kaara-chan

[hellafluff]

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[redditnosleep]

Q is for Quota

by professionalsuccubus

The following letter was left on the counter of Penny’s Diner in Dunsmuir, California.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Maniaci,

I’m sorry to do this so suddenly and through a letter, but I have no choice. I have to quit. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Something happened and I don’t think it’s safe for me here anymore. Don’t worry, I’ll be OK, and all of you will be OK too, as long as you aren’t around me.

Something I didn’t put on my resume was that I was a cop in my previous life. My real name is Sarah Verborden. Another thing I left out was that I’ve killed 26 people. Not in the line of duty, and not to protect anyone (although you could argue it was a form of self-preservation).

I’ve done awful things. I’ve done things that keep me awake at night. Sometimes it’s the only consolation I have for my crimes, that I continue to suffer because of them.

I haven’t been a cop or a murderer in ten years. I left my last job, moved across the country, and changed my identity (the same night that I killed my 26th). But now I have to run again. When I came home from my jog this morning, there was an envelope on my front stoop containing a flash drive. The flash drive contained one thirty-minute video. The first fifteen minutes was footage of my final murder, but it’s the last ten minutes that is motivating me to leave.

I know it’s corny and I’m sorry but you guys are the closest thing I’ve had to real family in a long, long time. Thank you for treating me so well. I wanted to write you this letter because, first and foremost, I think you’re one of the few people who deserve a full explanation. The other reason is an egotistical one. My entire life has been a secret, which means when I’m gone, what happened to me and my family will be forgotten. Even though my life is littered with death, dishonesty, and selfishness, I can’t stand the thought of that vanishing….like a cloud of black smoke.

It’s hard to make friends when you never put roots down. My dad was the only one who really understood, and he’s been gone for years. I just….I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but it’s bigger than I thought. And I’m pretty sure it’s bad.

Take care of yourselves. Don’t trust outsiders. If you meet a man wearing a clergy shirt with a black collar, get away from him. Don’t answer his questions. Don’t talk to him any more than you have to. Downplay that you knew me. Trust me, you don’t want to be a part of it, whatever it is.

Again, I’m sorry for all of this. I wish you both the best. My keys and uniform are in my cubbyhole in the break room. You can keep my last paycheck. Thank you for hiring me.

Sincerely,

Sarah Verborden

Every time I moved to a new town or city, people always asked the same general thing: “Need a change?” And I’d smile and say yes.

The cynical thing that I never tell people is that really - very little changes, no matter how much you move around. Work as a cop long enough, and all the things you see and stories you hear blend together in a tapestry of life at its most violent and mundane. Old ladies dying alone in their apartments. A group of teenagers drowned at a lake. A young man, disappeared into thin air off his college campus. Drug addicts dying in droves – heroin, methamphetamines, a weird new one called Scopo-something.

And then there’s all the human monsters. Take myself, for example.

But I digress. For this to make sense, I have to start in grade school and tell you about the time I caught my father with a dead body in the garage.

I was waiting up, pissed and hungry, because he was late again and there wasn’t any food in the house (the short version: my dad skipped out on my mom while she was pregnant with me. My mom raised me until I was twelve, when she died, and my dad re-emerged and took custody). When I heard the humming of the garage door opening, followed by all the familiar thuds of doors opening and closing, I marched my fourteen-year-old self down the stairs, arms crossed, ready to emulate my dead mother’s sternness.

Ever have the wind completely taken out of your sails? That’s what happened to me when I opened the garage door and saw my father hauling the limp form of Mr. Lakeland, our elderly neighbor, out of his trunk.

I remember running upstairs while he ran after me, yelling “Sarah, wait”, locking the door. Crying a little. Partially out of fear and partially because I was so sure that my anger and his tardiness was going to be the Big Event of the night, and I was wrong, so deeply fucking wrong.

Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl.

Eventually, though, I had to come out. My father planted himself outside my room and wouldn’t stop cajoling and reassuring me everything was OK; there was no need to be afraid. And the emptiness in my belly roared, demanding to be filled.

He took me to the backyard, where he laid Mr. Lakeland’s frail little body in the small bonfire pit we had - the kind that was dug into the ground and lined with flat stones. I flinched and clutched at my sweater when he swung a shovel up and brought it down on Mr. Lakeland’s skull. He stepped back, and said into the night air, “Seventeen. Take him.”

And the sound of whispers came, and the whispering tendrils came, and they surrounded Mr. Lakeland, and even though I was furious at (and, now, scared of) my father, I still clung to him and buried my face in his side as the body was ravaged.

Ten minutes later, all that was left of Mr. Lakeland was a dark stain on the rock. My father got out the hose.

After the rocks were mostly clean of carnage, my father took us inside. There was a pointed moment of uncertainty, and then he sat me at the table and gave me a Twinkie. He went to heat up some water. The water turned into hot chocolate, also for me. It was a little infantilizing, but I didn’t mind. It was the most tender he’d been towards me since the day I moved in.

He talked, more earnestly than we’d ever talked. He talked about his eighteenth birthday when his mother (my Grandmother Sylvia) died, when he’d been sat down and told about the family curse. One person from every generation in their family must make 26 sacrifices to the beast. He didn’t believe it at first. He turned eighteen. He started having sudden and unexplainable pains - pains that incapacitated him to the point that he dropped out of school and had to start taking painkillers daily just to function. He ate his pills and suffered until he couldn’t anymore, and then one night he strangled his coworker as they were closing up the restaurant where they worked. He sat on the ground and waited, and after some time passed…black smoke consumed the body, leaving just a stain. And his pains went away, and for the first time in months, relief.

I asked what the thing’s name was. He said it didn’t have one, but they just called it ‘the black smoke’ or ‘the curse’. I asked him how they knew it was 26 sacrifices. He said he couldn’t talk for previous family members, but that was how many people grandma had killed before the pains went away for good.

I asked him why you couldn’t just dig up a dead body and then summon the thing. He said it didn’t work. He’d tried it.

I asked why he killed Mr. Lakeland. He said he’d stopped by to check in, and found him unresponsive but alive – the victim of a stroke, or a heart attack, or something. His phone was off the hook and my dad said he could hear someone yelling for Mr. Lakeland on the other end.

He said he knew it seemed wrong, but Mr. Lakeland was old and if he was going to die anyway, he might as well make him an offering - it would save someone else from the same fate. But that meant he had to get the body out of there, immediately, before someone called the police, and he couldn’t risk doing it there and leaving evidence behind.

I’ve often thought about whether or not he was telling me the truth about Mr. Lakeland. Dad was a kind guy, don’t get me wrong, but he wasn’t the Good Samaritan type to just drop in on a neighbor for a home check. I want to believe that was how it really happened, but when I weigh the totality of the circumstances…I think my dad probably lied about how that night went down.

That night marked the start of Dad teaching me how to kill within the parameters of the curse. He taught me to mercy kill whenever possible. If I really had to, I could kill someone and transport them somewhere else, but if I had the time it was best to just do the sacrifice immediately. Mostly, though, he just taught me to hunt. I learned I should swap out my license plates with fakes when hunting. To try and give my sacrifices in abandoned buildings, basements, or the woods. How and where to look for security or trail cameras.

He taught me to target the vulnerable, the forgotten, the powerless, saying it was one of the easiest ways to avoid detection. I’m telling you this because I don’t want to sugar-coat the morality of what we were doing. I won’t make arguments that our killings were somehow justified, or any of that “taking out the trash of the world” or “watching the watchmen” nonsense. I made peace with my choices - and his - long ago. We killed people. Usually innocents. Because it was them or us.

Fast forward to one night in the August of 2007, when I was – coincidentally – unloading a body from my trunk. I had the drifter halfway out of the trunk before a spasm struck my gut, so painful that I shrieked into my dark, empty garage.

It felt like something alive was writhing in my belly, trying to break out of my body’s fleshy prison. I gulped air. I screamed every obscenity I knew and a few I made up. My words echoed through the house, caustic with volume. I waited for the agony to recede, but it burned on as strong as ever. Eventually, I collapsed next to the rear tire, gasping.

It took a few minutes, but eventually the burning started to dissipate. I gritted my teeth and got back to my feet. The corpse wasn’t going to move itself, after all.

I’d stopped the drifter earlier in the night while on patrol, and, feigning sympathy, told him about a spot under an overpass a few miles to the south. “It’s not much, but there aren’t too many critters and it keeps off the worst of the weather,” I’d said. “You can stay there as long as you move on in the morning.” The gratitude in his eyes almost made me feel bad. Later that night, I’d come by and bashed his head in with a rock while he slept. I’d wanted to get rid of him right there, but some teenagers wandered dangerously close to the spot, and I didn’t want to risk attracting attention. So into the trunk he went.

I had dragged the body to the top of the basement stairs when another spasm wracked my midsection. It rippled through my muscles and into my bones, all the way down to my heels. The pain brought me to my knees. My hands made involuntary clawing motions for a few seconds. I tried my best to breathe through it, to ignore it.

I abandoned any plans I had of handling him gently. I kicked the body down the stairs. It took almost a minute to get all the way down, the lifeless arms and legs getting tangled in the narrow space.

Stupid family. Stupid father. Stupid curse that keeps my demons lingering much, much longer than they should. I leaned against the door frame at the top of the stairs, panting.

Clutching my belly, I shouted, “Take him! Take him, goddammit! 24! 24!”

Hushed whispers emanated from the dark. I saw little tendrils of black curl around the drifter, still lying prone at the bottom of the stairs. The tendrils slowly circled around him until his body was almost completely obscured by the smoke. Then the crunching started.

The drifter’s body jerked back and forth as the tendrils played with it. The sounds of twisting, cracking, and churning wet gristle filled the space. Sometimes the whirling lump of black smoke was punctuated with little bright white bits of bone. The muscles in my stomach seized, causing me to keel over onto the kitchen’s linoleum floor with my back arched. When the drifter’s skull popped, it was so loud it felt like a sonic boom. I jump, even though I’ve heard that sound before. But when I see his head start to lose that familiar structure – lower jaw now perpendicular to the top one, one gleaming white eye shifted to the dead center of a face now horribly concave, before being pulverized into chunky jelly – I couldn’t help it, I started to dry heave.

All that was left of that drifter, whoever he was, was a wet red smear on the concrete.

Only two more.

Two months after the drifter, the pains returned. I knew they’d been coming on sooner and sooner the more people I killed, but I wasn’t expecting them that soon. I was forced to scramble and find a new target much earlier than I normally would. This is how I ended up in a bank parking lot on a Wednesday night, talking to my supervising sergeant, and trying to remain casual while there was an unconscious woman in my trunk.

I had - irrationally, I admit – driven three towns over to one of my old beats and visited their equivalent of Skid Row. I only had to circle around a few times before I spotted a small figure hunched up next to a building. It wasn’t difficult to persuade her to come over, and even easier to knock her out and toss her in the trunk. So you can imagine that I was less than thrilled when I passed by the bank - just a few miles from home - and saw a familiar police cruiser flash its hazards at me.

Heart sinking, I turned into the parking lot and pulled up to see Sergeant Belden’s face, blue-lit by the glow of his monitor.

“You all right there, Verborden? You look a little pale.”

I rubbed my forehead bashfully. “Felt a little crappy last night, but better now. Still getting used to midnights. Haven’t done them since I was a rookie up in Pinewood.”

We shot the shit for a few more minutes. Work, holidays, the weather…

Sergeant Belden was a good man.

What I did to him wasn’t fair.

Sometimes when I’m lying awake at night I revisit that moment. I was shaking. I was hesitating. Ten years later, I’m still surprised that I managed to pull the trigger. The fact that the sergeant and I had always gotten along was probably the only thing that stopped him from shooting me first.

My decision happened so fast, so clinically and quick, that sometimes late at night I wonder if it was really me. It felt like someone else; like Soldier Sarah came out brandishing all her training from murder school, ready to get the job done.

I never intended to kill Sergeant Belden, but we all know plans change sometimes. And in the middle of our conversation, the woman I kidnapped woke up and started screaming at the top of her lungs.

The sergeant jumped, startled, and all the years of learning from Dad and hunting in my private time and moving and never getting attached and counting took over. I took out my gun and shot him twice in the temple.

I whispered, “25. Take him.”

I got out of my car, already crying. I opened the trunk and did the same to the woman, tipped her dead weight onto the asphalt, and said in a low voice, “26. Take her.”

The smoke that was absorbing Sergeant Belden split into two, and one of its cyclones descended on the woman. I walked over to the driver’s side of my car and sat on the ground, and let the tears fall down my face.

You have to believe me when I say I didn’t want that to happen. But it was the only way. And that, coincidentally, has been a curse of its own. It hasn’t been the jubilant release that I dreamed it would be. It’s been like emerging from a terminal illness, the kind of perpetual darkness that tests your soul and your being as much as it tests your body.

After the smoke took Belden and the woman, I got in my car and sped home. I had long prepared for the day when this trail of death would be over, and I didn’t care if anybody could link me to the murders. I was leaving the Midwest for good. I would be in the wind. I had everything I needed to disappear, and I did that.

And I thought I’d stay here, in Dunsmuir, until this morning.

The flash drive that someone put on my doorstep contained Sergeant Belden’s dash camera footage from the night of the murders. There isn’t much to see, since most of it happened off-camera, and at times the video completely disintegrates into static. But after that clears, you can see a cloud of smoke edging in the frame. After a few minutes of that, you see my car speed away.

Then, a funnel of smoke can be seen descending from the lower left corner. It whirls and churns, condensing ever downward. When it eventually clears, a small, spindly figure is left lying on the ground. Curled up in the fetal position, it looks like it could be an emaciated person. The picture quality isn’t good, but it looks like a mummified somehow - long, bony and shriveled.

A man wearing a black priest’s cassock and a clerical collar enters from the right frame. He stops short of the creature, and kneels. He kneels for a few minutes without moving at all. He brings his hands to his mouth, as if in awe or fear. Then, he reaches a trembling finger out to the figure.

It reaches a withered hand back up.

[eyesaremosaics]

A few nights ago, my depression was so severe, that I drove to the Golden Gate Bridge. I sat there in my car for three hours straight. Just sat there quietly in the darkness, thinking, staring at the steering wheel. Feeling nothing. Like an echo would go right through my chest. My eyes focused on the lights from the bridge, my heart hammering in my head, praying for the courage. Silent tears, streaming my face. Barely able to breathe, my chest aches so deeply, like I have a collapsed lung or something. I know I am loved. I know people care. People keep telling me wonderful things. That I'm loved, that I am special, that I'm talented, that I am touched by fire. Yet I can't see it. I can't feel it. There is no getting close to it for me. When someone tells me I am beautiful, my heart breaks with rage. My self hatred is so deep, that compliments infuriate me. I cannot conceive of any of these words attributed to me. It feels surreal, not genuine. Just words. "Why can't other people see me for what I really am?" That's my inner dialogue. How sick is that? Slept through work today. It's a miracle I didn't get fired. Thank god the Healy's are so understanding. Robin is unfailingly kind and compassionate. Yesterday, received word that I've been dragged into a nasty court case. The director of a theatre company I worked for over two years ago, filed me as secretary on the board of directors. He is being sued for fraud, and now that my name is on there, I'm liable for the damages. Have to get a lawyer, which I can't afford. More fun shit to deal with. Can barely afford food right now. My heart is still fucking broken. No hope for the future at all, I wake up every day and feel worse than the day before it. I only have one week left with the boys I have nannied for, we've been together for seven years... Been through so much together... Their mothers death, their grandmothers death of a broken heart less than a month later. Not to mention... Every break up, my dads cancer, Jenny's death... They comforted and loved me through all of it. They feel like my children. I have been their surrogate mother ever since Christy passed away. I can't conceive of my life without them. Letting go... Is the biggest challenge in life for me. I feel like I am literally incapable of doing it. I can't let go. Of anyone, or anything. Ever! I leave claw marks on anything that tries to leave my life. Abandonment issues so strong... They induce borderline psychosis in me. Still haven't found a long term replacement family to take Eric and John's slot. There are no words for how much I am going to miss them. No words. I can't even process it, my brain can't handle the separation at all. Every time I think of it, I start to have a panic attack. I can't breathe. All the air has been squeezed from my lungs, tightness in my chest, vision goes black. It feels like I'm literally dying. Anyone who's had a panic attack, knows how horrible the feeling is. So many endings. All at once. It always happens that way, doesn't it? Self care is paramount right now. Please universe: bring me a warm loving family, that will hire me long term for a lot of money. So I can afford to go back to school, to better market myself professionally and get my career rolling in a positive direction. I am ready to be in the having now universe, not the wanting. I am ready for good things. For a successful artistic career, for inspiring, warm, loving friends I can trust, for a community to immerse myself in, to travel, join a gym, get medication, see my therapist more often, to turn my life around. To meet someone successful, kind, and loving towards me. Who loves me as much as I love them, who I have an amazing sexual intimacy with, who cares about my dreams, who supports me, shares my interests, likes to go out. Someone who wants to be with me, and only me. Not five or six other girls. I want to be enough for someone. More than enough, I want to light up their life with my love. No more possessive, controlling, judgmental, philandering, demoralizing, abusive, negligent, manipulative, trust-less, limiting, unrequited love relationships. Fuck that. I have lived through so many of those, I will not survive it another time. I have no clue what a healthy relationship even looks like. Went out on a date the other day, the guy went to put his arm around me, and I winced involuntarily. How sick is that? When someone is being kind to me, it goes in one ear and out the other. Like I didn't even hear it, or it didn't even happen. My brain can't compute it. It can't register, because it is not used to it. Especially not from men. I am distrusting. My assumption now is: you just want me for sex. You just want to use me for something. So they keep calling after the first few dates, all obsessed with me, and I just stop responding to texts. I just ghost people out. I don't mean to, I just... Can't deal with it. These dates I've been on... There is just no connection there--for me. They seem to find me fascinating, but I am beyond bored. It's unkind for me to continue when I am not feeling it. At this point, I fear men so much that I can't even hate them. I feel like a caged rabbit, and start kicking my legs helplessly when they try to pick me up. Just so very overwhelmed right now. Tired of fighting so hard to exist. Tired of trying so hard, and feeling like nothing is getting better. It feels completely hopeless. What people do not understand about manic depression, is how Fucking hard it is just to make it through each day. Every day, I think about killing myself. Some days, it is all I think about. Everything becomes so black, you cannot conceive of a tomorrow. People who don't wrestle with mental illness, don't understand. One minute you are trotting along, feeling like your higher self. Giving your light in abundance, so that you inspire the best in others. Everything falls into place, magic starts happening for you. You feel strong, vital and beautiful. You feel witty, charming, and full of energy. Like the bubbles in a glass of sparkling champagne. Full of so much life, and passion. You go to bed, and the next morning...it's like the sun has been eclipsed from the sky. The clouds are heavy, and everything fades to gray. Food becomes flavorless, inedible. Your heart sinks like a stone into the river. Your chest begins to flood, until the ribs crack as floorboards under pressure. The ocean spilling through the hull, sinking the ship of your heart. It is violent, this feeling. Like a jolt of electricity coursing through you repeatedly. It feels like being slowly tortured. It is without your control. People say: just get over it. Just move on. Just feel better. Just love yourself. Uh, fuck you, I literally can't. I feel at the mercy of my emotions. They overtake me like a hurricane. Like a storm raging inside me. A war in my mind. People peering in on a private moment from the outside...to them I just come off as annoying. Every day that goes by... I can see myself getting older. My hair is already turning gray, from stress and malnourishment. My mother pointed something out to me earlier on the phone: "it's hard for you to relax, because you live in a constant state of stress. You are stuck on survival mode. Living paycheck to paycheck." Yes. Exactly. Please bring me more money universe. I want to be able to afford to enjoy my life. My whole life we've been poor. At one point, we were grindingly poor. I hate living in this constant energy of starvation, deprivation, of not having. No more. I'm tired of living like that. So fucking exhausting. I'm also tired of loving people more than they love me. I'm tired of being cheated on, treated badly, put down, ignored, unwanted, manipulated, gaslighted, told I'm too much, that I'm crazy, that I'm unloveable. I'm tired of believing that garbage, because I do. I really do. I'm tired of crying, of aching, of feeling not good enough. I hate that I don't feel deserving of love. I'm so sick of hating myself, every second of everyday and wishing I could just die. I'm sick of it. It's so exhausting to go back and fourth With myself as I do. I want to live, I want to die. I'm amazing, I'm worthless. I'm silly and playful, I'm bitter and angry. When I go over the limit with my drinking... God. It's like I channel some demon. A demon comes through me, and it is mean and cruel. Bleeding hearts like mine, are like an open wound to the world. We are 3rd degree burns exposed to steam. Everything hurts. We are a dead star, a black hole, a swallowing cesspool. Left unloved, we die, or disappear. I want to love myself, I really do want to get better. I just don't know where to start. I truly don't see my own value. It is not a cry for attention, or pity party thing, I really don't see anything in me worth loving. How do I change that? I try affirmations, I try exercise, I try listing all my supposed "good" qualities. It just feels empty and meaningless. I force myself to do it, but it doesn't absorb. All this shitty luck is just exacerbating the problem. It is making my suicidal depression ten times worse. I can literally feel the cortisol bubbling inside me. Like a cancer. So creepy. My skin looks aged, I can see the lines forming in my face. I drink to numb out, which of course only makes things worse. Chain smoking, not eating. It's just a mess. Horrible nightmares, making me fearful of sleep. Lack of sleep=deepening depression. Fuck me, I just can't. At the end of my rope here. Trying so hard to change things for the better. There is all this red tape in my way. Money, time, roadblocks. Go to this window, fill out these forms, wait a month to hear back, on hold with elevator music. Fuck. It's like waiting in the cafeteria line for some slop in prison. Trudging along, doing your boring duty, day in and day out. Numb with the monotony of it all. Please universe, please let this difficult time of transition pass without pushing me over the edge. Please bring love and joy to my life. So tired of suffering.

[brido]

The Great Struggle to the Bottom

The AON Center in Chicago is 83 floors and 1,136 feet high. And at the time I worked there, it was the second-tallest building in the city. From the 70th floor, where I worked, the views were just asinine. The cars on Michigan Avenue looked like ants. The people down on Randolph Street were specks of dust. I could look OUT at the endless lake and basically feel fine, but looking straight DOWN made me feel queasy and I never, ever got used to it.

We were up so high, in fact, that they let our chain-smoking secretaries and storeroom guys just light up on the 70th floor. They got grandfathered or grandmothered in to indoor smoking in some designated areas, which was far more time-efficient than making them take elevators all the way down, head outside and then back through security twenty five times a day. This was 15 years ago in Chicago, mind you, so good luck telling some middle-aged woman from like, Berwyn that she has to either give up her Virginia Slims or brave the frigid winter air just off the lake. 

The amazing thing was, sometimes I would see these ladies at the elevators as everyone was heading down for lunch. And occasionally one or two would stay behind and say they were gonna take the stairs. I remember just thinking, “Good for them.” Sometimes I’d even say it out loud and people would nod in agreement. It WAS good for them. And I never actually considered what that would entail or how impressive a feat that was for these women - most likely actual grandmothers, whose ages were impossible for a kid straight out of college to ascertain - to head down all those stairs. They looked 99% like Allison Janney in “I, Tonya” and zero percent like health nuts. But since nobody else reacted with shock and horror to them doing this, my brain never questioned that these frail, hacking, wheezing old women took the stairs all the way down to the lobby for their lunch. I’d never experienced it myself, so who was I to judge?     

Not long after I started my entry-level job there at the AON Center, I got promoted and sent to training on the 71st floor. Whereas the atmosphere on 70 was fun and lively and filled with the cubicles of a hundred other kids straight out of Big Ten schools just like me, the 71st floor felt like cruel and unusual punishment by comparison. They treated training like we were Navy Seals. Pages of memorization and testing. Rigidly enforced time management. Strictly suit and tie attire. Zero breaks. At one point I was admonished in front of my class for needing a haircut. For fucking phone sales. I had four trainers and hated three of them. I thought I was going to quit. They thought I was going to quit. So from time to time, I’d get called back down to 70 by one of the managers there to give me a ‘stick with it’ pep talk. And more often than not, I’d just sneak down there anyway to see my friends from that floor and to vent. I just hated it.  

When I got caught sneaking off in the elevator, I’d lie, feign embarrassment, and say I had to poop and preferred the bathrooms on 70. When that stopped working (since absolutely nobody preferred the bathrooms on 70), I figured out a stairwell I could use with my security badge and figured they’d be none the wiser. They quickly got ‘the wiser’. And each time, I’d be publicly scolded, I’d be punished and I’d make my own shitty situation even worse. That is, I guess, except for the last time I got caught.

On this particular day, probably in the winter of 2004, as I headed down the stairwell the door from 71 seemed to close behind me in slow motion. “Oh FUCK,” was all I could blurt out. In my haste to sneak away from training, I’d completely forgotten my security badge and was now trapped between the 70th and 71st floors of the building. I tried banging on the door to 71 to no avail. And then tried and failed again on 70. As I stood there for few beats in a dead panic, wearing the suit my mom bought me for my sister’s wedding, I remembered the chain-smoking Allison Janneys from the 70th floor and decided since I had no time to spare, I might as well do what they would do and walk all the way down to the lobby and head back up in the elevator. I was young. I didn’t look like I was about to die. So surely this had to be the best plan, as well as the fastest way to do it. In no time, I’d be back in training and in the clear. 

This is one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had.  

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever walked down 71 industrial flights of stairs, but a few bad things start happening to you. First of all, your ‘going down the stairs’ leg muscles have had no real-world experience for this and they become completely useless within minutes. You’re mostly just jelly-legging it and by the end, your body has produced all new completely useless muscles just to provide you with a deeply-felt agony. It’ll be the only thing you feel below your waist. Your legs are garbage. You truly have no way of knowing this until you actually do something so stupid. 

The second bad thing that happens, is that you start to get dizzy. And like, dizzier than you can ever possibly imagine. Picture yourself going down four flights of stairs in a parking garage. You are on those stairs for such a short amount of time that you don’t even realize you’re basically just walking downhill in a circle. If you go down 71 FLIGHTS of stairs, it’s like a never-ending baseball-bat-on-the-forehead spin race. Except this time, your legs are also deteriorating at a rapid rate. So your ever-increasing stumbles send you careening off of brick walls and iron railings. The clangs of your shitty Kenneth Cole dress shoes echoing off 1000+ feet of metal and concrete is all you hear while your eyes completely glaze over and the most elemental, lizard part of your brain, which is all that’s left, keeps urging you to push on downward. And downward. And down.  

The final piece of advice I’d give you if you are to decide to take the plunge down 71 flights of stairs is to not wear the suit your mom bought you for your sister’s wedding. But in this particular instance, it probably ended up being my only saving grace. But I’ll get to all that in a second.

Eventually I made it all the way down to the lobby. And I’d never been so happy to see that lobby in my life. That lobby usually meant I was heading to work before 8 AM. Or back from lunch. Either way, I hated that lobby. But this time I could have kissed the floor like Jordan when he said goodbye to Chicago Stadium in ‘94. Except I felt a lot more like Jordan in the “Flu Game” during the ’97 Finals. Everything felt like it was moving and spinning. Like when you get off a treadmill and your body takes 30 seconds to decide you’re no longer on it, but multiplied by 71. My legs had broken all the way down into full ‘goofball’ mode. And I dipped and bobbed erratically around the lobby as my mind tried to aim my body at the elevators. 

I knew I was fucked. I’m not sure exactly how long this endeavor had taken. But I’m guessing it took a second per stair, 20 stairs to a floor… not factoring rest time, at least 24 minutes.  Possibly much, much longer. I don’t know. By the end of it, my brain was broken and time no longer existed. But now, as the elevator headed back up to where I started, I was preparing for the worst. And here’s where my suit came in handy.  

Suits, by large, are not ideal workout clothes. And so unbeknownst to me, in the haze of my Great Struggle to the Bottom, I’d also managed to drench myself in sweat from head to toe. I looked like a drunken Ted Kennedy emerging from the pond at Chappaquiddick, ready to tell his side of the story. AND My trainers were waiting for me, arms-crossed-negative and ready to do their worst. 

When they saw me, all sloshy-shoed with my knees buckling and my suit sweated all the way through, their faces changed. We all just looked at each other. Then one of them asked, “What the hell happened to YOU?” 

And I just came out with it. All of it. I told them the truth. 

Then we looked at each other some more. 

And they. Just. Started. Fucking. Dying. 

Like, I’m just standing there, wobbly, preparing to be shit-canned. And they are doubled over, slapping their legs and pointing at me. This lasted for a while, until one of them started picturing the logistics of everything I’d just done and goes, “Why didn’t you just use one of the emergency call boxes??? They’re every five floors. Why would you POSSIBLY think to go all the way down 71 flights of stairs???” 

And so I brought up the chain-smoking ladies. “I don’t know. I thought if they can do it, so can I.”  

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?!?!?”

“I heard them say they walk down for lunch. Right?”

“WHAT?!? DUDE! NO!!! WHAT??? MIKE! Their offices are on 68! They just smoke on 70! They only walk from 70 to 68!”  

And then, “Wait, wait, wait, wait. So you thought… (Deep breath) AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! (Deep howling breath) BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”

Now they’re on the ground. Two trainers. Slowly crumbling into a pile of mocking laughter. While I stood there half feeling like I’d just done the dumbest thing I’d ever done in my life. Half wondering if I might have just gotten away with a fireable offense. It’s a crazy feeling. Plus, you know, the way I actually FELT physically.  

Within minutes, everyone knew. Everyone. And I’m talking about 3 entire floors of people in the AON Center. “Did you hear about that kid in training?” “Yeah. Holy shit! What a fucking idiot!” I was all the rage in my office for the rest of the week. And they fucking LOVED me for it. I had zero problems with my trainers for the remainder of my time in training. Morale had never been higher. I eventually headed back down to 70, graduating from bootcamp with slaps on the back, almost like some sort of celebrated mascot for the worst human being any of them had ever experienced. Years later, this time in an office out by O’Hare, I found out they still told that story downtown in training. I had become this legendary example of what NOT to do. And I’d get a “That was YOU???,” reaction every time I fessed up to my crimes of stupidity. 

Within four years, I’d already be gone. Off to L.A. to try to make it in show business. I’ve had a little bit of success in my time here. My old company has since filed for bankruptcy and are essentially out of business, their fatal flaw probably having something to do with scoffing at upstart competitors, "Google Dot Com" and “The Internet” as frivolous bullshit that real people didn’t use. I’m guessing you haven’t picked up a Yellow Pages in years. My company sold those ads. But hey, I’m not bashing them. They were kind enough to employ me. And they forgave countless offenses committed by me, their worst employee, because they believed I had talent. My manager had an ongoing top 10 list for the worst excuses I ever gave for calling in sick. So I’m grateful for my time there. And if there’s one showbiz cliche I believe in, it’s that you should be kind to everyone on your way up, because you’re gonna see all the same people when you get stuck on the 71st-floor stairwell and stumble, sweating and dizzy because you misheard chain-smoking old ladies by the elevator, on your way down.   

[readreviewblog]

Soul Seekers - Alyson Noel

Fated, Echo, Mystic and Horizon 

I was first introduced to this series about ten years ago after i finished reading one of her previous series, Immortals. You will hear me often say that i usually only read series after every book is published. I read so much that when the next book in that series is out, i have already forgotten everything that came before.

I realize this series has been completed for a few years, but i’m just now making my way back to Alyson Noel.

As this is my first official review, i’m not sure how to go about it. Bear with me while I’m learning.

I’ll start with the first in the series, Fated. (I will add the following books in the saga to this post so that they are all together. If i’m even allowed to go back and edit posts.)

Fated by Alyson Noel

My first impression was that the cover was gorgeous. I loved the Ravens, which turn about to be very important towards the middle of the story. I read this in paperback, as opposed to my normal method of ebook. Loved the sleekness and the way the book felt, which was something i surprisingly missed.

The book started off slow for me. ParaRoma is one of my favorite genres, and they normally pick up quite fast. We were introduced to Daire, our protagonist, although her name (like many of Ms. Noel’s) was hard to pronounce, did a quick google and got Dawrah. I didn’t like Daire at first. It was almost as if she had a better than you attitude. Was glad to say by the end of the book, I did start enjoying her. Her mom is a professional celeb makeup artist, so Daire was a regular jetsetter, never having a place to call home for more than a few months. She has weird visions in front of strangers and not-so-good-for-you boyfriend. Everyone, including her mother thinks she’s psychotic.

We meet her grandmother and things start looking up. She reveals Daire’s not crazy afterall. (Surprise!) She’s actually from a long line of Seekers. By the end of the book i’m still not entirely sure what a Seeker is supposed to do, apart from kick the Coyotes ass. We go on to meet her love interest, Dace, along with his evil twin brother, Cade. Both are part of the “Coyote” clan. However, Dace was raised by his mother and is supposedly like heaven-on-earth pure. His brother, raised by their father, is obviously the complete opposite. We meet Xotichl, a blind but very able friend. Her blindness helps her read energy the way others can’t. We also meet Lita, the typical mean girl. Although towards the end, she changes her ‘tude and becomes one of the good guys.

Trying not to give too much away, in the end good conquers evil. As it usually does. Honestly, i picked this book up because i needed a series book boyfriend moment, and sadly did not find it in Dace. I mean he’s a good book boyfriend, a bit one dimensional. Doesn’t pack up to Edward, Jace or Caleb for me. (I know, IVE HEARD IT BEFORE)

As far as the actual book goes, i liked it. That’s about it. I didn’t hate it, i didn’t love it. It could have been much better, but likewise, I’ve read much worse. One thing that bugged me was that when the book would part into a new section, it didn’t pick up where it left off. Sometimes the parts would pick up a few days later after the last section. Example: Part 1 ends with Diare wanting to leave her destiny and her grandmother behind her. She almost gets ran over. Next part is a few days ahead and we find out her grandmothers friend found her, and she is already on the mend. After that, we find out she no longer wants to leave her destiny. It’s not big thing, I’m just the kind of person who wants to know why she came to that conclusion. Why now does she want to embrace her new life and stay with her grandmother? I also found that in some parts (the unimportant bits) the author was very descriptive. I mean, she would describe that tree as if no one had ever seen a tree before. When we got to the actual parts that should be described, the monsters Cade was creating, there was none. I would rather understand what they looked like, as opposed to what a damn tree looks like. Another thing that bothered me, descriptive wise, it could get very repetitive. Yes, you don’t have to describe how bright Dace’s soul is, once is enough. You don’t have to keep repeating how much Cade is the opposite, we’re not going to forget they’re different people in twenty pages when you go to describe it again.

I also felt like Alyson didn’t know where she wanted this book to go. It has a bit of everything; there is Native American heritage, Latino heritage (which there is nothing wrong with multiple heritages, or multiple species) but she almost combines the two. The Native American’s can do the same exact things a Seeker can do, and vise versa. Almost as if they are part of the same Paranormal figures, which they shouldn’t be. Both seem able to enter the ether worlds, both seem to be able to astral protect, both are telekinetic etc. They should be two distinct types of magic beings. I still don’t understand if a Seeker is supposed to be a witch, or if she is another type of Para. Same with Dace/Cade, it only refers to their family as the “Coyotes” Doesn’t explain much more than that the Seekers are meant to keep the Coyotes in line and make sure they don’t commit too many evil acts.

I would give the first book, Fated, 3 stars. It started off slow, it got better. Like i said previously, it by no means was the worst book that I’ve read, but was by far not the best book either.

Echo by Alyson Noel

I honestly didn’t expect much of this book, considering I only liked the first one. I will say that the second, in my opinion was better than the first, but not by much. My first impressions of the cover…….beautiful. Same as the last. This book takes place in the winter, so the cover is fitting.

It starts off with our couple super happy and in love. Obviously, it doesn’t last. Without giving too much away, Dace and Daire romance fuels Cade’s power. Because Dace/Cade share two parts of one soul. (Cade is the bad part of the soul, Dace the good part.) Because they share, Dace’s happiness seems to make Cade stronger. It would seem then the opposite should take place, and Dace become stronger when Cade is having strong emotions. That doesn’t seem to be the case. Which makes zero sense. Whatever. So our happy couple decides they need to break up, and not make Cade any stronger. If you’re someone really rooting for them, don’t fret, they’re back together in like a chapter.

I honestly seem to like their friends more than them. Lita is a riot and every time she has something to input, it always makes me giggle. Xiotchel is fun and sweet. She seems like she would be very sensitive to others pain, and would be a very kind and gentle soul.

This one finishes what the first was unable to do, destroy Cade’s monsters. The end of the Fated we see Daire and Dace destroy a few, reuniting the souls with their hosts, including her grandmother, Paloma and our now nice Lita. Cade is up to his wicked ways and traffics an army of drunks to send into the ether world to mine a rare stone. Daire being her reckless self follows suit intent on killing Cade, for no other reason than to be back with her boytoy, Dace. (No really, she tries to kill him to also stop his evilness. So she SAYS……) She fails. (ShocKER)

In this novel we’re aslo introduced to Dace’s POV. We learn Dace basically had no training, and so we begin to read as Dace is trained. (takes a total of like three days for him to be a fucking master((eyeroll))) Dace also plans on killing Cade, even though he’s supposed to be super pure. One would thINK if he’s so innocent and sweet he would even tempt to think of an alternative. He doesn’t.

Dace decides to become one with Cade (astral projection, maybe? idk.) He also decided to steal a part of his soul, so that Cade won’t be AS strong. Really fucking stupid, like whhhhat could possibly go wrong?!?!? So now Dace’s perfect soul is tainted, causing our sweet wonderful Daire to basically reject him.

Daire goes to rescue the slaves in the ether, and murder Cade. She destroys all of his monster minions as if they are nothing. As if she’s not 120lbs soaking wet, as if she is fucking Jackie Chan in disguise. Seriously, how are we supposed to believe she can take on like 40 monsters at once, with no break. After the monsters are killed, and the slaves escape, she goes to find Cade.

She finds Cade, tries to kill him. It fails. Dace comes rushing into save her, he fails. She also notices that his soul is now tainted. Like how can she possibly love him if he’s no longer pure and perfect? Cade then tries to kill Diare, he actually succeeds. (He would have) Dace then tries to kill himself, so that he can kill Cade. (Because apparently now, whatever happens to one will also happen to the other.) Whatever. As Daire is seconds away from dying, an angel? comes in and sweeps her up. He gives her a kiss, and restores her life. Okay, again, Whatever.  

A bit earlier in the book we learned of the prophecy that basically says, one of them must die. Okay, Cool. I can get behind that. And then BOOOM the prophecy is erased. Isn’t that kind of like impossible? Isn’t the point of a prophecy is that it’s basically a fixed event, in which it has to play out one of a few ways? The prophecy must happen, but the ending can be changed, it can be fought against. It’s very confusing. Also, how ignorant are these characters, they talk and talk and talk about the prophecy, but neither one of them tells the other that in their version the opposite dies. You would THInk Daire would tell Dace, that in her dream of the prophecy, he’s the one who dies. You would thINK Dace would tell Daire in his version, she dies. That doesn’t happen. Though why, is a fucking mystery. I don’t know how they would be as stupid as wanting to learn everything about a subject, and then not share what they do know with the other. idk, man.

I said i liked this one better than the first, even though i made more rants on this post, I stick to that statement. I would give this one a 3.5. It was better, it was a bit more confusing, but the story was good. I probably won’t reread it, but i will read the others.

Mystic by Alyson Noel

First thoughts on the cover.. I didn’t like it as much as the previous two. I liked that it showed the Key she and Dace wear, but other than that it was a bit blah when compared alongside the previous two.

I’m going to try and save the spoilers for the end of the review. The last thing I want is to ruin someones full experience when reading this series.

In the third part of this saga were introduced to a Mystic by the name of Axel. We get a small glimpse of him towards the end of Echo, when he chooses to save Daire. He resides in the upperworld, and takes a big risk when he saves Daire. Again the descriptions of what these paras are is confusing. It doesn’t really state what a Mystic can do, other than they’re magickal. Yeah, okay, even humans are magickal? Why don’t we just pass around a magic license since it appears everyone is capable?

Daire learns the full truth of what happened to her while in the Enchanted Spring, when she takes herself and her two friends, Lita and  Xiotchel to the middleworld. Because that makes sense. Literally, we learn in the first book that we’re not supposed to tell anyone, let alone take someone into the ethers. So what are we gonna do? We’re gonna take our goddamn friends. Nothing bad seems to happen to them while they’re there, contrary,  Xiotchel can now see shapes.

We follow as Diare tries to save Dace, and succeeds. We learn of Phyre in the previous book, and let me just tell you, the girl is fucking psychotic. Like she’s seriously loony. FULL ON CRAZY BITCH. Okay, granted it’s not entirely her fault, but still..

We see a lot of protecting of Cade in this book. Since the brothers are two halves of a whole, what happens to one, also happens to the other. Unless you’re Cade and you can quickly shapeshift into your monster? Yeah, makes a lot of sense.

As we reach the end, we see Daire and Dace come face to face with death. (ShOCKer) Surprisingly, it’s not technically at the hands of Cade or the Coyotes. We learn Cade is up to his old tricks, and tries, once again, to enslave everyone.

**Bigger Spoilers ahead**

TURN BACK NOW

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Yeah? No?

Anyway, we learn in the first few chapters, Axel is what they call a “Mystic” yeah, cool. We also learn that its a human spirit guide. What was wrong with the animals. Honestly, his purpose (apart from carrying the souls to their eternal resting place) what beyond confusing. We also see Raven, an animal spirit guide, was denied entry when he tried to follow Daire and Axel. Again, ONE WOULD THINK if they’re pretty much the same thing, both would be allowed entrance. Whatever.

Axel is also apparently Dace’s spirit guide. He chose to save Daire, not Dace. It was claimed that by saving Daire, he would in turn save Dace. I honestly didn’t see it that way. In an essence the prophecy was destroyed/rewritten because of him. We learn Daire was in actuality supposed to die that night, and the twins would have been saved. That makes zero sense, but whatever. I mean, wouldn’t it have just been a lot simpler to save Dace? You know, the actual person you’re supposed to be looking out for?

Another thing, we learn in the previous book about Dace being an Echo of Cade. Okay, cool, but then wouldn’t Cade also be an Echo of Dace? You know, because, they’re supposedly connected? Whatever.

I kind of have a love/hate relationship with  Xiotchel atm. It’s not the characters fault, she’s awesome. I blame the writer. We learn shes can now see shapes as well as energy. That’s awesome, good for her, i can get behind that… But in the last few pages of the book, we learn she blew open the doors to get everyone to escape the bomb? I don’t understand the point of making humans magickal. If she is not a paranormal being, if she in only super intuitive, she should not have that fucking ability. It just genuinely makes no sense, and i don’t like it. It gets on my damn nerves. Stop giving magic abilities to people who were not born to have them!

Also, the fucking psycho, Phyre. Why? You can not poision someone over and over throughout their childhood and slowly build up a tolerance… Okay, you technically probably can do that.. but their saliva would not become poisonous. Again, didn’t really make much sense. Whatever.

Paloma dies. Honestly the worst part of the book for me. I really liked her, i thought she was super cute. But seriously, the way she dies. As a reader, i saw it a mile away. I find it incrediably irritating that Daire/Dace/ Xiotchel/Lita didn’t see it coming as well. I mean, honestly, how fucking ignorant can someone be? If the bad guy gives you a fucking gift, you don’t just keep passing it around trying to make sense of it.. You toss that motherfucker in the damn ocean, you bury that shit in the desert…You give it to someone you seriously hate, because you know nothing good is coming of it. Seriously, Alyson? Paloma? Fuck you. She was literally the only good character, apart from my girl Lita, in the damn series.

I’m going to rate this book 3.5 stars. Didn’t get that much better for me. I didn’t find it amazing, found a lot of it annoying, but also wasn’t the worse thing I’ve read. I’m obviously going to continue on to book four, for no other reason than i have to know how it ends. I owe it to myself after the last four days of reading. Also kind of can’t wait to get back to my kindle, I’m remembering why I always select my kindle now.

Horizon - Alyson Noel

This was my favorite cover of the saga. I love the firey dress, gives me serious Katniss vibes. I loved that Dace was farther back on the cover, almost out of view. It played very nicely with the content of Horizon. 

Horizon follows Daire and the gang as they try to rid the world of the Coyote for good. We learn early on, Dace stealing part of his twin brothers soul wasn’t a smart move. (yoU DONT SAy) Dace is now destined to become as evil as his brother, destined to give himself over the beast that now resides in him. He decides to distant himself from the gang... who couldn’t see that one coming... The gang, apart from Daire, are grateful. Apparently they forgot all the glorious moments they’ve had together thus far. 

Daire decides to go along with Cade’s plan and trick him into thinking she’s going to join him. Once again, the Coyote is smarter than the Raven and she fails.

Our dear blind friend is now able to fully see. Except that she honestly can’t. This part was highly annoying for me. I’ll save the spoilers for later. I’m just saying for the character who supposedly has the most balanced head, it wasn’t so level in Horizon. 

Lita is as badass as always. Super in love and happy in this book alongside her new boyfriend, Axel. Axel is now fully human, we’re shown that sorely by the sheer number of bunny fuck sessions the two of them have. Seriously there are like four sex scenes in the first twenty pages.

In the end we find Dace’s beast is no match for Daire’s love. How sickly sweet . Good triumphs over evil once again..

or does it?

Does it? 

Please tell me there isn’t going to be a fucking spin off that’s set to take place seventeen years in the future. I don’t think i can handle it. 

***Spoilers up a head***

Seriously,  Xiotchel? I mean, i’m happy that you can see now and everything... but seriously? I mean how can she be stupid enough to forget the reason she was never under the Coyotes influence was because they need sight in order to have power of people? How is it in the previous books she’s so quick to brag about her never losing herself while they are around? Conveniently, as soon as she gets her sight restored she forgets. I’m just saying, she’s a damn idiot. 

Okay, i get that Axel wants to be with Lita and he chooses to become human. That’s nice, happy for them. But honestly, Axel left so many plot holes that the author conveniently forgot to fix. Firstly, how was Cade able to see Axel during their first meeting? He wasn’t supposed to be able too. Axel even said that’s a mystery he needed to solve. Yeah, it’s never solved. It’s tossed out the window. Speaking of Cade, apparently towards the end, he wasn’t as evil as he was in previous books. When Dace stole a bit of Cades soul, he ended up leaving a bit of his in it’s place. Okay, i honestly figured that would happen. I figured as a result Cade would be less evil. That happened, what i don’t understand is why Cade wasn’t saved at the end. It’s obvious that even though now some light is beginning to shine through his soul, he rejects it. All i’m saying is that he did have the potential to become something more than what he was born to be. For them to snuff him out, right when he had his only real chance.. I don’t know man, that felt wrong to me. 

Daire surprisingly didn’t end up annoying me so much in this installment. Thankfully, she was pretty fucking whiny. 

and the ending was probably the only really great moment in the entire series. After they defeated the last Coyote, i though to myself, “Marliz gon be preggo” Guess what? Marliz was preggo. I liked that it happened that way. The Coyote isn’t completely gone, and in seventeen years, they will be back. Kind of gives the series a bit of actual excitement. Wiping out the Coyote Clan backfired. If only we could have seen Cade’s reaction. Ahaha.

I seriously hope she doesn’t plan a spinoff of Marliz kid. God bless, I’m really not looking forward to reading it. 

I would give this book a 3.9. It would be a 3.5 without the hilarious ending. A rating of 4 would be much too high. The series didn’t get much better for me after the first one. However, it really wasn’t a bad series, and would make for a good read if you’re looking for something light. It’s not the kind of series that draws you in, makes you gasp for air, makes you stay up all night reading. It’s a story to read when you’re dying of boredom, and where their is nothing else on the shelf to pick up. Doesn’t make for a bad one time read. 

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Family Drama

Putting this beneath a cut so none of you have to read it if you don’t want to. 

So I’ve avoided posting anything about this, even on here, for nearly three weeks. But there were some things that happened today that resurfaced my feelings on the matter and I just need to post it to get it off my chest.

I’m going to start this story off with my family’s Thanksgiving dinner on November 24th.

So it was the day before my brother, aunt, cousin and I’s trip to Dublin and the night of the Thanksgiving dinner. We’re at my other aunt’s house only a handful of relatives were there, six people were in the living room, two were in the kitchen, a couple of the children were in one of the bedrooms and everyone else was outside. (This is usually how the first hour of our family dinners are like)

The people in the kitchen; My aunt Donna (the Rottweiler of the family and the aunt that we went to Dublin with) and my aunt Dawn.  What were they doing? - Standing around talking. 

The people in the living room; My brother, my mother, my grandmother, my aunt Robin, Donna’s stepdaughter Tanna and I. What were we doing? - My aunt Robin was sitting in the rocking chair silently about seven feet away from me. My grandmother was sitting silently on the couch twenty feet away from me. Tanna was on a chair playing with her cellphone in the corner of the furthest side of the room from me. My mother and I were sitting on a love seat, silently, and my brother was standing beside my mother. 

Now my brother wasn’t hurting anybody and based off the atmosphere in the room and the fact that the only people he was within 10 feet of he wasn’t making anyone uncomfortable or lurking over anyone, or at least anyone who had a problem with it.

However all of a sudden my aunt Donna comes into the living room and says; “Are you trying to be creepy just standing there?” 

My brother brushed this rude toned comment off with a joke by saying, “Nah, I’m just naturally creepy.” 

My mother jumped in, “I think he’s just standing because he knows he’s practically going to be sitting on airplanes for twenty four hours tomorrow. So he’s stretching his legs out while he can.”

My aunt responded with, “You need to sit down. Just standing there is fucking weird.” Then she scurried back into the kitchen.

This pissed my mom off and she proceeded to grumble and cuss talking about how that was uncalled for and why should it bother my aunt that my brother was standing up when she hadn’t even been in the room and he hadn’t been bothering or hurting anybody. She even said something along the lines of, “I don’t think y’all should go to Dublin with her if she’s going to treat him like this the whole time.” 

Now I should tell you all that my aunt Donna has hated and been a bitch to my brother since he was a baby. 

Fast Forward to our first night in Dublin. My brother makes the mistake of giving a homeless woman like ten Euros. My cousin, Kelli, questions this mostly out of curiosity and Donna proceeds to scold my brother and berate and humiliate him for like ten minutes right in front of my cousin and my cousin’s boyfriend who we’d just met a few hours ago.

Well we decided to go to a pub to eat but my cousin’s boyfriend, Patrick, (yes he’s Irish and he’s a Paddy) forgot that there was a game on so literally every pub and most of the restaurants were packed with people. This included the pub we’d gone into. As our waitress was taking us towards the back to find us a table, I almost lost Kelli, Donna and Patrick who were in front of me and I forgot to check behind me for my brother, Brandon. It wasn’t until the waitress had turned and started to lead us into a side room when the others decided we’d just go somewhere less packed. 

(Now when I say packed, I mean outdoor concert packed. People were getting in between us, a lot of people were dressed and looked similarly enough to Patrick and Kelli that I almost followed the wrong people. And it was very dark with all the windows blacked out.)

So we headed outside and I was the last one out. That’s when he noticed Brandon was nowhere to be seen. The obvious reason is he got lost in that packed pub.

Patrick goes back inside to find him and Donna immediately begins griping and cussing, “Would it fucking kill Brandon to stick his damn head outside and look for us?”

I opted to keep my mouth shut instead of pointing out that he probably got lost in there BEFORE we decided to turn around and leave so he probably had no idea that we were outside so why the fuck would he come outside to look for us? Also this pub was pretty big and it was easy to get all turned around in that sea of people so he probably may not have remembered which direction was the door that we came in from.

Anyways after going back in twice to look for Brandon, Patrick found him and they came outside. Donna decided to voice her question, not loud enough for Patrick to hear because she wanted to come off as sweet to her daughter’s boyfriend, but she asked Brandon in a snide tone, “Why didn’t you just stick your head outside and look for us?” 

Brandon responded calmly, “I didn’t know y’all had gone outside. I thought you went upstairs.” 

For the rest of the trip, Donna was snippy with Brandon. Barely letting him take ten minute showers because according to her he was messing up the water heater. Meanwhile she was taking 45 minute showers. (We were staying at an Airbnb apartment in Temple Bar)

Anyways, fast forward again to the family Christmas Dinner which we actually had on December 31. And it was at my Aunt Donna’s. 

My mom had to work so my uncle picked Brandon and I up and took us to Donna’s. We were among the early arrivals. Brandon went over to hug our grandmother and show off his hair which he and I dyed the day before. It was meant to be black but it had more of a blue hue to it. But my aunt Dawn cut in front of him and stood talking to my grandmother so Brandon just stood beside my grandmother’s chair waiting his turn.

After he hugged my grandmother and showed her his hair, he went to the other side of the room and stood about three feet from the sofa. The only person he was withing ten feet of right then was my cousin Montana who is Brandon’s best friend and was focused on the football game that was on. 

Within five minutes Donna came over and jumped on Brandon for standing up and told him he needed to sit down because he was making people uncomfortable. From what I observed only she and I noticed him standing there because everyone else (except Dawn, Montana and my grandmother) was outside. My grandmother had been in the bathroom since after Brandon hugged her, Dawn was busy fixing the pies and like I said Montana wasn’t even aware of Brandon being near him.

Me and Brandon exchanged looks and rolled our eyes. Brandon decided to just go outside. Ten minutes later he came back in, because it was cold as fuck outside. He stood at the far side of the room, out of people’s way and no one was really aware that he was there for quite a while. But of course when Donna did she glared at him and started to say something but Brandon cut her off.

“I can stand if I want to. I’m not hurting anybody or bothering anyone and I’m not in anyone’s way or their line of sight.” He said this very calmly and just shrugged his shoulders.

I didn’t hear the entire conversation because of the stupid football game being too loud and they were both speaking in even tones, voices not raised and Brandon speaking and acting very calmly despite being pissed by Donna’s treatment.

She told him that if he wanted to stand he could go stand outside because he was making people uncomfortable. (At least that’s the gist I got from what I did hear)

He again said that he wasn’t bothering anyone and didn’t see the problem with him standing up since other people were standing up. (And they were most of them were hovering around me and making me uncomfortable. Including Donna’s husband and just moments before Donna herself.)

Now during this ‘confrontation’ Dawn and some of the others were kind of snickering and maybe it was out of discomfort or nerves from the situation but I don’t know and it just got under both mine and Brandon’s skin.

Brandon was like, “But fine, I’ll go stand outside. Fuck all y’all.” Then he went outside. 

Ten minutes later, everyone else was inside and Donna announced that it was time to eat. 

Dawn asked, “Should I tell him to come inside to eat?” 

Donna misunderstood and thought she meant other people were still outside so she said, “Yeah, tell everyone out there to come in and get some food!” 

Then when she realized that Dawn meant Brandon she was like, “No. He needs to cool off for a while.” 

Ten minutes after that Brandon came inside, earning smug and condescending looks from Donna and her husband, bee-lined over to me and whispered that he was walking up to mom’s work place. (She works like seven miles from where Donna lives)

I said okay and messaged my mom to let her know. (I’d been messaging her since the confrontation telling her what happened) 

I didn’t tell anyone there because I wanted to see if they’d notice Brandon was gone.

Several minutes later my uncle got up went straight outside and to his truck and left. (To go get Brandon and just drive him to my mom’s work because my mom texted him)

It wasn’t until his truck was completely out of the driveway when my 8 year old cousin asked, “Who just left?” 

Donna responded, “I don’t know. I’m looking at my phone but I guess it was Joe, he’s probably taking Brandon home.” 

Dawn’s husband was like, “Has no one noticed that Brandon hasn’t been in for a while?” So apparently he was the only person to notice Brandon was gone.

Now before I continue, I’d like to add that at our family gatherings we always have them at either Dawn’s or Donna’s house (we used to go to my uncle’s every now and then back when they lived in a house) and we have a HUGE family. My grandmother had 7 children, 13 grandchildren, 5 step grandchildren,  8 great-grandchildren and 2 great-great-grandchildren. Plus there are all of the spouses and significant others. Now not everyone shows up to the family dinners but at least 20+ people do. So there’s not enough room for everyone to sit down usually. So at ever family get together at any given time there’s at least 5-10 people standing up. Brandon is usually outside unless it’s too cold.

Anyways, the next day Donna and I went to Kelli’s apartment to take Patrick to the airport because Patrick had been visiting Kelli for a week and Kelli had to work and had no more sick,vacation or personal days.

Patrick had been so excited to see Brandon because he thought Brandon would be with us. (but after that confrontation with Donna he wasn’t) Not wanting to deal with a four hour awkward car ride, I lied and said Brandon was super tired and didn’t want to get up at 5 am.

Fast forward to the next day while my mom was at work. My mom had waited a couple of days to ask Donna about what happened because she didn’t want it to turn into a screaming match. (Brandon had told her when Joe dropped him off at her work place what had happened and had very maturely told BOTH sides of the story)

Anyways, while mom was at work she texted Donna and asked, “What happened at the family dinner that you got onto my son?” 

Donna sent back, “We can talk about that in person.” 

So when my mom got off work she headed over to Donna’s, like she does every night to help with my grandmother and be treated like a dog by Donna for her troubles. As she was walking in the door, Donna locked her dog in a cage and angrily told him, “Don’t you fucking come out.” (She did this because her dog loves my mom and I and will attack Donna if he thinks she’s being mean to us)

She then stormed over to her chair and wouldn’t look at my mom at first as she said in a hateful tone, “I didn’t do a thing to your damn son and I will not apologize. Brandon was one hundred percent in the wrong.” 

My mom said, “I don’t think so.” 

Donna raised her voice, “You weren’t even fucking here! You all must be fucking dense if you think my getting onto him was about him standing up!” 

My mom raised her voice in return, “We must fucking be.” 

Donna started yelling, “You fucking ARE! I’ve tried to tell your for a year now that him standing around and hovering around Mom makes her nervous!”

It ended up being a screaming match about what happened at the dinners and Donna ended up claiming she’s never in her life cussed at or about Brandon. (She conveniently forgets all bad or not right the things she does.)

Anyways at one point she said that Brandon stands off against the wall EVERYTIME looking like he doesn’t want to be there (which isn’t true) and said, “If he doesn’t want to be there then don’t fucking bring him!” 

My mom at this point was already trying to leave but she responded with, “Don’t worry he won’t be coming back.” 

Donna began dancing around on one side of my mom screaming, “HALLELUJAH! THANK YOU JESUS! THANK YOU JESUS!” while her husband stood on the other side of mom calling Brandon and I liars and said that anyone who says that they can all get fucked in his house isn’t welcome back.

Donna continued to wave her arms around screaming her Hallelujah’s and such for a while (and nearly fell over while doing so) until finally her husband made her stop.

My mom spoke up one last time, as calmly as she could and said, “I won’t be coming back either.” 

Donna sneered and screamed, ‘GOOD!” She then started screaming more stuff about how mom just thinks that Brandon is ‘Poor little Brandon’, ‘Poor perfect little Brandon’, and ‘Everyone picks on poor little perfect Brandon.’ while my mom was walking out.

My mom slammed the door and headed to her car.

Donna’s husband came storming out, standing near mom’s car trying to look intimidating while my mom left.

Since then Donna has been acting extremely childish and her husband has as well towards my mom and Brandon. They probably would towards me if I gave them the opportunity to.

See the thing about Donna is with all the family she plays favorites, Dawn is her favorite sibling, both of Dawn’s kids are her favorites because their Dawn’s kids and they can do no wrong. (even though they’re both little psychopaths) She plays favorites with the nieces and nephews and if you’re not one of her favorites you’re going to be treated like shit. Even if you are one of her favorites you’re still at risk of one of her goddamn meltdown bitch fits.

Anyways, what caused me to write this post was my mom. She had planned on never telling anyone what had happened, not saying a word about it. But today she finally told her best friend. When she got to the part about Donna screaming Hallelujah and thank you Jesus about Brandon not coming back, she said that that had hurt her. 

And I can’t blame her. Someone acting like that about your child, treating your child like that and hating your child that much, of course it’s going to hurt you.

And I needed to just post this instead of resorting to a different anger outlet. Because hearing my mom say how much it had hurt her and seeing her getting choked up as she relived that moment, it fueled my rage.

[treehugginglibrarian]

We Don’t Need Maternity Leave, We Need Caregiving Leave

As is wont to happen every couple of years, my online world is again awash in articles and arguments shouting in favor of and for fully paid maternity leave in the United States. Not one to think that women should be denied full rights to further their career, or that mothers should necessarily be punished for the act of having a child, I have always avoided extended comment on the topic in the past. After the year I have had, however, I cannot avoid it anymore. The United States does need a more comprehensive leave program, but targeting it at mothers and/or fathers completely ignores the needs of those who lack children and drastically underscores the importance of family members we are not likely to be potty training.

Family leave policies in the United States are, right now, pretty slap-shod. Some corporations offer insanely generous policies affording new parents a year or more off at fully paid wages. Others allow you to take little more than a week off and pay you nothing while you are gone. The federal standard, guaranteed under the Family Medical Leave Act for those employees that work in eligible positions, is 12 weeks long and unpaid. For the purposes of this piece, I’m going to utilize the policy at my place of employment as that’s the policy that I know best and, frankly, it will work really well to illustrate the issues that could come to pass if a parental-leave-only policy were put into place.

Where I work, employees accrue both sick time and vacation time based upon the pay-step they are working at and the number of hours they work. A higher pay grade affords you more time off, in both categories, per hour worked and, obviously, working more hours will afford you more time off, as well. We do not have a paid parental leave program. A full time, mid level, professional employee can expect to earn about 2.6 sick hours per 37.5 hours worked. A year will earn them about 135 hours, or a little more than 18 paid sick days. For most healthy humans, it’s more than a sufficient amount, particularly since sick time accrues with no maximum cap. This means my hypothetical employee would have roughly 90 sick days after working for three years. Throw in the roughly three years worth of vacation time you are allowed to store before it becomes “use or lose,” and you add on another 60 days. 150 days, divided by approximately 20 actual working days per month, affords a new parent 7.5 months of paid time off.

Of course, those 7.5 months can only be achieved if the parent in question has taken no sick time and no vacation time in the three years leading up to the birth of their child. Clearly, this isn’t an ideal situation. What it lacks in idealism, however, it makes up for in “fairness.” Yes, that’s right, this policy may suck for new parents, but it sucks just as much for the woman whose husband has cancer, the man whose mother is dying, or the woman whose brother is on life support after overdosing (I work basically in the heroin capital of the country, it’s not really an unheard of situation). In all cases, they are restricted only by the amount of time off they are able to accrue and save. For better or worse, it’s fair to everyone, whether they are parents or not.

Okay, let’s back up a minute. To sometime in 2010. I was working in a logistics shop for an Infantry Brigade, and one of the multitude of tasks assigned to me was the review and approval of military travel requests within the Brigade. Someone gets sent somewhere, uses their car and their credit card to get themselves there, and now they wanna be paid back. Makes sense. I was the last stop this request made before being sent to Division finance for final dispensation of their check. These reviews usually took little more than ten minutes apiece and I very rarely had more than three or four to handle at a time. At most, it was an hour of my day.

This was, in large part, because the bulk of the work was done by a Sergeant on the other side of the building. Initial requests would get sent to her, and she was who then had to hunt down the Soldiers in question and demand any missing paperwork or any additional proof of expenditure. Moreover, for those travel arrangements being made by the Brigade, she was the one who played travel agent. She booked the flights, booked the rental cars, and ensured everyone knew where they were going and how they were getting there. While this was not her only tasking within the Brigade, it was one of her larger ones. It occupied a significant amount of her time.

Until she went on maternity leave at the end of 2010. At which point, it occupied a significant amount of my time. Time that I really didn’t have to dedicate to it, unless I stayed late or did the work from home. Such was my introduction to the idea of comprehensive paid maternity leave, a type of leave for which there was no non-parental equivalent and thus, of which, I would never take advantage. Despite this fact, a frenzied and harried spurt of 50 hour weeks spent doing almost two complete jobs was not the last time I have had to pick up the slack in a work place because a mama bear somewhere has been taking care of their kids. The coworkers left to pick up this slack don’t get paid more for doing it, don’t get extra time off afterwards, and often aren’t even thanked for their extra input. It’s just expected that, be it three weeks, three months, or a year, we’ll step in and handle it. Kids are important, after all.

Kids ARE important. Which is why I would never argue against a comprehensive leave program of some sort. I would argue, though, that kids are not necessarily the ONLY important thing for which one might need to take extended leave at some point.

A couple of years ago, my grandfather got sick. Or rather, my grandfather started to lose his marbles. My grandmother has been sick for awhile, but her health has also gotten progressively worse. Just before Christmas this past year, my grandmother ended up in the hospital following a stroke. Getting time off to see her wasn’t hard at all, as I have an awesome boss and amazing coworkers. I also have a sick time policy that includes grandparental care in its stipulations, so I didn’t have to eat up my vacation time. While I only utilized a couple of days to go out east, check on everyone, and then head home, I could likely take more time to assist if I needed to. The amount of time would overwhelmingly be determined by the amount of sick time and vacation time I have saved, as tending to sick relatives is a valid reason to be out of work per our policies. In short, our leave time, though seemingly shitty to parents, treats all employees the same. Which is to say, parents are not put on a pedestal that the childfree don’t have equal access to.  

One of the staples of individual work places, cities, states, or whole countries that have comprehensive family leave programs is that the program isn’t actually “family” oriented. It is “child” oriented. Sure, a new mother can take 18 months off to tend to her newborn baby. But more often than not, someone wanting to take six months to help their mother through breast cancer is going to run afoul of work place regulations, since that kind of family is often not covered by long-term-leave programs. Hell, someone needing to take a year off because they, personally, are battling cancer may well find that doing so while getting paid is nearly impossible. In this country, FMLA covers all qualifying family members equally, but is completely unpaid unless the company chooses otherwise. Most corporations with paid long-term-leave programs offer only parental leave, not actual family, caregiving, or long-term medical leave. If I am going to be expected to cover down on a new mother’s daily taskings for upwards of a year or more, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that I be able to help a family member through an illness without obliterating my vacation time. Particularly since I can already assure my own coworkers that I will never be leaving them because I’ve had a baby.  

I have no issues with mothers or fathers, biological or adoptive, taking time off after their newborn nuggets have arrived. I do have issue when that time off comes not only at my expense, often tethering me to tasks and hours that are not usually my own, but comes with absolutely no equitable compensation recognizing that parental leave affects significantly more than just parents. As I’ve already said, kids are important. So important, in fact, that the childfree routinely pay monetarily for them, despite not having them. We pay property taxes that go to school systems we will never send our children to. We watch as our friends with children are routinely granted tax breaks, sometimes in the thousands of dollars, that we will never be granted. The usual excuse given when, and if, we have the audacity to complain about the financial burden that children place on those who don’t have them, is that children are our future and it’s society’s job to tend to them.

Fuck that. Children aren’t OUR future. Children are the future of the people who have them. And that’s fine. Expecting children to be the future, in some grand and great way, is placing an awfully unfair burden on them well before their brains have even begun to develop. I don’t want them to be anything other than whatever they are supposed to be when they grow up- whether that’s President, a teacher, a stay-at-home parent, or a caregiver for old farts who didn’t have kids of their own, like me. Those kids who do grow up to take care of old farts who didn’t have their own kids are, I’m sure, amazing people who were raised by wonderful humans. Humans who did not have those kids thinking to themselves, “someday, my noble child is going to take care of selfish childfree people who didn’t have kids of their own.” No, they had their kids thinking, “I want a kid,” or “I need someone to take care of me when I get old.”

Yes, some children will grow up to be the future. They will care for humanity and the planet and make everyone’s lives better places. Just as many will grow up to be average people whose only serious influence will be on their friends and family. That’s okay, it doesn’t make them bad people. But it also doesn’t make them people I should have to worship from the moment they are born. Yet that is precisely how society is set up. From parental tax breaks to property tax to calls for parental leave to the expectation that the childfree will be willing to take the vacation days that don’t correspond with summer break, children are to be treated with an odd sense of reverence by absolutely everyone. Including the people they don’t belong to.

It’s a concept that is rapidly losing tenability in a country where roughly half of all young women are living without a spouse or partner and only 54% of women of childbearing age have actually had a child. Of the ones who haven’t, only about half actually want to. You cannot ostracize a full quarter of the women of a population and expect to get much changed in the way of policies. Particularly when that quarter of the female population is likely going to be overly represented in the workforce and in leadership roles, owing to the fact that they’ve never taken time off for children. If we’re serious about comprehensive parental leave policies, at a federal level, we need to have a real conversation about the fact that those policies come at a detriment to an outsized chunk of the working population, and they dramatically minimize the definition of “family” in this country.

Parents need time off when a baby is born. But so do people whose spouses are sick. So do people whose grandparents are dying. So do people whose siblings are struggling after rehab. So do parents whose adult children are struggling after an accident. So do people who are battling brain tumors that take more than 12 weeks to conquer. Caregiving is no easy task, no matter the age of the human you are caring for, and the idea that the only people deserving of “special” time off to give care to those who matter to them are new parents, is completely absurd. If we want paid parental leave in this country it’s time to reframe the argument. This isn’t about parents needing time to take care of new babies.

This is about humans needing time to take care of other humans.

[cwnerd12]

Shimmy

“Shimmy” David drives a car into the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant called Nacho’s. He gets out of the car, goes into the restaurant, and looks around. Sitting at a table, looking harshly at him, sit Samuels’s two sons: Jordan and Brian. David recognizes them, “You must be Brian and Jordan.” He goes over and sits down. Jordan: “We asked you to come here because our father wanted you to have something.” He slides a book across the table to David. David picks it up and looks at it, THE BOOK OF SILAS. David: “What is this?” Jordan: “I don’t know, but it was Dad’s dying wish that you get it.” David: “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but didn’t you two get exiled?” Brian: “Yeah, we did.” David: “Did it have anything to do with what your father was doing?” Brian: “It was because we were stealing from our father’s church.” David: “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I just wondered.” Brian cuts him off, “We’re not joining you. Frankly, I would never trust someone that my father chose to be king. I just wanted to make sure his final wish got carried out.” David: “Okay, well, thanks, I guess. I’ll order some lunch and take a look at this.” He flips the first page open.

Young Silas, 16, wearing shabby work clothes, but still strikingly handsome, goes out the front door of his family’s small farmhouse. He goes down to a pen where the family keeps their horses, but sees the door is open. Silas, “Shit!” He looks around in a panic. He glances back at the house, sees no one coming out of it, and then takes off running in search of the horses. He grabs a beat-up bicycle and takes off down the front path of the farm. He looks around frantically as he pedals, but doesn’t see anything. He reaches the main road leading past the farm. He pedals up the road. Further ahead stands an ornate iron-wrought gate with a large letter C on it, and a group of soldiers milling around. One of the soldiers is Captain Ephraim Samuels. Silas pedals up, “Hey, have you seen a bunch of horses? They got loose, and, shit, my dad is really gonna give it to me if he finds out they’re missing!” Samuels: “Sorry. We haven’t seen anything.” Silas, “Shit! God fucking damn it!” He lowers his head to the handlebars of his bike and swears some more. Suddenly, he stops, and his sits back up, his demeanor changes, serious and hesitant. He waits a moment before saying, “How old do you have to be to join the army?” Samuels, “Eighteen.” Silas, “Can you make an exception?” Samuels, “What, you want to join?” Silas, completely serious, “Better than what’s waiting for me at home.” Samuels: “Well, you can go down to the recruitment center in town, and they’ll tell you the same thing. You gotta be eighteen.” Silas: “Can I just…. go with you guys? Say I’m a new soldier.” Samuels, “Do you even know how to shoot an assault rifle without killing yourself?” Silas: “I learn fast.” Samuels: “Look, we’re here guarding the Cross property. Apparently, the Gath Army is too close for comfort for Alister, and he needs a personal guard.” Silas rolls his eyes, and gives a sneaky grin, “You know Rose is my girlfriend.” Samuels laughs, “Get the fuck outta here, kid!” Silas: “I’m serious!” Samuels: “I’m serious, get outta here! Your horses will show up! They know where they get fed!” Silas moves to take off. Samuels, “Hey, what’s your name?” Silas: “Silas Benjamin.” Samuels nods, “I’ll look for you in the new recruits in a few years. If you ever get posted under Captain Ephraim Samuels,” he gestures to the name on his uniform, “You’ll be taken good care of.” Silas, “Thanks!” He speeds off.

Silas rides his bike back towards the farm. The horses are back in the pen, and Rose and William stand by the gate. Silas sees them, and his jaw drops in amazement. William sneers, “We found your horses on our property, Silas, you’re lucky our father didn’t turn his hunting dogs on them!” Rose rolls her eyes and smiles at Silas, “We brought them back for you.” Silas: “Thank you! You saved my life! You don’t even understand!” Rose steps forward, her coy smile growing mischievous, “William, you go ahead back home. I’d like to speak to Silas in private. Cut to: Silas and Rose make out in the barn and rip each other’s clothes off.

A butler opens the front door of the Cross home, and Samuels steps in. The house is enormous and elaborately decorated. Alister and Jane Cross wait for him, smiling. Alister: “Captain Samuels, so glad you could join us for dinner!” Samuels: “Your home is beautiful.” Jane: “Oh, we just summer here, our real home is in Shiloh, where the family business is.” Samuels: “What business is that?” Alister points to the gun on Samuels’s hip, “That gun you’re carrying is one of ours. CrossGen makes the weapons that have allowed Gilboa to maintain an army.” Cut to: Samuels eats a fancy dinner with the Cross family. Alister: “I can’t believe Gath has gotten this far into Gilboa. It’s an utter disgrace. This whole nation without a king just isn’t working! If you found a nation, there must be a man to rule it!” Samuels, “I agree with you, sir, but there’s a lot of men out there who want to be king. It seems every officer I meet thinks he should be king.” Alister: “I’ll tell you, I’m higher than any general. I should be king.” Samuels, “Is that so?” Alister: “My great-great grandfather, Sir Jonathan Cross, started the Cross company manufacturing gunpowder in Edom. My great-great grandmother was a Meritt, you know. So the Cross family has the history and nobility worthy of a royal family.” Samuels: “It takes more than a family history to be a king, though. I mean, the kid next door could be a king if he had the right ideas.” William, smirking, “Not Silas, though. He’s an idiot.” Rose glares at William. Samuels smiles politely, “King Louis XVI and Tsar Nicholas II both had breeding, but look at what happened to their countries. A king must have nobility in his ideals, and the courage to carry them out. That’s what I believe.”

A couple years later, Major Samuels receives a shipment of new recruits at a camp on the front. They’re all lined up for roll call, and Samuels goes down the list. He reaches, “Benjamin, Silas,” and Silas responds. Samuels grins at him, “Looks like you made it into the army.” Silas recognizes Samuels, and grins back, “I guess God’s looking out for me, posting me here.” Samuels: “Stop by my tent this evening, I want to introduce you to some people.” Later that evening, Samuels plays a game of poker with his fellow officers. The tent flap opens, and Silas appears on the other side, “You wanted to see me, sir?” The officers look over, and one shouts, “Who the hell are you?” Silas: “I’m sorry, am I supposed to knock? I don’t know how you can knock on a tent flap. Major Samuels asked for me.” Samuels gestures for Silas to enter, “Private Silas Benjamin. I met him a couple years ago, never seen a kid more eager to join the army.” Silas comes in, “I was just eager to get away from home.” Samuels: “Sit down, Silas. We’ll deal you in.” Silas: “I don’t have anything to bet.” Samuels pulls a 20 out of his pocket and hands it to Silas, “Bet this, give it back to me when you win it back.” Silas takes the 20, smiles, and sits down. Samuels deals, “I met this kid when I was assigned to the Cross family summer home, he came over looking for some horses. You ever find them?” Silas: “Yeah, they came back.” Samuels: “You made an impression on me, and not many people do. I’m supposed to be identifying potential officers early on.  Even then, I thought you had potential” Silas: “Really?” Samuels: “You were thinking on your feet, you made a plan, committed to carrying it out. Thought of new ways around obstacles. All the skills of a good soldier. Tell me about yourself, Private." Silas shrugs, “Well, there’s not much to say. I grew up on a farm near a town called Temperance. My parents are Chris and Joanne. I have a girlfriend named Rose.” Samuels: “You still saying you’re dating Rose Cross?” Silas takes a photo out of his pocket, “The one and only.” In the photo, Silas playfully kisses a smiling Rose on the cheek. Samuels, “I’ll be damned. I thought you were full of shit.” The officer sitting next to Samuels looks at the picture, “Oof! look at the tits on her!” Silas jumps to his feet, “Don’t you dare fucking talk that way about Rose or I swear I will fucking kick your ass, superior officer or not!” Officer: “You want to get court-martialed on your first day?” Samuels, with clear authority: “Sit down, Private Benjamin!” Silas holds his head up, but then sits, “I apologize. I lost my temper. I just don’t like to see Rose disrespected.” Officer: “Apology accepted, but you’d better watch your ass from now on.” Samuels: “What do you want to do when you leave the army, Private?” Silas: “I- I don’t know, I haven’t thought to much about like… careers and shit.” Samuels: “At the rate that the Gilboan Army’s officers keep getting killed, you could have a very impressive career in a few short years. That can lead to a lot of things.” Silas smiles and blushes, “I guess I’d like to marry Rose. A house and a wife, that’s all anyone could want, right? I… I want to have kids. I want my kids to be happy. I want to be happy.” Samuels smiles and nods, “That’s an honorable dream. You know, they’re looking for a king go Gilboa, that could be you.” Silas laughs, “What, me? King Silas? Ha, I wish.”

Later, Samuels, Silas, and Abner are pinned down in in a ditch during a firefight. Samuels screams into his radio, “We need backup! We’ve got at least ten Phils firing on us! Do you read me?!” Abner, “Oh my god, we’re gonna die!” Silas: “Shut the fuck up, Abner!” He grits his teeth and fires back at the enemy soldiers. He looks around, assessing their positions, and forming a plan in his head. Silas: “You have to cover me!” Abner: “What?!” Silas: “Fucking cover me!” Silas climbs out of their ditch, and runs toward the Gate soldiers while Abner provides cover fire. Samuels yells after him, “Benjamin! Benjamin!” He gives up yelling and provides more cover fire. Silas makes it over to the Gath side, and shoots two soldiers. He proceeds to fight the remaining ten, kicking, punching, shooting, and stabbing his way through them. Abner and Samuels both stare slack-jawed in astonishment. The final soldier runs up behind Silas, reaches and arm around him, and stabs him in the stomach, but Silas points his gun over his shoulder, and shoots the soldier in the head. Silas stands there, wounded and triumphant, as Gilboan backup finally arrives. A smiles comes over his face, and he mutters, “King Silas,” and collapses.

Montage: (“Witness,” Mindless Self Indulgence) Silas in a hospital bed is given a medal and a promotion. Cameras flash and Silas shakes hands, waves, and smiles. He swaggers around camp, giving out hi-fives. He bravely leads troops into battle. In camp, he spins around and does finger guns. He bests a Gath soldier in hand-to-hand combat. Rose stands by a CrossGen weapons display. Silas walks up, grabs her, and kisses her dramatically. A grenade lands by Silas in battle. He grabs it and throws it back. He receives another medal. He marries a visibly pregnant Rose in a dirt-cheap army base ceremony, Samuels officiating. He struts around a base in his officer’s uniform, Abner dutifully following behind him. He runs, firing off his gun and mowing down a row of Gath soldiers. He comes to one final soldier, cowering against a wall, holding up a white handkerchief, and needlessly bayonets the shit out of him.

Silas is court-martialed, Samuels standing by his side. Judge: “On the charge of cruelty and maltreatment, Colonel Silas Benjamin is hereby found not guilty.” Silas breathes a sigh of relief. He walks to leave the courtroom, but Samuels is waiting for him at the door, “May I speak to you, Colonel?” Silas, “Yes, General?” Samuels: “This will be your last court martial. I’ve gotten you out of insubordination, but cruelty and maltreatment, I can’t abide.” Silas, smarmy: “Even against a Phil?” Samuels, “I’m dead serious, Colonel.” Silas nods, “Of course, General. I will follow all of your orders as you give them to me.” Samuels, “Fight a war long enough, it gets inside of you, I understand that, and I know your daughter’s illness has been an immense strain, but as officers, we must be men of a higher standard. We cannot fall victim to our most basic instincts.” Silas, “I understand, sir.” Samuels, “You have greatness in you, Silas, you just have to keep hold of it.”

In a boardroom, Alister Cross argues in front of the commanders of the army that he should be king, “This has dragged on far too long, Gilboa needs a king, and I am that rightful king!” Another general: “What experience do you have leading men?” Alister, “I’m the CEO of a corporation that employs millions of people. I give orders every day that affect the military, and its ability to defend against our enemies. Without CrossGen, the nation of Gilboa wouldn’t exist!” Samuels looks on skeptically. Alister, “Gentlemen, our nation needs a king, and there is no one else who can possibly be king. Will you support me in the creation of a new national charter?” One by one, the commanders go down the table, each saying yes. They reach Samuels, who waits a moment before saying, “No.” Alister looks at Samuels with hatred and disbelief, “Why?” Samuels, “A man who makes his money off of war will never make peace. Our nation needs peace.” Alister, quivering with fury, “Who will be king then? Who else could possibly lead Gilboa?!” Samuels: “Silas Benjamin.”

Samuels is driven through the devastated town of Jabesh. He looks around in horror at the devastation. Abner sits beside him, explaining, “We got word of a Gath attack on Jabesh, and we were the first unit to arrive. Major Benjamin gave the order, no prisoners, save the town. He broke us up into three groups. They didn’t even see us coming.” The jeep comes to a stop in front of a tent where headquarters have been set up. Samuels: “Do you have a report on casualties?” Abner: “Silas said no prisoners. I haven’t got any number, but I can tell you, sir, it’s a fuckin’ shitload of dead Phils, and no losses on our side.” Samuels climbs out of the jeep and continues to look around in dismay, “Where is Major Benjamin?” Abner: “I don’t know, sir.” Samuels turns around and goes into the tent. Soldiers stand to greet him. Samuels, “Where is Major Benjamin?” One of the soldiers: “We received a report that King Nathaniel himself is nearby. Major Benjamin said he had a plan, and told us not to follow him. I believe he’s out looking for Nathaniel.” Samuels: “What?!” Soldier: “He’s not here, sir!” Samuels, “He disobeyed my orders!” Abner, smirking, “Did you hear, General? Prince Michael was killed last night. Gath doesn’t have a proper heir anymore. Now the crown’s gonna go to the king’s son-in-law. Some poor schmuck named Gerald.” Other soldier: “Do you want me to send a search party, General?” Abner: “A search party will attract more Phils. If Silas is on a stealth mission, we can’t do anything that will draw attention.” Samuels shakes his head, “Colonel Neroni is right. Silas is on his own.” Cut to: Sunset, Samuels stands outside the tent, looking off into the distance where Silas went. Across Jabesh, Gilboan soldiers dump dead Gath soldiers into mass graves. Later, Samuels and Abner sit in a tent, playing cards. Samuels: “I’m retiring from the army as soon as this campaign is over. I’m going to be happy to never worry about Silas again.” Abner: “Oh, yeah? What are you going to do for work?” Samuels: “I’m entering the ministry. I’m going to become a reverend.” Abner: “Going from General Samuels to Reverend Samuels. That’s quite a change.” Samuels: “It’s the only way I’ll be able to make peace with my soul.” Abner: “Whatever works for you. I doubt I’ll ever leave the military. It just has a way of sucking you in.” Samuels: “I thought about staying on just so I could stop Alister Cross from becoming king, but, I can’t stop that. I need to get out while I still can.” Abner: “You know, all the guys in the unit want Silas to be king.” Samuels: “He’s head of their unit, he’s already their king.” Abner: “That’s just it. It’s not just our unit. I’ve talked to the heads of more units than I can count, they all say their men want Silas as king. Alister Cross, he’s some stupid, closed-off rich guy. He’s never bled for Gilboa. Silas is one of us. He knows what normal people need. You said you supported him in the past.” Samuels: “I think Silas is a better choice than Alister Cross, certainly. But Silas disobeyed orders and left his post. He’s got another court martial waiting for him, and I told him at his last one that I wouldn’t defend him again.” Abner nervously glances at a clock, “He’s gotta make it back, first.” Later, Abner tries to sleep in his cot. He tosses and turns, and then gets up. He goes back to where Samuels keeps vigil outside the main tent. Abner approaches Samuels, and says, softly, “Still not back?” Samuels: “No.” Abner sighs nervously, “He’d never, ever let the Phils capture him. He said he’d kill himself, first.” Samuels: “That was before he had a wife and kids.” Abner: “If he doesn’t make it back, who’s gonna be the one to tell Rose?” Samuels: “I will. She deserves to hear it from me.” Crack of dawn, Samuels sits in a folding chair, rubbing his bleary eyes, but still keeping watch. He looks down the road, and sees a figure approaching. He gets to his feet. The figure gets closer, and Samuels yells, “Abner!” Abner appears at his side, “Is it Silas?” The figure nears, and it becomes visible as Silas, covered in blood and quite plainly having come out of a fight to the death. He half limps, half struts towards the camp, holding something in his hand. Abner: “Silas! Silas!” Other soldiers hear the shouting, and come up to see, shouting, “Silas, man, you made it!” Silas nears, and he raises up what he has in his hand: The severed head of King Nathaniel of Gath. Samuel’s jaw drops in horror and disgust. Abner and the other soldiers whoop and shout in triumph. Abner, “Mother fucking King Silas, man!” Silas fixes Samuels with his darkest, evilest smile. He comes to stand inches away from him and drops the head at his feet while Samuels can only gawk. Silas leans in and quietly says, “Challenge me again, and this will be you.” Cut to the Gath army camp, where young Gerald enters a tent and finds the dead bodies of his fellow officers and the headless body of his king.

In Shiloh, Samuels crowns Silas King of Gilboa. Rose weeps and applauds while toddler Michelle and Jack stand at her side. Abner weeps tears of joy. Alister claps politely while William just scowls, “That’s our fucking crown.” Rose goes over and kneels before her king. Silas soaks the glory of it all in. Later, Silas mounts the skull of King Nathaniel in his office, and smiles.

David drives home at night, the Book of Silas in the seat beside him. As David drives through the city, he keeps making nervous glances at the book. Suddenly, his car is t-boned, and flips over. David, wearing his seatbelt, is okay, but has a gash on his forehead. He undoes his seatbelt, grabs the Book, and crawls out of the broken window. An onlooker frantically runs toward him, “I saw it! I saw it! The other car sped up towards you, it looked like he was trying to hit you!” David looks in the driver’s window of the other car, and sees Norman in the seat, impaled on a stop sign.

At the hospital, David gets his head sewn up. He calls Jack, who picks up, “David?” David: “Look, don’t freak out, but I got in a car accident and I’m at the hospital.” Jack: “What?!” David: “I’m fine, I’m fine, just a cut on my head, they’re sewing it up. I’ll catch a cab, be back at the hotel before you know it.” Jack: “I’m coming and picking you up!” David: “No, don’t! Listen, the car that hit me, Norman was driving it. He was killed. I need you to tell Abby.” Jack: “Oh- okay. I can do that. Did you at least meet Jordan and Brian?” David: “Yeah, they gave me this book. The Book of Silas. You should take a look at it.” Jack: “What’s in it?” David shakes his head, “It’s- the story of bow Silas became king. The real story. It’s…. something else.”

At the hotel, Abby rushes to great David, tearful. She flings her arms around him and huge him tightly. David hugs her gently: “I’m so sorry, Abby.” Abby, crying: “Thank god that motherfucker’s dead. This is the best day of my life.” David sighs heavily, “I have had the weirdest fucking day.” Abby steps back, “Norman was going to kill me. I have my life back. I have my freedom back. Because of you.” David: “I didn’t do anything.” Abby: “David, you have my undying loyalty. I swear, I will do everything I can to serve you, and the Army of Free Gilboa.” David: “Don’t- I don’t want blind, fanatical devotion.” Abby: “You saved my life.” David: “All I did was get hit by a car.”

In their room, Jack reads the Book of Silas while David showers. David gets out and gets dressed while Jack looks over the photos and news clippings on the pages. David: “Did you know all this?” Jack: “I heard a lot of stories. Some of them match up to this, but, I never knew what was the truth.” David: “Do you know what this means?” Jack: “Mom and dad lied about their wedding date. Mom was pregnant with me and Michelle when she and dad got married.” David: “You could have had a life where you weren’t a prince.” He pauses dramatically, lets it all sink in, and then goes on, “This is all fucking Samuels’s fault. He started out by fucking up Silas’s life by picking him to be king, and that led to so many other lives being fucked up. And now, Samuels is trying to fix his mistake by fucking up my life.” Jack: “My dad chose to be king, David. Samuels only helped it happen.” There’s a knock at the door. David answers, and Joel and Isaiah enter. Joel: “Did you see it?” David: “See what?” Joel turns on the TV. A news program reports that the car of one of Silas’s top advisors has just blown up, and the advisor is dead. Joel and Isaiah are ecstatic, “That’s us! That was us! We fucking did that!” David turns the TV off.

In Shiloh, Silas watches the news of his advisor’s assassination, and sits in his office alone. The skull of King Nathaniel sits on its shelf.

[imaginaryculturepress-blog]

TFTP: Homebrand’s “Shelf” Launch Show

In which Homebrand launch "Shelf", HQ's security give up, and we quote a lot of people.

Hi, hello, and welcome!

My name is Skyler and I've nearly broken my neck head-banging on numerous occasions. I don't know if I should be extremely proud or concerned about that...

I also take photos of awesome bands playing awesome music for awesome crowds at awesome venues with not-so-awesome lighting.

Speaking of awesome bands playing awesome music for awesome crowds at awesome venues with not-so-awesome lighting, a few Fridays ago, I found myself photographing Homebrand's "Shelf" launch show at HQ. (I really need new venues... but y'know, everything else is 18+ and-*rants about the lack of U18 shows in Perth and what that's doing to the economy and mental stability of numerous teens*.)

This October, I had two goals: photograph a show, and have that show be on my birthday. After a disappointing September that only featured a cancelled Placebo shoot, I was desperate for anything. Luckily, I got to cover this outstanding launch to make up for the dead month. It wasn't on my birthday, but it was the day before and that's close enough.

But let's take it back a step.

T'was the day before the show and I still had no confirmation of whether or not I'd be shooting. For the record, this wasn't an extreme bother, though replies were (and still are) greatly appreciated. Along with forty-eight hour notice whenever possible. Regardless, I was at Myer with my uncle and they were playing Safia's "My Love is Gone" through the speakers. So to rephrase, I was at Myer with my uncle, attempting - and failing - to not dance around like a headless emu.

As we were searching for a birthday present, I had four words on loop: "minimalism", "lenses", and "not applicable". That is:"Hey, we should get this!""Minimalism.""Well what do you want, then?""Lenses.""Where's the minimalism there?""Not applicable."

We soon figured that the only way to settle the dilemma was to visit my very extremely amazingly fabulously good friend and potential sponsor, JB HI-FI, and splurge a decent amount of cash on vinyl. Second best to camera gear, right? Two Panic! at the Disco and one Five Finger Death Punch record later, we left to visit my arch nemesis: Camera House.

Oh, the horror...

*Violent flashbacks of Supposed Manager, his arrogance, sighs, and complaints.*

Now, it's probably worth noting that my uncle had no clue of the troublesome past I had with the store, and I hoped for it to remain that way. You may be in the same boat, completely unsure of what the hell I'm on about. Perhaps you ought to check out the

With Confidence story

: i

t's 90% the Return of the Lens and 10% With Confidence. And if you don't know what the Return of the Lens refers to, you should probably read the

Why Even Try story

. All these posts are quintessentially related and if you find them somewhat interesting, I highly suggest reading them in order to avoid complete confusion. Or you could just not read them at all, which I'm sure most of you are resorting to.

Nevertheless, I dragged myself in, head down and regret kicking in. Already missing JB HI-FI, I searched through the limited racks, hoping to locate that goddamn Nikon backpack. Background info required? Yeah. Here's the general gist of it: my grandmother told me to choose a new gear backpack that'd make shooting easier, and that my uncle would take me to purchase it on behalf of her. However, my lazy ass couldn't be bothered researching this thoroughly enough, and, as a result, the only store that I knew had this specific one was Camera House. Thus our current situation.

Unsurprisingly, it was nowhere to be found. Thankfully, Supposed Manager was also nowhere to be found. We asked an employee and they confirmed that it wasn't in stock, and that we had to go check in Leederville. And so we did, only to be told that they didn't have it either. So I settled for something different (though freaken amazing), a Lowepro with some fancy lettery-numbery title that I cannot be bothered typing. Oh, by the way, Lowepro: if you're looking for someone to sponsor, you should probably consider this random photographer in Perth, Western Australia... I hear they're pretty awesome... and desperate as all hell.

Lowepro: *Sponsor Chris Kerr.*

Now let's all take a moment to cry at how accurate that is (besides the fact that he isn't desperate). Let's take another moment to admire Chris' work.

But there's your daily life lesson: not all photographers hate each other! I mean, he has no clue as to who the hell I am, though that's not the point.

Anywho, this is the part where I compare Camera House's service to JB HI-FI's and say that JB always has everything in stock - or can order it in within a week. This is also the part where I just get along with the bloody story, for I can imagine how bored you are.

All that was just there to increase my sponsorship opportunities - or lack thereof - and include a CH complaint.

So on with the tale:

That evening, I went from maybe shooting Homebrand to not shooting to booked (thanks, Shedhead!). However, when I gained the pass, I completely forgot to ask something rather important: "Could ya please add me to the door list?"

It's not that the tickets were expensive or that I'm an extremely cheap person (even though I am). Soon after photographing my first ever show, I was googling the industry and came across a video by Adam Elmakias, my all-time favourite photographer. To paraphrase, he said: "You shouldn't buy a ticket if you're there to work." And he's right; if this is your job - or a hobby that you're hoping will become your job (your mission, to reference The Minimalists) - you pay for your transport, Grill'd stopover, and gear (though that's taxable), but you don't pay to be at the workplace, regardless of whether that's an office or concert venue. I made that mistake with the first pass I earned.

It's pretty obvious but just to be clear, this was not the band's fault. Whatsoever. They've got way more important things to be focusing on, and it's not their job to remember things that I haven't even mentioned.

You can probably imagine when I realised I hadn't told them; at the venue, when the employee guy was checking the door list.

Guy: *Flicking through* Yeah, uhm... you're not on here...

Me: What?

Me to myself: Oh, shit...

That other voice in my head: Fucking hell, Sky, you're a fucking idiot! How the fuck did you fucking forget to fucking mention the fucking listy-thingy, for fuck's sake?! You fucking fuckwit!

Guy: Do you wanna check with the band?

I looked around, attempting to locate Shedhead, though my lack of luck that ensured that nobody was around. (Again, not their fault; I'm a fucking fuckwit, remember?) Guy was growing slightly suspicious.

Guy: ...You do know who they are, right?

Me to myself, sarcastically: Nah, mate, only heard of them this morning. Me: Yeah?

Guy: I'll go see if they're out front.

Ten minutes later, we were in. Another ten minutes later, the first band was up. Coincidentally, t'was Shedhead.

If there's one thing all these bands have in common, it's that they're blatantly and exuberantly experimental and honest in their presence and music. I could attempt to make them sound elegant and sophisticated, but as the Dune Rats say, The Kids Will Know It's Bullshit. There's a lot of quoting going on today...

With that said, you're there to headbang, throw your friends at other friends' faces and to have a good time. It's thrashy, punk, satirical rock - or whatever genre they classify as - and it's unapologetic.

Shedhead was a prime example of this. With more talent than Fuelled by Ramen have signed in recent times (I'm looking at you, post-Don't Panic All Time Low) and a fanbase as dedicated as BTS', these dudes truly know how to rock out. ("Rock out"? Sara, what are you, sixty?)

Their songs are wonderful, they're great people, and they've got jams.

Now all they require is a deal with a neat lil' record label, preferably not FBR, and they're all set. And while we're on the topic of deals with neat lil' places, JB HI-FI should send that sponsorship contract my way soon...

Intermission.

Dance, dancing their way to the stage was Mango Tango, a hyper yet calm and collected band with a set list of hits. From the moment they played the first note, everyone was dying to be the John Travolta to their Uma Thurman. Their EP was only a few weeks old, yet the entire crowd knew each and every lyric off by heart, screaming incredibly out of tune and deafening my mother. But they were having a wonderful time and that’s all that counts.Their energy, enthusiasm, and always-high appearance are what stick with people well after the show. The band is extremely dedicated to their music, and it’s noticeable in their performances. With memorable sets and one hell of a catchy name, they’re sure to gain international success.

Unfortunately Kosta was slightly late to the party, arriving around the last song. This has nothing to do with him but anyway.

Intermission.

I remember those good ole’ days, long, long, ago, back at Mount Lawley Senior High’s 2016 Arts Expo, when a young band took to the stage. They were surrounded by friend-fans and teachers, lead by a shorter-haired Griffin and were missing a Harrison Larke (or was he there? I’ve no clue; it’s been a while). They were Sky's first glimpse into the local music scene. Their lead single was – and I’m pretty sure it still is – “Control”, and they earned disturbed expressions from Mr Butcher and Mr Camilleri. The crowd loved them; with each riff, octave, and any other musical word, everyone was falling more and more for the boys from JAG.

Over a year later, little has changed.  The dudes rocked out to another crowd of friend-fans, though not all were from Mount Lawley. Griffin’s hair was longer than mine, Larke was in business, and I could sense Mr Butcher and Mr Camilleri’s disturbed expressions from a mile away. “Control” blasted through the speakers and each riff, octave, and any other music word saw the audience fall more and more for the boys from JAG.

But they’d improved. They’d improved their material, their presence, and most importantly, their happiness. They seemed more content; they could say what they wanted to whom they wanted, without seething dudes in suits threatening to give them detention. This is what makes them one of the best local bands; they’re passionate about their music, stick to their humble roots, and do whatever the fuck they want.

Speaking of doing whatever the fuck they want, up next were our headliners, Homebrand.

From the first note, everyone went wild. And I mean Fight Club on acid wild; everyone was headbanging against each other, Jared Leto was crowdsurfing, Bob was crying and hugging someone whilst trampling somebody else, Marla was smoking a cig’ up the back, and Tyler Durden was fighting himself in the parking lot.

Their music was great – but that’s not what we’re here for. Well, I suppose we ought to include a fancy review of “Shelf”:

“It’s fucking wonderful.”

Sky, we said fancy.

Oh, right… How’s this:

“Homebrand have revived themselves and the scene with this song, achieving preposterously eargasmic riffs and other complex musical shizzle. The post-Mixed Signals era is set to become huge, and will hopefully see everyone stop screaming “PLAY INSOMNIA, YOU FUCKS!” and replace it with the lyrics of “Shelf”, which will inevitably lead to Daryl needing to display less inappropriate gestures onstage.”

Close enough to fancy.

But like I said, their music wasn't what we were there for: what truly stood out about their performance wasn't actually the band - don't get me wrong, they killed it up there - but HQ's reaction and plan to having Homebrand play was absolutely priceless; especially when they failed to execute their ideas.

You see, this band - and its fans - are known for the insanity they cause. It's their brand. Their Homebrand. (I'll stop...) They are there to demolish everything. They are going to break something or someone. Nobody just "shows up" without knowing what they're getting into; and if they do, they don't walk out with all their limbs in tact. There is headbanging, and I don't mean normal headbanging; I mean worse than me in my room on a Saturday evening whilst listening to Cannibal Corpse headbanging. If you're not crowdsurfing, your friends will lift you the fuck up and force you to crowdsurf. There are no "sidelines". There's no calming down. You either grab the person next to you by the neck and swing them around mercilessly or leave. And the best part? Everyone is still friends with everyone else and there are no hard feelings. Or so I'm lead to believe.

As a photographer, I couldn't ask for anything more. Okay, perhaps HQ could upgrade their lighting system and get rid of those godawful reds. But this is exactly what we're there for, and I freaken love it.

And that, my dudes, is why Homebrand is Perth's best live band. (No offence to all the other bands, all of whom I love dearly, but you can't compete with these guys.)

HQ, however, doesn't share my views. They knew this was going to happen, that personal spaces would be no more and that their speakers would be destroyed, so they employed crowd control.

Be right back, I'm just going to go laugh hysterically for a few hours.

Crowd control? What the hell was the point? All they did was piss off the dudes in the front row. Nobody could "control" these guys. They were there to be a destructive wreck and have an incredible time, and that's what they did. Had HQ seriously considered that a couple of guys in fancy uniforms - one of whom doubled up as a photographer - could change that? Nope.

"Stop that!"

"Ma'am, get off the speaker."

"PUT THEM DOWN THIS INSTANT, GODDAMNIT!"

"I said... sTOP IT!"

"How much are we getting paid for this again...?"

Get a reality check, mate. The only good that could come out of their little visit was if they managed to avoid getting kicked in the face - then the venue could avoid legal fees.

Not too long after, the set was over and those sorry security guards could go catch their breath.

And that was that. Up next: Alice Cooper at Perth Arena. (Spoiler alert: I lose my photo pass and have to shoot with my phone. It's quite the evening.)

MUSICAL SUMMARY:

Shedhead: The kids will know their music isn't bs/5 Mango Tango: Energetic fruit loops/5 JAG: I’ve got your yearbook photos/5 Homebrand: What is crowd control/5

PHOTOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY:

Lenses: better than the 85mm/5

Camera: again - not allowed to complain/5

Lighting: the reason I've lost all hope in humanity/5

Editing: best way to spend my birthday/5

My sanity: no English/5

Check out all the awesome bands:

Shedhead

Mango Tango

JAG

Homebrand

Live long and headbang, xx-Skyler Slate