[Carnival] Todd goes shopping.

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—
Come one, come all, and witness magic!
I introduce to you an occult sorcerer
Of the ancient craft of Necromancy
A caster of mind-bending illusions
From the nether void of the shadow walkers
A soul from Shangra La, The Great Milenko!
– Insane Clown Posse, “Great Milenko”
—
Todd turned off his clunker and yanked the parking brake into place. He reeked of cigar smoke, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He got out of the car, pocketed his keys, and slammed the door shut. Todd liked to park as far from the mall’s entrance as he could without looking like he worked there. No easy task for a teenager with an ancient car, but he tried anyway. Too many fender benders up front with soccer-mom SUV drivers, and too many break-ins near the road that circled the mall complex. He shoved his hands in his hoodie’s pocket and began the trek to the mall’s entrance.

Saturdays were always crowded, and Todd had to practically shoulder his way through the entrance. He got plenty of dirty looks from over-40 cows, but he figured it was easy to shrug that shit off when you’re not part of their herd. Maybe he shouldn’t have smirked, because two seconds later a rent-a-pig put a hand on his shoulder. “Hold it right there, chief. Mind tellin’ me where you’re headed?”

Todd whipped around, suddenly full of rage. “Get your hand off me, chief, or your security company’s gonna get sued into oblivion.” He had an incredible urge to swing at the overweight and pimply 30-something goon, but held it back. “I’m going to visit my girlfriend. She works here. And if you leave me the fuck alone, I might spend money here.” The security guard took his hand off of Todd’s shoulder and tried to give him a stern look.

“Empty your pockets.” The guard’s hand strayed to his billy-club. “I think you’re shoplifting.”

“Right. I’m going to steal something, go outside, and come back in, after I just got away with it. Eat shit and die.” Todd turned his back on the security guard and walked away. After eight or ten steps, the rage drained out of him, and he couldn’t believe that he’d just gotten away with that. Maybe he should stop by the guard station and complain. Better yet, he should get his mom to do it. Those fat pig-wanna-be’s would never hear the end of it. Todd shelved the idea for later. Shelia was why he was here. Sheila and Thunk. He needed a dose of normal, and no one was better suited to provide it than those two. He made a left at the center of the mall, and headed down to the Hot Topic. Shelia worked part-time there, and it was one of the only places left in the mall that didn’t call security if you wanted to hang out for a while before you bought something.

Todd waved to Sheila as he walked between the fake cast-iron gates that stood at each side of the entrance of this goth-kid’s store. Thunk was there, too, and they both waved back. Todd gave the merchandise a cursory glance on his way to the checkout desk. He got up real close, leaned over the desk, and drooled out, “How much for zeh weeeeemen?” Thunk tried to squelch his laughter, but Sheila burst into giggles.

“Unfortunately, uh, sir, our weemen aren’t for sale, but could I perhaps interest you in some titanium nipple rings? They’re quite the rage this season.” Now Todd burst into laughter, and Thunk could contain himself no longer. A couple of shoppers – parents of a subculture they didn’t understand, no doubt – gave them all dirty looks, but everyone else just smiled and continued their browsing. “You stink. Did you find ancient piles of old man’s dirty laundry or something?”

“Nah, just some cigars.” Thunk smiled hugely and Sheila rolled her eyes. “There’s a bunch of other cool stuff, but I really haven’t had any time to explore yet.” Todd fidgeted as Sheila looked him up and down. She shook her head and went to change the CD in the store’s player. Thunk watched her go, eyes glued to her ass.

“Man, you are one lucky S.O.B.” Todd smirked, a bit nervously. “So, you hear what you missed at school yet?” Todd relaxed as Thunk filled him in on the gossip and bullshit assignments that he’d missed. Sheila slipped a Depeche Mode CD into the player and jabbed the play button.
—
Take second best
Put me to the test
Things on your chest
You need to confess
I will deliver
You know I’m a forgiver

Reach out and touch faith
Reach out and touch faith
– Depeche Mode, “Personal Jesus”

First poll ever, methinks.

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I think this may be my first poll ever. If I keep my writing separate, it will be easier to keep track of it. If I merge the journals, I might get a higher readership, since a lot more people read my daily journal than read my writing.

So, I want to know what you think.

Shameless, structured, and ordered day of Eris.

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Happy birthday to both and . :)

The next day of silence is on Mother’s Day. That will be interesting.

, , and should be reading , damnit. Any constructive criticism or recommendations would be muchly appreciated. :) Or would it be simpler to just combine the journals, and move the entries over to ?

Horoscope

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TAURUS (April 20-May 20): On a family member’s 60th birthday, the Japanese celebrate a holiday known as *kanreki.* It’s a time of rebirth, when the celebrant ritually becomes a baby again and enters a second childhood. Among the many gifts given on the occasion is a red kimono, which signifies that in a sense the person is now freed from the responsibilities of adulthood. I recommend that you treat yourself to a similar rite of passage, Taurus. Even though you may not be turning 60, you are at the beginning of an extraordinarily fresh new cycle. You deserve a red kimono and at least a temporary respite from adult burdens.

Take that, ye great hoary beast!

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The paper’s done. Now, I’m going to go home and be lazy for a few hours. Then I’ll think about tackling the final. That we made ourselves. *sigh* Maybe I’ll put it off, it’s not due until Friday. Whatever.

If you guys are interested in reading the paper, let me know.

I should not be surprised that it’s snowing on the eve of my birthday.

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Well, I’m at the very end of page four, and I’ve just finished the introductory stuff and can get into the meat of the paper now.

You know, I hate this kind of paper. It’s all academic masturbation. Am I just good at it? Or is that ego masturbation? Whatever.

I’ll take this short break in paper-writing to mention a two-by-four-to-the-face kind of oddity that has been on my mind since Saturday. In the Mage LARP, I play a shaman character named Phil. He’s a white boy, from an ancestry of Germanic tribal shamans, that deals primarily with city and technology spirits. And the storyteller has him hopping timelines.

Just to make the story more complicated, the storyteller involved an Ecstatic, who is part of a Chinese sect that incorporates Akashic ideas and disciplines into their teachings. This ecstatic is from another timeline – one in which she was married to Phil. Take 1984, add in Michael Foucault’s Panopticon, and you have this dystopia. The character is described as a petite and athletic Chinese woman in her early twenties.

Now, everybody that knows me knows my thing for Asian women. Geek-related or trip-to-Japan related, or whatever, it’s there. I make no apologies for it.

After a scene in Saturday’s game wherein the Ecstatic and another Akashic protected Phil from a sniper, while he meditated and communed with a spirit that was helping them, I was struck by a severe sense of import and oddity. Something about the story of an almost-me and a partial-other (the Ecstatic is nothing, physically or inclination-wise like the player) is begging to be told, written…. experienced.

I want to see it as an Anime. I want to write it. I want to dive into this idea. But I have no desire to leave anything behind. I want a back door, so when the story is over, I’m back here. I want it to be entertainment, but I have this pull into something or somewhere that’s more full, complete, real, unreal, adventure, important, risky, authoritative, respect-filled, powerful. That’s the word. POWERFUL. I want a refresher. A water bottle of POWERFUL that I can take a swig from when I need it.

It’s like when Nate talked about the wizard throwing fireballs down Main St. It’s like when I told Eric about the dream of the girl with gray eyes. It’s like the craving for physically manifesting my spiritual leanings. It’s like the craving for a cataclysm.

I don’t think Gone Wired has this in any size mug.