Currently Playing The Nightmare Before Christmas: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack By Danny Elfman Poor Jack see related

No, seriously. Where are you going?

I’m, going to the store. We need eggs, and stuff. Get off my back.

Don’t talk back to me. It’s always something with you, isn’t it?

This is dark.

What?

I mean…. (mumbles unintelligibly)

What are you saying over there? I can’t hear you.

I said: it’s dark in here. I can’t even see things. I can’t see you very well.

It’s not dark. It’s just mood-lit. I like it.

Your moods suck. I don’t like it. Them.

What?

Nothing. You want me to buy you some lights while I’m gone?

Why? Where are you going?

I have to go the store to get eggs, and some cheese for sandwiches, and I guess some light bulbs, too.

Ha! They don’t sell cheese at the hardware store, you idiot. You’re so stupid.

I’m not going to the hardware store. Do you want light bulbs or not?

Sure. But, eh. Just don’t get them very bright. Like, a low wattage, right?

(Mutters to herself): More like, I’m a freaking idiot, wattage of 2.

What?

Nothing. This is dark. I think I pretty much need to learn how to, wait.

What?

Never… mind. I don’t… I thought I heard something.

Quit trying to change the subject. We were talking about something important. And you go off about eggs, and hammers and pulling stories out of thin air like you’re something special. Well? You ain’t, honey. I can tell you that for sure.

Isn’t it about time some on dropped a house on you, or something?

Anyway. The bread’s almost done. Be sure and throw it out on your way.

Yeah. I will.

Don’t stay out too late. I was reading about this thing call Ecstasy?

Yeah, it’s a drug, technically,  methylenedioxymethamphetamine, a synthetic, psychoactive drug chemically similar to the stimulant methamphetamine and the hallucinogen mescaline. It exerts its primary effects in the brain on neurons that use the chemical serotonin to communicate with other neurons. The serotonin system plays an important role in regulating mood, aggression, sexual activity, sleep, and sensitivity to pain.

Yeah. That one. And I hear some pretty crazy stuff goes on at these clubs. So watch out. And your curfew is… oh, 5:30.

It’s almost 5:00 right now. And I’m not going to any clubs. I’m just going to get us some cheese for sandwiches at the groccery store. And I don’t even know why, cause you want me to throw the bread away, so what are we making sanwhiches out of? Maybe the bread will fall from the sky?

You don’t trust me. Here I am, trying to protect you, and you throw it all in my face. See if I’m right, when you come home pregnant one night, and then that means you won’t have your period and a- you’ll have a baby instead.

It’s dark. This is all really dark.

Bastard! Bastard! You know, don’t you know? Just like your little baby! HA! Hahaha!

I don’t even go to clubs…

Serves you right. The better to stay home and loose out on a chance for a real life. Hmph.

I think my real life is here in non-reality with this really weird room we’re in all the time. It seems like I’m always about to leave when you stop me with some conversation about XXX pornography and let me know it’s time to take the bread out.

There’s so much… You can never be too sure.

I’m going to go get us some eggs to crack.

Don’t get too high of a watt. I mean. Don’t fall in love.

I won’t.

Currently Playing Sunyata By Vas Astrae see related

At work, I bag things. There are paper bags and plastic bags and sometimes for special I put paper bags inside of plastic bags. Or plastic inside of plastic. Or paper inside of paper. This one freak wanted paper inside plastic, with paper outside of all of that. And there are smaller paper bags, for wine, or candy, or whatever.

So, when I’m bagging, I’m supposed to put items like: soap, shampoo, detergent. Poison. In small paper bags rather than leave them in a bag with food or anything. Can’t be poisoning some old lady’s prunes, or Mr. Whatever’s strawberries and bread. So they are separated into paper bags and put aside. Keep the poison aside. Then it’s right there and you know where to find it if something needs to die.

Many people think they should buy cigarettes. So they do. This one lady got a pack, and forced me to put them in a separate small paper bag.

Right. Good thinking, Miss. We wouldn’t want to get cancer on your peaches. Great foresight. For a smoker, that is.

The Morning After- Written by Rex Flores

            “Uhhh…what happened?” This was the worst hangover Rover had ever had. “Where am I?” He looked around and noticed he was in between two narrow brick walls with a dumpster on one side and filthy puddles all around. He realized he was in some alley in the city. He tried to remember how he got there, but his head was pounding. He had gone out late last night with his owners, a “nice” man and woman. They had taken him out for a surprise dinner, with cocktails afterwards. Unfortunately, Rover could not remember anything past desert. His mouth was dry and tasted like cigarettes. “I need to find a bathroom,” he grumbled to himself.

            He walked to the nearest restroom he could find, which happened to be in a Rite Aid. He bought a tube of toothpaste and some donettes and then walked into the restroom, where he immediately hurled. Wiping his mouth, he put his paws under the cold tap water from the sink. He scrubbed his face and swished the water around his mouth. He then took a swig from his Crest Extra Whitening and swished it all around his teeth and tongue and gargled it as well. After the taste of cigarettes and vomit had left his mouth, he looked at himself in the mirror. Bags hung low under his bloodshot eyes. “Rover, Woof! You are one sick pup,” he told himself. He took a sip of the refreshing toilet bowl water, flushing beforehand of course, and his large tongue splashed as he lapped up the porcelain nectar. Then he stood up, reached into his coat pockets and pulled out some sunglasses and put them on.

            Rover walked out of Rite Aid, eating his donettes and contemplating the events of the previous night. His forehead began to throb as his thoughts tried to piece themselves together. Then, in the middle of the fourth bite of the third donette, Rover remembered. He and his owners were sipping cocktails in a restaurant lounge when Rover had to go to the bathroom, so the man attached the leash to Rover’s collar to take him “around the block”. The next thing Rover could remember was being on the roof top of a building, his master looking down on him. “You shouldn’t have crossed me, dog,” said the man. Then Rover was kicked off the building. Rover jolted back to reality. He remembered what his owners had done, and he remembered why too. He finished eating his donettes and carelessly tossed the wrapper into a side walk trash basket. “Like a bad habit,” Rover said to himself with an unusual tone of determination. He hopped on a bus head for his neighborhood and got off at a local park near his old home. Under the tallest Oak, by the playground, Rover dug up a piece of his past: a cobalt revolver his brother had given him when he had made detective. Rover loaded his piece and spun the chamber until it clicked. Paws in his coat pockets, he headed for home.

            Rover quietly turned the knob to his front door and walked into the house to find the man and woman sitting comfortably in the living room; the man reading his paper and smoking his pipe, while the woman whistling while doing some ironing. Rover slammed the door behind him, alerting the man and woman to his presence. “You looked surprised to see me,” smirked Rover. He chuckled a little. “I would be too. You thought you could get rid of me; wipe me off the face of the earth? You thought wrong!” The man and woman embraced each other. Rover stepped towards them and they nervously stepped back. “And why would you try and kill me? For a diamond! A diamond I didn’t even have! I gave you love! I trusted you to take care of me after I retired from the force. I sat on your feet to keep them warm in winter and I snuggled you at night…” Rover spat on his former owner. He pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the man and woman. “You are pathetic, man. I didn’t take your precious rock. I’m a dog, not a man. If you must know, your darling wife took it and pawned it so she could feed her terrible cocaine habit. She sold your grandmother’s diamond…” The man looked angrily at his wife, mouth agape. “But she told me you took it and…oh, please forgive me Rover.” “Too late,” replied Rover. Boom. Boom. The man and woman were both dead. Rover let out a long sigh. Using a cloth, he pulled out a small pistol from his back coat pocket, and slid it into the man’s hand. When the police arrive, he would tell them it was self-defense. Picking up his old master’s pipe, Rover sat on the couch and read the paper, waiting for the paddy wagon to come.

Currently Playing They're Only Chasing Safety By Underoath It's Dangerous Business Walking Out Your Front Door see related

          “But,” he pleaded. “Isn’t this what you asked for?” There was no confusion that was not on his face. He tried a wistful little smile on for size and it felt awkward so he let it fall off. She said nothing to his pleas.

          “I mean, this is what you wanted right? You needed me to say sorry? Well, I am sorry. And… I really mean it this time. I didn’t come and go and leave you on purpose. I really just didn’t know what to think, ever….does that make me selfish?”

          People walking by and it was a busy street, middle of the day. The two were catching some strange looks like colds that came out of their chests like sniffles and heaving sighs. I mean, dear. His shirt said red white and blue, and he meant

          “I mean, dear. I don’t come and go, but I do, and I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to make a mess of all of this. I just-” The sniffles are tears are not a cold are not admission of fate are tears are soft are heaving sighs like colds they were catching from the passing people.

          “Who put this in a busy metro anyway? I mean, dear. Oh, I‘m sorry give me a second. I feel like jumping out a window. Wait… um.”  He slid down the graffiti wall and threw his eyes up to the sky. The stone was cold on his back, and his jacket wasn’t very thick after all. More of a fashion statement. The kind of jacket you wear inside. Like at a fashion show.

          “Do you hear a ringing sound? My ears are ringing…”

          She broke in finally. “What are you trying to say?”

          “What?”

          “Yes. Yes! What are you babbling on about?”

          “I don’t know, I don’t know. It’s weird. I can’t figure it out. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? I don’t know what else I can do for you. What do you need?” He was back to pleading. His voice betrayed his emotions; he had no idea where to do. His confusion said he longed for direction, for anyone to tell him where to go, to point what he should be doing. He had a sudden mournful, irate thought. All those countless little sperm, and only one in millions ever make it through to make us up. Out of six billion people on this planet. What kind of odds do I have? He shook his head and came back, she was saying something...

          “…is all you ever asked me for, and all I ever gave you anyway.”

          “Wait, what? Start over.” He thinks, crap. I should have listened, not float away into daydreaming. Not now, it’s so close. How can I just lose my mind when she needs me?

          “Never mind, I guess you don’t care.” She bled some more. He could hear it running, and he squeezed his eyes shut because it hurt to hear and it hurt to cry, and he didn’t want anyone to see them crying. No one should see her bleeding. And she shouldn’t see him crying. Oh, he flailed in his mind. He wanted so badly for someone to just put him in a place and give him a tool and tell him what to do. It is too much to think for yourself when your heart is being reaped and there is nothing for your hands to do but beat upon your own skull.

          Squeezing his eyes tight and only pushing the tears further out, he whispered, “I do care. I do. Tell me, please.”

          She breathed and he heard her down the way. They were getting harsher. Harder to come out. Longer to take them in again. She bled some more. He tried not to listen, and then,

          “Maybe. Maybe, I don’t really want you to do anything to help me. I think you should just stay down there for now. Just, stay away from me.”

          “You’re crazy. Crazy! Crazy! You’re really lost it this time!” He was crying openly and yelling up the wall at her and shaking his head back and forth. As people came near, they slowed, and then hurried by and onward to get past them.

          “Don’t.” She whispered.

          "I didn't mean it," he replied.

          He was on both feet, hands at his side and staring up the stained wall at the window. There was a stained-glass window made of graffiti and cold wet stone under it and in front of him. His hands down, he kept his gaze on the window. On that metal ladder, pulled up.

          She whispered something else. He couldn’t hear it, she was too quiet for her voice to carry down.

          “Net? Are you still there?

          “Net?”

          It was all he knew. The window and the cathedral of a stained-glass alley and the running noise and the blood he knew was on her carpet and the wood and the red shirt she wore last night and it won’t come out of the carpet. It was all he knew.

          “Net? Let me up, please.

          “Net?”

Currently Playing Divine Invitation By Something Like Silas In the Burning see related

1)     Everyone at my work is crazy.

2)     I know there are normal people. That are not crazy. They are boring and uneventful. Most of them go to school with me.

3)     But, normal people exist.

4)     No one at my work is normal.

5)     They are all very interesting.

6)     Their insanity is demonstrated in the following ways. They:

     -have scratcher addictions

     -fish compulsively –

     -hear voices no one else does

     -buy giant pumpkins and hollow them out

     -work at a grocery store

     -try to trade in their wife at a white elephant exchange

     -run into things

     -protest wildly at the “atmosphere” with out-of-control gestures

     -photograph Chihuahuas in customers’ purses

     -answer the phone in a strange, seductive voice like they are a sex-line and not a     checker

     -secretly wish they could work at Total Beauty Experience

     -make up names for dead mouses.

7)     Therefore: everyone who works in a grocery store is crazy.

8)     Back me up on this, if you have a job. The connection may actually be: everyone who has a job is crazy.

I though I had grown up so that this issue did not bother me. Maybe I'm just naive and protective of my little wishes of what should be and who should be when they are.

But sometimes you really want to cling to the wish that your friend isn't actually sleeping with her stupid boyfriend, that she's a good girl, she wouldn't do that, and everything can be pretty and wonderful just they way you think it should be. You always cling onto that, and then you just can't get away from it, like when she's worried if she's pregnant, and she dops a nickel, and you pick it up and spit without looking at her, "Well, are you sleeping with Sean what do you think?" and drop her nickel on the floor so she has to bend over and pick it up and you hope she's hurt because you're hurt, you really feel betrayed, and you walk away. She says something about birth control pills and how she isn't "sleeping with him" she's not a sleazy slut she says, laughing and smiling. But she is. And how do you look at her, knowing what she's been doing with him, where her precious little body has been and what her filthy lips have ruined and all the sensual movements her hips have stolen and the cries of ecstasy her closed eyes have gasped out? How do you look at her, your friend, and pretend none of that has going on? You always want to believe the best and leave it at that, keep her precious and wonderful, your friend. You should have known, but you would rather pretend she is a good girl, she wouldn't do that.

I think I'm going to curl up and cry.