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Thursday, December 30, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Impossible Girl - 38
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You have to talk to me eventually
Conversation #IG (IGirl) #RBVM (Rowan Bark Voice Mail)
RBVM: It’s Rowan. Leave a message and maybe I’ll get back to you.
IG: It’s me again… I guess you’re not getting back to me…
IG: I know you’re angry but we need to talk…
IG: I’m ringing back… Please pick up…
BEEP
RBVM: It’s Rowan. Leave a message and maybe I’ll get back to you.
IG: F*&k Rowan… don’t do this to me…
IG: You have to believe I didn’t know… I still don’t… but I want to… I want to know what’s going on. Don’t you?
IG: You have to talk to me eventually…
IG: My flight gets in Monday morning, please be home.
BEEP
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For the Impossible Girl label Tokyo Fashion Week 2010 was a phenomenal success. Big time pay dirt according to Roly. Orders and opportunities were flocking in from all over the globe. Another year of this and they could start shopping for real estate in the Seychelles… hardly but still it was good, very good.
People were finally taking her seriously. She wasn’t just an eccentric ex-model pimping for the limelight with her exhibitionist behaviour, her collection spoke for itself. She should be ecstatic, sharing her success with Roly and the girls, not trudging along alone in her gutters of self doubt and misery.
The streets of Tokyo, normally so vibrant and alive, felt stale and dead to her now. Her retail therapy had achieved nothing, glossy bags of vintage Jun Takahashi hung from her fingers and, nothing. Even the people were cold. It was as if they could see through to the core of her shame and they wore their disgust like a shroud. A young Harajuku couple broke off their kissing and returned her stare. Everything she looked at was an ominous reminder of the night with Mark and Belle. Their blood...
With eyes down the Impossible Girl didn’t see the boy until she had ploughed right into him on the busy Shibuya street. She mumbled ‘Gomennasai’ and was on the move again when his words struck her from behind like a stake.
‘Nukekubi, Nukekubi Kono Ama!’
Where had she heard those words before? It came to her with a chill, Belle crouched above her, blood dripping from her chin as she grinned and uttered that exact phrase.
Vampire, You Vampire Bitch.
When she turned around the boy was just a head in a sea of pedestrians. His insult apparently nothing more than the outburst of an angry teen.
But by the time she closed her hotel room door she was in tears. Every molecule in her body screamed at her to get out. She needed to get back home… would it still be there for her?
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Friday, December 17, 2010
Brooklyn Half - 4
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‘Is this like in Grade 4 when you wanted revenge on Hammy the Hamster for pissing on your bag?’
‘No! It’s not like that. Can you to listen to me?’
‘Alrigh, alrigh, I’m listening.’
Brook felt like she was losing it. Her heart was thumping and she couldn’t keep her feet still.
‘I cut the tops of my ears off and I don’t regret it. These bandages are coming off and I’m going to be normal.’
‘I hate to be the one to tell you this sister but you aint acting very normal.’
‘It’s not my ears, there’s someone after me,’ she blurted out.
‘Those bitches in your class again? Coz you know…’
‘No, not them,’ Brook cut him off. ‘It’s something different. I was attacked in the hospital.’
Shaun was looking at her weirdly. She knew what she was saying sounded crazy but couldn’t stop it.
‘It was a boy, he jumped me. It’s hard to explain. He disappeared right after.’
‘Where were the nurses? Wasn’t anyone around?’
Shaun had dropped his try hard South Bronx slang and was speaking like the son of the mid Manhattan African American judge that he was.
‘No. And they don’t believe it happened. The doctors say I dreamt the whole thing.’
‘But you don’t think you dreamt it?”
‘It was real. I swear it Shaun. And look at this.’ Brook pulled open her jacket and sweater to reveal red welts across her right shoulder. ‘They didn’t come up straight away. Not until I got home.’
Shaun was looking at her shoulder with concern but didn’t say anything.
‘And now there’s someone stalking me. Every time I leave the building I feel like I’m being watched. And followed.’
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‘Is this like in Grade 4 when you wanted revenge on Hammy the Hamster for pissing on your bag?’
‘No! It’s not like that. Can you to listen to me?’
‘Alrigh, alrigh, I’m listening.’
Brook felt like she was losing it. Her heart was thumping and she couldn’t keep her feet still.
‘I cut the tops of my ears off and I don’t regret it. These bandages are coming off and I’m going to be normal.’
‘I hate to be the one to tell you this sister but you aint acting very normal.’
‘It’s not my ears, there’s someone after me,’ she blurted out.
‘Those bitches in your class again? Coz you know…’
‘No, not them,’ Brook cut him off. ‘It’s something different. I was attacked in the hospital.’
Shaun was looking at her weirdly. She knew what she was saying sounded crazy but couldn’t stop it.
‘It was a boy, he jumped me. It’s hard to explain. He disappeared right after.’
‘Where were the nurses? Wasn’t anyone around?’
Shaun had dropped his try hard South Bronx slang and was speaking like the son of the mid Manhattan African American judge that he was.
‘No. And they don’t believe it happened. The doctors say I dreamt the whole thing.’
‘But you don’t think you dreamt it?”
‘It was real. I swear it Shaun. And look at this.’ Brook pulled open her jacket and sweater to reveal red welts across her right shoulder. ‘They didn’t come up straight away. Not until I got home.’
Shaun was looking at her shoulder with concern but didn’t say anything.
‘And now there’s someone stalking me. Every time I leave the building I feel like I’m being watched. And followed.’
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He didn’t speak straight away. Had that serious look on his face, the look he got when he had something on his mind but didn’t know how to say it.
‘Look, I don’t know what happened in the hospital. But this stuff about you being watched, have you thought maybe it’s your Mum,’ he said eventually.
‘My Mum?’ Brook was lost for words. She couldn’t believe he’d said it. That topic had always been taboo. Shaun knew that and up until this moment he had always respected it.
‘Maybe she heard about your ears and was worried and doesn’t…’
‘My mother walked out on me thirteen years ago. She couldn’t give a stuff about my ears,’ Brook cut him off. She was fighting to keep the tears back.
‘Don’t hate me for this but I need to tell you something.’
‘Tell then,’ Brook said, focusing her gaze on her shoe.
‘There was this time years ago when we were playing in the Wild West. I saw this lady watching us. She had ears just like yours.’
‘And?’ the tears had swollen up in her eyes and were spilling down her cheeks.
‘And I never mentioned it because I knew you would go all mental but it was weird. What if it was her? Maybe she’s been keeping tabs on you all along but is afraid to contact you. Maybe it’s her following you now.’
The floodgates were open. This conversation had taken a turn she hadn’t expected and definitely wasn’t ready for. And it was all her fault. She started it. It was her fault that she was probably losing her best friend. Maybe it was her fault that her mother left and her father was a crazy drunk.
She was going back to the dark place. The alone place where the only relief from the pain came from physical hurt. Physical hurt from self inflicted cuts.
They would say she caused the cuts to her shoulder. It was probably what Shaun thought already.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ she said getting up.
She used every inch of her self control to stop herself from running. When she got to the gate Shaun was still sitting on the bench, staring miserably at the dogs going berserk in their run.
Neither of them noticed the shadow that crept from behind a huge Elm and followed her out of the park.
He didn’t speak straight away. Had that serious look on his face, the look he got when he had something on his mind but didn’t know how to say it.
‘Look, I don’t know what happened in the hospital. But this stuff about you being watched, have you thought maybe it’s your Mum,’ he said eventually.
‘My Mum?’ Brook was lost for words. She couldn’t believe he’d said it. That topic had always been taboo. Shaun knew that and up until this moment he had always respected it.
‘Maybe she heard about your ears and was worried and doesn’t…’
‘My mother walked out on me thirteen years ago. She couldn’t give a stuff about my ears,’ Brook cut him off. She was fighting to keep the tears back.
‘Don’t hate me for this but I need to tell you something.’
‘Tell then,’ Brook said, focusing her gaze on her shoe.
‘There was this time years ago when we were playing in the Wild West. I saw this lady watching us. She had ears just like yours.’
‘And?’ the tears had swollen up in her eyes and were spilling down her cheeks.
‘And I never mentioned it because I knew you would go all mental but it was weird. What if it was her? Maybe she’s been keeping tabs on you all along but is afraid to contact you. Maybe it’s her following you now.’
The floodgates were open. This conversation had taken a turn she hadn’t expected and definitely wasn’t ready for. And it was all her fault. She started it. It was her fault that she was probably losing her best friend. Maybe it was her fault that her mother left and her father was a crazy drunk.
She was going back to the dark place. The alone place where the only relief from the pain came from physical hurt. Physical hurt from self inflicted cuts.
They would say she caused the cuts to her shoulder. It was probably what Shaun thought already.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ she said getting up.
She used every inch of her self control to stop herself from running. When she got to the gate Shaun was still sitting on the bench, staring miserably at the dogs going berserk in their run.
Neither of them noticed the shadow that crept from behind a huge Elm and followed her out of the park.
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Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Black Heaven 6
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I'm casting for the lead role in my imagination
TOURK BLAKE
He's me
Like my avatar on another plane of existence
V Cool
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So this first guy comes along and he's like whatever
He's all shakespearean and s%#$
He keeps wanting to know what his motivation is
I shout at him from my directors chair
"You're in the desert, your hair's all Leif Garrett, your leg is your sword and you're wearing a cool ass black tracky. That's your effing motivate dude."
And he still all pale hook nose skywalker ranch whatever
"CUT"
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This next guy comes along and is all handsome and stuff
He seems comfortable in the tracky
He doesn't ask me anything
He just kind of acts all sucky at being hero or something
And then he's kind of forgetable in a Steven Dorff kind of way
So I forget him
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Then there's this crazy f#$%ing Estonian guy
He just runs on set grabs the sword which is his leg and shouts
"My Fatherland, My Happiness and Joy"
And starts stabbing s#$%
And I'm all like woah dude
And he's like stabbing at the sand and the props and he's really into it
And I kind of like him
And he's wearing these cool shoes with the tracky that didn't come from wardobe
But then I think of the accent and all the over dubbing we'd have to do
And I'm less keen
I guess I'll have to keep on looking
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I wonder if we can actually get someone with a real third demon arm?
That would be way cool
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I'm casting for the lead role in my imagination
TOURK BLAKE
He's me
Like my avatar on another plane of existence
V Cool
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So this first guy comes along and he's like whatever
He's all shakespearean and s%#$
He keeps wanting to know what his motivation is
I shout at him from my directors chair
"You're in the desert, your hair's all Leif Garrett, your leg is your sword and you're wearing a cool ass black tracky. That's your effing motivate dude."
And he still all pale hook nose skywalker ranch whatever
"CUT"
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This next guy comes along and is all handsome and stuff
He seems comfortable in the tracky
He doesn't ask me anything
He just kind of acts all sucky at being hero or something
And then he's kind of forgetable in a Steven Dorff kind of way
So I forget him
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He just runs on set grabs the sword which is his leg and shouts
"My Fatherland, My Happiness and Joy"
And starts stabbing s#$%
And I'm all like woah dude
And he's like stabbing at the sand and the props and he's really into it
And I kind of like him
And he's wearing these cool shoes with the tracky that didn't come from wardobe
But then I think of the accent and all the over dubbing we'd have to do
And I'm less keen
I guess I'll have to keep on looking
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I wonder if we can actually get someone with a real third demon arm?
That would be way cool
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Friday, December 10, 2010
Brooklyn Half - 3
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Tompkins Square Park is full of conscientious dog walkers, hipster students and pram pushing parents. At 3.28pm on a Thursday afternoon there is absolutely nothing to fear from this gentrified plot of recreational land. So why couldn’t Brook shake the sensation that she was being watched? The Elm trees that had soothed her in her childhood suddenly felt sinister.
She sat on a bench seat next to the dog run waiting for her friend Shaun who was running late. Nothing unusual there, he was always late and Brook usually compensated by turning up fifteen minutes late herself. But today she couldn’t stand to be at home, with her Dad brooding and angsty and trying to remain sober, trying to be strong for her, his wayward and possibly deranged daughter.
They had sedated her and when she came to, told her that there was never anyone sharing her hospital room. That she had dreamed the conversation with the boy and then woken up afraid and confused. A not unusual side effect of the pain killers and all of the emotional pressure.
Brook could tell that behind the rationalization and concern they thought she was mad. ‘Kookie’ as her friend Shaun would say. She couldn’t really blame them. First the ears and then the attack. And what she hadn’t told them was even weirder. Even in her terrified state she had known enough to hold that back.
When the pain had dulled enough they put her through the psych ringer. She lied her way through three separate evaluations before they let her go home with Judd. And even then she had a newly assigned social worker to keep tabs on them and an appointment with the psychologist every other week. She could tell Judd was pissed about this but he was doing his best to handle it and didn’t seem to blame her. Judd said he blamed himself. Brook thought the only thing he was to blame for was not letting her have that stupid operation years ago.
Once she was home the whole thing seemed less real. Maybe she had dreamed it. Or maybe she was as crazy as they all thought. She was Judd’s daughter after all, it was probably genetic. About time she started seeing demon boy apparitions.
And now the squirrels were making her nervous. A particularly beady eyed black one was making its way toward her bench. She reached into her bag and found her can of mace and then Shaun finally turned up.
Tompkins Square Park is full of conscientious dog walkers, hipster students and pram pushing parents. At 3.28pm on a Thursday afternoon there is absolutely nothing to fear from this gentrified plot of recreational land. So why couldn’t Brook shake the sensation that she was being watched? The Elm trees that had soothed her in her childhood suddenly felt sinister.
She sat on a bench seat next to the dog run waiting for her friend Shaun who was running late. Nothing unusual there, he was always late and Brook usually compensated by turning up fifteen minutes late herself. But today she couldn’t stand to be at home, with her Dad brooding and angsty and trying to remain sober, trying to be strong for her, his wayward and possibly deranged daughter.
They had sedated her and when she came to, told her that there was never anyone sharing her hospital room. That she had dreamed the conversation with the boy and then woken up afraid and confused. A not unusual side effect of the pain killers and all of the emotional pressure.
Brook could tell that behind the rationalization and concern they thought she was mad. ‘Kookie’ as her friend Shaun would say. She couldn’t really blame them. First the ears and then the attack. And what she hadn’t told them was even weirder. Even in her terrified state she had known enough to hold that back.
When the pain had dulled enough they put her through the psych ringer. She lied her way through three separate evaluations before they let her go home with Judd. And even then she had a newly assigned social worker to keep tabs on them and an appointment with the psychologist every other week. She could tell Judd was pissed about this but he was doing his best to handle it and didn’t seem to blame her. Judd said he blamed himself. Brook thought the only thing he was to blame for was not letting her have that stupid operation years ago.
Once she was home the whole thing seemed less real. Maybe she had dreamed it. Or maybe she was as crazy as they all thought. She was Judd’s daughter after all, it was probably genetic. About time she started seeing demon boy apparitions.
And now the squirrels were making her nervous. A particularly beady eyed black one was making its way toward her bench. She reached into her bag and found her can of mace and then Shaun finally turned up.
‘Wassup earless,’ he said as he sat down next to her. “Go on show me. That’s some f#$%ed up s!@# right there. What’d you use to get’em off?
She slapped his hand away. In a normal situation she would have jibed straight back at the unfunny prat but things definitely weren’t normal right now.
“Oh, oh, oh. You know I love you, I always got your back, but damn girl, you really walkin on the wild side with this s!@#.”
‘Knock it off. Do you see that squirrel?’ she hissed.
‘I can see a fricken hundred squirrels, the damn rodents are everywhere… c’mon wassup with you?’
It had disappeared, Blackie was gone and the squirrels rummaging around the trees were once again just innocent vermin making their way in the city.
She looked at Shaun and wondered if her best friend, her only friend really, would understand what she was trying to contend with…
“Shaun before you turned up I was just about to mace a squirrel and I think I’m going insane.”
She slapped his hand away. In a normal situation she would have jibed straight back at the unfunny prat but things definitely weren’t normal right now.
“Oh, oh, oh. You know I love you, I always got your back, but damn girl, you really walkin on the wild side with this s!@#.”
‘Knock it off. Do you see that squirrel?’ she hissed.
‘I can see a fricken hundred squirrels, the damn rodents are everywhere… c’mon wassup with you?’
It had disappeared, Blackie was gone and the squirrels rummaging around the trees were once again just innocent vermin making their way in the city.
She looked at Shaun and wondered if her best friend, her only friend really, would understand what she was trying to contend with…
“Shaun before you turned up I was just about to mace a squirrel and I think I’m going insane.”
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Sunday, December 5, 2010
Black Heaven 5
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Its no use...
One eyed witches are hard to kill at the best of times
Black Heaven refuses to take them while I'm in treatment
And besides the ghosts keep waking me up to check my pulse
I drift in and out...
Those witches are only vanity and glamour anyway
There's nothing really to them
Not like Bret Michaels
Bret Michaels rocks
So does Axl Rose and Elric
Anyone who has long hair, and looks like a girl but isn't rocks
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Its no use...
One eyed witches are hard to kill at the best of times
Black Heaven refuses to take them while I'm in treatment
And besides the ghosts keep waking me up to check my pulse
I drift in and out...
Those witches are only vanity and glamour anyway
There's nothing really to them
Not like Bret Michaels
Bret Michaels rocks
So does Axl Rose and Elric
Anyone who has long hair, and looks like a girl but isn't rocks
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Saturday, December 4, 2010
Black Heaven 4
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Hell is an oncology ward at 3 in the morning
Full of the moaning damned
Then pervaded by awful silence
Broken again by the shuffling and mumuring of ghosts
No-one wants to be here
Isn't that hell?
A place where no-one wants to be
If I could just get to sleep
If I could just reach my Black Heaven...
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Hell is an oncology ward at 3 in the morning
Full of the moaning damned
Then pervaded by awful silence
Broken again by the shuffling and mumuring of ghosts
No-one wants to be here
Isn't that hell?
A place where no-one wants to be
If I could just get to sleep
If I could just reach my Black Heaven...
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Friday, December 3, 2010
Black Heaven 3
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My mind is Tiffany-twisted
Pink champagne on ice
And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
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Pink champagne on ice
And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
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Thursday, December 2, 2010
Black Heaven 2
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But I dream of a Black Heaven
I may be going to lose my leg in hell
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But I dream of a Black Heaven
I may be going to lose my leg in hell
But in Heaven it's already gone...
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and I'm packing a twin set
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and I'm packing a twin set
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Saturday, November 27, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Impossible Girl - 37
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The Impossible Girl woke up sprawled on the sheet less king-size bed in an open bathrobe. The combined smell of blood, sex and vomit made her gag and cough. A spear of light shone through the thin space between the curtains and hit her in the face. She felt groggy, her throat was clogged and her lips were crusted. She got up and pulled the shades.
The unfriendly light revealed a pool of burgundy puke that had soaked into the bare mattress. In the mirror she could see where it had dried on her chin and congealed in patches on her robe. Around the room she counted six empty champagne bottles and two ice buckets. One of the buckets was on its side next to a patch of wet carpet.
A simple note sat on the bedside table. ‘Don’t be angry, our time will come. Yours M.’
The previous evening came flooding back to her. She held out her hand and shut her eyes as if to stop it.
What she really wanted was an exit out of all of this mess. She pictured herself sitting on the grass beside Rowan at the Blues Festival in Byron Bay, enjoying the music and the flow of the crowd. Anonymous, young, in love and everything simple and beautiful.
But that was fantasy, her reality was this room. Its stony silence made a nightmare of her hollow wishes. She opened her eyes and found her shadow falling across the ice bucket. This was probably what a mental breakdown felt like.
Her bag and clothes were in a pile on the bathroom floor. When she picked up her phone she felt a pain in the tendons of her wist. Rolling her forearm she found a black and blue weeping bite mark.
There were five messages from Roly. He’d lined up half a dozen interviews and an invitation for some bash tonight that according to his message ‘could not be missed’. As she sat on the toilet listening she felt another puncture bruise on her ass, and spotted yet another on her right breast. Ugh… She threw up blood onto the white tiles in front of her.
Mark and Belinda had disappeared and so had his luggage. The Impossible Girl doubted she would see them again this week. Mark was a pro at the quick exit, she thought bitterly.
She stood under the shower thinking how naïve she and Rowan had been. They had denied their condition for as long as they could, and when they couldn’t ignore its urges they had merely placated them. Why hadn’t they pushed for answers?
As she turned off the faucet it occurred to the Impossible Girl that there were no messages from Rowan. It felt ominous. Mark was connected to Belinda and Rowan thought she knew that… that she had known it all along. Could she blame him? How would she feel if the tables were turned?
Whatever the implications of last night she had to put it behind her and get on with the job, at least for the moment, at least for this week. The Impossible girl owed it to herself and she owed it to Roly. She would finish what she came to Tokyo to do.
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The unfriendly light revealed a pool of burgundy puke that had soaked into the bare mattress. In the mirror she could see where it had dried on her chin and congealed in patches on her robe. Around the room she counted six empty champagne bottles and two ice buckets. One of the buckets was on its side next to a patch of wet carpet.
A simple note sat on the bedside table. ‘Don’t be angry, our time will come. Yours M.’
The previous evening came flooding back to her. She held out her hand and shut her eyes as if to stop it.
What she really wanted was an exit out of all of this mess. She pictured herself sitting on the grass beside Rowan at the Blues Festival in Byron Bay, enjoying the music and the flow of the crowd. Anonymous, young, in love and everything simple and beautiful.
But that was fantasy, her reality was this room. Its stony silence made a nightmare of her hollow wishes. She opened her eyes and found her shadow falling across the ice bucket. This was probably what a mental breakdown felt like.
Her bag and clothes were in a pile on the bathroom floor. When she picked up her phone she felt a pain in the tendons of her wist. Rolling her forearm she found a black and blue weeping bite mark.
There were five messages from Roly. He’d lined up half a dozen interviews and an invitation for some bash tonight that according to his message ‘could not be missed’. As she sat on the toilet listening she felt another puncture bruise on her ass, and spotted yet another on her right breast. Ugh… She threw up blood onto the white tiles in front of her.
Mark and Belinda had disappeared and so had his luggage. The Impossible Girl doubted she would see them again this week. Mark was a pro at the quick exit, she thought bitterly.
She stood under the shower thinking how naïve she and Rowan had been. They had denied their condition for as long as they could, and when they couldn’t ignore its urges they had merely placated them. Why hadn’t they pushed for answers?
As she turned off the faucet it occurred to the Impossible Girl that there were no messages from Rowan. It felt ominous. Mark was connected to Belinda and Rowan thought she knew that… that she had known it all along. Could she blame him? How would she feel if the tables were turned?
Whatever the implications of last night she had to put it behind her and get on with the job, at least for the moment, at least for this week. The Impossible girl owed it to herself and she owed it to Roly. She would finish what she came to Tokyo to do.
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Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Brooklyn Half - 2
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At one point they were going to take Brook away. Two cardigan and slacks wearing social workers had come over with clipboards and concerned looks on their faces. They seemed to take particular interest in the pantry, stocked with whiskey and cheese puffs and soda and Budweiser. It wasn’t looking good but then Grant, her Dad’s fairy art dealer had turned up and fixed things. It wasn’t the first time.
Hopefully this situation wasn’t going to bring them back. Living with Judd was no tea party but she didn’t fancy being sent to a foster home in Queens. She was old enough to take care of herself and it’d be much better now… Now that her freak pointers were gone…
‘Hey!’
It was coming from the other bed, teenage male voice.
‘What,’ she said, not wanting to sound too friendly. F*%k making friends in a hospital.
‘I heard you cut off your ears, like that painter?’
Little punk. She felt like going over and boxing him. She clenched her fist but felt her restraints.
‘Maybe I’ll cut yours off if you don’t shut your face.’
That got him. It occurred to her then that she was going to go from being called Spock to Van Gogh… Tears welled up in her eyes even as she tried valiantly to fight them back. Wouldn’t do to weaken now. Couldn’t survive.
And just then, as if her vulnerability had left a gaping hole for the boogie monster to crawl thru, something changed. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and been replaced by a thick fog of malice. Brook felt a stab of fear so intense it made her shake.
Her neighbour was rising from his bed and crossing the room toward her. But he was no teenage boy. She let out a scream so loud it could have raised Jesus.
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At one point they were going to take Brook away. Two cardigan and slacks wearing social workers had come over with clipboards and concerned looks on their faces. They seemed to take particular interest in the pantry, stocked with whiskey and cheese puffs and soda and Budweiser. It wasn’t looking good but then Grant, her Dad’s fairy art dealer had turned up and fixed things. It wasn’t the first time.
Hopefully this situation wasn’t going to bring them back. Living with Judd was no tea party but she didn’t fancy being sent to a foster home in Queens. She was old enough to take care of herself and it’d be much better now… Now that her freak pointers were gone…
‘Hey!’
It was coming from the other bed, teenage male voice.
‘What,’ she said, not wanting to sound too friendly. F*%k making friends in a hospital.
‘I heard you cut off your ears, like that painter?’
Little punk. She felt like going over and boxing him. She clenched her fist but felt her restraints.
‘Maybe I’ll cut yours off if you don’t shut your face.’
That got him. It occurred to her then that she was going to go from being called Spock to Van Gogh… Tears welled up in her eyes even as she tried valiantly to fight them back. Wouldn’t do to weaken now. Couldn’t survive.
And just then, as if her vulnerability had left a gaping hole for the boogie monster to crawl thru, something changed. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and been replaced by a thick fog of malice. Brook felt a stab of fear so intense it made her shake.
Her neighbour was rising from his bed and crossing the room toward her. But he was no teenage boy. She let out a scream so loud it could have raised Jesus.
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Monday, August 23, 2010
Impossible Girl 1 - online book sales
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It's finally happened, we ceased our New York decadence long enough to co-ordinate an online sales site. The IMP Product store is on a site called Store Envy... lots of indie sellers, more creative than ebay, not quite handmade like etsy. You can view the product (book) details online http://nvy.gd/a1BbJn but you will need to register/login to purchase/check out. It's not a big deal, an email address and password and you're right. Paypal is the purchase vehicle.
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Since we are here (NYC) we are providing free shipping in the USA and Canada. We can ship elsewhere, just allowing Store Envy to determine standard shipping rates. We have a small stock of the 250 books published (First Edition, as printed on inside cover) stored in Brisbane and will sell them online with free shipping within Australia when we get back in November.
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Brisbanites can of course purchase a copy of the book from either VeinWear Shoe store.
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In other news, New Yorkers can also purchase the book (The Impossible Girl 1: When you woke was there someone in your bed?) From Forbidden Planet NYC 840 Broadway, New York, NY 10003.
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On a personal note... we're having a great time in NYC! Thanks for all of the support. Hope you like the new story Brooklyn Half. N&C
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It's finally happened, we ceased our New York decadence long enough to co-ordinate an online sales site. The IMP Product store is on a site called Store Envy... lots of indie sellers, more creative than ebay, not quite handmade like etsy. You can view the product (book) details online http://nvy.gd/a1BbJn but you will need to register/login to purchase/check out. It's not a big deal, an email address and password and you're right. Paypal is the purchase vehicle.
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Since we are here (NYC) we are providing free shipping in the USA and Canada. We can ship elsewhere, just allowing Store Envy to determine standard shipping rates. We have a small stock of the 250 books published (First Edition, as printed on inside cover) stored in Brisbane and will sell them online with free shipping within Australia when we get back in November.
-
Brisbanites can of course purchase a copy of the book from either VeinWear Shoe store.
-
In other news, New Yorkers can also purchase the book (The Impossible Girl 1: When you woke was there someone in your bed?) From Forbidden Planet NYC 840 Broadway, New York, NY 10003.
-
On a personal note... we're having a great time in NYC! Thanks for all of the support. Hope you like the new story Brooklyn Half. N&C
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Saturday, August 21, 2010
Brooklyn Half - 1
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The room was pale green and white with a mild undercurrent of antiseptic. Two beds sat either side of a central window. The hump in the other bed indicated it was occupied but Brook was too groggy to be bothered paying much attention to it.
She wished she could be comforted by all the light and cleanliness, so different from the dust loft she lived in with Judd. But she wasn’t, mostly it just made her feel out of place.
The pain killers were starting to wear off and her ears throbbed like a razor with her pulse. She instinctively went to touch them but remembered she was restrained. Instead she rolled her head on the pillow. The scratchy white gauze which circled her head was tight as a drum.
Brook had been awake for an hour or more. She’d kept quiet and still to avoid speaking to her Dad. Eventually he’d left. It was amazing he stayed as long as he did. Had to be way past whiskey o’clock on Judd’s timepiece.
It hit her again like a wave. They were gone. There was going to be a lot of shit to deal with over this but they were gone. What she had wanted desperately for the last three years had finally happened. No more Brook the freak. No more stupid Spock jokes or sneering ‘elf kid’ taunts.
Funny, instead of feeling elation there was something like loss nagging at her. It had to be the pain, the drugs, the loss of blood, she rationalized. But severing the stupid abnormalities that connected her to Judd’s madness was the only way. She should know, she’d thought about it enough.
Her father was convinced his ex-wife - wife really, they had never technically divorced - was a magical being who was awaiting the appropriate moment to return to them. Apparently on reuniting all would be perfectly forgiven and forgotten and they could play happy families again. F*#k that, Brook thought.
The longer Judd waited the drunker he got. The longer Brook waited the angrier she got. It had been 13 years…
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The room was pale green and white with a mild undercurrent of antiseptic. Two beds sat either side of a central window. The hump in the other bed indicated it was occupied but Brook was too groggy to be bothered paying much attention to it.
She wished she could be comforted by all the light and cleanliness, so different from the dust loft she lived in with Judd. But she wasn’t, mostly it just made her feel out of place.
The pain killers were starting to wear off and her ears throbbed like a razor with her pulse. She instinctively went to touch them but remembered she was restrained. Instead she rolled her head on the pillow. The scratchy white gauze which circled her head was tight as a drum.
Brook had been awake for an hour or more. She’d kept quiet and still to avoid speaking to her Dad. Eventually he’d left. It was amazing he stayed as long as he did. Had to be way past whiskey o’clock on Judd’s timepiece.
It hit her again like a wave. They were gone. There was going to be a lot of shit to deal with over this but they were gone. What she had wanted desperately for the last three years had finally happened. No more Brook the freak. No more stupid Spock jokes or sneering ‘elf kid’ taunts.
Funny, instead of feeling elation there was something like loss nagging at her. It had to be the pain, the drugs, the loss of blood, she rationalized. But severing the stupid abnormalities that connected her to Judd’s madness was the only way. She should know, she’d thought about it enough.
Her father was convinced his ex-wife - wife really, they had never technically divorced - was a magical being who was awaiting the appropriate moment to return to them. Apparently on reuniting all would be perfectly forgiven and forgotten and they could play happy families again. F*#k that, Brook thought.
The longer Judd waited the drunker he got. The longer Brook waited the angrier she got. It had been 13 years…
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Thursday, August 19, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Studio IMP - 15
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IMPOSSIBLE GIRL #1
32 pages of melodramatic goodness
$25 for sale to Brisbanites via
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IMPOSSIBLE GIRL #1
32 pages of melodramatic goodness
$25 for sale to Brisbanites via
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Vein Brisbane CBD
Shop 25, Brisbane Arcade 117 Adelaide Street Front
Shop 25, Brisbane Arcade 117 Adelaide Street Front
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Vein Fortitude Valley
Shop 25b TCB Centre
20 - 28 Duncan Street
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We will set up online sales soon-ish
For those of you unaware we're in USA at the moment
We will ship (free) North America after we hit New York
& settle in - check about 5 August...
We will ship (free) Australia when we get back (Nov 2010)...
xx & thanks for your support
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