The Beat to My DrumI'd never been unlucky enough to be around drunk people all that much before. To be perfectly honest, I'd never thought much about the potential experience, either, but Jesus H. Magical Tapdancing Pony Christ, I wish I had. Insufferable gaggle of giggling unbalanced perverts, and that's the boys. I guess all those months in front of the computer reading stories about people getting drunk off their asses didn't actually tell me jack shit about how to deal with actual people getting drunk off their asses. I definitely should have guessed I'd be around this, at the very least. I mean, I decided to go to a college dance. A school-sanctioned one, but fuck, like people are going to stay sober for the two hours they actually stay.The Beat to My Drum by Dendrae
I wasn't old enough to drink yet, not that that was stopping the rest of the dorm from taking pulls right out of the bottle. A couple of dudes had set up a bar-esque thing behind a couple of bushes across the way, and with the overwhelming stench of bodies, paint, a
Zone 13.2: A Killjoy SestinaBright yellow sunshine gunZone 13.2: A Killjoy Sestina by Dendrae
One to match the sunshine sky
One to match the firework blast
That's all that's in her mind.
Waiting hard for his fool head
To turn back up, free.
That's how he sees her, in the free
Air, a thin hand on her thin gun.
The wind and a white flash whip his head
Right, turning his gaze to the scarlet sky.
It's all he can do to keep his mind
Off of the sickening laser blast.
There's a final snow white sound blast
And he thanks the radiowaves he's yet free.
Too much stress weighing on his mind
Too much hate to focus down the barrel of his gun.
He gets up and walks to the sky,
Knowing the Warehouse will fix his head.
He knows how to get there, to head
Towards the sunshine firework blast
At sunset, his color filling the rust sky.
They don't know, can't say if he's free
Or dead -- not until they find his gun
In the zones, nothing but a memory of a mind.
He's always been one to mind
The old signaling method -- anyone with half a head
Could trace the rainbow gun
Zone 13: A Killjoy SestinaWhite shiner fireworksZone 13: A Killjoy Sestina by Dendrae
Chain link electro spider net
Fenced in like cattle, like rats
Stark against the blue red dust
A sunshine gun in his pale hand
Looking outside to the sunset
The Warehouse printed a sunset
American Widow in fireworks,
A mark on the girl's hand
As she waits in his net
For her man to step out of the dust,
To stop the crash queens skittering like rats.
The entire zone's going to the rats
She says, silver scarlet sunset
Hiding the upthrust rust dust.
Watching the signal fireworks
Shoot their come-home bloom into the sky net,
His tattoo on her palm curls up in her hand.
She holds her breath as Betty deals her a hand.
Down deep in Targetspace she can hear the rats
Scuttling around the butterflied target net.
She sees it, though she's too deep to see the sunset,
Setting off in her brain all these fireworks
And she reaches up to his hair to brush out the dust.
His clothes cover her room and bed in dust.
She arches, buries one hand
Deep in his hair. She feels fireworks
Lament of One Sorry-Ass DudeHis name was Mitchell Cooney.Lament of One Sorry-Ass Dude by Dendrae
In private, he called himself
the Electric Jester, in hoping that
would give him the courage
to back out of this
sorry-ass life he was living.
He found the unmarked disk
by the side of the
road chucked out by some
ass that wouldn't be able
to tell his head from
the butt of a gun.
He took this disk and
launched his courage, to the
skies, posting a red 'OK'
to his dashboard and learning
the lyrics to every song.
Death or victory, they sang,
and he agreed with all
of his goddamn radioactive heart.
His big black truck, he
knew, was going to need
some touching up out in
the Zones, but he figured
if he could find some
paint, he could do it.
Now all he had to
do was wait for whatever
signal he was waiting for.
Mitchell Cooney left work that
day to find his big
black truck absolutely fucking nowhere.
Everything -- his CDs, the disk,
the red 'OK' on the
dashboard -- was completely, totally gone.
Four days later, he found
his truck cooling its heels
in the middle of
GUESS WHO IS PRETTY TERRIBLE AT EVERYTHING.|
THAT WOULD BE ME, I AM PRETTY TERRIBLE AT EVERYTHING.
The name's Charme. I've got a hard head, a soft heart, and enough murderous tendencies to turn me into a serial killer, or at least a supervillain. One of those mad-scientist types. I will create Pokémon just so I can found Team Rocket.
Aaaaanyway I never know what to say in these things. Doesn't matter much anyway, as it stands. If you're trying to look me up, try here, or find my lunaescence, Ophelia Firestorm. I'm not much at what I do, but it happens well enough, and slowly.
man leave me alone it is like three in the morning and i'm ticked off
I dunno if you've noticed, but I'm not much for drawing. And my computer with the scanner is shot to hell anyway, so I'm gonna try to write. Because I am actually okay at that, it is kind of my thing.
Current Residence: Unova, Victory Road, swearing at everything that isn't a Deino
Favourite genre of music: Rock, dance, dance-punk
MP3 player of choice: iPod
Favourite cartoon character: Harley Quinn