t be happier. Well… maybe if someone gave me some money…
As a kid I dreamed of a shiny jetpack future. Spaceships traveling to resorts on the moon, hover skateboards, personal flying rocket backpacks, tiny credit-card sized computers that guided you through everything you need… (okay, so iPhones are close on that last one). I could give you a total rundown of my expectations but neither of us have the time to write or read that much. Let’s suffice it to say, that this is not what I had envisioned. This is more of what I had hoped for, but then again i grew up on Star Wars. Sure, there are huge TV screens in Time Square, but where are the eco-friendly hover-cabs? I don’t know. I honestly expected us to be further along. In technology, in taking care of our planet, in taking care of ourselves. I mean, we don’t even have cures for cancer or AIDS.
I feel like the process got retarded along the way. The wrong people were put in power by people who rather fuel cars with gas and oil than help the earth. The people who control the world of medicine rather treat the symptoms than cure the illness… otherwise they wouldn’t stay rich. We don’t have hover-shit because we’re too busy fighting amongst ourselves down here. It’s sad. We could have done so much, but instead our petty squabbles and greeds have destroyed the hopes we had as a kid. It makes me worry for the future.
No, not all this comes at looking at myspace pictures of friends I haven’t seen in the better part of a decade. But it is good to see their faces. Whether they’ve gained weight or cut their hair, or popped out a few kids, their eyes still have the same glint of life. Some are sadder, some are happier, some are simply more wise, but their eyes still echo familiar with me. Flipping from album to album and pic to pic, I think of all the decisions it took for me to get here instead of there. It’s a bit of a mind-fuck really. Everything starts to feel like a dream, reality fades its light, and your mind wanders to other possibilities of what you could have had.
The funny part? When I come back to this life, I’m glad I made the choices I made. The reality I built for myself is a good one. It’s no doubt easier for me to say it because I have this great life with a great boyfriend and a great home and a rad job and rad friends, etc. etc. etc. I’m sure if I was miserable, I’d be less pleased, but for now? I couldn’t be happier. Well… maybe if someone gave me some money…
Monday, September 15, 2008
Anxiety, Ideas, & Home Sweet Home
I don’t get it. I’ve been working each day to calm my mind, to quiet my thoughts, to fight the voices in my head that try to keep me in fear. So why is it that come Friday night, I have a kind of small terror grow over me in the face of a relaxing weekend? What is it about next month’s cruise that instills in me a panic, not just for the flight, but for the following week?
As I walked to work today, under a beautiful blue and open sky, and a cool breeze stirring the leaves around me, I tried to sort it out. It isn’t the trip itself. It isn’t even the flight. It’s simply the idea of being caged by the circumstances surrounding my vacation.
The idea of being powerless taunts me. The idea of being out of my safety zone, and far from home, scratches at my mind like a terrible itch. It isn’t getting on the plane that offends me, it is the metaphor the plane has become: a symbol of something taking me away from what is only an idea of safety. Home.
Home. It is likely the most comforting word in the English language. It is where a person can be him or herself. Where one can drop all pretenses, and quit playing the games that we all play in the day-to-day rat race of our lives. It is where we feel safest. It is where we are surrounded by our belongings and those keepsakes of times before. We can be happy there. Or sad. Or angry. Whatever the case, we can do whatever and be whoever we want to be. There is no pressure.
But it is all an illusion. As with anything in life, anything can disappear in a moment. A home can be lit on fire, or washed away in a flood. A gale wind can drop from the sky, pick up your home, and toss it like a rag-doll. And these are just natural instances. My point being, no matter where you feel safe, an event can take away your idea. An idea is just that, it is a concept. An idea can be a thought, a conception, a notion. It can be an impression, an opinion, a plan of action, an intention, or even a groundless supposition or a fantasy. But it is a thing that exists solely within the mind. It is a result of mental understanding. But a mental understanding can be wrong. An idea can just as easily be false as it can be true.
The world at large once had an idea that the world was flat. And that was inaccurate. That was false, in the realm of facts. As children, many have an idea that Santa Claus brings them presents on Christmas. That is also false in the realm of facts. And let’s face it, we all have ideas floating around in our heads that we defend righteously…only to late discover that we were wrong. So why do we cling so vehemently to these things called ideas?
Perhaps it is simply ego. Perhaps it is an environmental trait we picked up as stubborn children attempting to match the stubborn nature of the adult world. Or perhaps it is a survival instinct we needed tens of thousands of years ago to survive in a harsher world. Maybe our predecessors needed to embrace that which they knew and believed. I don’t know that a single answer can be written. I do know that I struggle with anxiety. With fear. I have most of my life. But when I was younger, it seemed much easier to overcome. But now? Now it seems almost worse, despite my knowing how much I have survived.
Haha, listen to me talk. You would think I am having fear about going off to war. I am literally having fear about going on vacation! It is ridiculous.
And I know it is ridiculous. There are people without the money to go on vacation. There are people with too many responsibilities to pick up and adventure for eight days. But here I am, scared of my own shadow. Yes, right now, in this moment, I know I am a fool. What am I trying to hold on to? What is it that puts knots in my stomach in the middle of the night? It is like I am only half the keeper of my mind, and the other half is controlled by another. I hate it. Why can I not simply let go of these fears and move past them without a second thought?
…
I don’t know. But I’m working on it. Dispelling the illusion of safety is something I have done before. But apparently it is a lesson I need to relearn. I have fought my fears in the past, but they have an insistency to return. Now I am armed with the knowledge that I am a prisoner of my own ideas. You would think that would help me in some small way. But I am a creative, which cannot help matters. As I can build entire worlds of fiction for my characters and my novels, I can do the same with my own fears and anxieties, armoring them against my own defenses. If I were outside my own head, I would likely marvel at the complexities of my own mind. Instead, I’m just annoyed.
So I guess I just have to try and break down the barriers of ideas. Find a way to dispel the solidarity of the things I think I know, and instead uphold the truth: that ideas are just that. Ideas. There are facts in the physical world, but the anxieties I have are simply fears with no concrete standing. My anxieties are wisps of air in the reaches of my mind. But amazingly, they still manage to cause me pain and discomfort.
“When you arise in the morning, think of what a privilege it is to be alive: to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.”
- Marcus Aurelius
As I walked to work today, under a beautiful blue and open sky, and a cool breeze stirring the leaves around me, I tried to sort it out. It isn’t the trip itself. It isn’t even the flight. It’s simply the idea of being caged by the circumstances surrounding my vacation.
The idea of being powerless taunts me. The idea of being out of my safety zone, and far from home, scratches at my mind like a terrible itch. It isn’t getting on the plane that offends me, it is the metaphor the plane has become: a symbol of something taking me away from what is only an idea of safety. Home.
Home. It is likely the most comforting word in the English language. It is where a person can be him or herself. Where one can drop all pretenses, and quit playing the games that we all play in the day-to-day rat race of our lives. It is where we feel safest. It is where we are surrounded by our belongings and those keepsakes of times before. We can be happy there. Or sad. Or angry. Whatever the case, we can do whatever and be whoever we want to be. There is no pressure.
But it is all an illusion. As with anything in life, anything can disappear in a moment. A home can be lit on fire, or washed away in a flood. A gale wind can drop from the sky, pick up your home, and toss it like a rag-doll. And these are just natural instances. My point being, no matter where you feel safe, an event can take away your idea. An idea is just that, it is a concept. An idea can be a thought, a conception, a notion. It can be an impression, an opinion, a plan of action, an intention, or even a groundless supposition or a fantasy. But it is a thing that exists solely within the mind. It is a result of mental understanding. But a mental understanding can be wrong. An idea can just as easily be false as it can be true.
The world at large once had an idea that the world was flat. And that was inaccurate. That was false, in the realm of facts. As children, many have an idea that Santa Claus brings them presents on Christmas. That is also false in the realm of facts. And let’s face it, we all have ideas floating around in our heads that we defend righteously…only to late discover that we were wrong. So why do we cling so vehemently to these things called ideas?
Perhaps it is simply ego. Perhaps it is an environmental trait we picked up as stubborn children attempting to match the stubborn nature of the adult world. Or perhaps it is a survival instinct we needed tens of thousands of years ago to survive in a harsher world. Maybe our predecessors needed to embrace that which they knew and believed. I don’t know that a single answer can be written. I do know that I struggle with anxiety. With fear. I have most of my life. But when I was younger, it seemed much easier to overcome. But now? Now it seems almost worse, despite my knowing how much I have survived.
Haha, listen to me talk. You would think I am having fear about going off to war. I am literally having fear about going on vacation! It is ridiculous.
And I know it is ridiculous. There are people without the money to go on vacation. There are people with too many responsibilities to pick up and adventure for eight days. But here I am, scared of my own shadow. Yes, right now, in this moment, I know I am a fool. What am I trying to hold on to? What is it that puts knots in my stomach in the middle of the night? It is like I am only half the keeper of my mind, and the other half is controlled by another. I hate it. Why can I not simply let go of these fears and move past them without a second thought?
…
I don’t know. But I’m working on it. Dispelling the illusion of safety is something I have done before. But apparently it is a lesson I need to relearn. I have fought my fears in the past, but they have an insistency to return. Now I am armed with the knowledge that I am a prisoner of my own ideas. You would think that would help me in some small way. But I am a creative, which cannot help matters. As I can build entire worlds of fiction for my characters and my novels, I can do the same with my own fears and anxieties, armoring them against my own defenses. If I were outside my own head, I would likely marvel at the complexities of my own mind. Instead, I’m just annoyed.
So I guess I just have to try and break down the barriers of ideas. Find a way to dispel the solidarity of the things I think I know, and instead uphold the truth: that ideas are just that. Ideas. There are facts in the physical world, but the anxieties I have are simply fears with no concrete standing. My anxieties are wisps of air in the reaches of my mind. But amazingly, they still manage to cause me pain and discomfort.
“When you arise in the morning, think of what a privilege it is to be alive: to breathe, to think, to enjoy, to love.”
- Marcus Aurelius
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
dream a little dream...
A warning... my dreamed are FUCKED UP. they always have been. but the great thing? I'm a writer, so they always inspire me. so enjoy...
All my dreams last night were all very tied together in a small texas town. I don’t know that it had a name, but I know it was small and in texas, and it was supposed to be located somewhere between Austin and San Marcos, both places of where i had lived, both plkaces only a few hours from the desolate regions where shit like the Texas Chainsaw massacre is supposed to take place. Anyway, this is a dream town that at some point I had supposedly lived…
It was a nice summer night and i was having a party in my front yard as were many of my neighbors. It was a block party and there was bbq and beer and good conversation. Parts of the crowd were going across the street to my new neighbor’s house. They had done up there whole house Halloween-style and wanted people to come over and take a Halloween "Scary tour". I realized I had never met my neighbors, as they had only just moved in a few days previous, but still had no interest. I didnt like Halloween and i didnt like being scared. All my coworkers were going but still I hesitated.
As we had all stayed out drinking and partying on my front lawn, dusk became night and night was becoming dawn. The partying was thinning and i didnt remember anyone saying good-bye, but so it goes. With the sun coming up I felt safe to go into my neighbors house. It was day, nothing went wrong in the light of day, i thought.
One girl and a guy who worked with me agreed to go with me. We knocked on the door and a little girl answered, and said come in, take the tour, then ran off into the back.
"What about the parents?" I asked. "Don’t you think its odd no one has seen them? I feel uncomfortable going into a house with just kids and no parents?" My coworkers were like, "Rex come on, don't be a pussy. The parents are probably downstairs working the tour."
We went through the living room which seemed already very lived in, which was weird considering they had only lived here for 2 or so days. The walls were dirty, the room unkempt, the tv on. There were old halloween decorations hanging about but they all seemed covered in dust and tattered and torn. Nothing was new. The room reminded me of a 70’s home that had been left to grow old over time.
We turned around the corner, there was a single bedroom with a single bed that was untouched. There was a bathroom. And then there was a long stairwell down into the basement. The stairwell seemed rather longer than it should be, and the whole house felt wrong. It felt dark. The little girl, in her white dress and her dark eyes, and her two front missing teeth, laughed, and said, come on! And disappeared into the darkness.
"I changed my mind," I said. "I’m gonna go wait on the couch."
So I did. I sat down on the couch, which threw dust into the air when I sat. I watched an old 50’s or 60’s sci-fi film. The tv was as old as the movie. Huge box with fake wood paneling and dials and no remote. The picture was hazy, as if color were a new concept. The movie was only just entertaining. It was the kind with ships flying around, but you could see the strings holding them. There was a ship lost in space and melded with another ship and then almost crashed into another ship, and then a space robot came to attack this ship that held the last people from earth. If they died, humanity died.
And I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke I looked outside and realized it was still night. How was that possible, we came in at day? I hadn’t slept for 14 hours, had i? I looked at the windows and they seemed almost reverse tinted. Something was wrong. Where were my coworkers?
I looked outside the window and there was no one outside. I went to the front door, except there wasn’t one. The front door had vanished. "fuck fuck fuck fuck."
I walked to the deep stairwell. And looked down into the darkness. I heard talking and laughter. I started to walk down the stairwell. I took two steps and stopped. The laughter was behind me. I walked back and found the room with the single bed, except the whole room had changed. The bed was much larger, and the two girls sat beside the bed talking to my two coworkers who were in the bed with the sheets and blankets pulled up to their necks. I looked at the little girls, both with white dresses, and they were laughing. They had chocolate smeared all over the bottom half of their faces and they both had forks in their hands. And they laughed and giggled together at me.
"We have to go, something is wrong," I screamed at my coworkers, but they just laughed. I pulled the sheets back, and there it was.
There bodies were open like boxes. Their innards were gone. They were hollow, as the girls had been eating their insides. My coworkers laughed. "This is the best Halloween tour we've ever been to!" And the girls laughed, and I realized that it wasn’t chocolate smeared across their faces. The girls ran back over to my coworkers and resumed cutting with butter knifes and forks at the insides of my friends.
I suddenly realized I had to escape, that the parents would be home any minute. And if the children were this ghastly, how bad would the parents be?
Then the alarm went off and I woke up.
All my dreams last night were all very tied together in a small texas town. I don’t know that it had a name, but I know it was small and in texas, and it was supposed to be located somewhere between Austin and San Marcos, both places of where i had lived, both plkaces only a few hours from the desolate regions where shit like the Texas Chainsaw massacre is supposed to take place. Anyway, this is a dream town that at some point I had supposedly lived…
It was a nice summer night and i was having a party in my front yard as were many of my neighbors. It was a block party and there was bbq and beer and good conversation. Parts of the crowd were going across the street to my new neighbor’s house. They had done up there whole house Halloween-style and wanted people to come over and take a Halloween "Scary tour". I realized I had never met my neighbors, as they had only just moved in a few days previous, but still had no interest. I didnt like Halloween and i didnt like being scared. All my coworkers were going but still I hesitated.
As we had all stayed out drinking and partying on my front lawn, dusk became night and night was becoming dawn. The partying was thinning and i didnt remember anyone saying good-bye, but so it goes. With the sun coming up I felt safe to go into my neighbors house. It was day, nothing went wrong in the light of day, i thought.
One girl and a guy who worked with me agreed to go with me. We knocked on the door and a little girl answered, and said come in, take the tour, then ran off into the back.
"What about the parents?" I asked. "Don’t you think its odd no one has seen them? I feel uncomfortable going into a house with just kids and no parents?" My coworkers were like, "Rex come on, don't be a pussy. The parents are probably downstairs working the tour."
We went through the living room which seemed already very lived in, which was weird considering they had only lived here for 2 or so days. The walls were dirty, the room unkempt, the tv on. There were old halloween decorations hanging about but they all seemed covered in dust and tattered and torn. Nothing was new. The room reminded me of a 70’s home that had been left to grow old over time.
We turned around the corner, there was a single bedroom with a single bed that was untouched. There was a bathroom. And then there was a long stairwell down into the basement. The stairwell seemed rather longer than it should be, and the whole house felt wrong. It felt dark. The little girl, in her white dress and her dark eyes, and her two front missing teeth, laughed, and said, come on! And disappeared into the darkness.
"I changed my mind," I said. "I’m gonna go wait on the couch."
So I did. I sat down on the couch, which threw dust into the air when I sat. I watched an old 50’s or 60’s sci-fi film. The tv was as old as the movie. Huge box with fake wood paneling and dials and no remote. The picture was hazy, as if color were a new concept. The movie was only just entertaining. It was the kind with ships flying around, but you could see the strings holding them. There was a ship lost in space and melded with another ship and then almost crashed into another ship, and then a space robot came to attack this ship that held the last people from earth. If they died, humanity died.
And I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke I looked outside and realized it was still night. How was that possible, we came in at day? I hadn’t slept for 14 hours, had i? I looked at the windows and they seemed almost reverse tinted. Something was wrong. Where were my coworkers?
I looked outside the window and there was no one outside. I went to the front door, except there wasn’t one. The front door had vanished. "fuck fuck fuck fuck."
I walked to the deep stairwell. And looked down into the darkness. I heard talking and laughter. I started to walk down the stairwell. I took two steps and stopped. The laughter was behind me. I walked back and found the room with the single bed, except the whole room had changed. The bed was much larger, and the two girls sat beside the bed talking to my two coworkers who were in the bed with the sheets and blankets pulled up to their necks. I looked at the little girls, both with white dresses, and they were laughing. They had chocolate smeared all over the bottom half of their faces and they both had forks in their hands. And they laughed and giggled together at me.
"We have to go, something is wrong," I screamed at my coworkers, but they just laughed. I pulled the sheets back, and there it was.
There bodies were open like boxes. Their innards were gone. They were hollow, as the girls had been eating their insides. My coworkers laughed. "This is the best Halloween tour we've ever been to!" And the girls laughed, and I realized that it wasn’t chocolate smeared across their faces. The girls ran back over to my coworkers and resumed cutting with butter knifes and forks at the insides of my friends.
I suddenly realized I had to escape, that the parents would be home any minute. And if the children were this ghastly, how bad would the parents be?
Then the alarm went off and I woke up.
Monday, June 2, 2008
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