To see a world in a grain of sand a heaven in a wild flower.

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 00:46:30 GMT

I wonder if that is to say I am a person or thing, although significant enough to distinguish more than a bore, am of indeterminable amount and consequence?

I could never forget my worth to you if only I knew how much. However, it really is an answer I don't care to know tonight. I'm afraid I won't mean as much to you as you do to me. But we are both at fault for not calculating to the other the finer details between us.

I don't regret anything except what goes unsaid. If it weren't for your yelling at me I don't know that I could go on. It is how I know I mean anything at all. It's all I know and it is all I have.

The dance continues and on my birthday the Tango has never been sweeter.

Thu, 21 Sep 2006 06:38:45 GMT

I'm running out of ideas on how to be forgiven. Yes, I made a mistake. This is me we're talking about. I make roughly ten mistakes a night, and that's on a good night. Yes, I was spending time with a mortal. Yes, I didn't bother to tell you.

I'm sorry. I thought you'd kill him or be pissed off.

You didn't kill him, did you? Crowley isn't that bad a person. He's just a little set in what he thinks.

I'm tired of waking up each night, wondering if you're going to be gone over this of all things.

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 06:59:04 GMT

Here's my amusement for the night. Googlefights. http://www.googlefights.com

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Fri, 15 Sep 2006 04:25:04 GMT

I was sitting there earlier reading and came to the conclusion that violence and crime are problems of medical ecology.

All right, say take an accident. You have:

VICTIM+ENVIRONMENT (say an icy road) + AGENT (a car) + MECHANISM (tire blowout) = ACCIDENT INCIDENT

Now for intentional, I think it would read something like:

[VICTIM(S) + VICTIMIZER + TIME] + AGENT/VECTOR FACTORS + MECHANISM + ENVIRONMENT FACTORS = CRIME

I think. Mix victim and victimizer with bad luck or timing (TIME) with their motive, intent, opportunity, and method (AGENT/VECTOR FACTORS), along with the environment and the result is a crime. MECHANISM would be the gun or weapon used if I’m right. EVIRONMENTAL FACTORS would have to be not just physical stuff but social, political, legal, and economical factors of the criminal.

Criminals are a weird sort. I mean, they’re everyone. Who hasn’t stolen a pen from work or something tiny. We’re all criminals. We just happen to grow up. In a way, according to Thomas Szaz, criminal behaviour and violence are pathological conditions of the mind, they are truly diseases since they meet the five medical criteria of what defines a problem as a disease. All criminals are mentally ill to a degree. That doesn’t mean that being defined as such is an excuse for criminal behavior, nor is this to be seen as mitigating circumstances because a person can be both mentally ill and legally sane such as Jeffery Dahmer.

That’s like the media likes to say so-and-so is psychotic. That’s untrue. Psychotic fits the definition of being legally insane, which is why true psychotics are a minority among violent criminals. Psychotics are out of touch with reality, and they often hear voices, see visions, or both. Psychopaths (or sociopaths if you prefer) are also mentally ill, but they are in touch with reality and therefore and not legally insane. Psychopaths know right from wrong and make the conscious decision to do what is wrong. That’s not the behaviour of a crazy person. Psychopaths also lack any conscience and could care less about the harm they do.

It’s kind of weird in a way that except for some higher apes, humans are the only creatures that intentionally kill, maim, torture, rape, and rob their own species. Humans are also the only critters out there that can turn anything into a weapon. Today’s crime statistics reflect that many crimes, especially a high number of murders, are motivated by sex and power.

My thought on it is that it’s ego gone wild. The ego is an essential tool of constructive behaviour, but when a human becomes a slave to his or her ego, the human ultimately degenerates into destructive behaviour.

Anyways, I think I might finally be able to beat that last gym leader on my Pokemon game. I finally got mine up to a high enough level.

Oh, yeah, and don't get into a bickering match between Santino and David. Highly not advised. Although they do degenerate into some interesting looking circumstances at the end.

Mon, 11 Sep 2006 22:54:25 GMT

January's always bitter
But Lord this one beats all
The wind ain't quit for weeks now
And the drifts are ten feet tall

One good thing about the villa here on Night Island is that I can get up on the roof and not be disturbed or even noticed by the people going in and out of the main part itself. I know Armand thinks I’m crazy or that I’m going to break my foolish bones when my clumsiness takes over and I end up plunging the five or so stories to the unforgiving sand below. I figure if and when I do, it isn’t going to matter much. Give me a night or two, and I’ll be back to my usual. I’ve never bothered to find out just how quickly I can heal. If it’s longer, I could always torment Armand into playing nursemaid. I think in a way, he’s more afraid that I’ll accidentally lose track of time some night and be caught up here with nowhere to go. Or do it on purpose. I still have my moments of madness although the gaps between them are growing.

I been all night drivin' heifers
Closer in to lower ground
Then I spent the mornin' thinkin'
'Bout the ones the wolves pulled down

I find myself sitting here tonight thinking about Louis’ Jacqueline of all people. She’s a woman I never met and now never will, but when I read through his or Lestat’s words about her, I find myself drawing a line from her to Crowley by virtue that the two of them are mortals and now one is dead for her association. Or that’s what I gather at least. For all I know, there could be underlying reasons I completely missed. I sit here with the Gulf breezes tugging at my hair and duster I took off a victim a few nights back, and I see the similarities between Lestat and Armand.

Charlie Barton and his family
Stopped today to say goodbye
He said the bank was takin' over
The last few years were just too dry

They’d probably deny them to the bitter last. Armand would anyways. When my cellular rings and I hear Crowley’s voice on the other end, I find myself sickly glad for the fact that Armand can’t see into my thoughts and know. Do I think he would kill Crowley? The answer is unfailingly ‘yes’. It could be for a myriad of reasons: because Crowley is a mortal that knows about us, because Crowley could learn in time who we really are, because Crowley distracts me, or simply because he felt like it. It would do me little good to rage at the storm after it passed. It hasn’t done any good for Louis to scream at the fickle wind that is Lestat.

And I promised that I'd visit
When they found a place in town
Then I spent a long time thinkin'
'Bout the ones the wolves pull down

Louis said ‘Even the very strongest of hearts will eventually cease to beat’. I think I can live with the fact that in time Crowley will fade. I’m one of the few that still has mortal family left. Since I’ve become what I am, I have stood by while one died and one is engaged in the practice of dying. Granted, I wasn’t all that close to them, but there’s still that … I don’t know what to call it beyond a genetic imprint that I know these are people who were close to me once, who came to see us at Christmas, babysat me when I was a child, and now they are fading away in body and memory, pictures in an album that time decays.

Lord please shine a light of hope
On those of us who fall behind

I can still sit and count and know that I may still be alive right now if I hadn’t met Louis that night or Armand the nights after. I suppose I would be anyways. I hadn’t been drinking heavily by that point. Armand drove me to that extreme. I’ve found myself wondering before if David, Benji, or Sybelle ever sit and think about the same, what they would be doing if alive. Wondering what Crowley is doing this night.

And when we stumble in the snow
Could you help us up while there's still time?

That’s not to say I regret anything. I don’t. I’ve been the master of the course of my own life through it all. I forget which author it was that said, ‘I am the author of my own doom, the cause of my damnation’. That’s me, and I don’t deny or shy away from that knowledge. Out of all of us, I am the only one that actively pursued what I am, fought for it every step of the way, and only gained it because I was already dying. Or perhaps because Armand thought we were all about to die. I’ve never been sure which it was or is. I like to tell myself on nights like this that it was because he loved me and not because he was staring possible extermination right in the face.

Well I don't mean to be complainin' Lord
You've always seen me through
And I know you got your reasons
For each and every thing you do

My thoughts tend to lead me in a circular path and so this brings me back around to Crowley and the late Jacqueline. And myself. Even with my eyes closed, my mind’s eye pulls back up the image of Crowley’s face when he realized where I had gotten this duster. I hadn’t ever considered myself a monster until that moment. The mingled horror and disgust on his face told me that much. Where had I crossed that line? Was this what some referred to as the fading humanity, becoming fully what we were instead of trying to straddle the line between both?

But tonight outside my window
There's a lonesome mournful sound
And I just can't keep from thinkin'
'Bout the ones the wolves pull down

What did David truly think as time passed as he saw Lestat? Did he see the man or the monster or both? Did he fully comprehend what it was he spoke to at night? Did I? I’d like to think I did. Hells, Armand and I were almost always together in those years that I was mortal. The only time I ever managed to lose Armand was when I jumped to an area where the sun didn’t set for twenty-three or so hours a day. I can still see him standing over me after I had been locked in that filthy little cell for three days and him saying ‘Go now. Start running. I want to see what you do, I want to know what you are.’ I wrote that it was southern Italy I had lost him in, but that wasn’t completely true. I lost him because I had gone up to the far north where there were very few people and summer is the midnight sun time up there. It really shouldn’t have shocked me that I had only been in southern Italy for two nights before he found me at the Villa of Mysteries that night. Did he suddenly losing track of me for three months concern him or did he forget about me then?

Oh Lord keep me from bein'
The one the wolves pull down

Drawing me knees up to my chest, I set my chin atop them, watching the white boats winding their way from Miami Beach to Night Island and then back. I think I’d like to go back to Venice sometime, back to the Danieli. For now, I’m content here, but I’d like to go back over my old paths sometime, maybe remember who and what I used to be. What it was like to be me.

Sun, 10 Sep 2006 06:23:02 GMT

The last few nights have been indescribable. Armand has been here, and it seems that the nightmares that were following me into wakefulness have slowly drifted away or rejoined the shadows from which they came. I wake up in the evenings with Armand there or the sheets still scented with his skin. Once more, our private Villa of Mysteries resonates with his presence. His music drifts from our stereo, his computers churn away all hours of the nights, and his movies or television shows fill the screens about. I don’t think one can grasp what it’s like to be able to touch my lips to his skin or run my fingers through his hair after his absence for so long. At times, I merely stretch out on the couch with my head against his leg and sit there for hours feeling the scrape of his trousers beneath my cheek and the scent of him curling around my senses.

Things that I had forgotten about him doing have returned such as him picking clothing or adding to my wardrobe or his little nuances that could be construed as cruelty. There’s nothing quite as surprising as a hit and run attack in the elevator or the halls that ends up with me pinned to a wall and his teeth in my throat. And ends up with me weak as a kitten on the floor while he laughs at me.

Anyways, I’m going out tonight to get some things we need. I could get them on Night Island, but I enjoy Miami. Armand, if you missed this elsewhere, I’ll be a little later than usual.

Tue, 05 Sep 2006 06:51:40 GMT

I’ve been sitting here for the past few hours thinking about control. Interesting subject that. One person can have control over another such as a lover with another or a parent with a child. An inanimate object such as a drug can hold control over a person. Any alcoholic (such as myself) or addict on the street corner can tell you that much. People have control over animals, taking them from such far-flung places as Antarctica and putting them in little pens for humanity’s amusement. Expensive objects hold those of the higher money set in thrall.

Everyone raves about control, but most of the time, we willingly give it up for one reason or another. I’m not talking about kidnap victims or the like; I’m meaning those who reach for the golden ring on their own violation. I’ve often wondered what makes others give up that ever so vital need to keep a firm grasp on the factors that direct the flow of their lives. How many of them continue to hold onto those reins of power even as their hands are cut to ribbons? What drives them to do such? Is it a fear of displaying weakness or simply that they don’t know how to let go and let someone else hold onto them for awhile?

I’ve never really had that problem. It used to be back when I was alive that it was something of a matter of pride that I had to do things myself. In truth, there was no one else to fall back on if I failed. We just didn’t have the money and the like. I have to stop at times and look back on that all and ask myself why it is now that I don’t hesitate to hand those reins over to Armand. I told others back when I lost that bet to him about being an angel for twenty-four hours that it really didn’t matter that I lost. He already had me body and soul.

As I consider stepping back into that relationship, I have a voice in the back of my head that sounds like Marius telling me that this could be a very bad idea. No, it’s not the real Marius, but what my better reasoning sounds like when it’s trying to warn me of something. I’m just crazy enough for my internal voices to masquerade as others to try to get my attention.

I just hope I’m not making a mistake again.

My Dreams

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 07:27:39 GMT

I’ve been having nightmares lately, coinciding with Armand’s news of returning to Night Island. I imagine that it’s normal in that way for the subconscious to start dumping its trash in the refuse pit that is my dreaming mind. Were they ordinary dreams, they wouldn’t bother me much beyond a shiver when I awaken finally. The problem is that they’re not. Keep in mind, this is only my dream, not something the others have ever done or would do. Just phantoms of my own strange mind.

The beginning is always simple enough. I’m walking along with Louis on the sidewalk of an anonymous street somewhere in the world. There aren’t any cars going by or even any street signs that I can see. The only light comes from the full moon above, illuminating ourselves as well as the low ground fog that has crept up to about our ankles. The air is a mix of smells: rotting fish like from around Seattle after the salmon spawning run, the salty cut of the sea air of Miami Beach, the heavy one of a pig being roasted in a pit in Hawaii, and the dust from things long stored away in darkness. I always begin dreaming mid-sentence in what I’m saying to Louis, but I know that it’s somehow very important that I find out the answer if only I could remember the rest of the question. All I ever recall of what I’m asking him is the last five words.

“…with that in the end?”

He smiles at me then, a slow and easy one that is trying to comfort me. There’s a sadness in his eyes that makes me want to shake him because I feel the first cold tendrils of fear begin to creep under my skin. It’s without much surprise that I see the low fog has sneaked up to around mid-thigh.

“Daniel,” he says to me in that slow drawl, “you can’t ask me. That’s cheating. I’m just...”

I try to grasp onto him only to feel him falling apart beneath my fingers. The black of his suit bleeds away between my fingers in wisps and eddies of smoke. His skin does the same, drifting away to join with the fog. He’s simply gone the next instant and my next thought blazes across my mind like a lightening bolt.

I’ve killed Louis!

Spiraling out of the darkened hulks of houses on the opposite side of the street is a howl from a creature that had once been human. He (and I know instinctively it is a he) isn’t anywhere I can see, but that scream makes me want to clap my hands over my ears and scream as well if only to drown out that tortured sound of a person being hurt beyond sanity’s bounds.

And I know that it is Lestat making that horrible sound and that very soon, he will be coming for me.

Blindly, I start to run. The ground becomes squishy beneath my feet, sucking and pulling at my feet as if I were trying to run across a bog. My mind summons up the image of me running across a rotted corpse of some giant, sinking ankle-deep into it and pulling my foot back out with a slurping wet sound. Rot clogs my nose and I can feel the maggots squirming across my skin even as I fight in fear to escape the juggernaut behind me.

I run headlong into the main doors of Night Island, bouncing off the glass with a resounding thunk. I notice in the back of my mind that the place is empty, all the lights dimmed to barely any illumination. Pushing them open, I run for the elevator, jamming the key in and sending it upwards. For some reason, I think over and over that if I can reach Armand, then everything will be all right. The music in the elevator is an old song, the Charlie Daniels Band’s ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’.

'Cause Hell's broke loose in Georgia
And the devil deals the cards
And if you win
You get this shiny fiddle made of gold
But if you lose
The devil gets your soul.

As soon as the doors open, I’m rushing past the door to our villa that is standing wide open for some reason. I barely notice it as I run in, shouting Armand’s name. Outside a storm has broken. Lightening plays in lunatic patterns over the rain swept glass windows, all electricity out again.

The devil opened up his case
And he said, "I'll start this show"
And fire flew from his fingertips
As he rosined up his bow
And he pulled the bow across the strings
And it made an evil hiss
Then a band of demons joined in
And it sounded something like this.

That stupid song is playing even in here! I’m nearly screaming for Armand at this point until I realize that the music I’m hearing isn’t the canned elevator type, but for some reason coming from above me, a floor or two up. If madness could drip off violin strings and become notes then surely this is. There’s hysterical laughter wound with that hellish music, the further cry of insanity that’s a scream and giggling together. Instead of being in Night Island’s Villa of Mysteries, I feel in that moment as if I’ve stepped in an insane asylum with whispering walls and reaching ghosts of madness.

I know without a doubt that somewhere above me, Nicolas De Lenfent is playing his violin in the darkness.

When the devil finished Johnny said
"Well you're pretty good, old son
But sit down in that chair right there
And let me show you how its done"

Fear is hot and glassy in my throat as I start up the stairs. I don’t want to go up there, believe me in that. I can feel the anger radiating from where I’m at. The sound of my footsteps is hollow and flat, only the twisted music being shrieked from his violin strings seeming to be real. Perhaps I’m the ghost after all. When I reach the second level, I can tell he’s still above me, at the very top.

“Nicolas!” I call out, not expecting a reply and not getting one.

I start to wonder if this music is all in my head, a reflection of my own insanity made into an auditory hallucination. Grasping the cold railing in my hand, I start up the next set of stairs. These ones seem to go on forever. At times I can feel eyes on me, a breath of cold air whispering against the back of my neck. The small hairs on my body stand straight up, waiting for that second when the too strong hands of a madman descend on me or something worse. I hear the meaty thud above me before I see what it is that’s bouncing down the stairs to greet me.

A small hand lays there in the middle of the Venetian marble staircase. It seems to have come from a sixteen or seventeen year old male, the ring on his hand one of Armand’s.

I remember at this point that Armand cut off Nicolas’ hands once.

The violin above me screeches to a painful halt that sounds as if it snapped strings (catgut strings I think for some reason) as I begin to try to backpedal down the stairs. My mind has had all the horror it can stand right now, not able to deal with it. Something hard and heavy hits me from behind, letting my mind mercifully fall into blackness for awhile.

When I come to, I find myself chained down and trapped. The dawn must be close because I can feel my body wanting to slide into the death sleep. I try to make myself stay awake, at least long enough to learn where I am.

’It’s an oubliette, Daniel. It’s a place where people are put to forget about them. Madeline and Claudia died in one, put there by Armand to burn when the sun rose much as it will you within the hour. Do you see the delicious irony? his voice whispers in my mind.

I feel sick as I look upwards to the sky that is slowly starting to grow lighter. In the back of my mind I can hear the other Immortals shouting among themselves, demanding Marius tell them where I am, that surely it was an accident that I slaughtered Armand and left his ashes smeared across a wall.

“I didn’t do that,” I rasp out, eyes starting to close.

’No, you didn't,’ that mad, delighted voice whispers back in my mind. ‘I drained him to where he’s unconscious, seeming dead. Imagine his utter grief when he rises tonight and finds that his Padrone has killed his only fledgling, burnt him to a cinder.’

It’s with that laughter ringing in my ears that I wake up.

Fire on the mountain, run boys run
The devil's in the house of the rising sun

Thu, 31 Aug 2006 03:46:55 GMT

It wasn’t unusual for Armand to let me loose in a casino with about ten rolls of nickels, especially if he had something he needed to attend to. With Ernesto coming, I’d been going crazy the other night making sure that Night Island was well fortified against the storm as well as the surge that was sure to follow. In the end, it wasn’t near what I had feared. The surge itself only topped about two and half feet on Night Island, and the winds weren’t blowing hard enough to break any of the glass. People sometimes forget that because we do reside here just off the shore of Miami that all our window glass as well as those large panes making up the front of the main building tends to be the sort that can withstand hurricane force winds. Ernesto only reached about thirty-five miles an hour when it go to my area. That hardly caused a shiver. And so, upon waking with the setting sun and not finding Night Island in shambles, we left the workers to take down all the wood that had so hastily been erected. Long story short, he ended up taking me over to the mainland for a little casino funtime while he probably went to find some internet café that had power. We’d lost ours over at Night Island, and although we have generators, he had been complaining about his internet connection not being stable enough. I think he just wanted some time to be out. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.

Is it strange that I might question love when it's such a strange feeling to me?
I who watch the bloodshed in the night might be weak for someone else's life?
Far away, in the night, listening to the wind
There is no reason why I have to be

Plunk goes the nickel, spin goes the wheels. Light flash and all sorts of interesting beeps and whirling sounds come from the machine. Oh, but I love slot machines. Cherry, orange, cherry, BAR. Damn. Popping in another one, I watched spellbound as the process repeated itself. And again. The machine beeped to life and a slew of shiny nickels banged down into the change tray. Yay! I’m so easy to please that it’s depressing at times.

"Many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide,” quoted a voice behind me.

Tilting my head back even as I pulled that tempting handle again, I found Crowley standing behind me.

“Crowley, an Angel who did not so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards.”

I grinned. Right before I remembered that Armand was prowling around somewhere.

There in the light, memories are unbearable
Faces surround and voices all overwhelm
Here in the night, there is only the here and now
Angel of Darkness, I, soon comes the light of day

Louis’ words about his lost mortal friend rang through my mind as I stared upside down at Crowley. Lestat and Armand have a lot more in common than anyone thinks, and while I think the gist of the thing with Louis’ friend was that Lestat killed her to be a jerk, Armand might very well kill Crowley just because he was there. Shit. Gathering up all my shiny coins, I dumped them through my pockets. I was going to rattle like castanets for the rest of the night. Sliding off my stool, I threw an arm around him and started guiding him out of the casino.

“How do you find me?” I asked. “You put one of those eartags on me, didn’t you?” My voice might have been full of laughter, but I was keeping an eye out for auburn Imps.

Crowley sighed heavily and nodded. “You caught me, man. I waited until you weren’t looking and put one under your skin like they do to their pets.”

Growling at him, I got us out of the casino and into the street. I felt safer there for some reason although it was probably more dangerous. I can move fast, don’t doubt that, but Armand can move faster, and he could snatch Crowley up and have him into an alley before I’d be able to blink. I had to get my happy thoughts back.

Why should someone turn and call me friend when my blade cries out for mortal blood?
I whose hands are stained with human sin might get mercy from his own victim?
Far away, in the night, looking up to the stars
There is no reason why I have to be

“Hey, I’ve been wondering something, Az.”
“What’s that?”
“You said vampires don’t have sex, right?”
“Yeah…” I could sense a trap coming somewhere in his words.
“But they can move things with their minds?”
“Uhh… some can, yeah. Leo can, and I think Markie can.” All right, all right, so I’d never bothered to learn where everyone was in power, okay?
“So if they can do that, why don’t they just… make everything stiffen up so to speak and then do the deed?”

Here in the night, I am no one
Faceless and pastless, wandering towards my fate
Deep blue and gold, in the moonlight I turn to flee
Smiling, I journey on, until the break of dawn

I had to sit down on the kerb with the rainwater splashing up to my ankles in the gutter because I was laughing so hard. Oh, but I could see it in the mind’s eye with Lestat and Louis. Thank the gods it was pouring rain. Crowley stood there over me with his weird bright white-blue contact covered eyes watching me with a fair amount of his own amusement from under his umbrella.

“Well, could they?” he asked when it looked like I was regaining some form of control.

“I don’t know, Crowley. I really don’t. I don’t even know if any of us have considered something like that.”

Crowley scratched his head thoughtfully, riots of black curls falling over his wet face. “Did your butthole seal itself shut? You could bottom, couldn’t you?”

That set me off again. I was holding my stomache in the end because it hurt so badly. I had to press the heels of my hands against my mouth to keep from shrieking laughter. If I had been mortal, I probably would have thrown up from laughing so hard. I could see myself proposing this idea to the coven just to see their looks. Crowley was such a bad influence on me at times. “All right, let me try to explain this, Crowley. We don’t have sex. At all. Ever. We just don’t. It’s a pale shadow compared to … what we do.”

“Hmph. I bet that’s why your Aaron is so twisted up. He hasn’t been laid for two hundred years.”

I coughed laughter again. “Five hundred.”

“Even worse. What’s Margie like? You said she was pretty hot.”

I had to stop and try to remember who I had said ‘Margie’ was. I’m not the best liar, so I try to keep it simple. ‘Margie’ had to be Mona or Merrick. I went for the latter. “Me, I’ve never seen her, but I heard she’s enough to stop a man’s heart if he looks at her wrong. Some voodoo witch or the like. Damned if I know.”

“Huh. You say Margie, and I think some chick in a hot pink mumu that’s about three hundred pounds and wearing her hair in curlers with the matching fluffy house slippers,” Crowley replied, shrugging his shoulders.

That brought on another (thankfully) spell of laughter. Merrick would probably have been frothing to hear herself described like that. I didn’t know her, but I knew women. Few would like being thought of like that. “What about Markie? And Barbie?”

Crowley grinned, exposing a mouthful of teeth that most male models would have given their souls for. He had a good dental plan at least. “I see Markie as one of those sun-kissed surfer boys, all long hair and a shark’s tooth around his neck. Barbie has to be one of those snotty country club wenches with her little tennis skirt and diamonds.”

I manfully held back the laughter that time.

Far away, in the night, listening to the wind
There is no reason why I have to be

“I gotta hear what you think of Leo, Lee, and Dave.”

“You ever see the Newhart show, Az?”

“I think I did.”

“There was guy who would always walk in, dressed in flannel with a tobboggin hat on and would say ‘I’m Larry. This is my brother Darrell, and this is my other brother Darrell.’ I think that whenever you start on that group.”

The laughter broke free that time. I knew the character he was talking about as well as the two dimwits that always followed him. I had to wipe the bloodtears away before anyone saw them. I could only imagine Lestat’s shock if he were ever compared to Larry or poor David’s at being one of the Darrell brothers. Louis probably wouldn’t get it.

There in the light, memories are unbearable
Faces surround and voices all overwhelm
Here in the night, there is only the here and now
Angel of Darkness, I, soon comes the light of day

“What about Aaron?” I asked.

Crowley spat to the side, expressing his contempt right there. “He makes me think of one of those big biker guys that have their girlfriends call them ‘Daddy’ and breaks their nose or fingers when she doesn’t get their beer fast enough.”

That killed my amusement. I needed another subject. “Nice lenses. Bit tame for you.”

“These? Would you believe they’re called the ‘Interview with the Vampire’ lenses? This particular pair is the Lestat ones.”

Astonished is such a poor word to describe my state. “Pardon?”

“I got them from visiondirect.com. They’re listed as the Lestat ones under Halloween ideas. One hundred and fifty dollars a pair. I have the Louis ones too. Chicks love them.”

They weren’t a bad look on him really. Lestat’s eyes weren’t that exact shade though. The lenses made Crowley’s eyes look white-blue with a dark ring around the very edge of the iris where it met the whites. Lestat’s eyes were grey, but like he said in the book, they tend to absorb other colours around them such as blues and purples. When I had seen them, they were a bluish shade, like a clear lake reflecting a summer’s sky. Ah well, ignorance is bliss and all that.

“Are the Louis ones that bright?” I asked.

“Even brighter,” he replied smugly. “Freaks guys out, but the chicks love ‘em.”

Here in the night, I am no one to everyone
Faceless and pastless, wandering towards my fate
Deep blue and gold, in the moonlight I turn to flee
Smiling, I journey on, until the break of dawn

Crowley broke the silence I had been willing to let spin out between us until I thought of a good reason to head back into the casino.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who ‘he’ was. “Somewhere, yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“I have to go, Crowley. You know the routine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Give me a call sometime when you shake him, okay? We haven’t been able to have a good sit-down talk since I got back in the States.”

“Will do. You want to know something funny?” I asked. It really was hilarious too.

“What?” He didn’t look to be in much of a mood to laugh.

“Aaron calls me ‘tesoro’ all the time.”

One could almost see the moment the connection was made before he burst into laughter. “You’re kidding me. Really? He calls you that? Does he… uhh… get the joke?”

I shook my head quickly. One didn’t laugh at Armand, especially when he was being affectionate. “Nah, he doesn’t.”

“Oh man, that’s great. Tesoro.”

We parted laughing, him down the street and me back into the casino. Reclaiming my stool, I began the process of feeding in coins again, utterly taken with the glittering lights on the machine and the charming sounds it made. ‘Tesoro’ might very well mean ‘treasure’ in Italian, but up north past the Yukon Territory and into Alaska, it was also the name of some of the cruddier gas stations. They were usually the sort of places we used to call stop-and-robs when I was younger. Or alive.

While I fed more coins in, I let my mind slide back over something I had heard as Crowley was walking away. His cellphone had rang, he quickly lifting it to his ear. Walking away, I could still hear what he was saying.

“Run it through NCIC and see what…”

He was lost in the crowd after that, his voice one among all the others.

Sat, 26 Aug 2006 08:35:26 GMT

“Hello?”
“Crowley! How the hell are you?”
“Oh shit, Az? Where are you?”
“Night Island still. I’m getting ready to leave.”
“Where are you going?”
“South Beach. Aaron wants to go up to there by motorbike.”

I'm not a perfect person
There's many things I wish I didn't do
But I continue learning
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

“So things went well, I take it?”
“That they did.”
“Does this mean I have to stay away from Night Island?”
“I don’t know, Crowley. He can be a little odd about what he sees as distractions.”
“Is that what I am?”
“Crowley… that’s not fair, man.”
“Aaron doesn’t sound all that fucking fair to me. Wasn’t he the same arse that abandoned you?”

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

“I don’t want to get into that.”
“Aziraphale, you’re my friend, right?”
“Yes…”
“Then I’m telling you this as a friend: Aaron makes my Freaky-O-Meter go soaring off the scale.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“Right. What is his deal, Az? Do vampires do drugs or what?”
“I told you that we can’t drink, do drugs, or anything else. Anything that is moved by the blood is useless.”
“No, I’m talking fucking weird. Does he beat you or something too?”
“No, Crowley, he doesn’t. Happy?”

I'm sorry that I hurt you
It's something I must live with everyday
And all the pain I put you through
I wish that I could take it all away
And be the one who catches all your tears
That’s why I need you to hear

“Then what is it? What about him is that attractive?”
“I love him.”
“Right. Tell me another one. What’s the worst thing he’s made you do?”
“What are we? Fifteen? Trying to compare stories?”
“No, damn it. I’m your friend, and I think this Aaron is not only fucked in the head, but dangerous to boot. You don’t want to tell me because it’s bad, isn’t it?”
“The worst thing?”
“The worst thing.”

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

“All right. When I was mortal, Aaron would ask me to sleep with anyone he could pay to let him sit at the bedside and watch while we did it.”
“You shit me.”
“No, that’s the truth.”
“Az… man… he’s wrong. There’s something intrinsically fucked about his psyche.”
“Probably because he’s over a couple hundred years old. By that time, things like morals and social niceties are forgotten. You have to think of his thought processes and how they’ve changed over times. Imagine if you were born back when he was and lived the life that he had. Would you be the same way that you would be if you were born in the twenty-first century?”
“Is that’s what’s going to happen to you in time?”

I'm not a perfect person
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know

“Crowley, does it matter?”
“It matters to me, man. You’re my friend.”
“We are the sum of our experiences, right?”
“We’re the sum of the decisions we make. What the fuck, man? Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you going back to a man who abandoned you when things got hard? A man who let other people fuck you right in front of him? A demented freak that uses you? Do you like that? What is it?”

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you

“I love him, Crowley. You don’t understand.”
“I do understand. You two have split how many times?”
“It’ll work this time. It will. We understand each other now.”
“No, you two are going in the same damned pattern. It’ll be all roses and joy for a month or three, and then you’ll be back to trying to cut each other’s throats. What’s going to happen to you, Az? What happens if he kills you or something.”
“…”

I've found a reason to show
A side of me you didn't know
A reason for all that I do
And the reason is you

“Well?”
“Then he does.”
“Damn it.”
“Look, Crowley, I’ve got to go. He’s calling.”
“Yeah, yeah… go get buried in him and end up dying. What are you going to do if he leaves again?”
“I don’t want to think about that.”
“Fuck…”
“Good-bye Crowley.”
“Bye Az.”

Tue, 22 Aug 2006 07:43:06 GMT

So, Armand should be here shortly if he's not already wandering around Night Island waiting to poke his head out unexpectedly. I have 'The Black Requiem' moored out at the far dock. Was there anything I forgot? Bianca, I need those paintings ASAP! Name your price. I'll meet it no matter what. If I don't have those, Armand is going to kill me for paper mache-ing his old ones! ~~Tell me that isn't Crowley sitting down there at the food court~~

Sun, 20 Aug 2006 10:54:45 GMT

Don't worry, my darling, I am a rich man. I could buy this whole store full of books and make it a present to you. I am lord and master of my own island, I am the Devil's minion and he grants my every wish. Want to come take my arm?

---------------

Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison

It had been raining all week here in Miami. After putting up with construction workers last night, I had no desire to do so tonight. I wanted to be out and free, even if I was getting soaked in the process. I had been watching the distant lights of Miami all night from the living room as the painters and carpeting people moved around the villa doing what they needed to. Even for them I had to enforce the rules as easy as it would have been to toss that aside and let them work through the day to makes sure everything was repaired before Monday night. At five am, everyone leaves the island. Everyone alive that is. The automated security systems get switched on, and the security of my home sits with a computer that takes up the entire floor beneath the stores and all of Night Island. It’s all the best that Armand’s money can buy. Damn good thing that the bills get sent straight to an accountant now. If seeing a million dollar charge on the Visa sent him into what passes as a heart attack for we Immortals, imagine what he’d feel at what the security system set him back.

James Bond ain’t got nothin’ on Night Island.

Je ne dors plus
(The time has come)
Je te desire
(The time has come)
Prends moi
Je suis a toi
Mea culpa

Lightening drew its jagged lines across the black sky as I revved the bike’s motor as soon as we touched the opposite shore. As soon as the last passenger was off, I drove off and into the night for what I had thought would be a long ride.

How wrong I was.

I was pushing my motorcycle back onto the foot ferry later, able to hear the booming beat of music from the nightclubs across the water already. There’s a parking space at the front of each of the four Night Island ferries that consists of four lines forming a thin rectangle with the word ‘Molloy’ painted in it. One of the benefits of being the one who owns things is that I rate my own parking spot on a boat where no one else can bring so much as a foot powered scooter. I hadn’t planned on reboarding the ferry as quick as what I had, a scant two hours after I had left. Usually, when I go out on my bike, I’m not back until well after four am. Maybe Armand’s cutting it close with being someplace safe before the sun rose rubbed off on me after all.

“I can’t believe we’re really going there,” the man voice whispered to me even as his hand touched on the small of my back. I was going to have to dispose of these clothes later. I could see in my mind’s eye Armand examining them and somehow knowing in that way of his. The whole ride down the costal highway from where I’d picked him up, the man had been pressed tight against my back, arms laced around my waist hard enough to have choked off my breath had I needed it. That was probably because of how I drive. I never said I was the safest person out there. He’d been at my favourite scenic pull-off, the one that faced the water and gave a spectacular view of my home off in the distance. A few minutes of conversation brought his admission of always wanting to see the place. Who was I to refuse a simple desire like that?

“That’s it. Night Island,” I replied, letting his hand rest there for now.

“It’s amazing.”

“That it is.”

Je veux aller au bout de me fantasmes
Je sais que c'est interdit
Je suis folle.
Je m'abandonne
Mea culpa

Leaving my motorbike on the ferry, we headed up the stairs with the crowd. The old sensation of elation crept in, the swirl of humanity that pressed on all sides as well as the young man that chattered at my side. Perhaps I had been alone for too long, living in the shades of the villa while life moved on the other side of it. I sometimes forget the grandeur of Night Island, but to see it through someone else’s eyes or at least their reactions told me that it hadn’t lost any of its glitter. I just hadn’t noticed it for awhile. Seamless glass doors opened to welcome us into the world of the Night Island. All around us ponds, streams, waterfalls glittered amid banks of moist, fragile blooms. Five stories of shops, cinemas, and nightclubs rose above us. A casino was in the very back, jets of flame shooting out of dragon heads on that dock. I still think it was Armand’s love of Louis that prompted him to have those installed. After all, Night Island was Armand’s creation. He had designed every single level, chosen the fabrics, picked out the landscapes, and everything else. I still remember him giving pictures he’d drawn to the architects and arguing over each little point until he had his way.

“Are those flowers real? A glass elevator?”

I grinned despite myself, eyes tracing the line of the elevator that soared upwards. It had been a marvel of engineering to me when I first saw it. To look at it, the entire structure seems as if one stone could break it all, sending sheets of glass shattering to the floor. Good thing it’s much more durable than meets the eye. For now I was content to be led along, his hand on my forearm pushing me around from one shop to another. I doubted he had any money at all and certainly not enough to get anything from the high-end stores here, but I was content to be the tour guide and company. No one on the island itself knows that I own it, and I prefer it that way. If they had, then I’d have to live up to some view they have of who I should be. There’s only a lawyer in Miami and whoever Armand’s personal staff is that are aware I own Night Island. To everyone else, I’m just another face in the crowd, another scrounger who occasionally gets up the cash to pay for the ferry ride over.

Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison

“It’s you.”

Dragged out of my daze, I stared dumbly at what he was pointing at. On an easel in one of the first floor shops was indeed a portrait of me. In it, I was staring at something off to the side, a hand raised to shield my eyes. The painter had been clever in making it appear day in the work of art, lengthening shadows and the like when I knew damned well that whatever sketch or picture the artist had used to paint this had to been done at night. My clothing in it was as tatty as what I wore now, nothing more than denim on its last legs and rundown sneakers. Behind me, waves were breaking on that rocky outcropping on the far side of the island that I like to sit on and watch the moon. I made a mental note to come back here later and find out who had painted it. Unlike the others, I don’t like pictures of me floating around. With my bad luck, the Talamasca would end up with it in their basement. Chances were that the painter had pictures or sketches that he or she had worked from, and I wanted them. Somehow, I’d have to get them before Monday night.

Right now, I had my guest to worry about. Giving a careless shrug, I began sorting through my pocket for my keys. “Tourists pay money for anything, even a bum like me on the beach. Want to go see something interesting?” I asked, jingling my keys as I finally wrestled them from the pocket determined to keep them.

His eyes lit up like a kid’s at Christmas. “Yeah! What is it?”

Moving through the crowds, I found myself a little irritated at his grip on my upper arm. It was clenching, proprietary. Were I mortal, I’d be sporting a few bruises there tomorrow. After I showed him the upstairs, I’d send him out the doors and back to Miami. Despite the restlessness I’d felt earlier, all I wanted was to be alone now. Time was running short to when Armand would arrive. Along the way, we passed the workmen who were renovating the villa. I gave them a wave and kept going, ignoring the questions of my companion. When we reached the elevator with no buttons on the outside, I slid the key in and turned it to the right.

Je suis la et ailleurs
Je n'ai plus rien
Je deviens folle
Je m'abandonne
Mea culpa

“What the hell?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tried to reassure him. “I want to show you the rest, the part that most never see.” I had to catch myself there, nearly saying the part that ‘mortals’ never see. In truth, he wasn’t the first precisely. I had been the first. Armand had given me night Island when I was still alive. Stepping into the elevator, I watched him lounge against the mirrored back wall. I’d have to make sure that was scrubbed well before Armand got here. For all I knew, he might be able to smell another man.

I put my back to him as I fitted the key in again, shutting the door and twisting it to the right again. With a motion as smooth as a mother’s lifting arms, the elevator began to rise. Had I turned it to the left, we would have gone down into territory that no mortal had ever ventured into. Down there lay the bedrooms and crypts of the Immortals that had used Night Island for awhile after the events of ‘Queen of the Damned’. I had just never had the heart to clean out all those spaces. For all I knew, all the Immortals still had their copies of the key I used and could drop in any night they pleased. So far, none had. With the tweak I’d given Santiago’s tail tonight, I might need to change that.

“I’ll let you take a quick…” The words died in my throat as I heard a low click and felt a cold circle of metal pressing tightly against the back of my head.

“I already know what’s up there, Mr Molloy. Let’s hope for your sake that Russian kid Morty told me about isn’t up there. I’d hate to have to shoot him too. Now, be a good boy and put your hands up.”

e ne dors plus
Je te desire
Prends moi
Je suis a toi

Morty would be my lawyer in Miami, the only other person in the state who knew who I was and that I owned Night Island. That bastard. Tomorrow night, I would have to take care of him. For now, I was faced with a small problem. While guns didn’t particularly scare me, I didn’t know if I could survive taking a direct bullet in the back of the head and continue on my happy path of unlife. Armand, Marius, Lestat, Khayman… and of them probably could, but could I? In the close quarters of the elevator, I didn’t doubt that he’d miss even with my hellish speed. Raising my hands in the air, I decided against it. It would be difficult to explain a bullethole in the side of the elevator to Armand when he got here tomorrow, and quite frankly, I had no desire for a stray slug to smash some part of the machinery and send us plunging down.

“He’s not up there,” I answered, voice tight with more annoyance than anger. Oh well. At least I didn’t have to go out for dinner tonight, right?

“Damn good thing,” my companion said smugly. “I’d put a bullet in that little bastard too. Now when these doors open, you’re going to walk slowly towards the next set of locks. If you twitch the wrong way, I paint the wall with your brains. Got it?”

Rolling my eyes, I drew my keys out of the elevator’s lock when we stopped. I could play his game for the time being. At least until I had enough space to ensure that he couldn’t get a headshot off. Wouldn’t that be a shock for Armand to find Monday night? I was still human enough that the push of a gun barrel against the back of my head was enough to get me moving when the doors slid open. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if we had stepped through the main entrance of the Villa of Mysteries. Even the stone tiling under our feet had been designed to look authentic. To be fair, Armand had designed this entire scheme first; I’d just destroyed it and had to reconstruct it all. Pressing my hand to the keypad along the door, I lifted my head enough for the scanner to read my eye as well. Security was one of my pet projects, especially after I’d taken the time to tease Santiago. Anyone could go down to the crypts, but the system was programmed to only let myself, Armand, and Khayman in. Not that much could keep Khayman out if he wanted in. When the door clicked open, that hard push of metal came to the back of my head again.

“Open it,” he said. “Slowly. If anyone is in there, you’d better tell them to come out.”

Nervousness made his voice clipped, something I could smell on the air as well as hear. He was frightened. Good.

Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison

Locks clicked loudly as they systematically opened one by one in the steel door. I didn’t have to see it to know that the laser motion system was shutting down inside. I’m a bit paranoid, I suppose. The stone tile changed to white carpeting here, leading into the villa itself through the short hallway. White walls surrounded us, broken only by the murals from the Villa of Mysteries that had been painstakingly reproduced. Letting him shove and prod me into Armand’s study, we stood there in silence for a few minutes. I could only imagine the look of utter shock on his face.

“What the fuck?! Where are all the paintings? The sculptures? Where the hell is everything?” he half-screamed at me.

It was amusing in a way. He’d come all this way to rob me only to discover that during these renovations, everything valuable had been moved down into the crypts or taken back to the mainland to be held safely in vaults at the bank Armand used. Dropcloths littered the newly done floor, but that was it. Plain white walls surrounded up, matching the pristine carpet, but all of Armand’s incredibly valuable paintings, there was only the hangers embedded in the wall. The computers and other equipment weren’t due to arrive until tomorrow night. The only thing that wasn’t useless was a wall safe set into the far wall.

“Before you ask, I can’t open it. I don’t know the combination,” I said, that scent and sound of him growing agitated becoming stronger. “Everything else is back on the mainland. While we’re redoing the place, I didn’t want anything damaged. Insurance claims and all that.”

Of course he knew all that already. Morty had filled out the insurance papers on everything at Night Island. That gun jabbed me again, digging into the curve of my skull. Evidentially, this wasn’t as funny to him as it was to me.

“Take me downstairs. He said there were vaults or something down there.”

Now would I ever refuse a guest?

Je suis la et ailleurs
Je veux tout
Quand tu veux
Comme tu veux
Mea culpa

An hour later found me welcoming the workmen back into the villa when they finished their lunch break. I walked out alone, rubbing the back of my head. I still had to go get my motorbike from the ferry and put it back into the garage. Of course, no one noticed my lack of companion. Those that might have were paid too well to wonder much. After making sure that ‘The Black Requiem’ was well moored to the far private dock, I headed back up to the villa. Across the water, the lights of Miami twinkled. The storms had cleared for the time being, but chances were that they would roll back in tomorrow while I was asleep.

My thoughts settled back on Armand as they tended to do since I had gotten his message. I wondered what he’d think of finding a gun down there in his old coffin. Then again, he may never use it since I would set the bed up down there where there was no danger of sunlight reaching in tomorrow night.

What had I been looking for tonight? Even I knew better than to pick up hitchhikers or the like. Had I been trying to tell myself that I wouldn’t fall back into the obsessive downwards spiral pattern that I had before? Attempting to prove that Armand still wasn’t the end all, be all of my world? I felt like I was standing there at the edge of a cliff again, trying to make myself take that step over the edge even if it might kill me. After all my begging for him to come back, to come home, now that he was, I found myself frightened out of my wits.

Kyrie eleison

I had to take that step.

Sat, 19 Aug 2006 04:24:57 GMT

I was asked to create some icons for someone who doesn't have any. See, pretty shiny things make life worth living, and no icons=no fun. So here are a few that could be used as bases if they want to add words. Feel free to take, but load them to your own server or whatever since I'll probably delete them later. Also, be aware that there are 34 all together, so if you're on a slow connection, it's going to take a bit.

Last Warning: What appeals to me may not to you. None of these are gory, showing nude parts, or what have you, but just keep it in mind that what visually appeals to me may not to you before you look.

Thu, 17 Aug 2006 20:37:39 GMT

List of Repairs I Need to Get Done Before the Immortal Invasion of 2006:

1 - Repaint Armand's study. I don't think he'd be all that happy to find out that I threw black paint all over his walls. Not to mention purple, red, and orange. To be fair, those were handprints, not just cans.
2 - Have the repairmen rip out the carpet in there and replace it. White carpet + sloshes of black paint = big mess.
3 - Replace the white carpet in the hallway outside Armand's study. I need to be more careful where I walk when I'm dripping paint. Why did all of Armand's rooms have to be carpeted in white?
4 - Get a new flat screen plasma television to replace the one that I fingerpainted (in Armand's study). How was I supposed to know that one can't wash paint off a plasma television?
5 - Replace pretty much all the carpeting. Didn't realize I had wandered down that way.
6 - Get the marble floors and tiling in the kitchen cleaned. I don't really want to imagine what some of that gunk is.
7 - Somehow get that huge chunk of concrete that ended up crushing Armand's coffin off it and replace the damned thing. Drawing a total blank how that happened. Earthquake maybe?
8 - Get some replacement computers since I dropped his other ones off the balcony. Yeah, like you all have never overreacted to a situation. They made a cool smash when they hit.
9 - Rent a cabin cruiser. I wonder if Armand will let me try to steer it. Can't be too hard, right? He said it was like driving a car. Heh.
10 - ~~Fix the bed~~Buy a new bed. - At least I didn't do a Louis and burn it. Need to remember to make it a queen size four poster.
11 - Replace the parquet flooring in my room. - I don't know what I was thinking there. I'm not a good woodcarver.
12 - Find out if there are any Venetian paintings I can get ahold of quickly. Making paper mache out of Armand's foreign newspapers and old letters to cover the original ones with probably wasn't one of my better ideas.
13 - Upgrade the security system. And Celeste says I never think about her.

Wed, 16 Aug 2006 23:30:26 GMT

Advocating Experiencer

about you
You are an Experiencer
Your inquisitive nature, imagination, and hands-on practicality make you an EXPERIENCER.
Although you have an active imagination, you also concern yourself with the functional elements of things.
You are willing to experiment to find things that work the most efficiently.
Getting stuck in certain habits is boring to you—you'd rather find new experiences.
Accordingly, experiences are more important to you than objects—you'd rather spend your money and energy on events and adventures than on material things.
You like to contemplate a lot of options before making a decision, and you're willing and able to consider a lot of different angles to problems.
You're open to suggestions, and often rely on others to assess the merit of those suggestions.
You have an ability to see the big picture—not just how things are, but how they could be—in a variety of situations.
You're not one to force your positions on a group, and you tend to be fair in evaluating different options.
You're not afraid to let your emotions guide you, and you're generally considerate of others' feelings as well.
You tend to do things on the spur of the moment, not sticking to a set schedule.
You do your own thing when it comes to clothing, guided more by practical concerns than by other people's notions of style.
You tend to believe that things happen for a reason, and that not everything is under our control.

If you want to be different:
Have faith that your imagination and practicality will complement each other, and lead to good decisions on your part.
Take the initiative in seeking things out—don't wait for them to come to you.

how you relate to others
You are Advocating
Being social, empathic, and understanding makes you ADVOCATING.
Some people find being around others exhausting—but not you! You are energized by spending time with friends, and you are good at meeting new people.
One of the reasons you enjoy conversation as much as you do is that you often learn about yourself while talking things out with a friend; you realize things about your own beliefs while discussing them with others.
You have insight into what others are thinking and feeling. This ability allows you to be happy for others, and to commiserate when something has gone wrong for them.
You are highly compassionate, and being conscious of how things affect those close to you leaves you cautious about trusting others too hastily.
Despite these reservations, you are open-minded when it comes to your worldview; you don't look to impose your ways on others.
Your sensitivity towards others' plights contributes to an understanding—both intellectual and emotional—of many different perspectives.
As someone who understands the complexities of the world around you, you are reluctant to pass judgments.
You're not one to force your positions on a group, and you tend to be fair in evaluating different options.
You're not afraid to let your emotions guide you, and you're generally considerate of others' feelings as well.
You tend to do things on the spur of the moment, not sticking to a set schedule.
You do your own thing when it comes to clothing, guided more by practical concerns than by other people's notions of style.
You tend to believe that things happen for a reason, and that not everything is under our control.

If you want to be different:
While it's important to think about others, don't forget to take some time for yourself, and occassionally to put yourself first.
Take some time to spend with a few close friends; although it's difficult to find people to trust, it's worth the effort.
When you have great ideas, it can be hard to relinquish control, but it can also feel good to take the pressure off and enjoy someone else leading the way.

Confidence Low 2 (How confident you are about expressing your opinions and accomplishing things.)
Openness High 76 (Your degree of openness to new experiences.)
Extroversion High 64 (How outgoing you are. High means you are extroverted. Low means you are introverted.)
Empathy High 98 (How much you understand (and experience) the emotions and thoughts of others.)
Trust in others Low 12 (The general faith you have in other people; how much you think people are good at heart.)
Agency Low 6 (How much you believe you determine your own outcomes. High means you believe that you have control over your life. Low means you believe that other factors—such as chance, fate, and powerful others—influence your life.)
Masculinity Low 26 (The degree of your stereotypically-male traits.)
Femininity High 64 (The degree of your stereotypically-female traits.)
Spontaneity High 94 (How comfortable you are with making plans at the last minute.)
Attention to style Low 26 (How aware you are of fashion trends. How much effort you put in to your own style.)
Authoritarianism Low 14 (Your adherence to the social order and how much you favor obedience.)
Earthy/Imaginative - Imaginative (Your prefererence for concrete or abstract things. Low means you prefer abstract, theoretical things.)
Aesthetic/Functional - Functional (Your prefererence for beauty or form. Low means you care more about how something works. )

My Personal Dna Report

----------

Anyways, I have a new game for everyone.

1) Pull up your Winamp, iPod, or whatever else it is that you store music on.
2) Take the first twenty, fifty, hundred, or whatever songs and divide them up according to your friends such as who reminds you of which song and so on.
3) Now, list the friend with the song(s) beneath their name as well as one line from that song that sums that person up to you.

Yes, can we tell I was bored tonight? Here's mine in no particular order. For me, this was just a few of mine. If I listed everyone and all my music, this would be a list that would take forever. Please keep in mind that these are my impressions and may not reflect that person at all except in my own little mind. Because I pick out a song for so-and-so that deals with love doesn't necessarily mean I love them, merely that love defines them in some way because of how they love someone else, themselves, or whatever. Same holds true for why some have a lot and some have only a few. It's just what I had on my iPod at this moment.

And yes, I know my music sucks. I don't need you to tell me that.

Lestat
"Mony Mony" - Billy Idol - Hey she give me love and I feel all right now
"Holding Out for a Hero" - Frou Frou - Racing on the thunder end rising with the heat (Okay, let me explain this one. Everytime I hear this song, I can just see Lestat preening like a peacock and thinking he's said hero.)
"Pour Some Sugar On Me" - Def Leppard - (just pick any lyric from this one.)
"All Star" Smash Mouth - Didn't make sense not to live for fun
"Speak" - Queensryche - I'm the new messiah, Death Angel with a gun. Dangerous in my silence, Deadly to my cause
"With or Without You" - U2 - See the stone set in your eyes
"Faith of the Heart" - Watson Russell - It’s been a long road - Getting from there to here.

Louis
"What it Takes" - Aerosmith - Cause you had me in deep with the devil in your eyes
"Love Song for a Vampire" - Anne Lennox - Cruel winter chilled the bud and stole my flower too soon
"Total Eclipse of the Heart" - Bonnie Tyler - Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time
"Going Away to College" - Blink-182 - so here's your valentine, bouquet of clumsy words, a simple melody... this world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful...
"Believe" - Elton John - Without love I wouldn't believe in anything that lives and breathes
"London" - Queensryche - Oh there's some things in life I could never face, the worst is being alone. Sometimes I wish I could have taken your place, my love. You know I don't want to live forever

Celeste
"Are You That Somebody" - Aaliyah - Sometimes I’m goody-goody, right now I’m naughty-naughty
"Good Riddance" - Green Day - It's something unpredictable but in the end it's right
"Centerfold" - J. Geils Band - I was shakin' in my shoes whenever she flashed those baby-blues (This is another one I have to explain, especially before Santiago rearranges me. Celeste greatly resembles a girl that had me in thrall through most of my high school time.)
"Gold Digger" - Kanye West - Now I ain't sayin' she a gold digger

Nicolas
"Thunderstruck" -AC/DC - I was caught in the middle of a railroad track, and I knew there was no turning back
"Out of My Head" - Fastball - Sometimes I feel like I am drunk behind the wheel, the wheel of possibilities however it may roll
"Eyes of a Stranger" - Queensryche - Is this all that's left of my life before me, straight jacket memories, sedative highs? No happy ending like they've always promised... There's got to be something left for me
"Signs Say So" - Geoff Tate - Tried my best to the scratch the surface, got bloody broken fingernails.

Armand
"Libera Me" - Elliot Goldenthal (score) - Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna in die illa tremenda
"Hallelujah" - Rufus Wainwright - The baffled king composing Hallelujah
"Woke Up This Morning" - Leonard Cohen - You're one in a million, you've got to burn to shine, but you were born under a bad sign with the blue moon in your eyes
"Two Princes" - Spin Doctors - One has diamonds in his pockets. This one, said he wants to buy you lockets

Daniel (Me!)
"I'm Not the One" - The Cars - Round and round... never touchin' down
"When I'm Gone" - M.S.G. - My room is full of the night before
"Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" - Elton John - There's plenty like me to be found
"Someone Saved My Life Tonight" - Elton John - I never realised the passing hours of evening showers... A slip noose hanging in my darkest dreams
"One Week" - Barenaked Ladies - I’m the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral
"The Way" - Fastball - You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere
"Every Morning" - Sugar Ray - Every morning there's a halo hanging from the corner of my girlfriend's four post bed
"The Mission" - Queensryche - I look around my room is filled with candles, each one a story but they end the same
"I Don't Believe in Love" - Queensryche - She said she'd meet me on the other side, but I knew right then, I'd never find her
"Beverly Hills" - Wheezer - No I don't - I'm just a no-class, beat down fool, and I will always be that way

Santiago
"Bad Reputation" Half-Cocked - And I don't give a damn about my reputation
"Hungry Like the Wolf" - Duran Duran - I'm on the hunt I'm after you
"Get Low" - Little John - (Uhh... really can't put any of the lyrics up, but this one is Santiago in my head for some reason)

David
"Moonlight Sonata" - Beethoven
"Ordinary World" - Duran Duran - Papers in the roadside tell of suffering and greed...Here today, forgot tomorrow
"Come Down in Time" - Sting - (I picked this song for David because it has a blues/jazz feel to it instead of any particular lyric. It just feels like him to me)

Santino
"Better Days" - Citizen King - I’m bent like glass, second hand like glory
"Higher" - Creed - Can you take me higher to the place where blind men see
"Anybody Listening?" - Queensryche - Long ago there was a dream, had to make a choice or two. Leaving all I loved behind, for what nobody knew.

Khayman
"I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing" - Aerosmith - I could stay lost in this moment forever
"Take My Breath Away" - Berlin - Through the hourglass I saw you, in time you slipped away
"Electric Requiem" - Queensryche - Even in death you still look sad. Don't leave me here.
"Sanctuary" - Utada Hikaru - You show me how to see, that nothing is whole and nothing is broken...

Quinn
"I Just Wanna Live" - Good Charlotte - Don't really care about the things that they say
"Roll to Me" - Del Amitri - And I don't think I have ever seen a soul so in despair. So if you want to talk the night through, guess who will be there
"All the Promises" - Geoff Tate - I've always been afraid except in the moments that I loved you.

Marius
"Only Time" - Enya - Who can say when the roads meet that love might be in your heart
"Worry About You" - Ivy - I'll think of you in my dreams.

Mona
"Venus" - Bananarama - I'm your Venus, I'm your fire
"Come Undone" - Duran Duran - Mine, immaculate dream made breath and skin
"Simple/Clean" - Utada Hikaru - Wish I could prove I love you, but does that mean I have to walk on water?

Benji
"Bad Day" - Daniel Powter - Sometimes the system goes on the blink and the whole thing turns out wrong
"Boulevard of Broken Dreams" - Green Day - I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind on the border line of the edge and where I walk alone

Laurent
"Crossroads" - Bone Thugs N Harmony - See you at the crossroads...
"Fix You" - Coldplay - When you lose something you cannot replace

Bianca
"Take On Me"- A-Ha- You're all the things I've got to remember
"I'm With You" - Avril Lavinge - I'm looking for a place, searching for a face... is anybody here I know?
"Beautiful" - Christina Aguilera - I am beautiful no matter what they say.
"Torn" - Natalie Imbruglia - I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn

Merrick
"Return to Innocence" - Engima - Just follow your own way
"Run-Around" - Blues Traveler - But I want more than a touch I want you to reach me
"Iris" - GooGoo Dolls - And you bleed just to know you’re alive

Wed, 16 Aug 2006 07:34:19 GMT

Just isn't a night unless I make an ass of myself. I am so going for a ride on my motorbike now.

Wed, 16 Aug 2006 07:19:14 GMT

Damn it, Celeste! Stop sucking me in with these lists and polls!

Stolen Shamelessly From the Evil Woman: Tell me one of your favorite poets and post something they created that has touched you deeply...:

All right, mine is 'The Sky is Too Bright' by Dylan Thomas.

Sometimes the sky's too bright,
Or has too many clouds or birds,
And far away's too sharp a sun
To nourish thinking of him.
Why is my hand too blunt
To cut in front of me
My horrid images for me,
Of over-fruitful smiles,
The weightless touching of the lip
I wish to know
I cannot lift, but can,
The creature with the angel's face
Who tells me hurt,
And sees my body go
Down into misery?
No stopping. Put the smile
Where tears have come to dry.
The angel's hurt is left;
His telling burns.

Sometimes a woman's heart has salt,
Or too much blood;
I tear her breast,
And see the blood is mine,
Flowing from her, but mine,
And then I think
Perhaps the sky's too bright;
And watch my hand,
But do not follow it,
And feel the pain it gives,
But do not ache.

I also like 'And Death Shall Have No Domain' by the same poet. Evil woman tempting me with bright shiny things.

In other news, I've been doing not much of anything. I've got that restless feeling again, like I want to travel somewhere, but I'm not sure where yet. Either that or something is about to happen that's making me this way. I can't even go to the mall or even Wal-Mart of all the begotten places to sit and people watch. It appears that school is starting soon, and it is terrifying watching people scrabble for supplies. I dropped in to get some new batteries for my dead remote, and I nearly got trampled by an elephantine woman dragging four children after her. Then she snatched my batteries. I'm afraid to know what she needed them for.

I need some music for my iPod! Suggest me some song, pleeeease? I'm recently taken with KT Tunstall's 'Black Horse and a Cherry Tree' and Watson's ''Faith of the Heart' as well as Sting's 'Fields of Gold'. Any ideas?

Wed, 09 Aug 2006 05:58:29 GMT

One of my favourite things to do is putter around used book stores. It’s not something most would think of me doing, but I did write ‘Interview’ and I did work as a freelance journalist. One of the first things a person needs to do when wanting to be a writer is to read, and I mean read a lot. Study other people’s styles and ways of putting words. Look at purple prose versus technical writing. Pick the brains of anyone in the field you’re planning on writing about. Billy Crystal and Danny Devito had a great movie where that’s mentioned called ‘Throw Momma from the Train’. One of the books I suggest is Stephen King’s ‘On Writing’. Damn good book.

Anyways, to my point before I lose it, I picked up a book that was the year’s best gay and lesbian horror stories or something to that degree. I tossed it aside after an hour. I often think that most writers sit there and want to make some huge social or political commentary when they write a story. To me, it’s not about that. It’s about the story. When a person is reading a novel or whatever, they should have no idea there is an author. The story and characters should hold them so well that they shouldn’t think about things like that. At least to me. George Orwell was an author that did that well. While reading ‘1984’, I knew it was a book about the sociopolitical world at his time, but the story was solid and held me instead of leaving me feeling as if I were being preached at. He’s one of the few I’ve discovered that could weave a tale that well. Shirley Jackson had the knack of it.

Then again, most of my shelves (at this place) are full of Rod Serling, Shirley Jackson, Hitchcock, Tanith Lee, Plato, Margret Weis/Tracy Hickman, Bentley Little, Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Socrates, Lord Byron, Clive Barker, John Norman, Piers Anthony, Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe, Isaac Asimov, Lemony Snickett, Dylan Thomas, JK Rowling, Homer, Nicholas Pileggi, JRR Tolkien, Thomas Harris, Oscar Wilde, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, William Blake, and Kim Newman.

In the end, it’s not about who is writing it. These will be debates until the end of time that William Shakespeare was really Christopher Marlowe or someone else. By the way, should you ever get the chance to see Peter Whelan’s play ‘School of Night’, do so. Christopher Marlowe was a fascinating man.

Oh, and ‘Single White Vampire Seeks Same’ was hilarious. I’m seriously considering sneaking it onto Louis’ shelf one of these days when he isn’t looking.

List 10 things that make you happy in no particular order:
1. Daschunds (They’re just funny to look at and have huge attitudes)
2. Goths (They’re just flat out funny)
3. Artwork (especially dragons)
4. Scary movies (The Grudge is my current favourite)
5. Lestat’s backside (everyone should have an appreciation for that)
6. David’s backside (it’s gotta be there somewhere under that tweed, and I have a good imagination)
7. 90 year old men/women trying to wear the clothing styles of teenagers or Speedos. (tell me you don’t laugh too)
8. Japanese red maple trees (I just like them for some reason)
9. Cops (the television show – Amuses the hell out of me)
10. Slinkys

List 3 things that bother you:
1. Orange. I just don’t like that colour at all.
2. Movies that have better trailers than the movies themselves are.
3. The batteries in my remote going dead.

Memorable moments...

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 19:45:35 GMT

Alright, I just have to say, there are times in my life that just little small things crack me up. Seeing Celeste, with a straight face sing the song posted below. Keep in mind folks, she actually had to come up with this all on her own! It was for a task that Quinn set forth to get points for the auction. Excuse me while I fall over laughing as you read this.

Oh I wish I were a little bit of Marius,
Bit of Marius
Oh I wish I were a little bit of Marius,
Bit of Marius
For I'd paddle and I'd whippy
Over sweet Amadeo's hidey
Oh I wish I were a little bit of Marius.

Oh I wish I were a little bit Lestat,
Little bit Lestat
Oh I wish I were a little bit Lestat,
Little bit Lestat
For I'd nippy and I bity
Under Louis' black nightie
Oh I wish I were a little bit Lestat.

Oh I wish I were a little bit of Santino,
Bit of Santino
Oh I wish I were a little bit of Santino,
Bit of Santino
For I'd go down with a slurp
And I'd come up with a burp
Oh I wish I were a little bit of Santino.

Oh I wish I were a little English David,
English David
Oh I wish I were a little English David,
English David
For I'd sitty on the steeple
And I'd spitty on the people (namely Merrick)
Oh I wish I were a little English David.

*clears throat* OK, and there you have it folks. Celeste's rendition of "I wish I were a little bar of soap".

Tarot reading?

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 21:19:26 GMT

The question I asked to Jaenanda for a tarot reading was: What's in store for Armand and I?

The answer I received:

Such boldness....

Here we go.

I swear, no matter how well I shuffle my deck, the Queen of Swords keeps popping up for this bunch. I wonder what that fortells...

1. The Chariot. A wheeled vehicle being drawn by two animals, each headed in different directions. Obviously, conflict is at the crux of any future the two of you might have together. But the Carriage also signifies forward progress by balancing opposing forces. It is the two of you, and not the whims of circumstance, who are in control of your destiny. Be mindful of that, always.

2. Crossing you "for good or for ill". The 3 of wands: again we see the card of co-authorship and co-creation. New enterprise and a partnership. Things are looking well so far. I see progress and overcoming challenges.

3. Beneath you: the 4 of wands. Again indicating a sound business partnership, but also a much-deserved hiatus has occured in the past. This respite will have only strengthened the bond between you two, however.

4. The 8 of swords, reversed: Much-needed release is just behind you now, and a new beginning has already begun. Clarity of thought and emotions has begun to emerge, breaking you free from the bonds of entrapment and confined relationships.

5. La Luna, reversed ("La Luna" sounds so much prettier than "the moon" and anyway, my deck is in Italian) Ah, the sweet glimmer of potentiality. If the moon upright stands for deceit and dishonesty, the moon reversed heralds "stepping into the light" (I really do mean that metaphorically. I hope). In fact, you may become so illuminated that the previously hidden negative motivations of others near the two of you becomes clearly apparent. If so, you have the foundations in place to withstand any attacks which might prevail against you.

6. the Queen of Swords. Before you, in the near future, is an independent, clear-thinking, logical woman, who will assist you. She will be able to manipulate situations to your advantage, or use her logic to help you make sense of something that is troubeling you. She'll be an air sign- Aquarius, Libra, Gemini, with olive-complected skin, dark hair, and light eyes. Be watchful of her, and accept her aid when she offers it.

7. 3 of Coins, reversed. There are some problems with the relationship at the moment. A lack of ambition may be notes, or perhaps just disappointment and delays. This may seem overwhelming in the moment, but you have the capacity for perspective, and you would be well-advised to keep it about you at all times.

8. 5 of Swords. There is a spirit of bitter competition, perhaps masking as play, in your inner circle right now. Pride has been wounded, and tehre is plotting, and ridicule, and turmoil. There are those around you who are not using their talents to productive ends, and as such, you feel drawn down. There may be a severing of ties up ahead, but it will be between the two of you and someone you are close to, and not between the two of you yourselves.

9. Ace of Cups, reversed. It doesn't take a Tarot scholar to quickly determine from the ancient drawing on this card that in it's reverves position it represents unhappiness, disappointment. The cup has spilled. You are afraid of this happening, of being alone with nobody to love you. Each of you fear this. It is a common fear, however, and in being such, nothing to be afraid of.

10. 8 of coins. From my book. "You have the opportunity to enter a phase of apprenticship to develop your talents."

...that was actually a bit muddy for me, so I drew an additional clarification card. The king of cups. An artist or a man in touch with his inner emotional life.

What does the future hold for you? Changes in relationships, the renewal of old partnerships, the discarding of some old relationships, perhaps. ...the King of Cups is said to be a fair man with blonde hair and blue, grey, or hazel eyes... who is also an artist... who will offer one, or both of you, a tpe of apprenticeship to further develop your gifts and talents. Don't go jumping to any obvious conclusions.

But I'm not predicting anything else for you. Your future is your own to make or destroy.
As for that reading, I swear that's exactly as I drew the cards.

-----------------------

So it looks like Marius might be stepping back into our lives? Or Lestat, but the chances of that have to be near slim.

I'm not sure who the female in #6 is... Merrick perhaps? Might also explain why she keeps showing up in the readings Jaenanda did, Merrick is working on expanding those she knows.

If this fortells anything about Armand and I, it's gonna be interesting folks!

Why does she have to be like this?

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 12:29:29 GMT

Celeste.
She does this to annoy me. That stupid little blinking signature with my name on it. Why does she insist on keeping it?

I know she really doesn't want me, she just thinks she does because I tell her no. And we ALL know that no one tells Celeste no. *rolls eyes* First time for everything "babe", deal like the rest of us.

Armand has been quiet ever since the little quick side trip to New York. That worries me. I think I may have screwed up again.

I haven't decided who I want to bid on for the auction. There's one immortal I may try and win to give Armand as a gift. Depending on how brave I feel, I may bid on Santiago. Toss him in a cage and ignore him for a month. Could be fun to let him free on an unsuspecting city after a month of not feeding. Hmm...