it's 4:08 a.m., on 2001-05-11 - joyce in culture-shocking pants.
~
Find him outside a whorehouse, three am and girls ready to be broken, low moans coming from the upstairs window and testifying-- testifying, man, you can really hear them put their heart into their work -- find him there, and you wouldn't be surprised.
Find him knee-deep, crawling and licking and commiserating with worms... maybe in Vietnam in his memories, or in South America on covert ops, well, yeah, that's right up his alley.
Or a broken down trailer, piece of trash in the cute little midwest, some cheap and frightened girl underneath him and half-heartedly humping to get him off-- that works too. Each of her apathetic little gasps and globs of runny mascara tell this scene, it's easy to figure out what's going on there.
~*~
I should write a journal entry, and so I'm going to. Nyah. I'm not going to beta-read, I'm not going to keep stealing the livejournal layout for my own site, like I was just now, I'm not going to try and edit the livejournal thing for my own site. I'm going to be-- I'm going to be.
That bit up there? That's supposed to be Creed, man, after 'confession', that story where Remy rapes him in a church. But I've lost the tone, and so I don't remember where I was going with it in the first place.
Something I want to know. Does Krychek ever have a moment where Mulder sees he's a person?
Did I tell you that I saw Te's journal by accident? I think I did. I have shame.
It bears repeating, regardless.
River was online, and then her family dropped by and she said she'd be back in about three hours. Which means, five am my time, and possibly means we can do some good writing, because five am is the only time I seem to get anything of use out of myself. That fucked up riley story came out of that, and it's still one of my favorite pieces, and I don't know why.
Have a new goal: to use lesbian believably in a fic.
Have a new jug of orange juice, which I'm going to drink all of, probably, before I go to sleep tonight/in the morning. Want to know why? I have thirst, too.
It's so fucking hot in here.
~*~
I just got a challenge from the 'challenge in a can' http://www.dymphna.net/challenge/ site that was 'Jenny Calendar', 'mirror' and 'lost'. And, I like that challenge a lot.
She can stare in the mirror as long as she wants, but Jenny Calendar will still be a gypsy. This shouldn't come as a surprise, but it does-- which is a shock, because you don't just cease to be a gypsy. It's in your blood, your heart, your mind. Blood doesn't forget.
Gypsies are kind of like vampires that way.
The more-than-shocking part is how lost she feels when she looks, and sees a gypsy instead of a computer teacher, instead of a neo-pagan, instead of, Jenny. Jana. It's not, right, but it's there, looking back at her.
I miss Jenny.
There's a part in Hth's 'gonzo sunset' where Oz and Giles are talking about the death of Cordelia, and how Giles didn't go. And it's stayed with me a long time, because it was so very fundamentally true-- and people don't get to fundamentally true things very often, but hth does, like Sheila, and Puca, and Kate, and I'm a bit jealous of them all. But anyway. Oz says, 'are you sure you didn't come because she reminded you a bit of Ms. Calendar?'
So Giles says, 'did she remind you of-- jenny?' And Oz says, yeah, a bit. They were both proud. Direct. --Young.
And I've remembered that bit, just like I've remembered so much of that story, because the best stuff sticks. Just like the idea of Giles being hopelessly in love with an 18-year-old that liked to watch japanese cartoons in bed, and Giles being like the little drummer boy at the Bronze-- bringing nothing to the end-of-the-world, but wanting to participate, trying, anyway.
Yeah. If I had a one-true thing for Buffy, strangely enough, that'd be it.
And I still want to write that Cordy/Amy story, and I want to finish that motherfucking Buffy/OZ crossover, and then I want someone, anyone, to tell me that they liked it, and that it was worth writing, because fucking hell, it doesn't really feel it anymore. I got about four pieces of email, and no one talked about it. Which is okay, I guess, but feels like a waste of time.
Whine, whine. I was doing better with the Creed.
~*~
But finding him on a dusty, little bit of a snarling deserted highway, leading up to one of the most prestigious schools in New York, well. Fish out of water don't look this good.
--see, I've lost it. Damnit.
I did another challenge and it's joyce, pants, and culture-shock. I don't think I'm going to explore this one. Little too odd for me at four in the morning.
~
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