The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

NYC - The city of my Ambivelence
10:43 Feb 28 2006
Times Read: 600




NYC - The city of my ambivelance.

The crowds of people - some interesting, some fearful, some angry, some lovely, some stupid, some fashionable, some pristine, some colorless, some tattered, some angellic, and some demonic. An empath picks up all of these layers and carries them around as colored chains throughout the next few days. The ambivelence of emotions create a stirring of the soul that unfolds a rich broth and uproots the meaty chunks in a lightly shrouded stone soup.



The two hour commute grates on the soul, as well as the exhausted spirit, of a haggard, wary, weary traveller. The tangible memories of injuries from three years past conjure new protests with each passing twist of the rail lines. The excitement of new discoveries fill her as she waits anxiously for the next adventure round the next corner. The chance happening upon a single air-conditioned alley safely hidden between two major corridors tempts her to walk three blocks out of the way each day to bask in its cool refreshing whisps - if only for thirty seven seconds.

'twas a crisp call to start each new day, and a welcome end to each evening.



NYC. the city of my ambivelence. The hatred and the love combined. The joy and sadness. The restlessness and apathy. The experience - and the regrets.



The experience of many people, many cultures, many emotions. Cameras flashing everywhere in a blur of frenzied fancy as tourists trepediciously visit the neuveou wailing wall of the WTC. The intimidating prowess of each tall building, delicately and boysterously designed only a century ago. Each ziggerot created by fuddy-duddy bean counters and brunty builders aspiring to their build their legacy and crown their city with the world-renowned commercial key. The oblivious patriotic flags taunted by each passing breath of clouds so high they cannot see the smog below. The demonstrators, the protests of some injustice in China over three worlds away, the beauty of the very crux of mankind in its pestulence of the earth.



The regrets.

I regret that I never took a ferry.

I regret that I never went to the theatre, I regret that I never played chess with the people in central park. I regret that I never made it to canal street, or stopped for a beer & slice of pizza in the Newark train station. I regret that I never sought out the seedier jazz elements of the underpriveledged not four blocks from anywhere. I regret that I didn't get to see stomp, or the statue of liberty.



Rejoyce, shudder, cry, wail, shout, scream, laugh, and play. All of these await my prodigal return.

First day on the job in NYC
10:40 Feb 28 2006
Times Read: 601

The big city - under orange alert.



The mass transit system - What is ungodly expensive and steeped in misdirection. Two genetically engineered worms have a better chance of solving an algebra problem then I have of getting to my destination in NYC. In bitter confusion and haste, tempered with the deep hope and desire to persevere, I anxiously travel out to penn station, just to slingshot back down to wall street. I paid 7.85 one way to get to work, instead of the anticipated $5.85. Budget repression at its finest.



I finally arrived at wall street and was successfully heading towards my destination. As the stock exchange building ahead grew larger, the commotion ahead grew apparent. I was not to fare too much closer before I was hearded around the block out of sight.



Broad street miss-guided away from me, I muscled up the courage to pester several cops garnished with M16-A2s for directions. I was hopelessly lost in the whirlwind of apathetic hysteria as the masses of paranoid yet self-involved drones streamed by me with barely a glance around. My detour found me passing a few cute retriever-type working doggies holding thistly tongues over glistening silver water bowls. I smiled at them. They looked up at me and smiled right back.



As I continued, I noticed several large, refrigerador sized yellow stone pyramids projecting from the sidewalks in a manner of which I have never seen before. I assume they are the futuristic modern day equivelent of cattle guards to ensure people are forced into a single file for herding purposes. I can't imagine that these large tomb-like structures aid in hasteful evacuation of the city. Suddenly my mind involuntarily clicks and sublty whirrs as I perceive the odd angles of the yellow stones, and the shallow distance between - probably serve as an aid to a proper aim for between the shoulderblades of some perceived threat.



I shudder and continue to my building. Up, almost three dozen floors, I arrived 30 minutes before any of my newly found cohorts. They arrive just before 10. (I do declare...that is just my speed.) I look out the window and see giant griffins stoutly guarding trojan soldiers on the next building over. I suppose if the Trojans were to think of suicide, the griffins are there for assurance. Two songs from Annie kept running loops in my head... "We've got Annie", and "I think I'm gonna like it here". Thank god it wasn't "maybe." The depression written in those lyrics would be too much to bear for a whole day in that busy streaming city.



After several fights with my computer to install the recommended daily allowance of required software programs, I take the express elevator back down to the bottom floor for a quick puff of cancer. The working dog outside my building and across the street harnessed by the thin clint eastwood type I saw earlier - was golden. Now the retriever, held by the same "Make my day" look-alike - is black.



The doggies have stand-ins.....

The phrase "working like a dog" no longer holds any meaning for me.

Musician's Hearing
10:17 Feb 28 2006
Times Read: 603

I have this wonderful gift. Its called "musician's hearing."

Every once in a while, when someone says something, I hear something completely different. Something that is not even on the same plane of existance. "Did you just say you wanted to whip the bunny?" You know, that kind of thing.



So the b/f and I were talking about the house, how we're going to fix it up, and how we're going to have a great open house party and invite everyone from all over the city, and all over the state.



He said, "When its all finished, we're going to have a wonderful gayla there and invite the mayor, and the city inspector, and the realtor, and our friends... you said you wanted to break into politics some day..."



My brain heard "gayla there" as "gay leather"



I turned and asked him, "Did you just say that you wanted to invite the mayor to our gay leather party?" (As I shudder at the picture in my mind of the mayor showing up in a pair of assless hot pink leather pants.)





Musician's hearing strikes again!

Two Faced
10:16 Feb 28 2006
Times Read: 604

So my lovely little loquii,

was all a beggin' at my side,

and coddling my leg

and cooing in my ear...



while I was feasting on

a teriakyi chicken breast

marinated in the spices

of a sultry witches' brew.



This lovely little loquii

gathered my attention,

stood on her hind legs,

and begged for any scraps

that might befall her quest.



So I threw down a couple of

feline sized morsels...

As she dined, I was loved.



--at least for the moment.



But when the feast was finished-

she ran into the other room,

and jumped onto the bed,

started pimping for pets,

shrugging for scratches,

and looking for love from...



DADDY.



Why that little, two-faced kitty-bitch!

Mondays
08:30 Feb 28 2006
Times Read: 609

Taking a break outside to warm up from the frigid temperature of my dry, dusty, gloomy grey office cubicle.



I'm standing on the street corner, watching the cars drive by, the cornucopia of colors, the cornucopia of sounds, gathering and interpreting the audible bits and pieces of the plethora of radiostations that interest the general populace of the Pasadena area. I am basking in the warmth of the rays of the once finally unclouded California sun. It is approaching the perfect weather to take off for the beach. My mind starts to drift, as the whir of traffic transforms into the sounds of gently crashing ocean waves, and I'm picturing myself lying on the sandy shores, reading a book, or maybe sculpting a large ferocious sand-cat.



Then, interrupting my thoughts and the rich flavors and textures of sounds that have been lulling my whims, a raindrop lands next to my feet with a heavy thud. A heavy thud. hmmm... I look up. the sun is still unclouded. There is no rain... but there is a sparrow perched on a pointed finger of a treebranch above. As if to point down on my fantasy and drag me back to reality; he is using me for target practice.



Hah! he missed!



I am out of range. I cautiously scan the pointed fingers of the tree of knowledge and justice for sniper backup crew. They are nowhere to be found. He is a lone soldier. I smugly glance up at him in arrogant pride, daring him to intrude again just as he lets loose round two.



I stand my ground as it falls, knowing I am safe, when i feel a light graze on my littlest finger.



The wall...

It ricoched off the wall, and splattered onto my little finger.



Despite my efforts, I was gently graced with a backwash of luck.



I hate Mondays.

The war of inanimate objects.
08:22 Feb 28 2006
Times Read: 610

The war of inanimate objects.





The sun rises...

Another day begins. Another day where the fates of the universe lie beleagured at your wake, challenging you to become either the best, or the worst that you can be.



The sirens wake, calling a start to the next battle. Extending the longest appendage you own, you push the snooze button with the appropriate finger to answer the call of the morning. But minutes later, the battle siren calls again.



Your feet meet the ground, and soon you realize the pain delivered from the fighting of the previous day. The body crawls forth from its resting place, and meanders over your haven of safety... at least you THOUGHT it was your haven of safety.



Heading towards the closet to gather the necesseties for the day, you begin your first battle. The battle of the twisted hangers. Their mission, to keep your provisions from you through tangled webs of chaos and games of illusion. Throughout the previous evening, they have conducted shapeshifting experiments on your uniforms to ensure that each new outfit you have freed from their prison, has morphed into a shape which no longer suits your needs. Its true that the enemy troops of the hanger division, have advanced multiplicitive properties. While you are trying to free your provisions from their prison, as each soldier is put down, two more take his place. Slowly but surely, the hangar division is thinned out, and a garment of suitable fashion and fitting is sequestered. The first battle of the day is won!



Using great stealth so as not to alert the enemy that our troops are in position, I exit the sleeping barracks and cross the living room to witness the carnage and chaos left behind on the battlegrounds of the previous evening. Lieutennant Goddess Loquii Underfoot, Feline first class has been hard at work fighting bravely all through the night in our endless war against inanimate objects. Her specialty - the random distruction of paper and plastics.



Good work Soldier! I say to her as I cross trepadaciously into the kitchen to provide her with a suitable reward for the evening of battle. I open the cupboard doors, cautious of impending sniper attacks overhead from their brothers above me. I pull out a handfull of mess, and lay it down reverantly in her bowl. Breakfast for myself will have to wait. I must not chance the risk of further injury just yet.



I bravely cross the battlegrounds to make my way to the ceramic and tile bomb-shelter. Knowing there are unknown operatives at work to thwart the supply of hot water to our troops, I turn on the supply and wait for our operatives to restore order to our universe. After about 5 minutes, things appear to be normal. I take off all non-camauflaged apparel and step in. Three minutes of prep work, and the attack begins.



The enemies must have special weapons that can penetrate the ceramic walls, and brainwash the shampoo and conditioner into a kamakazi state. They dive from their perch of safety onto my feet. Its part of a clever plan to make me lose my footing on dangerous slippery ground, and take me down. So far, I have survived.



I am a soldier who has so far survived a 30 year endless war with inanimate objects. With countless purple hearts to my honor, I continue my daily fight.