JamesSavik

Suburbian Mommy Rolling along in her SUV, Teaching her kids their ABCs, Careful not to make any waves, Making sure her kids are saved. Cheeks of rouge and perfect hair, Brightest of smiles and infinite care. Soccer balls and stains of grass, Always sweet and never crass. Ever dieting to keep her shape, Perfection is a heavy weight, Over time it begins to wear, Ever more difficult to bear. Under her perfect mask, In silent desperations grasp, She can not cook or clean enough, Perfections demands are mighty tough. So mommy finds a little helper, In which she finds a little shelter, In valiums sweet embrace, Or a vodka slumber into grace. At first it is not such a bother, Who could begrudge a nap to their mother? It helps her make it through the day, Perfection has a price to pay. Slowly she slips away, And sleeps away the entire day, Nothing matters much anymore, To the kids she?s just a bore. Things fall apart ever faster, Mommy has a brand new master, Perfection now fades into the past, Mommy is lost in a deep shot glass.

Bigot Alert! Suburbian Daddy is not a nice person. Stay with this poem to the end. You'll understand. Suburbian Daddy Jews, junkies, mental flunkies, Fags, and all sorts of freaks, Every day they get more spunky, They even walk the streets. Geeks and freaks and fags and drags, Is this really modern progress? Not that I could give a damn, As long as I am a success. Every day I retreat to the ?burbs, Away from the slime and the scum, To where everything is as it used to be, And I won?t get hasseled by bums. Back in the day before the decay, Laid waste to the world I had known, Everyone looked and thought the same, Before the collective mind was blown. In my suburban hideaway, Safe from the world and all of its strangers, Safe with my ignorance and prejudice, Insulated from the dangers. Fear of change and the pain it brings, Cowardice builds bigotry?s prison of lies, Unless courage to escape is found, You become what you dispise.

A Day in Suburbia The plant down the street had an accident with nuclear fission, Something is wrong with the Pinto's transmission, There's a documentry on the tube about Viet-nam, There's a letter in the mail from Billy Graham. I don't care for spiritual awakening, It's just another drug that people are taking, That makes the load easier to bear, So they mow their lawns and cut their hair. There is a big meeting of the P.T.A. They want to ban books that make kids gay, They gather at the river to burn their intellect, So that dangerous ideas won't infect. What is it so dangerous to learn, That they would rather see burn? Could it be that people might see, That it is possible to think and be free?

Rats Racing Fat cats, mall rats, old bats in expensive hats, Kids in cars, jocks in bars, wanna be movie stars, Dead heads, red heads, hot lovin newly weds, Old men, young skin, trying out a brand new sin, Cops in cars, sushi bars, hippies with old guitars, Chinese, Japanese, anime sluts on their knees, Avenue, Revenue, a river place with a view, Young punks, old drunks, opportunistic political skunks, Stylish hills, favorite pills, summer time standing still, Alley cats, spoiled brats, the morbidly fat, Network news, nightly blues, trailer trash in Italian shoes, Big wheels, fast deals, corporate licenses to steal, Bright lights, urban blight, sneaker inspired fire fights, Liquor stores, cheap whores, serial killers keeping score, Money madness, chemical gladness, suicidal sadness, Fast thrills, utility bills, toxic chemical spills, Crack dealers, soul stealers, carnival fire-eaters, Garbage men in Pierre Cardin dancing in the winter wind, Acid dreams, obscure scenes, cars passing in between, Rebellious fire, hot desire, the world at the end of a wire, Insane dreams, dying scenes, traffics timeless screams, Compassion, out of fashion, feelings in traction, Depression, recession, endless mindnumbing concessions, Out of breath, wish for death, lose yourself in regret No time to catch your wind, before it starts all over again. True or false, fact or fiction, insane contradictions, Run the race, keep the pace or fall flat upon your face, Frantic action, dissatisfaction, reflection and reaction, Lose to win and win to lose, No one gets to choose.

The Suburbians Welcome back my friends to a show that's sure to end, A festival of fools, A continuium of complacency. Fighting for the almighty buck, With cunning or just plain luck, Chasing checks to the bank, It's the money that decides your rank. What is it that we try so hard to buy, Something called the American Dream? Has become just another a twisted lie, We tell ourselves to still desperations silent scream? Whatever became of our brave new world? It's really something for the few, All of it's promise has withered and died, Killed by accountants in dark gray suites, Bureaucrats oh so civilized, That see the world through blinded eyes. Is this purgatory or just the suburbs? Where the edges are all smoothed over, A velvet limbo before the void: Within this rosy wallpaper exist the numbered people, Living in a world of pooly written television scripts, With plastic lovers and young republican minds.

Introduction Hello, My name is John Doe, All that I as is 10 digits, Filed away in a data bank, Ten cold digits tell my story, Alpha plus is my rank. Promise and wonder fill our brave new world, Of high technology and analysis, No new thoughts are born, They are all out worn, So we stop thinking and cease to exist. All we are is what we have seen, The latest propaganda to have been: A socialist insecurity number, A ticket to the big match, A big screen color TV. A good Sunday ritual, A membership in the party, In good standing with the moral majority.

I was thinking about how to present characters. I think that their actions and words should define them. Ok- let's try this one: ============== I hated summer school. What a terrible waste of available time too waste. Sure, I would graduate early but sometimes I wondered if I that was really the best thing for me. I had no burning desire to join the rat races but I did want to be independent. Dad's constant criticisms and demands were enough of a pain in the ass for motivation. Mrs. Brown gave us our next composition assignment sheets and told us that we had until Thursday to get them done. Thankfully the old hagis let us go just after 10:00 and didn't keep us until 11:30 as usual. Too bad it was raining sideways. Even with an umbrella, I was soaked when I got to my 280ZX in the parking lot. Driving home was tricky and nerve racking. So much so that I even turned my radio down which was a rarity for me. The wind was blowing hard and the rain was gathering in the road. Even though the Z-car hugged the road very well, it was slow going through the summer storm. When I topped the big hill on Oak Hill road, I noticed a tall skinny kid walking dejectly in the rain. I instinctly pulled over to see if he needed a ride. This weather wasn't fit for a dog, much less a kid. I pulled up beside him and let the passenger side window down and yelled, "You need a ride?" The kid looked like a drowned rat. He gave me a look that told me that he wanted a ride but his Mom had told him about the danger of friendly strangers. He considered my offer quickly and apparently decided that the storm was more dangerous that the college kid in the Z car. He got in the passenger seat and said, "Thanks man, this storm really blows." I reached behind his seat and handed him a towel. Which he used to dry off his face. I asked, "Where are you headed?", as I got back on the road. He replied, "Porter's Chapel Road." I quickly calculated that was about 10 miles away. I said, "That's a long way on a good day. By the way, my name is Jimmy." "My name is Conner", he said. "and I really appreciate the ride. You wouldn't happen to have a cell phone would you?" I handed him my phone. He brightened and said, "Thanks Dude." He dialed a number and paused for an answer. "Hey Mom..Don't worry. I got a ride.. OK I'll ask him. Hey Jimmy, you wanna have lunch?" What the heck. Probably beat the sandwich I had waiting back at the house. "Sure." "Yeah, OK. Thanks Mom." He hung up the phone and handed it back to me. We drove along for a few minutes in silence and he asked, "Wait a minute. Didn't you go to Oak Hills?" "Yeah. I graduated a couple of years ago." He smiled, "Weren't you the guy that beat the shit out of Brandon Farmer?" I blushed. That wasn't something I was very proud of. "Yeah. That was me", I acknowleged. "Dude. You were like a hero. That guy was like a major league asshole", Conner said brightly. ----------------------------------------- What told you more about the characters? Their words or their actions?

I really like this story and.. cough,cough.. look forward to the next chapter.

Speaking of New Brother, I really liked it. I found the characters interesting and compelling and really look forward to seeing more of that story. Although I haven't read NB in weeks, those characters stand out in my mind. I can easily remember Stick, Giant, Ads and Break. You guys are right. If you do your character development well, the rest takes care of itself. I will use the Dramatis Personae as a developmental tool for Broken but I think that I will leave it out of the final version.

Thank you WBM. You've given me enough energy for three chapters! Why Broken is not here is a good question. I blundered through the web and happened upon nifty ages ago. All I happened to pick out to read were "wet" stories without a lot of ummmm... staying power. Erotica has its place of course but after reading three, you've seen them all. I figured that was all there was too it and moved on. Back in December, I discovered CRVBOY's site and came across a whole different kind of gay fiction that appealed to me greatly. Stories more about life than sex with relationships and sex put into proper perspective. I came to really dig KIT's Tappings and the work of Christopher Patrick Lydon's Carter Series and started looking in earnest to find more like it. Soon afterwards, I came across Dewey's Brian & Pete stories. Considering some of the paralles in my experience with that story, it was like a slap in the face. Truthfully, at first I hated it and quit reading for a while. It brought to the surface painful emotions and memories that I had long repressed but were always there in the back of my mind like a insidious poison. It caused me no small amount of turmoil. A lot of old demons that I thought that I had buried a long time ago woke up and started raising hell. Sleepless nights, not eating, nightmares when I did sleep- Brian and Pete had a deep impact on me. I decided that I needed to get back on that horse and ride it. I read the entire B&P series. Sometimes laughing out loud and disturbing my cats and other times with tears running down my cheeks. I came to love those characters because I am one of those characters. The experience was a very valuable and healthy emotional cartharsis that helped me get in touch with who I am. It raised my Emotional IQ and allowed me to look at myself then and now as not the big, crazed freak that people told me that I was but for the person that I really am. For those reasons, I am in awe of Dewey and his work. It's amazing and so is D. He has inspired and encouraged me to take on this project and I am honored that he has seen fit to host it. I mean no disrespect to anyone, there's a lot of very good sites with a lot of talent but Deweywriter is a very special place for me. It helped me to find myself after being emotionally lost for a very long time. I want Dewey's site to be Broken's home. Broken is not finished yet. It's an alpha draft that may end up being 30 chapters or so. It's not ready for prime time. Truthfully I posted it to make sure it didn't stink too bad. In the future when Broken is further along, if Dewey has no objections, I would be honored for other sites to host it. For the developmental stage of the project, I think that it should stay put for the time being so we won't have multiple versions out there. Thank you guys for your comments, kindness, inspiration and support. It's been hard to get this ball rolling but it has inertia now. I also owe a special thanks to talon_rider as he has taken on editing duties which for me requires both great skill and the patience of a saint. -James

This was a difficult read- not at all like the typical, happy go lucky romps that you find in most gay fiction. Difficult on several levels. Difficult as it demands the readers undivided attention and only rewards him in porportion with the energy that he has invested. Difficult as the emotions that it invokes are disturbing and raw. Difficult because most people are used to having their art and literature delivered comfortably and gently. Angel is an abrupt and brutal SLAP in the face. The shifts in POV in the story are unusual. Sometimes gentle and sometimes jolting, these changes of perspective broadens and adds to the experience. As an author, I find myself looking at this literary device and thinking: don't try this at home kids, this guy is a professional. Just as it is easy to get to know and like the characters, it is just as hard to confront the reality of protagonists situation. His innocence stands in stark contrast to the horror. You want to turn away yet, you find yourself transfixed like an observer to some disaster unfolding before your eyes. Angel forces the reader into an uncomfortable place. To some it will be just a dark story. To others, it is an acknowlegement of the darkness of our existance and experience. Angel does not lay out a nice, linear story. It is disturbing and jolting with jagged edges and dangerous contrasts that can easily draw blood. This is not a story to be read on a lark. Pack your lunch. Wear comfortable shoes. You'll need it. It is a rough ride through a dark and dangerous landscape.

Chapter 11- Sandman and Viking are posted. and :smt015 I'm exhausted.

I'm a big believer in praticing what you preach so I've included a character listing in my new story "Broken". When there are a lot of people involved, I think it helps the writer as much as the reader. My story is autobiographical in nature so I have to change the names but as I'm writing, I sometimes find myself using the real names and forgetting what I'm calling them in the story.

OK. You've done it now. Chapter 10 is posted. I suggest that while you read it, listen to the Who's album Who's Next. Start it at the beginning.

*blush* Thank you sensei!

I have a story at Deweywriter in the members story forum. I think that it's a little different. It's set in the mid-late seventies Mississippi- not the gay-friendliest place in the world.

I like it rainbow. Hope to see more of your work. The best part of a poet is his heart. Everything else is just mechanics. I sense a good one in you. Keep plugging. That's how you get better.

Please put me on the list for a signed, first edition coffee table book cody. You my friend have earned your place as one of the most Awesome of Dudes, :smt023

Sigh. You shouldn't drink and admin. Bad things can happen.

something like that. The locals hassel them something fierce.

Confessions of a Rake In my youth I was a rake, Many liberties I was known to take, With handsome youths and their virtue, By the mother of rivers swift and sure, A mile wide, passions flame burned pure. In the trees and on the grass, On the emerald slopes of the hills, We tasted glorious passion, exquisite thrills, Rolling together under Southern stars, Forgetting who and what we are. In the day and in the night, Delicious delirium and delight, We lived and loved with all our might. Ever with care to stay out of sight, Guarded slyly against others slights. My secrets I will never tell, Because it is just as well, Their names stay deep within my heart, My treasure hoard of priceless art. When Scotty saw a slithering snake, In panic his clothes he forgot to take, Streaking away he was a sight, An absolutely pure delicious delight! Drew was a regal prince with hair of fire, Reckless with care and time, Poison Ivy and Southern sun's ire, Punished the lad for his crimes. Brian was the fairest of them all, His heart big but his frame was small, In passions sweet embrace he would sway, And in the heat faint dead away. David's beauty was a thrill, Enough to stay cruel winters chill, From our passion heat smoke would rise, Through the night till orgasmic sunrise. Frank in soccer kit was grand, No stouter a heart was there in the land. He didn't look like he would be so loud, In passion throes would roar right proud! Sean was cute but very shy, Deceptively innocent and sly. He didn't look so very hip, Until he pulled out his leathers and whip! But it was Jeff that stole my heart, So gentle a lad, a work of art. In his arms I found my rest, It was his heart that I liked best.

That's New York. I'm from Mississippi. It might as well be another planet. Here we had a camp open for gay adults to have retreats and get their heads together. That was ~12 years ago and the thumpers still have them in and out of court.

Speak for yourself pup! :smt077

You honor the memory of your friend. Finishing his work is a good and noble way to say goodbye.

Although something like that school would never be allowed, it's desperately needed. The alienation and isolation kills.