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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 7, 2007 3:59:29 GMT 7
"This is completely...soul engulfing...It almost makes me really mad. It's like, the Rutherford paradyne, it's totally flawed. I shouldn't ha-ha-have to...It's like...flawed. It's so anti-progressive. Ugh, its so like stand..ardized, and like, whatever. Whatever. I like, totally...It's like really offensive. And...And I don't even...I don't usually like, I don't know. I'm feeling so raw and intense. I'm sorry if this disturbs you, but I just need to get this out there. You know, if I ever get married, it's going to have to be..I don't even think anyone gets it. It's like..I am suffering. I am SUFFERING. I am in the first circle of hell. I am in the first circle of hell. I am suffering. This is hell. I want to self-combust. I totally need to...I don't even know. I can't even deal. I can't, no one understands. No one understands."
"I think I have to go."
The problem with most conversations is that no one gives a shit. Who the hell is Andy Greenwald and why should you care? Not a lot of people want to lay this out on the table: You are not a tortured soul. Your poetry is not immortalizing the suffering genius who is you. Being a lesbian and throwing a bunch of prose together does not make you an accomplished author. You're not an alternative to the chokehold of the mainstream. You're insignificant. Your post modernistic outlook on life isn't ground-breaking and new. And just because like, your friends can't understand how deep Mindless Self Indulgence is, it doesn't mean the vitality is being sucked out of your life. The problem with most conversations is, no one really wants to care. Becasue the problem with most conversations is: nobody has anything worthwhile to say.
"D-d-don't go, I'm just so totally lost right now."
He met her outside of Lou's Tavern. And whatever it was that he said initially, she hung onto his every word like a child to a parent. The connection she felt with him was even a bigger mystery than why a high school senior who identified with the emotive hardcore movement (who had unfortunately for Charles, just been deferred from Rutherford) was weeping outside of a bar.
"I think you should call someone."
He pushed open the doors, and walked inside.
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Post by Derrick Moretti on Apr 7, 2007 10:39:13 GMT 7
Sitting on a barstool, his right elbow placed on the bar for support while the left was hanging down at his side, Derrick Moretti was observing the people in the bar. From the two obese bikers arguing over a game of pool to the Junkie hiding away in a dark corner paranoid that the cops are gonna bust in and catch him with his stash of China White then lock him up for who knows how long. Those people had no real affection for life. No idea what it was like to actually live. Just because they know how to breathe doesn't mean they know how to live.
The door opened and in walked a familiar face. Why the face was familiar was beyond Derrick. Maybe he just had 'one of those faces'. Then it dawned on him, the guy he met on a place to Newark. They had gotten along pretty well, but that was only because they had no one else to talk to and because they thought they'd never see each other again. Thats what usually happens to single serving friends.
A smirk found its way onto his face as he took a swig of his half empty bottle of beer. Yes he was the type of person to see the bottle as half empty. He saw his life as 26 years gone, so why waste the rest of his time shooting up or arguings over trivial little things. He had gotten into that discussion with the familiar face on the plane. The reason for calling him the familiar face, well its because he couldn't remember his name.
He stood up and strutted over to the familiar face. His walk was quite peculiar, but it was very unique. Derrick was most definitely an individual, while the familiar face tried to follow the crowd. An unusual pearing, the two seemed to get on quite well together. A light tap on the familiar faces back and lick of his bottom lip as a way to get ready to speak, Derrick found himself speechless. A rare thing in the life Derrick Moretti. He was always full of useful information, always had something to say about anything and everything. But right that second, nothing.
"Did you know if you mix gasoline and frozen orange juice, you can make napalm?" Derrick said the first thing that came to mind. He also remembered it as something he said on the plane, something he remembered the familiar face being somewhat interested in. Whether or not he was interested enough to remember a sentence like that a couple months after hearing it, Derrick would soon find out.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 7, 2007 11:15:43 GMT 7
Derrick Moretti. He'd met him on a plane to Newark from L.A. That was the beauty of internships: you were their guinea pig. You were their makeshift page. You were anything they needed at a moment's notice. And for two days, he was Syd Greenberg's personal driver. At least, that's what he really was. He was sent to trail him, it was supposed to be a learning experience. It was the most disasterous 'learning experience' of his twenty-four years, but if he hadn't been sold into Greenberg slavery, he would have never met Derrick. Derrick was, in short, everything Charles (who at the time decided to up the ante on his masculinity and go by Chuck) aspired to be. No, he was everything Charles wanted to be. If he aspired to be Derrick, he wouldn't be living in a prepackaged-from-Scandinavia apartment with only condiments and no food. Derrick looked the way he wanted to look, dressed the way he wanted to dress, talked the way he wanted to talk, he probably fucked the way he wanted to fuck. He was smart, capable, and most important Derrick Morretti was free in all the ways he was not.
Derrick had a lot to say. He had a lot to say about everything. But what stood out in his memory most was that he knew a lot about explosives. He knew a lot about mixing simple household items to make explosives. Like equal parts orange juice and napalm. He was just full of useful information. It was dangerous to know people like that. You know people like that, they could be close to you. They could be a neighbor. You know people like that, and one day you come home with nothing. You come home with your furniture sailing flaming into the night. Or you can wake up that same day, with that hanging over your head and nothing ever happening. You know someone who could kill you. And they can kill you with something sitting under your kitchen sink.
"You are still by far the most single-serving friend I've ever met."
He glanced over his shoulder, looking to see what had become of the self-loathing teenage girl he'd run into. He wondered what Derrick would do. What Derrick would say, if he had encountered her. Would he tell her off? Or would he tell her that she was wasting her life. That she had potential and she was squandering her life away. She was old enough, maybe he would just fuck her.
"I guess you weren't single-serving."
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Post by Derrick Moretti on Apr 8, 2007 6:07:58 GMT 7
The name had finally come to him. Two magic words coming from Charles' mouth was the give away sign. 'Single-Serving'. Those two words automatically brought 'the clever guy' to the front of Derricks mind, followed by Charles Landen. Charles Landed was quite a strange character but good to have a conversation with. But after parting ways in a city with just under 300,000 people, it was surprising that they would meet again in a town with a population that was substantially less then where they said their goodbyes. The fact that Charles was attending Rutherford, the Major University around these parts, had completely slipped Derricks mind until now.
"I guess you're still clever" Derrick replied with a chuckle. Charles was everything Derrick wasn't. Everything that Derrick was trying to get away from. Not that Charles was a dickhead or anything, just the way Charles lived wasn't the way Derrick could ever see himself living. He was more of a fly by the seat of your pants kind of guy. He took life as it came and didn't look back. Why look back anyway, it was all behind you, all in your past. Its never coming back so it doesn't matter. That was his philosophy anyway. Not everyone agreed with it though but he didn't really care. It wasn't his life and they could do what they pleased, it was none of his business.
Following Charles' backwards glance, he looked over his shoulder to see a girl wollowing in self pity. Thats what she seemed to be doing anyway. He looked back up at Charles and wondered why he was interested in someone who wasn't even interested in themselves. He didn't bother wasting any time on the girl, he didn't know her or her situation and he wanted to keep it that way. Why take on other peoples burdens when you don't have to?
"You know her?" Derrick asked, nodding in the direction of the girl feeling sorry for herself. She didn't look that old, well not old enough to be at a bar so how could someone so young have that much sorrow. She should be out having fun, being spontaneous and not worrying about a damn thing. Not sitting outside a bar bawling her eyes out. "Teenagers these days." Derrick added, shaking his head as he looked over to her again. ___________________________________________________
sorry its crappy. my muse decided to run away and join the circus. it always leaves me :[ tell me if none of it makes sense, coz atm my mind is kinda all over the place lol
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 8, 2007 9:48:08 GMT 7
He smiled. He would have laughed, a sort of welcoming 'I'm glad we have made a genuine connection/reconnection' type of laugh. But he didn't laugh much around Derrick. He didn't laugh around him at all. Or at least, he wouldn't. It had come to a hault a few minutes into their initial meeting. Their very first conversation on that plane to Newark. "There's a sort of sick desperation in your laugh," he had said. From that point on, Charles stopped laughing. At least in Derrick's company. He felt like, had he known him longer -- or even if their relationship grew and he'd end up knowing Derrick over a longer period of time, he'd have a lot of push on the way he lived. If they became any closer than in passing acquaintences, which looked like what they were now, Derrick would probably govern over the way he looked at the world. He would realign his perception. It would have bothered him, normally. Knowing someone had his mind in their grasp. But the way Derrick was didn't seem like too bad a way to be.
"It's working out great."
He was the Clever Guy. He would have went by that, The Clever Guy. He would have forfeited his name for that. Not too soon after their conversation came to a ceasing point the question came up. Or in his case, the reciprocation of the question. He was always the one asking, Charles. He felt like if he asked, he wouldn't be asked. People would forget and go off on their own tangents. But not Derrick. He asked the same question right back and he had to give him an answer. He'd said, "Charles, but you can call me Chuck." He figured Derrick would probably be sticking with Charles. There was something about his name he didn't like. The every day montony of it. That's not to say there wasn't an escape from it. There's always an escape from things like that. In the realm of support groups he was Rupert. He was Cornelius. He was a shitload of crappy names but not Charles.
"No, she stopped me when I was walking in."
(Don't worry about it! It was great. I hope mine isn't too bad D:)
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