FM March- Write a letter to your first love (Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you)
I had a dream about you. I'm not sure if it was a dream or some kind of whacky acid flashback but I went to visit my dad's gravesite and all of a sudden he was there. That happens sometimes, I've never really figured out exactly what it is, probably just my imagination. The whole cemetery was filled with this fair and my aunt Lisa was there too, and so were you. You were sitting in the glass talking to your little brother, and you looked so happy. Honestly, I hadn't thought about you in awhile but I always wondered how far you ran before you finally stopped.
I tried so hard with you, and I know that it wasn't totally in vain or whatever but I should have known that I couldn't save you. Hindsight always makes things so clear, I wish I knew at seventeen what I know at twenty one. I think even back then I knew that you had to save yourself, but I wanted to save you anyways. I wanted to pull you back from the dark, but the harder I pulled the further you slipped. The last time I saw you, you nearly killed some guy in the car next to us and I knew that I was way in over my head, because you were way in over your head.
Sometimes I think about doing more, saying more, somehow getting through to you. I don't know if you're really dead now, but I do know that you practically vanished off the face of the planet. Wherever you are, I hope you finally found the answers you were looking for.
Everything For Free (Feb. topic)
Time Machine (Topic #55)
If I had a time machine I'd go back in time and never go to Gabe's party on Christmas Eve. I'd have stayed home and not let my dad go to pick up Nate at the airport, I'd go and get him instead and make sure to avoid every bus route in the city. That's nearly impossible in Los Angeles but I'd find a way to make it work anyways. I don't remember any stipulations about altering the past if you go back and time and that seems reasonable to me. I mean, what fucking good is it to have a time machine if you can't use it to your own benefit? Knowing what I know now I'd never take Dad for granted again. I'd try harder to talk to him and have a real relationship with him because even though I could save him that one time I wouldn't be able to stop him from dying altogether.
Nate's a little harder. I keep telling myself that I'd go back and time and save him before he died too but it's not like he was hit by a bus. I can't exactly stop tumors from growing in his brain or whatever it is that he had and kept a secret for way too long. I guess with Nate I'd just go back and time and try to spend less time fighting with him, and just enjoying his company. Like how I told Ted that I couldn't think of one single good memory that featured my older brother and then out of nowhere I remembered when Kurt Cobain died and Nate was so upset. He invited me into his room when I was just a kid and let me smoke my first joint as he told me all about Nirvana.
What good is having a time machine if you can't go back in time and save the people you love? And if you can't save them you might as well fucking appreciate them because you never know when they're just gonna be gone. Just like that, they're dead and there's nothing you can do about. You can't take any of it back and you can't change the past.
This topic fucking sucks.
Obituary (Topic #31)
Claire Simone Fisher
Born March 13, 1983, died December 10, 2006. Survived by mother Ruth, brothers Nathaniel Jr. and David, niece Maya. Originally from Los Angeles California, Claire lived in the city for the entirety of her life. Her family's business Fisher & Sons is a well-reputed funeral home. After graduation Claire attended LAC-Arts working towards an art degree.
Claire Fisher's body was discovered just east of the city after a twenty four hour manhunt. Her mother, Ruth Fisher of Los Angeles reported her daughter missing after Claire failed to return home one night after a party. She was the victim of a fatal gunshot wound to the abdomen and was last seen at the party with Gabriel Dimas. Los Angeles Police are still investigating the murder as well as Dimas' disappearance.
Claire is loved and will be missed by many family & friends. The funeral will be held at Fisher & Diaz this coming Sunday. Arrangements by Fisher & Diaz Funeral Home, LOS ANGELES.
The future is a mistress that is so hard to please (Topic #36)
Oppurtunity seldom knocks twice.
Who would have thought that Gary the weird guidance counselor would have had the best idea of my life? Well, maybe not the best idea but way better than the alternative. At first I was resistive because Gary who once told me he could feel the sexual tension between us was the one who came up with the idea. Then he just sprung it on my mother without even asking me if it was okay.
LAC-Arts, otherwise known as the Land of Misfit Toys. It's basically where all of the weirdos and freaks from every high school congregate in one area. I wasn't exactly agreeable at first but eventually between my mother and Gary they convinced me to go on a tour. There was something fantastic about my tour guide that I can't even describe. Almost like we were kindred souls from the minute we met, mostly because I'd never met someone as negative as I am.
I still wasn't completely sold, despite how cool my tour guide was and how great the classes looked. It wasn't until I went out to the parking lot after the tour and realized I was parked next to an identical hearse that I knew I had to go to school there.
I've had some totally fucked up experiences at LAC-Arts along with some really great ones. What they don't tell you on the tour is that the teachers are just as weird as the students. If I had met Olivier on my tour I would have run screaming. Still, it's better than the alternative which would have been spending two years watching Parker fuck anything with a pulse.
My blind side got the best of me (Topic #35)
Reincarnation? You're fucking kidding me right? God, I'm surprised Nate hasn't latched right onto that little theory. It's pretty comforting, like the whole world is made out of fucking Jell-O or whatever. Sorry. Religion really isn't my thing, see my brothers or my mother for that one. Although I have to say that since reincarnation goes against conservative Republican Christian dogma crap I might just buy into it just to piss off the assholes of the world.
So let's say that I believe in reincarnation for a minute. Who the fuck would I have been? Marie Antoinette? Yeah right, she's like the 15th century version of every girl I went to high school with including the being a total slut part. Maybe I was Van Gogh even though he was a crazy bitch. Russell once tried to explain to me how you could feel so passionately about something that you believe it's worth sacrificing an ear for. I love my art, but there's no fucking way I'm cutting off an ear so maybe Van Gogh was a bad idea.
Well, here's a secret. Not really a secret, but something I hadn't really thought of before. This one time in high school me and Parker did all these mushrooms that my Aunt Sarah sent me and I saw the craziest shit that night. Yes, it was the same night I made those queer pants for my mom but that wasn't the strangest part of my night. The strangest part was laying on my back next to Parker and staring at the ceiling, watching the shapes shift and change.
I saw this little girl. And okay, before you laugh it wasn't me except it felt like me. Like she didn't look a thing like me. It was probably the drugs but I felt really connected to her for those five minutes. I didn't remember a whole lot about her other than she wouldn't stop singing some song I had never heard before.
Whatever. It was probably just my drug addled imagination playing tricks on me.
Fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid rambling lectures about how we're all a bunch of voids desperately needing your guiding hand in a world lacking in vibrance and stimulation. Fuck your lectures. You don't know anything about anything. If you're such a great fucking artist why don't you go off and actually make art instead of sitting around the LAC-Arts feeling superior because you know more than a bunch of eighteen year old rejects. Well, guess what? You're just angry because one day your students are going to easily surpass your own trite work that you can't sell and a new batch will show up in the fall to inflame your pathetic jealousy.
So save your eurotrash pseudo-intellectual bullshit for someone who's boyfriend you haven't slept with. Aren't there like rules about professors fucking students anyway? God, you just prey on people like Russel, just wait for the day that their insecurity is so palpable you can finally sweep in and take advantage of it. You're not molding young minds, you're a sadistic asshole who thinks he owns the whole word because he has a small taste of power. You don't have any power! You don't have anything!
And that's the problem isn't it? You don't have any power so you try to take from us. Take until you feel like you've finally proven something to someone and then when we graduate you'll wipe your hands and tell everyone how you're responsible for all of the great art in the world. You're not responsible for anything except trying to leech off of the people who actually have talent in the world.
In conclusion, fuck you! And don't sleep with any of my boyfriends ever again.
your favorite student
And I'm not sorry (Topic 28)
Okay, this is totally embarrassing but it took me a really long time to get to that big O. Maybe I shouldn't feel as bad about that as I do but I lost my virginity a few years ago and all I ever heard from the girls around me was how great orgasms were. Seriously, Parker McKenna could write the book on getting off. Not that I would know or anything.
I lost my virginity to a total asshole who turned out to be a sociopath. See: him shooting a guy while I'm trying to drive! Then after the asshole there was the guy who cheated on me with our male art teacher after swearing to me that he wasn't gay. I wouldn't call Russell an asshole, he's just a fucking idiot who has no clue who he even is.
Then there was Edie. Don't get me wrong, I've never really considered sleeping with women before. I guess you could call it my experimental college phase. Whatever. Edie stepped into my life at a time where I was just done with men. I have this palpable weakness for cute boys in distress and it gets me into way too much trouble. I was tired of it. And Edie...
Edie is this force of nature. I can't even begin to describe her other than to say that when I'm with her I feel alive. She's this incredibly brave artist and her work is so out there I can't help but be a little drawn to her. I thought it was just this friendly thing and this vibe between us kept growing and growing until one day I finally just gave in. I convinced myself I didn't want to but I couldn't deny the fact that I just glowed when I thought about her. When she came over to give me my wallet back I just said fuck it. Let's have sex.
The sex was...okay. I didn't really know what I was doing and I was nervous as hell. Maybe my expectations were too high and I was hoping to hard for that special feeling that Edie and Anita had been going on and on about. It never happened and after the second time I just gave up. I watched her get herself off which made me want it that much more but I couldn't bring myself to....you know.
Then she went out and did a fucking performance piece on me! Something to the effect of 'straight girl wouldn't eat my pussy' in front of a club full of people and all of my friends. I found out about that the next day when I was hanging out with Jimmy and Russell. Russell bailed to go to some exhibit and that was when Jimmy finally said it. Edie'd told the world that I'd never had an orgasm before and he wanted to help me out with that problem.
So I let him.
He called it Grinding the Corn and it was by far the best sex I'd ever had. So maybe letting Jimmy comfort me after Edie had a made a total fucking asshole out of me in public wasn't my best idea.
But at least I got off.
Inhaling thrills through twenty dollar bills (Topic 25)
There's a certain kind of person that drives me totally fucking crazy. Said type of person brings a certain Parker McKenna to mind. You know the kind of girls who get whatever the hell they want just because their single cokehead whore of a mother happened to get knocked up by the right millionaire and now they're totally loaded. God, Parker didn't even have to take the SATs because her mother bribed some asian girl into taking the test for her. While the rest of us are busting our ass just to get a high score on a stupid test that defines your entire future hoping that just maybe you'll do well enough to get the hell out of this place and escape the fate that is the local community college, girls like Parker were getting their nails done because they paid some girl off to do it for them. Parker got into like every school she wanted cause of the score she got on that test.
I hate the people of LA. All they do is drive around in their perfect fucking Mercedes, waving money around at everyone like it's going out of style. Just because they have more money than the rest of us they think they own the entire world. They're all like complete carbon copies of eachother and they think that makes them special? With their platinum hair to match their platinum cards and their expensive pedicures and their stupid little poodles on leashes. They get whatever they want and they're not even necessarily especially bright, they didn't create anything or invent something, they have nothing important to say about the world. I don't know what it is but LA just draws them all out, it's like a magnet for annoying rich people.
Nothing pisses me off worse than wandering into a bar with Russell or Anita and listening to drunken debutantes slur on and on about their tennis instructor's butt or the questionable sexuality of their hairdresser. I hate Hollywood. It's like all of the stage fronts of sets, so fake it hurts. Except the entire thing is like that including and especially the people.
I think money is like lyme disease. First the bug bites you and then your brain starts to boil. Cause the richest people I know personally are the Chenowiths and they're all fucking insane.
How many wishes fade to nothing once they face reality? (Topic 22)
Religion used to be a big thing in my family, or at least it always has been to my mom and my brother David. They go to church every Sunday like clockwork while my dad and I used to spend every Sunday trying to get out of it. No offense to organized
cults religion but sitting through sermons is so fucking boring.
I don't know if I ever really believed in anything. In some strange way I think I fancied myself an agnostic for a long time. Sure, I believed in something responsible for creating this cesspool of misery but I didn't have any real concrete ideas as to what it was exactly. Besides, all that fire and brimstone shit just gets on my nerves. A long time ago I decided organized religion was for people who weren't bright enough to think on their own, or who were so terrified of death they couldn't fathom not believing that there was something better afterwards.
Right. And the world's made of fucking jell-O too.
I think I stopped believing sometime after Dad died and if I didn't, I sure as hell stopped believing when David's church ostracized him just because he's gay. Like he can even help that. I know that alot of the reason why my brother was in the closet for so long was because he thought he was going to go to hell for it. Why the fuck would I believe in anything that said my older brother was gonna go to hell just because he happens to be gay? It's such bullshit.
And you know when you think about it? Our country was founded by militant fucking Puritans and for as far as we think we've moved in soceity we're still stuck on the idea that everything is wrong and we're all going to hell. The government spouts all this bullshit about the seperation of church and state but it's not seperate. Because the middle aged white guys running this country are probably more terrified than your average person about what's going to happen to them when they die.
So here's my theory. Get the fuck over it. You're not special, Jesus doesn't love you and you're probably going to go to hell if it even exists.
But all of the past will end too fast (Topic 18)
Nate always says that there's no room in life for fucking regret. I guess it's a fair assumption considering the kind of life we've lived. Growing up in a funeral home you realize just how short life is, and how you have to like live every day to it's fullest or whatever the hell that cliche is. But Nate's a hypocrit because he can't even live up to his own advice. If he did, he wouldn't even be living here running the business he'd tried so hard to get away from. He would have never married Lisa because even I knew he never really loved her. Not the way he loved Brenda. There's always room for regret, and it doesn't matter how short life is.
My biggest regret will always be taking my dad for granted. Even living in a funeral home didn't prepare me for losing my father. Somewhere in the back of my head I knew that everyone dies someday, I knew that my parents were bound to be gone one day but I never thought it would be so soon. I never thought I'd be high on crystal and driving my mother to the morgue so we could identify his body.
I hate it. All of that bullshit teenage angst I used to carry around and all it did was stop me from really appreciating him, from really getting to know him. There's so many things I don't know about him and all I can do is speculate about it now. My father is never coming back and I'll never really know where I came from, because I'll never really know him.
I guess it's true that nobody really knows anyone in the world. We're all just fucking alone at the end of the night and really alone when we die. I just wish that I hadn't taken him for granted, that I'd spent more time with him, that I'd told him how much he'd meant to me. And now I'll never know if he knew.
Let me believe that you believe in me- Topic #15
If you want to know about my family you have to keep in mind that my older brother is fourteen years older than me. And my other older brother is three years older than him. Obviously I was the great Fisher accident. Not that I'm angsting about that still these days, but it was just weird growing up that way. Kind of like being an only child except I had these two much older brothers lording over me. Or really I just had David lording over me because Nate ran away from L.A. as fast as he could before I was even born. He came back when my Dad died and tried to take his place but it was strange trying to build a relationship with a man who'd been largely absent from my life. So for most of my life? I was like an only child wandering around the family funeral home.
First there's my Dad. Nathaniel Fisher Sr. He died when I was seventeen and before that I pretty much felt like I'd never really gotten to know him. What I do remember about him is kind of vague which is scary since he's my Dad. The thing is, it was like he almost had this other secret life. I always expected him to come home and accidently slip up and tell my mother that he'd just spent all morning with his other family. Really he'd probably spent all morning down in the stinky old morgue with Rico working on the latest dead body in our basement. I'm pretty sure that when Nate came home he did some digging around on my dad and found out all this shit about him. Like he used to smoke pot and party and had this killer sense of humor. I'm just bummed that I never got to see that part of him. Sometimes I do now. I don't want to sound like a crazy person and say he's haunting me but it feels like that alot of the time. I have these strange flashes and I see him, we talk about the way life is now. We talk about the things that we could never seem to talk about when he was alive. It's probably all in my imagination though because there's no such thing as ghosts. I think.
Then there's my mom. For my entire life Ruth Fisher was the most uptight person I'd ever met. She's gotten better since my Dad died and I don't even want to know if it had anything to do with her coming clean about the fact that she'd been having an affair with a yuppie hairdresser for years. My Mom has gone through a lot of changes in the past few years since my Dad died but she's alot less uptight than she used to be. I think she just used to worry about us so much that she didn't know any other way to be. Now she's starting to relax because she realizes she's done her job and that Nate, David and I can mostly take care of ourselves. She's spent her entire life being our mom and now she's finally starting to do things for herself. And that includes a host of really strange boyfriends. Like Nikolai who got beat up by the Russian mob and then spent weeks on our couch because he had two broken legs. He wasn't nearly as weird as fucking Arthur though. I think Mom slipped and hit her head before that one. Now she's married again to this George guy, and I guess he's okay even if he does spend hours talking about rocks and geology. It's just like going to school at my own breakfast table and you can imagine how exciting that must be. I don't know. I think me and my mom have a much better relationship now than we did when I was a teenager, back then I was just embarressed by every single thing she ever did. Now I just want her to be happy. She gave up so much for us and now I want her to try and have a life of her own.
My brother Nate is like twenty years older than me so I never really got to know him until my Dad died. When he was eighteen he moved away from L.A. because he was terrified that he'd get stuck running Fisher and Sons. He managed some Food Co-Op place and then when my Dad died he left Fisher and Sons to Nate and David. Nate freaked and wanted to sell the funeral home cause he totally hated it, but I guess David must have convinced him to keep it. The clearest memory I have of Nate is when Kurt Cobain died and I walked into his room when I was really young. He was crying and sitting down with his guitar smoking a joint. That was the first time I ever smoked pot, because my big brother finally let me into his room and told me all about his hero while I got stoned for the first time. When Nate came back he sort of turned all of our lives upside down because we were all pretty much repressing the fact that Dad just died and here was Nate just so completely...out there with his little outbursts and temper tantrums. For awhile I was really fucking resentful of him mostly because it was like he was trying to take my dad's place. Always telling me when I was fucking up, yelling at me for hanging out with Billy, yelling at me about pretty much everything. I think I'll always have a weird relationship with Nate but I still love him. He's my brother.
I've always been closer to David, my other older brother. Mostly I've been closer to him because he's been around my entire life. Unlike Nate David is the people pleaser of the family so he stuck around in L.A. to help my Dad with the business. When my dad died it became really important to David to keep Fisher and Sons running, almost like he was still trying to prove something to Dad. I think in some ways David will always be trying to prove something to him even though I swear my Dad totally knew about David being gay and wasn't like appalled by it. I think the only person who never figured it out was Mom and she's so oblivious and repressed that no one was surprised. I mean hello. Big black sex cop was always sneaking out of David's apartment every morning, I'd sneak a peek out the window before school because David's boyfriend was really hot. Keith is actually still David's boyfriend and still really hot, just not so much a cop anymore. Instead he's like this bodyguard that used to work for Celeste, you know the pop star. Anyways, the point is? David lied about who he was for so long that we all just breathed in a sigh of relief when he finally came out of the closet. Even my mom was relieved and we all thought she was gonna freak. David's loosened up alot over the years which is frankly a relief considering how tightly wound he used to be. Still, he's my big brother and when I'm in trouble? He's the first one I always turn to.
Then there's my sister in law Lisa and my niece Maya. Lisa's dead now. I'm still not entirely sure what happened because Nate doesn't really like to talk about it but I think her brother in law killed her cause they were sleeping together or something. I didn't know Lisa very well but she was always very warm to me whenever she was around. She was one of those reformed hippies who believed in all of this energy in the atmosphere and was always trying to force this health food crap on me. I liked her even though she was completely different from the rest of us and trapped Nate into marrying her by getting knocked up with Maya when we were in Seattle. And obviously I love Maya, she is my niece. Maya and I actually spent alot of time bonding when she was just a little baby since Nate was totally freaking about Lisa's disappearance so I was the one babysitting her nearly every single night. Of course, it drove me crazy after a little while cause Nate had just completely shut her out but I'm almost glad he did that. It gave me a chance to spend alot of time with her early on.
That's my entire family minus Aunt Sarah and Rico who are kind of like members of the family. Rico only because he's worked downstairs in the morgue for like ever and my Dad was kind of like a father figure to him I think. I don't talk to Rico much, he mostly deals with my brothers but he seems nice enough. Even if he's always bringing his baby over to the house and it never stops crying. Maya is never that bad, maybe it's because his babies are Latino? I don't know. Do Latino babies cry more? Whatever. I mostly ignore Rico anyway.
I never really knew Aunt Sarah until I was seventeen because her and my mom had stopped speaking to eachother for something that happened before I was born. She's actually the one who convinced me to pursue my art career, she just swept into my house and turned it upside down. It kind of drove my mom insane but I sort of thought that was fun about her when I was seventeen. Once for my birthday she sent me a container filled with mushrooms. Parker and I tripped all night long thanks to my mom's little sister but I guess that's just the kind of person Sarah is. She once had this weird party that she invited me too where a bunch of old people did alot of drugs and danced around naked under the moon all night. She's just this really crazy person that drives my mom insane but if it weren't for her I'd never be in art school right now. I'd never realize my true potential as an artist.
I guess what family means to me is having a bunch of people around you that are there for you no matter what. Even if they don't agree with your choices they're still there for you when you need them. In that way I've always been lucky.
Twist of fate
"Are you sure you don't want any of this?" Gabe asked again, and the minute his arm curled around my shoulders I decided that I definitely wasn't sure at all. It wasn't what wasn't the crap he was frying up on aluminum foil that had my interest so clearly piqued but instead the arm that was tugging me closer to him as the seconds ticked by. Did he have any idea how good he smelled? I loved that boy smell of cologne and listerine and soap and grit. And his smile, I was getting lost in it by the second. Yes. Gabriel Dimas was definitely cute. Really cute and at least pretending to be interested in me at the moment which was surprising in itself. Not that I would act like I cared. And not that my attraction to him made me want to smoke crack or PCP or whatever it was he was holding in front of me like candy.
"Yeah." I smiled at him and nodded my head. Sure I'd smoke a joint or drink a few beers with the guy but I wasn't really into the hardcore LA scene. It was weird that Gabe was but his arm was still around my shoulders so I didn't really care at the moment.
I expected peer pressure, the kind of things they lecture you on those Public Service Announcements always starring some washed up has-been like the guy who played Spock on Star Trek. And nobody would even know who he was without the pointy ears except he'd always say "Hi. I'm so and so and I played Spock on Star Trek...." The peer pressure never came though. Gabe just shrugged and removed his arm so that he could light the substance that's pungeant smell was already starting to permeate the room.
I was so lost. So completely fucking lost. Gabe could be the world's leading crackhead and I didn't care. Because he was cute and he was paying attention to me and he didn't care that I didn't want to smoke whatever it was that he was smoking.
"Hey, is that you?" A voice broke me out of my thoughts and I realized my cellphone was ringing and I hadn't even noticed.
With a sheepish smile I picked up the phone and realized that it was David. Rolling my eyes I pushed the green button before pressing it to my ear. "David, Jesus! I'll be home in a little while. Just lay off, okay?"
Just one word and his voice was so fucking grave it nearly froze the blood in my veins and I just knew something was wrong.
"Claire, are you there?"
"Yeah. I'm here." My own voice sounded so numb I barely even recognized it.
"There was an accident. One of the downtown buses hit Dad's new hearse. Claire, Dad didn't make it. You need to come home." And then his voice was so business like, there was one more funeral to be held except this one was for our father. It felt like a dream, like someone had just punched me in the stomach and woke me up from the nicest dream I've ever had. I wanted to scream at my brother that it wasn't fucking true! I just saw my Dad a couple of hours ago and now I'd go home for dinner and there he'd be again. Smiling from across the table.
I couldn't listen anymore so I just hung up the phone and tossed it into my purse. Heading straight for the door I ignored the sound of Gabe and everybody else calling my name and asking me what was wrong and where was I going. My father just died. Couldn't they tell? Couldn't they see it written all over me? I felt like a giant gaping billboard and everyone could see the secret me, so I didn't stop. I just kept going. Straight out the front door and towards my car parked across the street.
I didn't make it to my car. I'd only charged halfway across the street when I heard the blaring horns. Only had a split second to turn and face the bus before it crashed against my skin. And then there was nothing.
I told my Dad that I'd see him later and I wasn't kidding. I thought death would be this huge cathartic ordeal, like I would see a giant light at the end of the tunnel or Jesus would just like walk up to me and offer me a smoke. It wasn't anything like that and I wondered if it was strange to have two family members hit by buses on the same day. Maybe this was some kind of karmic retribution. I wondered if maybe my family would go down in the book of records somewhere or something. I wondered alot of things but when you're dead? Your priorities shift.
I kept imagining post-mortem Public Service Announcements.
"Hi. I'm Claire Fisher and I played the angsty funeral home girl at the public high school. Just say no to drugs and you'll get hit by a bus."
The more you know...
What would you kill for?
Sometimes I'll see something on the news or in a movie or something and I'll have like a flicker. I don't know how else to explain it but I keep going back to that one night. No matter how old I get, or what life throws at me next I always come back to that one night. I can still see it like slow motion, my head turning slowly to the left just as the gunshot echoes through the air. It's like I can't even breathe and Gabe's screaming at me to drive, just fucking go but I'm still staring at the man he just shot at in the next car. I can't stop staring but I never stare long enough to find out if he's okay. I figure that means I didn't look very long at all before my foot stomped down on the gas pedal. There's tears, always tears but Gabe's voice keeps driving me onward. I can't stop.
I dream about it all the time. I see his face, feel his fingers twisting around the gun and it's like he doesn't even care. Or maybe he did care and I just wasn't patient enough to dig around anymore. To invade him until he had no choice but to show me everything. No. Because by then I'd already made up my mind that I wasn't playing mommy to his damaged little boy anymore. He made this mess and I had to draw the line somewhere. Apparently I drew it at killing someone.
After I kicked him out of the car and tossed the gun out of the window I stopped. I wasn't even sure where I was, somewhere near Long Beach I think in some abandoned parking lot. Cradling my head in my hands as I leaned over the wheel and just tried to catch my fucking breath because this wasn't happening. I hadn't really just watched my boyfriend kill someone. No. I didn't just watch, I drove the getaway car. I couldn't stop shaking and I realized that I just wasn't cut out for this. Not the kind of life that Jesse was careening down at top speed. It wasn't for me and I should have learned my lesson a long time ago with him. I loved him, but I wasn't willing to sacrifice myself for him.
And sometimes when I dream about it, it's not even some stranger in a car that Gabe shoots but David. Gabe kind of morphs into the carjacker that tortured my brother for hours. Even in my dreams I don't stop him, I don't scream or yell or turn the gun back around on him. I sit idly by and press the gas pedal when he screams at me to drive, to run away.
I could be seriously cliche (like everyone else will be) and say that I'd kill for my family, but I don't think that I can. I think some people are made for some things and other people are made for other things which is entirely too vague but still true enough. In the end I think I know myself well enough to know that I couldn't kill for anything or anyone. It's just not me.
I think passion is really just about the way you see things. I spend so much time in Olivier's class listening to him spout a bunch of posturing bullshit about passion and how American's today are all lacking. Like when he was going on and on to me and Russel about how everything we do should make us want to fuck. How we should be completely consumed by it twenty-four hours a day because clearly screwing is how we're supposed to shape our adult selves. I guess Russel took his speech to heart considering the circumstances surrounding our break up.
So was that passion? I mean eww. I don't really want to think about the details but was Russel like in seriously desperate need to screw someone up the ass that he just couldn't contain himself? Did he think that fucking Olivier was going to make him see the world in some brand new light? Or maybe by screwing his art teacher his work would somehow just become brilliant. Yeah right. I think it was more Russel's pathetic ego couldn't take Olivier berating him day in and day out in front of everybody. What Olivier offers is his own brand of bottled euro-trash faux passion for men and women alike. You think it's about you but in the end it's really about him. About his intense desire to feel like you owe him something because he's what he's always been. A failure pretending like he's contributing to all of the success in the world. Not like I would know from personal experience or anything, just through Russel
I guess I'm not sure what passion is specifically. Does it always have to revolve around sex? Because honestly if that's the case my experience in passion is sadly limited. At least up until Jimmy showed me that whole grinding the corn thing. Don't ask. But I don't think that's what passion is. I think passion is just this intensity that takes ahold of your gut and won't let go no matter what you do. Edie never got to give me my big 'O' but there was passion, I knew there was. I never would have agreed to sleep with another girl if there wasn't. There was just something about her, about the way she would just tell everyone to fuck off and grab the nearest mic before making everyone else in the room feel like a total vacuous waste of space without the faintest hint of an original idea of their own, myself included. Edie was something special, something inspirational and new. There was just this glow about her and that? That was passion. You could see it in her eyes and everything she does.
I think the passion with Edie though was just like the mistaken passion that Russel shared with Olivier. It was about the work, the art, seeing things in a brand new way and in some sick manipulative way it was about acceptance. Expecting someone else to elevate you to a place that you should be able to get to on your own. It took me a long time to realize I didn't need anyone to take me by the hand and guide me. I pick up my camera everyday and through the lens I see the world in a brand new way.
Claire Soundtrack- Art Star
1. Show Me How To Live- Audioslave( lyricsCollapse )
2. November- Azure Ray( lyricsCollapse )
3. Battle of Who Could Care Less- Ben Folds Five( lyricsCollapse )
4. Life is Short- Butterfly Boucher( lyricsCollapse )
5. The Scientist- Coldplay( lyricsCollapse )
6. Now That It's Over- Everclear( lyricsCollapse )
7. Mad World- Tears For Fears( lyricsCollapse )
8. Friend is a Four Letter Word- Cake( lyricsCollapse )
9. Nice To Know You- Incubus( lyricsCollapse )
10. Dad- K's Choice( lyricsCollapse )
11. Medication- Ours( lyricsCollapse )
12. Amazed- Poe( lyricsCollapse )
13. Sister Surround- Soundtrack of Our Lives( lyricsCollapse )
14. Art Star- Yeah Yeah Yeahs( lyricsCollapse )
Locked to billy_chenowith
So Russel's been bugging me lately to go to this stupid party in L.A. on New Year's Eve, but I'd pretty much rather ram a spork through my eye socket than go to some lame poser party on a yacht with Russel. I mean, I would go and everything because Dawn is throwing it and she seems okay and there's going to be a shitload of free alcohol. I think if nothing else I could go and drink and watch the posers get smashed and throw up all over themselves.
Anyways, Russel got Anita to go and I thought that it might be more fun if you were there too. You know, just as friends and everything because I know you're my teacher now. So do you? Want to go, I mean?
Letter to Santa
I want you to bring my Dad back. And not in some sick stuffed corpse way, or Night of the Living Dead way. I want him to be smiling in the kitchen, sipping coffee as I'm rushing out the door to school. I want to know him. Like really know him. Not just the usual father/daughter avoid eachother until the other one goes away thing that we had. Because he's gone now and I feel like I'll never know who he really was. It's too late.
And it's stupid that I'm writing a letter to Santa Claus. You don't even exist. It's just more bullshit Nazi Christian rhetoric designed to keep little kids from driving their parents crazy for a few months a year. I mean what is that anyway? Christmas is all about love and peace on earth? Do you have any idea how insane it is to promote an idea like peace when there are adults in L.A. clawing eachother's eyes out for the last fucking teletubbie at Wal-Mart? Peace on Earth? A day to celebrate the birth of Jesus by maxing out your credit card? I'm sure that when Jesus was slowly dehydrating with nails through his fucking palms he looked over the people of Jeruselum and said "I want you to celebrate my birth by buying as much useless shit at Macy's as you possibly can."
So you know what? I changed my mind. I don't want anything from you. Cause the notion of believing in a concept as retarded as Santa makes me want to slit my wrists.
Go fuck yourself.
This is just a notice that I will no longer be playing Claire in theatrical_muse
(the mods have already been notified by e-mail). I will continue writing Claire though for fandom_muses
Thanks for reading y'all!
What are you happy about right now?
That's a hard question to answer considering I'm the girl who is permanantly unhappy. I know that there are like starving children in Africa and people who have it so much harder than I ever did. I guess it's just like a lifestyle choice or something. There are the glass is half empty people and the glass is half full people. It's a lifestyle choice. I've always been more inclined to align myself with the glass is half empty people. Maybe it's being raised in a funeral home or maybe it's the artist in me. Not that it matters. The question is, what am I happy about right now.
I'm happy about life. You spend so long surrounded by death that you start to appreciate the little things. Like the fact that your heart is still beating and that breath is still filling up your lungs (even if it is polluted L.A. smog). I'm happy that I can go downstairs in the morning for a fresh cup of coffee and David is already sitting at the table with a newspaper sprawled out in front of him. Mya smiles from the other side of the table before zipping past me to go talk to my mom in the garden. I'm just incredibly lucky to have all these amazing people around me even when they're driving me insane. I'm happy that I still have all my fingers so I can use my camera and that I'm young and I'm here and I'm going to travel the world and create art. Because that's the most important thing in my life right now.
I'm happy that I exist, that I'm vital. One day I'm going to leave my mark on the world and that's how I'll stay immortal. When I'm a little old lady dying in my bed I'll know that I lived a full life and that I was surrounded by people that love me.
So despite my general jaded cynicism? I'm just happy all the time because I'm so lucky and no one should ever be this lucky.
Muse: Claire Fisher
Fandom: Six Feet Under
Word Count: 372
Write a letter to yourself as a child.
You're probably used to death by now. You'll see a million dead bodies going back and forth through your foyer, and hear a million people crying for their lost loved ones downstairs. Sometimes at night you'll stay awake and listen to the silence, feeling the weight of your world minus the sobbing. I don't have anything to tell you about death that you won't figure out on your own. I want to tell you about life. You'd think growing up in a funeral home would make you appreciate the people around you instead of taking their mortality for granted but it won't.
One day everybody you love is going to die, one day you're going to die. You can't spend a lifetime veiled behind defensive sarcasm or else the people you love are all going to be gone before you can ever really know them. Before you can ever really tell them anything honestly true about yourself. Get busy living, because everyone dies.
Give Dad a hug and tell him you love him. Ask him if he wants to go see a movie, ask him about himself. Make sure he's okay. I know you can't see the point now but someday this is all going to be important.
Placate Mom's neurotic tendencies. She only worries because she's desperately afraid that something terrible might happen to you out in the world. She's a beautiful person, you only have to open your eyes and accept her for what she is.
Listen to some Nirvana with Nate, go shopping with David. Stay away from boys with trouble written all over them, especially boys named Gabriel Dimas. Call Aunt Sarah and pick up a camera once in awhile. Never ever be afraid of your bizarre tendency to gravitate towards strange people. The world is a fascinating place, embrace the way you see it because it's completely different than the way the rest of the world sees it.
I hope this letter was in some way helpful.
Muse: Claire Fisher
Fandom: Six Feet Under
Word Count: 351