the usual unusual.
I could be the best at what I do. I could leave you breathless. I could earn everyone’s praises. I could be proud of myself. I could be the king and they would bow down to me. I could accept my parents’ praises without feeling remorse and shame. I could grow into something really special and change the world. The unfortunate truth is that I am culpable of the worst sin of them all and besides that I have the damnedest time motivating myself to be a shade of what I am.
I HOPE ALL IS WELL, BUT I WOULDN’T BELIEVE IT. MY DEAREST FRIEND, MY COMPANION, WE HAVE IRREVOCABLY CHANGED THIS WORLD; MAY THE GOD WE’VE DISPROVED HAVE MERCY ON HIS FOOL CHILDREN. BEAUTIFUL DAY! SWEETEST DAY! THE STARS HANG SO MUCH LOWER EVERY NIGHT, DRAWN, I THINK, BY DREAD AND CURIOSITY - CELESTIAL RUBBER-NECKERS. YOU SAID THIS WOULD BE OUR GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT. I SUPPOSE YOU WERE RIGHT, IF THE VERY FLOOR OF HEAVEN SAGS UNDER THE WEIGHT OF OUR LEGACY. SHINING DAY! AWFUL BEAUTIFUL DAY! WE WERE PROMISED THE SWEET CHOIRS ON HIGH, THE HARMONY OF INFINITY. WHAT HAVE WE GOTTEN OURSELVES? WHAT DO WE HEAR? SILENCE, MOST TERRIFYING.
Tom is delirious. Everyone knows so. Tom locks himself behind his bedroom door. He keeps the curtains closed and covered with towels secured with pushpins. He lays in the dark, a small body in that big bed of his. He throws his blankets at the door but keeps the bunch of pillows on the bed.
Everyone knows Tom is delirious, but no one knows why. Tom knows why, but he wouldn’t say if you asked him. Tom lays on his bed trying to dream. His hand blindly reaches across the bed, running across the hilly landscape of pillows. So many pillows. They once argued about the amount of pillows a bed really needed, in the beginning. Tom conceded the issue and they made love that night, after carefully moving all the pillows to the floor. Tom’s hand finds the softest pillow in the pile. With a gentle clutch, he brings it to his face. The room is dark, but Tom sees the light blue covering lit up by the morning sunlight, a small dark spot of drool at the corner of her lips. Her face is partly hidden by tendrils of her coffee-brown hair. Tom moves his face forward and inhales deeply. And his heart nearly breaks. Tom takes another deep breath from the empty pillow, then a series of shorter sniffs. She has faded away from here as well, now.
Tom is delirious. Everyone knows so. Tom believes he is either regaining his sanity or losing it completely, and in either case he is the most alone he has ever been.
I was just going through some fan art of Alex and Lindsay Small-Butera, and I thought to myself, “This is neat. I guess this is kinda what I did, except instead of fan art, I… wrote… fan… Oh god, I wrote fan-fiction!”
What have I become?!
EDIT: Upon further consideration, I think I wrote an original story, with original characters inspired by - not based on- the members of LSD. So my conscience is clean.
By the way, this is Lake Street Dive.
(I love this photo very much.)
I was on reddit the other day, during a break from studio, and someone had posted a video of this band, Lake Street Dive, performing a rendition of ‘I Want You Back’ on the side of a street in a suburban neighborhood.
Something about the look and feel of the four people, the music, and the chemistry, ignited a nagging concept for their back-story I wrote down what came to me.
So, in my head, this gang travels and performs and gets in episodic shenanigans. Aviator Guy is the cool guy, witty and smooth. He’s in a sweet relationship with the Voice. The Voice is sweet, almost motherly at times, but you’d never expect her to settle down. They met in a greyhound station in San Antonio at 4 in the morning after his bus broke down and he missed his connection to LA. (She’s never said where she was going or coming from that day.) Denny is Aviator Guy’s big sister. She hated the bass growing up, but dang it if she didn’t have something special when she played. Now when she plays, she’s at a special kind of peace, like her heart is relieved of the shit it was put through a while back, during a time in her life that she is able to forget about when the music flows. She has family again, in Aviator Guy and the Voice. And maybe in Blondie?
Almost two years ago, the Trio were solemnly eating their last breakfast as a trio in a truck stop diner on the side of Interstate 40, when divine intervention struck in the form of a spoiled jerk running away from everything, life, love, scholarships, naively trying to pursue that which couldn’t just be given to him. That hadn’t worked out for him very well. Holding the loose change in his pocket as he decided between a sandwich or a phone call, Blondie slumped up to the counter and let his trumpet case down more loudly than he’d intended. The smell of fries sang out from the kitchen window, and Blondie made his decision, figuring he could probably just use a napkin, borrow a pen, and worry about a stamp later. He gave his order to the aging redhead behind the counter and politely asked where the restrooms were located. Making his way past a few truckers, a small family, and one tense couple, the last thing Blondie had on his mind was a miracle.
He stepped into the back hallway of the diner, focused on guessing just by feel whether he was holding a nickel or a quarter in his pocket. At that moment, a puffy-eyed Denny came rushing out of the hall. The sound that followed was one eerily similar to the thunk of two skulls bashing against one another, followed hard upon by the sounds that can only come from the body of a twenty-four year old male as it crumples into a discombobulated heap.
The rest of the story, except for an unfortunate highway accident that was attributed to unruly beaver migration, has been a great ride so far.
TL,DR: I should be writing my paper.