ninja

fulldamage

Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real


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laughingman
fulldamage

Carraige Return



Las Vegas Airport, 7:45 pm

Little girl. Yes, you. First of all, you're sixteen and you need to pull your pants back up. Secondly, rhinestones damage the evolutionary curve. Thirdly, pull your goddamn pants up! You're not old enough to have a cute ass, you instead have acute ass. Actually it's sort of oblique and squarishly flat anyhow, so you may never get that lucky. But even if you didn't, displaying a tiny bit of crack is a decision left to your Ritalin addled discretion, it may or may not be sexy, but not your entire ass. I CAN SEE INSIDE YOUR SPHINCTER. Did we talk about how you're FIFTEEN?

And you. My god, woman. You're old. Has no one told you? Allow me, please, to be your informant in this regard. YOU ARE LARGE AND OLD. So for the love of Yahweh, and all that is dear in this mutating, crazening world, put on a goddamn bra!!! You just put that toddler's eye out when you turned around, and the tyke's lucky enough to be blind now, but the gods do not pity me enough to grant me the same gift! My eyes, they burn!!!

And you.

Bitch.

Bitch, why? Why must you take my lighter from me? They didn't take it from me on the way over, they haven't taken my lighter on the past three flights I've taken. And cackling. Cackling out loud as you do, spitting your f's into p's like my mama's forebears do, “Dey catch you wit dat, you'll hap to be sorched, eheheheheh!!” You have betrayed me, you have betrayed your race, miserable goatlicking shrew. What do you think I'm going to do with a lighter? Dominate the aircraft with my fearsome power of flame? Sell it to Colombians? How the fuck am I supposed to light things now, I can't make fire by MYSELF, DO I LOOK LIKE A GODDAMN BOY SCOUT?!?

8:05 pm

The smoking room is a joyless place, filled with broken old lizards and round Midwesterners ashing onto the carpet due to the scarcity of available ashtrays, or possibly just intoxication, or apathy, bitter with their 12.5 cent matchbooks and indigestion. Blue haired punkers look in queasily from the hallway, and walk on, dying for a smoke, knowing that they're looking into hell in Las Vegas airport, that special circle that they are doomed to in the afterlife, the destination for people who actually wasted their time having fun while they lived, a barren den of leathery antiques determinedly avoiding conversation about anything other than Fox News, condominium prices, golf, and bingo. There is a pipe bomb sized accretion of Burger King in my stomach, it's probably the first time this year that I've had fast food, and first time in years that it was Burger King, for people on the go who love food that sucks.

8:40 pm

Mine ears, they burst with altitude.

8:40 pm an hour later PST

“As we descend, please enjoy this informative video on America West's recent merger with US Airways.”
“What was that you were saying about bankruptcy?” I drawl to the girl across the aisle.
“Actually, that's why they're merging,” she chirrups brightly, her grasp of not-even-subtle sarcasm as loose as her immaculate black pants are tight. I keep catching her staring at me at odd moments, not with a drifting look or a dreamy one or a smile, or puzzlement, but just this curious flat stare, devoid of any nuance that I can read, and then she'll quickly look away. She really only makes expressions when she talks, it's disconcerting to me. She's a stunning auburn-haired beauty, but given to uttering statements like “Wow, this plane is really empty!” and “Hey, it's raining!” with a certain sort of placid amazement as drops blatter against the windows. I wish I was made to like the dull beautiful ones, I think to myself, examining her ass at length as she reaches for the overhead compartment. She is definitely not fifteen.

SFO, 9:15 pm

The landing lights are blue, and green, and the black night clouds hold the streetlights' false glow, and for a moment I'm on an alien planet, a mining colony under the atmospheric shield, and leaving everything behind on earth has been such a strange experience, I don't even know what to say to people any more, but the surface of this strange world brings an exhilaration to my heart that I get everytime I make a shuttle journey, only I don't know what I'm going to do now that I'm here. I'd like to think about it some more, maybe ponder it as I walk through the shielded docking tube and into the city dome where all the humanoids are, I'd like to think about it, but that damned loudspeaker voice, it keeps drumming into my thoughts, with noise and announcements, and now it's saying

“Welcome to San Francisco, ladies and gentlemen. Please remain seated while the fasten seatbelts light is on, and please refrain from smoking while within fifteen feet of the state of California. Have a lovely stay!”

There's a lady wearing furs and what I would consider nearly ostentatious enough to be a pimp hat, walking by with her bespectacled secretary. Nearby is a midget, and I begin to get uneasy that I have somehow actually reversed time and landed in Las Vegas again, but then I think I remember him being on the flight over. Everything here is subdued greys and blacks and silvers, no more slot machines, just pimps and midgets. Time begins to slip-slide as if offended, it accelerates. There's a crow-masked drunk on the BART, there are witches in the muni station. There are freaks and geeks, fabulous flaming faggots and dykes holding hands on bikes and asian persuasions and tiny dogs marching in line with larger dogs, and this pixie beautiful pale black-spiky-haired thing with her hipbones all aglow passes me as I pass her while I'm jumping from the J to the N train, and my notebook is in hand, it's about to have this sentence in it, this one right here

and the rain is with me, misting everything, faerie kisses on the back of my neck and the side of my lips, and I didn't know until just now that I'd miss this city, but I'm grinning, grinning to split, to split my head wide open and poison you all with everything inside. I want an apple with a razor in it.

Happy Halloween, San Francisco. I'm back. Did you miss me?

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"I CAN SEE INSIDE YOUR SPHINCTER."

Amazing. <3

What are you doing for HW? I'm going to a party at The Glas Kat, for their monday night even, Death Guild.

I haven't been to Death Guild in quite a while. Is there a big cover charge tonight?

I actually don't have a plan. The one party I was intending to hit fell through. I do* have a marraige to attend in the early afternoon; food and drinking after that. After THAT, I dunno, maybe I'll go out, or maybe I'll just hang around and play the Warriors for PS2. (Yes, it's a game now!) I could deal with beating down virtual 80's thugs. I might even do it wearing a costume. ^_^

I think the cover charge is the same, but I'm not sure. You should come! :P

Hmmmm, maybes! Tell you what; I can be mailed at yumegokochi@[nospam]gmail.com. If you send me an email there, I'll send you my phone number. That way you can call me later and let me know what time and who's going and stuff. If I haven't drunk myself into retardedness by this evening, perhaps I'll mosey along! Maybe I can even drag Don, Athena, Trey n' Tippy, giddy posterchildren of coupledom that they are. ;)

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