Wardrobe of Moral Imagination: Bill Cipher Appreciation Addition

"Remember, reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, bye!"

So I was going to write the next chapter of "Five Years", but the day got away from me.  So instead, please accept this appreciation post for Bill Cipher, the best tv villain in ages.

Firstly, look at how much emotion the animators are able to show in a character that is actually just a triangle with an eye, some legs, a top hat, and a bow tie:

Secondly, let's also appreciate the fact that they were able to make what is essentially an evil dorito so terrifying and a legitimate villain with his plans to take over this dimension with Weirdmageddon (complete with a Fear-amid and insanity bubbles that make anyone they touch go mad) - the voice acting of creator Alex Hirsch is incredible:

Finally, the nuanced character of Bill is incredible.  Usually when a blockbuster movie or some sort portrays a villain that's a psychopath, their character is rather 2-d (pun intended).  Their motives are simply written off as insanity and it's over and done with - every brutal action is written off and there's no depth of motive.  Bill's insanity, however, is a type that only well-developed, structured characters contain.  Although he is insane and loves chaos for the sake of chaos, his motives for taking over this dimension are compelling because he always seems to be one step ahead of every other character, possessing infinite knowledge and impressive manipulation skills.  The intricate plots and tantalisingly vague backstory merely embellish the weird charisma that he exudes.  (Bill alludes to the fact that he "liberated" his dimension a long time ago - most likely by burning the entire plane of existence to the ground - and that it was filled with "flat minds in a flat world").  This type of cold, calculated chaos makes his rage when his plans seem to fail all the more terrifying and meaningful.  Moreover, this type of characterisation is in line with other villains like him (Jim Moriarty from BBC's Sherlock and Heath Ledger's Joker from The Dark Knight).  And it's unsurprising that I love Bill, as the Joker and Moriarty are my other top two film/tv villains.

So all hail Bill Cipher! (After my Ziggy fanfic, maybe I'll even try to write one with Bill as the star! Or at the very least do a major appreciation post with more writing).

Creative Writing: Five Years, Chapter 4

"It Ain't Easy" // "Lady Stardust"

Chapter 4 - "Year Three: Strange Things Circulating Round"

James wasn't sure where he had been or how long he had stayed there.  All he knew what that he had come back with a message for humanity.  A Message of Salvation for mankind.  As soon as he came back to himself, he had raced back to Haddon Hall.  He had to inform the others of what happened.  Tonight had marked the fact that his wait was finally over.

"So there I was, out 'round Beckenham, when something strange happened.  The portable went dead.  And then it came back to life - it sounded like some cat was laying down some crazy rock 'n' roll - it was like some sort of hazy cosmic jive - when it cut back out again.  I thought my radio was busted, and wanted to try and see what was going on, but it was too dark.  Just as I thought 'I wish I had some light to check it out', a bright star lit up the sky.  But as soon as it came, it vanished.  Then the most gorgeous sounding music started playing again and the light turned back on. This time brighter than the sun.  It almost blinded me.  After I saw the light, I didn't know where I was or how long I had been there.  All I knew was that I existed.  And that was all I knew until I heard - it," he told them, all gathered around on the living room floor, listening to his remarkable tale.

"There was a Voice," James continued, unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed from his nightly encounter, "He called himself 'Starman', and that he came from Star Dust.  He said he would like to come meet us, but he thinks he will blow our minds if he ever has direct contact with humanity right now because he is beyond our understanding.  So he's forced to wait for us in the sky -"

"So then how come you got to meet him?" Rudi sceptically interrupted him.

"Because I was Chosen," James said proudly, not missing a beat, (although he was slightly annoyed at the interruption), "I had been marked as the Messenger to earth to deliver his Word.  Anyway, he told me that even though we might not be ready Now to meet him, we might be able to in the future - the Future! I told him that the future was meaningless to us - that we didn't have a long time to prepare if what he said was true, but he simply warned me that we shouldn't blow our chance - however slight the possibility - to be able to meet him because if we were able to, it would be worth our while.

"His final words to me were to make sure I let the children lose it, let the children use it, and let them all boogie until the end of the world.  Then his far out song started playing again - over and over - until I woke up back on the hill.  At first, I didn't get it.  My mind too small to understand revelations so vast. But then all of a sudden - I knew."

"James, stop with the dramatics," Tony groused, "What did you know?"

"That he had come to save us! That he is our hope to leave our dying world! If we are able to sparkle - impress him - dazzle him - then he may finally deem us ready to meet him and take us all away from here! And it's up to me - to us - to tell the world about him through music.  And I know what I need to do to spread the Word.  I've been mucking about writing, playing, thinking, all these years in order to prepare for this moment - like he said, 'I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you' - and now it's time.  It's my Destiny to transform - to ascend - as a rockstar - nay, a rock god - in order for the people of earth to hear that their salvation has finally come," James beamed at them all.  He was euphoric, ecstatic - he was ready to stop waiting and start acting, "All I need is a band.  And that's where you guys come in."

The group looked at him dubiously and rapturously in equal measure.  Bevan clearly thought James had finally come around to his side about wanting to change the world, and was eager to capitalize on his enthusiasm even if he thought James had gone a bit mad.  And Sonny was enamoured, hypnotized by James' passionate speech (he had always been open to the idea of the supernatural).  But Rudi and Tony looked suspicious of his tale.  Myrna-Jean was also quiet.

"I don't know, James," Rudi started, "Are you sure you didn't just have a bad trip or some-"

"No!" James vehemently insisted, "I know what I saw and I know what my Destiny is.  I can prove it too."

He grabbed his twelve string and began playing for them.  Instantly, all signs of doubt melted away.  Their jaws dropped.  The notes! - the melodies! - the lyrics! - James had been a talented writer and musician in his own right, but it was never anything like this.  There could be no other explanation for how he got like this overnight.  And the music he was playing - by God! - it was unlike anything they had ever heard - ever experienced.  It was radical, subliminal, transcendental - they had no words for it.  They were spellbound.  A type of fervent devotion washed over them.  They had been converted.

After a few minutes, James stopped playing and looked around, "Alright lads, let's begin."

They worked all night, and for the next year, non-stop - getting costumes, writing songs, making setlists, rehearsing, booking gigs - the to-do list went on and on for what they had to do.  Myrna-Jean even helped out by becoming their manager in between working on her own opening act as the Hoochie Coochie Woman for their new band: StarDust.

The group had been named in an obvious tribute to the Starman.  James had insisted upon it so that the alien would know where to look for his Messenger, and to monitor their progress in spreading the Word.  As a result the opening number would be "Moonage Daydream", as James wanted to make sure to get the pure, unadulterated message out to the masses first and foremost, but trying to get anyone to agree to let them play was proving challenging.

None of their usual gigs would let them play.  They didn't much care for the strange things circulating round the town about the new band.  Rumours about alien conspiracies that had made the poor lads go mad, deals with the devil in exchange for untold talent, and wild tales of their unnatural sexual proclivities that made every upstanding pub wary of hosting them.  But James refused all of the more questionable joints that would've allowed them.  He wanted to be taken seriously, and he knew that starting in one of the seedy clubs would never give them the credibility he wanted.

As a result, he ended up going to the pub on the far side of town, Aylesbury, the night before he wanted to debut in order to talk with the proprietor one-on-one.  It was the only place that hadn't rejected him outright before he could even ask.  He knew it would be his last and only chance to perform at a choice venue, and he was determined to do whatever it took to make a deal.  After all, the rumours weren't entirely wrong, and James knew it.

'It ain't easy to get to Heaven when you're going down,' he thought, as he walked towards Aylesbury, thinking back on how he bargained and blackmailed and coerced and seduced his way to get everything he needed to create StarDust, 'Hopefully, God may look the other way today.'

As he entered the dingy, but well-kept, pub, he immediately went straight for Henry, a middle-aged man, slightly balding, but still attractive in that "B-Movie actor" sort of way, who was the owner of the joint.  He was standing in the back, just about ready to close-up for the day.  James knew exactly what kind of man he was. His man's man exterior didn't hide the fact that he was also a man's man on the interior, and James was determined to use it to his advantage.

"Henry! My good sir!" James shouted, "Hear me out.  I've got a problem - more like a proposition actually."

"Well all the people have got their problems.  That ain't nothing new.  But with the help of the Good Lord we can all pull on through.  Now what can I do for you?" Henry asked.  He had heard about James' quest for a venue, but was intrigued to see what would be offered in exchange for a place to play - if the rumours were true. He had hoped for an opportunity like this to come one day.

"Mate, I know that you know that I'm in need of a proper venue for my new band to debut.  And I believe that Aylesbury is just the type of quality establishment I'm looking for to have that honour," James said.

"Yes yes, I've heard about your search," Henry acknowledged with a slight nod, "I also don't know what would be in it for me.  After all, your - questionable - reputation is getting out of hand James, and I don't know if Aylesbury is ready for that kind of ... show."

James looked at his shrewd, gleaming eyes.  He knew that Henry was putting up a front.  The man couldn't care less about Aylesbury's reputation.  He just wanted to assess how far James would go, and James had counted on this fact.

"Henry, my good man, don't be unkind.  I promise that I will make you an offer you can't refuse," James simply said, letting the seduction roll off his tongue easily, "Come, let's talk in your office."

By the end of the night, Aylesbury's front door was proudly plastered from top to bottom in posters that announced the premiere of StarDust for 65p a ticket.

--

It was a cold, damp evening, and it was rapidly becoming night.  Valentine hiked his collar up higher around his face in a futile attempt to protect himself from the freezing wind.  The last year had been unkind to him, but even before the end had been announced, it wasn't like world was compassionate to him in the first place.  He had drifted from church to church, seeking answers to save his soul (and maybe even fulfill his deepest heart's desire for companionship), but every time he left he felt more alone and lost than ever.  He never felt further from the divinity and grace the priests had preached about. The sermon's words would feel great when he was in the pews, as if he could almost ascend to their heavenly heights, but as soon as he left the building, the gnawing, empty feeling consumed him once more, dragging him down, down, down to the depths all over again.

'Was it a sin,' Valentine thought, 'Just to want to be loved?'

With these dark and troubling thoughts stewing in his mind, the weather started to reflect his sense of unrest.  Rain began to pour down and the wind made his face numb.  Eagerly, he sought shelter by ducking into a nearby pub.  He could use a drink, and from the facade of the pub, it wasn't an unsavoury looking prospect.  Despite being scorned by society and having no home or income or companion to speak of, Valentine liked to think he had standards.  One of them being that he always looked the part of a respectable patron who only frequented decent sorts of establishments, and he was rather proud of this fact in his own small way.

Upon entering, Valentine immediately noted the slightly gloomy atmosphere, but it was clean and serviceable.  It even looked like he was in for some entertainment tonight, as a group of young men were setting up stage equipment.  The pub itself was partially filled with blokes that mainly looked like regulars, and a couple of girls that looked like they weren't, littered about here and there.  In short, nothing too out of the ordinary.

Valentine ordered his drink and sat down in a quiet corner to observe the whole affair, curious to see what kind of act was going to be performed.  He knew it would be some sort of live music, and hoped he would get to hear a little jazz.  It had been ages since he heard some performed.  Smiling, he settled in for the night.  But when the lights dimmed and the performance began, hopes for jazz music was the farthest thing from Valentine's mind.

Emerging from the darkness like an ethereal being, a pale young man suddenly jumped up onto the forefront of the stage with animal-like grace.  He had long dark hair and wore heavy make-up on his face which, with his slim frame, delicate waist and protruding hips, made him seem rather effeminate.  In fact, he could've been easily mistaken for a woman were it not for the fact that his tight, bright blue jeans emphasized his bulging crotch in a way that no woman could possibly possess.  He really was out of sight.

In fact, he was intriguing.  He was mesmerizing.  He was paradise.  He was everything Valentine had ever wanted but had never known.  Then, as if that wasn't enough, he opened his mouth.  He proclaimed the name to be Stardust, and he began to launch into songs of darkness and disgrace, of dismay at being alone in the world, of his longing to find someone who understood his message.

If Valentine thought he was enchanted before, when Stardust began to sing his heart's deepest yearnings, he knew he would never love another.  This fair creature would forever possess his heart and his undying devotion.  He smiled sadly at the thought, realising that this was one love he could never obey, but wishing he could anyways.  Sighing, he wondered what the man's true name was.  'Although, he thought, 'Stardust somehow seems to fit him perfectly'.

As the night went on, Valentine began to notice that femme fatales emerged from shadows to also stare at his wondrous love, and boys stood upon their chairs to try and get a good glimpse of him.  But instead of adoring him like they should, Valentine noticed that they simply stared at the makeup on his face, laughing at his performance and ridiculing his music.  They were cat-calling and mocking him with the name "Lady Stardust" over and over again.

Valentine's heart began to ache for the unknown young man that had captivated his soul.  He wanted to protect him, to shield the man called Stardust from the cruel world in a way that no one offered to do for himself.  But to his amazement, Stardust simply ignored the crowd.  He kept on singing all night long, as if everything was all right and his band would never be touched by the dirty grasp of mortality.  His song seemed to go on forever.

And as he listened to the beautiful melodies woven by StarDust, Valentine knew that his love too would end up going on for eternity.

David Bowie: Berlin Wall Highlight

The Iconic "'Heroes'" Photoshoot from Masayoshi Sukita

So obviously this isn't my first "'Heroes'" highlight on the blog, but today it's especially important to take note and listen to this iconic song!

Today marks the fact that the Berlin Wall has now been "down" longer than it was "up" (28 years, two months and 27 days), and a new period of history for Germany: the post-post-wall era!


(Top of the Pops 1977 performance - perhaps my all-time favourite of Bowie's many renditions of this song, as it showcases his gorgeous vocals)

In celebration of this monumental point in history, you should listen to Bowie's excellent song inspired by the Wall and Berlin as a whole! (One of his favourite anecdotes was about a party he went to with Iggy Pop in which a club destroyed an effigy of the wall in a frenzied rage of energy and passion).

Bowie's iconic song (and album) is in many ways the poster child for his infamous "Berlin Period" during the mid-to-late 1970s where he went to clean up his drug addiction and leave his American lifestyle behind.  It was a period of major creative reformation and energy for Bowie, in which he produced his near-perfect albums "Low", "'Heroes'", and "Lodger" (although some could argue that Iggy Pop's "The Idiot" also belongs in the group as a sort of prologue to the trio).  In many ways, it was the crowning achievement and a fitting end to his massively influential (if not a bit turbulent) work that was the 1970s (both musically and culturally).  This is even referenced by Bowie himself on his 2013 song "Where Are We Now?", which reminiscences on and pays homage to his "Berlin era".

My "'Heroes'" tribute post covers more of my personal thoughts on the song, but for now celebrate with this Spotify Playlist which groups all the different official releases of the song in one place:

Creative Writing: Five Years, Chapter 3

"Moonage Daydream" // "Starman"

Chapter 3 - "Year Two: I'm Busting Up My Brains for the Words"

A full year had passed since humanity had learned that the earth was dying.  The greatest minds, the richest people, the most influential religious and political leaders - all of them had tried to unite in order to solve the crisis.  But after a few short months it was clear that nothing was going to change the fact that the planet would never be revived.  The world hadn't devloved into immediate chaos like the pictures had predicted, but the old way of life had certainly been overturned.

People didn't want to go to work.  They just wanted to spend the last of their savings and time on their loved ones.  They wanted to see friends that were far away, be reckless and go bungee jumping, splurge on the finest accomodations in another country - they wanted to be impulsive and careless and give all their savings away during their last years on earth so they could mark off their bucket lists before they died.

The main problem was that the increased spending and limited amount of resources meant that inflation was rampant, and only a few people were left that bothered to operate many of the world's industries.  Governments had also made nation wide mandates to ration the last of the food supplies and try to keep order.  That is, when they weren't in the middle of dealing with constant protests and revolutions that tried to overthrow their power that preached messages of salvation and peace to the masses.  Although these coups weren't anything new, as they had been there since the beginning of the proclaimation in some form or another.

So humanity hadn't disintegrated into anarchy, but James believed that living in a constant state of tension was worse.  The feelings of fear and anxiety overrode any other, and it kept the world in a constant state of suspense for when the end would come.  As Hitchcock had said, there is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.  But even the most paranoid couldn't keep up the strain of remaining in a constant state of dread, and soon enough everyone had faded into an apathetic numbness by the second year since the announcement.

'Perhaps the world would still go out with a whimper,' James mused.  Still, for the past year things hadn't been so terrible.  At the very least he hadn't been homeless, thanks to his fortuitious encounter with Myrna-Jean.

The fact that they met at a graveyard was, in his opinion, rather symbolic of their hopeless love.  They both knew that any relationship between them was dead before it had truly begun.  But he couldn't help but be drawn to her paradoxical nature.  She looked extremely young, hardly older than nineteen, and she was moderately attractive in that girl-next-door, ordinary sort of way.  But at the same time her hazel eyes that carried a hardened, cynical edge to them which would've been more appropriate on someone three times her age.  It was baffling.  It was intriguing.  And when she had made her offer for somewhere to live with no strings attached (and no rent, for that matter), James knew he had to accept.  He was determined to learn quite a bit more about this unusual girl.

They had been living at Haddon Hall for the past few months.  It was a sprawling Victorina style villa that had once belonged to some lord or another, but that now lodged quite a few wandering youths looking for refuge from a cruel world.  James and Myrna lived there along with four other couples and James' friends Tony, Rudi, Bevan, and Sonny.  They were able to play their records as loud as they wanted, practice their instruments at any time of day, and could stay up long into the night reading and discussing the greats with no one to disturb them.  So far it had been a great set up.

But despite the fact that James had a new girlfriend, a roof over his head, was able to be with his mates, and did not have to resort to getting a soul crushing job as an advertising agent or some such nonsense to pay the bills, it still didn't change the fact that he was a wanderer at heart who was waiting for Fate to find him.  As such, he often took to roaming the streets after nightfall.  He liked to take his portable radio and go out somewhere, anywhere, else on his own in order to wait for his Destiny.

Tonight was no exception.  It was a cool evening, and James wanted to take advantage of it.  Britain had been undergoing an unexpected heat wave for the past two weeks, and any promise of relief was welcome.  He didn't know what time he was when he found himself at the top of a hill in the middle of an empty field, but he saw that the tiny artificial lights that surrounded the area were low and dimly lit.  It was as good of spot as any.  He leaned back on his radio and turned the dial to his favourite underground station.

"...He's never early, he's always late.  First thing you learn is that you always gotta wait.  I'm waiting for my man...", the small speaker blarred in the unusual quiet of the night - barely a motor could be heard in the distance.  There was something in the air - his Destiny was fast approaching, inevitable and remarkable, he was sure of it.

He had been dozing for a while, at times contemplating and at others dreaming, when suddenly, his radio cut out.  Startled by the silence, James jolted wide awake.  Then, just as abruptly, the device came back on in the middle of a different song.

'Clearly, some cat was laying down some crazy rcok 'n' roll music', James thought.  He could briefly make out the words, "...get it on...'lotta soul..." before the loud sound faded away once again.

'What the hell,' James thought.  He had never had a problem with his radio before and the station was fairly reliable.  Frowning, he wondered if there was something wrong with the speakers, but peering in the dark wouldn't do him any good.  He wished he had some light.

Just as the thought had popped into his head, a bright beam illuminted the night sky, as if a star had gone supernova.  But then as quickly as it appeared, it vanished once more.

"...I'm an alligator!  I'm a mama-papa coming for you.  I'm the space invader.  I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you..."  the radio had abruptly come back to life as soon as the flash of light vanished.  Now there was a slow voice like a wave of phase now playing something he had ever heard before.

'Wait a second.  That wasn't a DJ,' James thought, 'If anything it sounded like some sort of far out hazy cosmic jive.'

Intrigued, he turned up the volume on his radio, "...Don't fake it baby! Lay the real thing on me! The church of man-love, love.  Is such a holy place to be..."

James was entranced.  What did it all mean? Who was this cosmic cat? The song kept looping over and over again, and James found that he couldn't turn it off.  It was like he had been hypnotized by some rock 'n' roller playing on the radio, "Keep your 'lectric eye on me babe.  Put your ray gun to my head.  Press your space face close to mine, love! Freak out in a moonage daydream! Oh yeah!"

'The voice had said it was a space invader.  Maybe he had picked up an extra-terrestrial signal?', James thought.  It sounded unearthly, supernatural - dare he say, alien? He had been a fan of sci-fi movies and dystopian novels growing up, but this was something else altogether.

The song was about to loop once more when it cut out and the unnatural star light came on again.  This time it was closer and brighter than before.  Shielding his eyes, James caught a glimpse of a large dark outline of - something - before he was completely subsumed into its blinding brilliance.

--

Myrna-Jean was preparing for another long night alone.  James was gone again, but that didn't mean she liked it.  She wondered what he did all by himself and why he had to do it at night.  She wasn't under any illusions that they were exclusive or that their love would last, or that he was the type that could be tied down.

'But', she thought, 'He could at least be curteous and let me know where he was going so I don't assume that he's dead in a ditch somewhere.'

Sighing, she turned on her radio to relax, but the device refused to work.

"Damn machine," she muttered before a loud sound from the speakers made her jump.  Suddenly, the speakers emitted an otherworldly sound, "...freak out...far out...in out...'  But before she could hear any more, the sound faded away once again.

"What the -?" Myrna-Jean wondered.  It was unlike anything she had heard before.  It was unnatural.  Otherworldly.  She wasn't even sure she heard it right, as it had been over thirty hours since she had last slept.  But try as she might, the radio refused to play anything else.  It remained silent.  She was just about to throw the damn thing on the ground in frustration when her telephone rang.

"'Lo?" Myrna-Jean answered warily.  Who in God's name was calling at this hour?

"Did you hear it?!" a loud voice that she recognized as James' shouted into the receiver.

"Hear what?" Myrna-Jean asked, confused as to what he was talking about.

"That song!" he exclaimed eagerly, "The one that just played on the radio!"

"The one about freaking out?" she asked tentatively.

"Far out! So you heard it too!" he exclaimed eagerly, "Switch on the TV! Quick! We might be able to pick him up on channel two!"

"Him? Who is he? What was that?" she almost shouted back into the receiver.  She was confused and more than a little surprised.  James was excitable, but this was a new level even for him.  He sounded - odd.  Different.  The music was unusual, but the melody and the words were already rapidly fading from her memory.  It definitely didn't seem like it was worth causing anyone this much fervour over.

The low hum of her television began to warm up in the background, but before it could power on James yelled impatiently, "Nevermind, it's taking too long - look out your window! I can still see his light!"

The telephone cord stretched along the length of her room as she went to the window.  She drew back the curtain warily and looked out.  The street lamps were low and the stars were bright, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"...he said that if we can sparkle he may land tonight!" James was still chattering on in her ear, clearly not bothering to wait for her to do as he asked, "But remember not to tell your pop, or he'll be frightened and get us locked up!"

"James.  James!" she shouted over him, "What the hell is going on?! What are you talking about?! I don't see anything outside!"

He quieted immediately.

"But you - you heard the song, right? You said so yourself- that hazy cosmic jive - the one about the space invader," he insisted.

"I don't know anything about a space invader.  I thought I heard someone say 'freak out' on the radio, but then it died and I haven't been able to get it working since.  Now tell me what's going on."

The other end was silent.

"Hello? Hello? James? Are you still there?" she asked.

Silence.

She waited for a while, but there was still no response from him.  She had thought they had been disconnected and was about to hang up when -

"Myrna-Jean, my darling, simply put, I have found my Destiny tonight.  She has come in the form of a Starman, and he's waiting in the sky."

Creative Writing: Five Years, Chapter 2

"Soul Love"

Chapter 2 - "Year One: Love is Not Loving"

Her brother was six feet under.

Myrna-Jean knew that the world had gone to shit since the End of the World was proclaimed, and they didn't really have long anyways, but his death still seemed cruel and unfair.  Especially because he had given his life for one of the many movements and protests for a better world (or at least a better end of it all) that seemed to triple in number every day.  Movements with slogans that proclaimed hundreds of conflicting messages offering truth and salvation such as 'Wish You Could Hear', 'Love Is All We Need', 'Kick Out The Jams', 'Kick Out Your Mother', 'Cut Up Your Friend', 'Screw Up Your Brother or He'll Get You In the End'.  And where had all her brother's ideas and politics gotten him? Screwed up, screwed over, and a hole in the cold, unfeeling earth.

'It was just another reflection of how the universe really worked', she thought bitterly, as she watched her mother kneel somberly before his grave.  On his headstone, the inscription simply read: LOVE IS ALL WE NEED.  He was willing to die for his blasted cause, so it made sense that he wanted the slogan to be the only thing to remember him by.  But that's all it was.  A slogan.  Cheap words that didn't restore his beating heart or give any of its other followers something close to resembling life.  They didn't change the fact that so-called "love machines" meant to keep order and restore peace for causes like his would still lumber down through desolate rows, ploughing down any man or woman in its path, listening to its commands but not hearing the shrieks of those it knocked down.  She had vowed long ago to never be like that - to give herself over to some abstract cause filled with passion and violence.  She much preferred her well-constructed defence of cynical apathy.

In the distance, Myrna-Jean could just make out a tatty banner across the graveyard.  It seemed to be proudly proclaiming, despite all odds of its nearly disintegrated condition: "NEW LOVE -" she couldn't make out the rest.  What intrigued her most, however, was a figure she could just make out that was standing underneath it.  He seemed to be studying the banner and was dressed in a futuristic looking green and white jumpsuit with tall white lace-up boots.  It was the most ridiculous get-up she had ever seen.  Immediately, she wanted to know more, and there was clearly nothing left for her here.

Without saying goodbye to her mother, she had hated the woman for years, Myrna-Jena left without looking back.  As far as she was concerned, she had had plenty of a world full of pain and suffering - a string of broken relationships, expulsion from university, no real family to speak of - enough was enough.  She had only attended the ceremony out of a desire to end her boredom rather than any sort of true familial compassion.  Now all she wanted to do was see what kind of distraction the young man in the spacesuit could offer.

"What's with the spacesuit?" Myrna-Jean asked as she approached.  She was blunt and didn't care much for introductions.

He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice.  It was obvious that he had been lost in his own mind, but Myrna-Jean didn't mind.  A lot of people were these days.  It was nicer than anything reality had to offer, and she wouldn't begrudge them that.

"Pardon me?" he asked, turning around to face her.

"I said, what's with the spacesuit?" Myrna-Jean repeated, pointedly eyeing his odd attire.  Moving her gaze upwards, she took her first good look at him.  He had a slight build, barely taller than her and much skinnier, with sharp, pale cheekbones and the oddest blue eyes.  But the thing that struck her the most was an indefinable aura that clung to him like a second skin.  There was something about him that drew her in and made her want to believe in - well, she didn't know what, but whatever it was, she had a feeling that it would end her endless boredom, the endless monotony her life had become and all she had had to look forward to.

"It's comfortable," he shrugged, leaning against the precariously perched banner pole, "Why do you care?"

She mirrored his gesture, leaning against the graveyard's fence before crossing her arms, "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he smirked.  His gaze dropped as he took his own obvious assessment of herself, "Interrogating innocent unfortunates, such as myself?"

She frowned slightly, annoyed that he seemed to only answer her questions with his own, "If you must know, I just finished putting my brother into the ground."

His eyes widened slightly and a fleeting look of guilt ran across his face, "Christ.  I'm sorry."

Myrna-Jean just shrugged in response, "Since we're all gonna die, I suppose it doesn't matter that he decided to hurry up and do it four years earlier."

Her cavalier attitude towards the future and death seemed to surprise him, but he didn't comment on it, "I was actually out here looking for a quiet place to stay for a bit.  I was kicked out of my accommodations a few weeks ago, and I need somewhere to crash.  I was trying to determine which cause might be most suited to help my own."

He gestured towards the pile of broken and discarded banners and slogans he was standing by.  The "NEW LOVE -" one sign was the last one standing, but Myrna-Jean saw plenty of others around his feet.  How odd that this strange young man would try and figure out where to stay solely from words written on long-forgotten cloth.  He was clearly an enigma.  Completely ordinary looking except for his outlandish clothes and extraordinary aura.  Immediately she knew that she couldn't let him go.  He was the most interesting thing that had happened to her in her entire life, certainly since they had announced that earth was dying.  In fact, he didn't even seem like he was from earth - perhaps he was a super man with an undeniable pull that made everyone he met instantly attracted to him.  She had to find out more about him and now she had the perfect excuse.

"You say you're looking for a roof over your head? I might be able to help you out," she said nonchalantly.

Instantly his peculiar eyes lit up, hearing her offer for what it was, "Really, now.  What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," she smirked.

"And how can I ever repay you for your generous offer, my mysterious, inquisitive, nameless saviour?" he questioned, laughing at her implied challenge.

He moved towards her with a glint in his eye as his gaze once again roved down her body.  She had a slightly sallow face, and mousy hair, but she knew she wasn't completely unattractive.  Her hazel brown eyes had been on the receiving end of more than a few compliments, and her body had accepted its fair share of admirers.

Myrna-Jean simply grinned at him, "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

"My name's James, by the way," he offered, before swooping down to capture her lips with his own, a fine down payment for his new lodgings.

It wasn't until hours later, as she gazed at him lying in her bed after a long night of getting to know one another, that she was overcome with a feeling of love so strong that it tore at her heart to sleep through the fleeting hours of morning.  She knew that James was special, and she didn't want to waste a single moment of their time together.  It was the first time she had felt anything real in a long time.

--

A man with a gaunt face and dark eyes spied a young couple from the steps of the church just a few meters away.  He couldn't discern much other than the fact that they were a man and woman happily preoccupied underneath a banner which proudly proclaimed: "NEW LOVE -".  He bitterly envied their passionate embrace, their freedom to be so open in their affections, the companionship they offered one another.

He had just finished attending the service, one of many since the end of the world had been proclaimed.  It seemed as if selling messages of salvation and peace was the only thing people wanted to spend their money on these days.  Not that he was a stranger to the church.

Valentine Newton had been raised in a perfectly ordinary household.  His family were regular churchgoers, supported the Nation's Cause when War had broken out, and had never been involved in any of the town's scandals.  His mother volunteered for lots of organizations in their neighbourhood and his father had a steady job as a banker.  His younger brother had been accepted to study law at Oxford and was well-liked at university.  They had lived in a small brick house, owned a car, took out the good china when guests arrived, and overall were the perfect nuclear family.  Except for him.

Valentine had known from a young age he was 'different'.  He didn't quite fit in with his family or his peers.  He had a difficult time making friends and had never gone out with a single girl.  But he didn't know the reason why until he was around eighteen.

He and his only friend, George, had been off their arses drunk the night of graduation.  It was late and they had been talking about where they were headed after the summer.  George had gotten into York, but Valentine had not.  It had eaten away at him every night, the thought of being separated from his companion.  For some reason, George had been the only one he ever felt like he could be himself around.

With that thought in mind, Valentine had looked at his friend with new, drunken eyes.  He only felt like he truly belonged wherever and whenever he was with George - and had his friend always been extremely good looking? He had noticed George's flaming red hair, deep blue eyes, and slim, muscular body before, but realising that his beautiful man would be out of his reach forever made Valentine bold with whisky and desperation.  He had leaned in and pressed his lips to George's.

With that single action, Valentine's head had cleared.  This felt right.  This felt like he belonged.  He knew it was an idiot love, but he didn't care.  For a moment in time, Valentine had found the closest thing to acceptance he had ever experienced.  A cure for his ever-present loneliness.  He was defenceless against these new feelings racing through his veins.

His memories usually ended there.  He didn't want to think about what happened next.  The part where George had been disgusted and appalled and had broken his heart.  Where, for the next few years, Valentine had tried to hide everything, even from himself.  He had tried going steady with a nice girl, attending church more often, getting a decent job as a grocer, but it was all for nothing.  He knew that single kiss had marked him as an outsider forever.  Love was careless in its choosing, and it had chosen him to be marked apart from acceptable society.

It was late one night when he had been caught by his parents coming back from the White Horse down in SoHo.  They were outraged.  There was no question as to what this meant and he had been kicked out on the spot.  He had been alone ever since, alienated from everyone except for an occasional lover, but they never seemed to last.

Now it had been ten years since he had seen his family.  They didn't even bother to contact him after the announcement.  As far as they were concerned, he had died before the end of the world.  But that didn't stop him from keeping the strict practices he had been brought up in.  Valentine still went to church every Sunday and prayed every night, hoping to find the forgiveness and acceptance he had been told all his life that God would provide.

And this Sunday had been no different.  The man had been a good priest, for whatever that was worth.  He had spoken of the Word and how God on high is all love.  He had told of how God as love was able to reach up through humanity's loneliness and hate to transform the world into a loving community.  Pretty words that he so desperately wanted to believe, but he had been alone for too long to really put any faith in them.  And now here he was, bitterly alone, a silent voyeur to the new love that was blossoming in front of him while all he had was his love of love.  And love was not loving.

Creative Writing: Five Years, Chapter 1

"Five Years"

Chapter 1 - "Year One: What a Surprise"

"Get out!"

That was what James, in his opinion quite rudely, woke up to on this bleak Tuesday morning.  He felt stiff, groggy, and slightly hungover after a night of fooling around with his landlord-and-part-time-lover Marry, although that wasn't anything new.  What was new was the anger he had, apparently, incurred in her, and consequently being unceremoniously evicted from his lodgings.  This was plain from the fact that she had forcefully shoved his clothes, books, and old twelve-string guitar into his arms before kicking him out.

She had screamed that he had never paid for the spare room he let from her, and after too many missed payments, this was the final straw.  Or it might have had something to do with the fact that Mary had found out about him leaving earlier last evening with a fiery redhead (Dana? Danni? Darlene?) before returning back to finish the night with her.  Apparently, Mary had been under the impression that they were in a semi-exclusive relationship.

'The key,' thought James, 'was the emphasis on the word SEMI', which, speaking of, his had rapidly deflated after all of Mary's crying and shouting.  Now he would have to look for a new source of almost-guaranteed sex in between his usual romps with the pretty birds that came around with a thing for "any British guy".  What was worse was that he couldn't even get a word in edgewise before the front door had slammed in his face.  His shirt was still unbuttoned and his pants undone, as he was shoved out the door before he could get dressed.  That woman clearly had no decency.  He only hoped she hadn't damaged his books in the process of unceremoniously kicking him out.

James groggily tried to zip up his pants with one hand while carrying all his worldly possessions with the other.  Muttering under his breath, he decided that there was nothing for it but to get a cup of coffee.  Without it he was useless, and with his throbbing headache he was even less than useless for figuring out what to do now.  His brain hurt like a warehouse, with no room to spare for cognitive functioning.  It was decided.  He needed relief before anything else, and the Market Square was sure to have plenty in supply.  Not to mention that he didn't want to be standing on Mary's front porch for long.  Christ knew what that woman would do if she caught him still lingering on her property.  Maybe she would set him on fire again.

James Odam knew on the surface he wasn't anything to write home about.  Average height, slightly scrawny, with shaggy brown hair and mismatched blue eyes.  One of his pupils was permanently dilated due to a fight over some long forgotten girl and a still remembered well-aimed punch.  Academically, he barely achieved a single O-Level, and had "dismal prospects" for the future, as his teachers had put it.  He was a potential burden on the state and just waiting to be another statistic, a youth that slipped through the cracks of the society.  But despite all of this James knew deep down that he was meant for something greater.  He had a sense of Destiny about him that he wouldn't trade for the entire world.  He could feel it, and those perceptive enough could feel it too.  All he had to do was wait, and he had been practising waiting for all of his, admittedly short, life, a mere quarter of a century.  Mary could go to hell for all he cared.

After a short while stumbling along, James finally made it to the Market Square.  It was the central hub of the small London suburb James had the misfortune to still live in (his childhood home was a mere hour drive away), as all the comings and goings both big and small were exchanged here.  The Square itself was fairly standard, if a bit outdated.  There was an old-fashioned ice cream parlour, a decaying opera house, abandoned warehouses, and lots of ma and pa stores selling everything and anything you never really wanted - old electronics, old furniture, and old ideas.  They were a holdover from a bygone era that believed in Churchill and principles and had fought in the Great War.

'There were some glimmers of hope, though', James noted absently, 'some signs of life and progress were able to bleed through the dusty artefacts of thought and merchandise'.  For instance, there was a great record shop, Dorbell's, on the corner owned by the "old married couple" Jimmy and Charles.  There wasn't an American release they didn't have or couldn't get, and just as fashionable as any London based operation.  There were also a few pubs where you could get a decent drink and listen to some new live bands that weren't complete shit.  And the streets and alleyways interweaving around the Square were just the type that any aspiring artist could get lost in for an hour (or four), perfect for roaming around, seeking inspiration and Destiny.

As James trudged along looking for a place to rest and to obtain a cup of liquid consciousness, he spotted his mates sitting around a table at their local.

"James!" Tony shouted at him, "Come on over here and join us!"

Tony was one of James' best friends from secondary school.  Tough as nails and ready for anything, it wasn't unusual to find him in the middle of a brawl over something like Honour or Glory.  He was sitting by Sonny, Rudi, and Bevan, more of James' friends, and from the looks of it, the latter two were in the middle of yet another one of their endless debates.  The four had been thick as thieves since they were kids, frequently caught either ditching school to wander the streets or else pouring over and debating the content of their books.  Authors like Kerouac, Burroughs, Orwell, and Burgess were their real teachers, they all agreed, while school was only good for meeting girls.  They just had the unfortunate fate of attending an all-boys institution for the entirety of their education.

James wandered over to their table, gratefully sitting down in the empty chair before throwing his belongings to the ground.  He immediately motioned to the waiter to order coffee.  Nothing else could happen before then.  It was only after receiving his promised cup of ambrosia that he finally started to tune in to what Rudi and Bevan were arguing about.  It seemed like the topic was their usual - a fight over whether or not the lads should try and change the world.

"-I told you Bevan, it really doesn't matter," Rudi was saying, "What does changing the world really mean anyways? Fighting to change from one reigning philosophy to another doesn't alter the fact that at the end of the day, we are all marching towards the inevitability of death.  This world is pointless and so is spending the energy to change it.  No one cares.  Nothing really changes.  So we might as well keep drifting on as we are."

"Rudi, mate, you're looking at this all wrong," Bevan countered, clearly frustrated with Rudi's blasé attitude, "Changing the world is possible.  In fact, it's the only way we can be immortal.  The ancient civilizations knew this.  Whenever they conquered other nations, they would deface the likenesses and names of their enemies so that they could never be remembered.  Never be immortal! And think about it.  We've known about Aristotle and Alexander the Great for thousands of years.  Their ideas have changed history and the way we think - forever! It's the closest thing to immortality any of us will ever have.  And I, for one, wouldn't mind being remembered as Bevan the Great.  Part of the group of guys who changed - and saved - this dying world forever.  The ones who finally turned the death march of humanity around towards the light.  God knows someone needs to.  After all, these old geezers don't know a single fucking thing about how to LIVE.  They're ruining our world - stuck in the past and they don't even know it.  A new enlightened era is coming and we should be the ones to lead it! Our world isn't black and white anymore.  Good and evil are only a matter of perspective, and their way of life is dying.  Just like the planet they've killed a thousand times over wither their a-bombs and h-bombs - even their really small ones - sailing through the air at those poor Japs.  I say they're acting awfully high and mighty with their Moral Principles and Sense of Righteousness.  They're shitting all over us and it's time for us to fight back for our fucking right to be decent humans.  To let well enough alone.  Just because someone else is different doesn't mean we have to go and impose our sense of morality upon them.  It's their fucking life.  Let them live it."

'Rudi was always the cynic,' James thought wryly, 'But Bevan isn't much better with his fuck the world attitude.'  He sipped the last of his coffee, idly wondering what his next course of action should be as he tuned out the rest of their conversation.  It was the same shit he had heard before over and over again, and right now he needed to think what to do next.  No lodgings, no promise of semi-regular sex, and no idea where to go was a serious problem.  The fact that the world was constantly on the brink of collapse merely mirrored his internal struggle to get by.  Suddenly, he couldn't stand being around his mates another second.  He had to get up and move on.  His Destiny wasn't going to find him sitting at this table at their local talking about the same ideas with the same people.  And honestly, their conversation was starting to depress him.

Standing abruptly in the middle of Rudi's long-winded waxing defence, James proclaimed, "Well this was fun lads, but I've got places to be and all that.  Don't wait up."

He dropped a few quid onto the table, grabbed his stuff, and headed off.  His friends barely acknowledged his goodbye.  This was a regular occurrence from James.  He was a drifter, a wanderer at heart who enjoyed collecting everything from personalities to ideas in his soul and his writing.  Although his abrupt mood swings and spur of the moment decisions didn't change the fact that he eventually always seemed to find his way back to their group.

Alone once again, although this time with a clearer head, James began meandering along the cobblestone paths.  He pondered if he should go over to Dorbell's or check out the new graffiti on The Avenue - or maybe something else altogether.  His feet led him towards the central courtyard in the middle of the Square.  This was rather unusual, as James usually found himself clinging to the edges.  His local, along with all his favourite spots, was on the outskirts of the Square, and he wanted to keep it that way.  But there was nothing for it now.  He should've been paying more attention to where he was going.

"Excuse me," James muttered, trying to push his way through the Market Square past the families and tourists and shopkeepers crowding the streets, "Pardon me, ma'am".

He glared at a young mother with her pram standing in front of him, who refused to move.  She merely sighed, not even bothering to acknowledge his existence, as her gaze was fixated on the shop window.  James started to glare angrily at her when he noticed that there were tears running down her face.  Hastily, he began to apologize for shoving her when he noticed what she was looking at.

She was rooted in front of an electronics shop that proudly read "Newton Electrical" over its threshold, with dozens of televisions displayed in its storefront window.  It truly looked unremarkable except that on every single screen was a single message: FIVE YEARS THAT'S ALL WE'VE GOT.

James couldn't believe his eyes.  It was a total shock - a most unexpected surprise.  News guys were being broadcasted on every channel, with red eyes and wet faces as they proclaimed that earth was really dying.  James would've thought that it was a hoax except that their tears attested to the truth of their same breaking headline, and no one could've had every station around the country agree to such an outlandish story.

Suddenly, he realised he was cold.  The dreary overcast clouds had finally started to pour down the rain they had promised all morning.  Clearly, the weather was reflecting the bleak future and crushing despair that would reign for the next five years.  Or perhaps it was just another Tuesday in Britain.  James felt like an actor, thrust onto the stage to perform in a drama he wasn't sure he wanted to portray.  Looking around the Market Square with new eyes, he took in the isolated interactions like a choreographed scene unfolding before his eyes.

Everything was inevitable and predetermined.  All the fat-skinny people, all the tall-short people, all the nobody people, all the somebody people - their fates were all sealed with an ending that was revealed too early to the players.  They all abruptly seemed so desperately important and so desperately separated from him.

A girl around his age looked like she went off her head, as she was in the middle of hitting the tiny children that were crowded around her.  They had all been huddled around a radio in the center of the Square, but now she was solidly beating them within what looked to be an inch of their lives.  Quickly a black man, most likely their father, intervened and pulled her off the bruised youngsters.  Their toys scattered and broken, left forgotten on the ground as they were quickly shepherded away.

Meanwhile, a homeless soldier with a broken arm and no legs was lying in the streets at his usual corner.  A long time ago he had asked for money, trying to save enough to buy himself prosthetic replacements.  He wanted to walk again and rejoin society, but he had barely raised ten quid the entire time he begged.  So he had abandoned his hope like the world had abandoned him after the War.  His cardboard sign had been proclaiming the end of the world for years now, and it seemed as if his teetering sanity had finally been vindicated.  Although it was hard to tell, as he fixed his stare to the wheels of a Cadillac parked in front of him.  A hollow victory, if it even existed.

Nearby there was a cop who knelt and kissed the feet of a priest.  Clearly, he was seeking forgiveness for his sins, perhaps too numerous to count and too many to forgive, before the end.  James wasn't sure what the priest would be able to do about it, and at any rate, it wasn't like a man of the cloth was going to save the world.  They had been trying for centuries and where had that gotten them? Across the street a queer, James could tell from the earring, threw up at the sight.  He was inclined to agree with the flamboyant fruit.  It was rather sickening to think that any sort of salvation could be found amongst the corrupted and damned.

The only one who seemed unaffected by the news was a fine looking young black woman in an ice cream parlour.  She had quite a few cold milkshakes in front of her.  Obviously, she had been sitting there and drinking them for a long time.  She was wonderfully oblivious to the chaos outside, the turmoil that the world had been thrown in, smiling and waving along with the cheerful tune playing from the jukebox.  James was instantly drawn to her.  She looked a little like his mother.  Suddenly, he was overcome with the urge to go back home.  Or maybe to kiss the beautiful milkshake girl.  He wasn't sure what he wanted or even what mattered anymore.  His brain hurt a lot.

The mise en scène ended, James was overcome with an urge to leave the terrible scene of chaos and grief behind him.  He immediately spun around with his battered suitcases and started heading in the exact opposite direction of the Market Square.  He walked and walked and walked aimlessly, unsure of what would become of the future or where he was headed.  But somehow, underneath the shock and the panic and the desperation, he was excited.  His long-awaited Destiny would be upon him within five years.  After all, that's all he's got.

Creative Writing: Haiku 21

Graffiti I found in the East Village today while apartment hunting

From Midtown East to
Harlem and the East Village
I hope to find Home