[Beautiful Soul]

The school reminds me a bit of Dr. Xavier's X-mansion- where, as a kid, I wanted to go since I was obviously a mutant.

I'll read the whole thing but I think I'm gonna crash nowwwwwwww......

SNOG! ......................

[Leaves and Lunatics by EleCivil]

James -

I know what you mean. I didn't mean to say that I immediately close any book that has drugs in it. When I said that I bailed at drug use, I was talking about excessive/glorified drug use - the ones that just throw in lines like "...and then Bob went home and smoked four joints" as filler, without addressing anything else about the issue.

Cool- then I think we're on the same page.

I read the Confusion Sets in and from a sociological stanpoint, it's really quite revealing. Kid in a one parent home, little supervision, gender issues- that's a child at risk. It's a formula that plays itself out every single day in all of our cities and towns- usually with bad results. It grinds people up and spits them out.

That's what a lot of my teen years were like. As f-ed up as it sounds, it was a lot more socially acceptable to be a head than a fag. I could hide in that subculture and find acceptance.

Believe it or not, heads (potheads- as opposed to people that use other things) are really dear sweet mellow people for the most part. They are lonely kids, angry kids, gay kids, divorced kids, abused kids, neglected kids, poor kids, rich kids and sometimes even eagle scouts.

They tend to be socially awkwark or very smooth, fat or skinny. Disturbed or normal.

If you get where I'm going, they are alot like us. Some are open while others are quite secretive about smoking out and you would never know. It is a culture all it's own.

It's interesting for a number of reasons- primarily because people need to know. Ignorance screws people up faster than anything. Kids ignorance, parents ignorance, teachers ignorance.

Hell, my parents used to like me better stoned because I wouldn't fight with them. How's that for a crazy, f-ed up, mixed message?

[Dramatis Personae?]

As has been brought up a couple of times, sometimes names and nicknames can get confusing when there's more than a few.

It is common in plays and some stories that I've seen to have a list of the main characters with a blurb to help the reader place them.

Authors: What are your thoughts?

Readers: Would it help?

I'm writing something now that involves a lot of people and I'm thinking that it might be useful.

[Music!]

This song haunts me. Yeah- sure it's not high art

but even a blind squirell is going to find a nut every

now and then.

I speaks to me in a way that really gets under my skin reminding me of some one a long time ago. Someone who's laughter was music to me. Someone who filled that hole in my soul. Someone whose pain was torment to me. Someone whose life was dearer to me than my own. Someone who made me feel human instead of the horrible, feral thing that I became.

Someone who would wrap their arms around me and there was nothing else- just light and warmt and the pain was gone.

Someone who was all the joy on heaven and earth to me.

Someone that I watched die an inch at a time as the light drained out of my world.

I've never been the same since.

It's been almost 10 years and I still dream about him. I wake up and cry.

I see him sometimes. It's not really him. Just people that look like him and I know that my expression freaks them out.

It's better now but some things don't heal. I see him as we were in my dreams and in my nightmares I see him in so much pain at the end with wires, tubes and hoses all over him.

I asked God to take me instead. No I begged him on my knees but he never listens.

The cruel bastard left me here alone instead.

...and they say that I'm the one who needs to be forgiven.

I'm sorry. I'm more than a little f-ed up. Trying to learn to live again.

====================================

Broken

I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh

I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away

I keep your photograph; I know it serves me well

I wanna hold you high and steal your pain

?Cause I?m broken when I?m open

And I don?t feel like I am strong enough

?Cause I?m broken when I?m lonesome

And I don?t feel light when you?re gone away

The worst is over now and we can breathe again

I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away

There?s so much left to learn, and no one left to fight

I wanna hold you high and steal your pain

?Cause I?m broken when I?m open

And I don?t feel like I am strong enough

?Cause I?m broken when I?m lonesome

And I don?t feel right when you?re gone away

?Cause I?m broken when I?m open

And I don?t feel like I am strong enough

?Cause I?m broken when I?m lonesome

And I don?t feel light when you?re gone away

[Did He Really Say That? - by Aaron - NWS]

Another challenge was writing a story that has a character with my name. I'm actually more like the Will character and my partner Billy is more like the Aaron character, naughtiness included. In my frist drafts I reversed the names several times.

That's a good topic I'm going to address. I'm having similar issues. Look for a new thread.

Thanks again for all of your very kind responses,

Aaron

A man is never taller than when he encourages a kid.

[Leaves and Lunatics by EleCivil]

Hey, I'm an official I bailed on The Confusion Sets In because of the drug use, too. That's always been a bail point for me, and it's lead to my almost missing out on some really good stories (For example, I almost bailed on Drama Club because of all the smoking).

Whoa partner. You're missing something.

Many gay teens get caught up in the drug culture because of the emotional turmoil that they are in or quite simply they end up there because they are outcasts and it's the only place they can fit in.

I know. I've been there. I kicked the habit long ago but to ignore this is to turn a deaf ear to yet another problem that is grinding up part of our community.

When I was a kid after a long hard day of sexual harrassment and getting beaten up, the only thing that could make me stop shaking and feel anywhere near normal was to smoke a fat joint. I have since discovered that is where many, many addicts start. They aren't doing it because they just want to give society the finger or just to have a good time. They've got underlying problems that a shrink would perscribe meds for if they were treated right.

Sure- if drug use is being glorified, that's not a good thing. As authors, treating this right is very important. It may look like fun and games but it far from it. Proper treatment in a stories characterization and plot as drug use/addiction really is- the silent desperation, pain and escape can serve as a strong message to gay youth and they need it.

Being gay is path laced with many landmines. Chemical dependency takes a horrible toll on us as it only makes a tricky road that much more difficult to navigate.

If you see a story with gratitiuos drug use- sure, go ahead and bail. If your writing one, tell it like really it is and you'll deliver a very powerful anti-drug message.

[Suburbian Mommy]

I just figured it was a reference to their song. I didn't think it was misplaced or disrespectful of the Stones, either. I liked it.

Over time our minds pick up all sorts of mush from pop culture. It's not uncommon to see people "steal" a line or a rhyme either consciously or subconsciously.

I tip me hat to Mick.

[Hello AweSomeDudes]

Them's fightin' words, rhymeslinger. Pistols at dawn it is, then. :smt066

On second thought...nah, I don't want to have to wake up that early. Cancel the duel.

It's hard to get us literary types motivated to do dawn....unless we've been up all night on a writing jag.

Those damned muses show up at the oddest hours.

[Suburbian Mommy]

Well, the Rolling Stones would know what you meant too, which you've referenced in the poem.

James, meet Gabe; Gabe, meet James. You guys should hit it off some.

It took me a while to see what you mean. I didn't even realize that I had done that until you pointed it out. That's the problem with some rhymes- there's just only so many permutations that you're bound to run into one that someone else has used.

Let's see:

So mommy finds a little helper,

In which she finds a little shelter,

In valiums sweet embrace,

Or a vodka slumber into grace.

Mother's Little Helper:

...Mother needs something today to calm her down

And though she?s not really ill

There?s a little yellow pill

She goes running for the shelter of a mother?s little helper

And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day...

I guess I could have said:

So mommy finds a pick-me-up,

That gets her real f-ed up,

In valiums sweet embrace,

Or a vodka slumber into grace.

It's just not as err... ummm graceful.

[Muzak]

Muzak

Is it loud, does it thrash?

Is it bold, is it brash?

Does it make me bang my head?

Or does it make me think instead?

Is it metal, jazz or punk,

Psycadellic, synthethic or way cool funk?

Does it lift me up and make me high?

Or does it inspire me to ask why?

Does it get into my head?

Or another part of me instead?

Does it make me look at life?

Does it settle my interal strife?

Does it really have heart,

Or is it just commercial art?

Classic Rock, techno, smooth old Blues,

Rock the house and move your shoes,

Make a joyful noise in the silence of the night,

Split asunder darkness with your delight.

[Did He Really Say That? - by Aaron - NWS]

I really enjoyed this story. It had a sweet, almost innocent quality and tone to it that caught me completely by surprise.

The dialect seemed so natural and non-forced that I assumed that the author was an Australian. I found myself thinking that I hoped the two protagonists might meet the kids from New Brother series so they would have some support.

I only discovered **after** reading it that Aaron was the "happy little squirt" of mailcrew fame.

If Aaron is that smooth an author at 16, then he's really going to be something as he grows up and gains more experience.

His use of the language I would describe as artistic, quite skilled and measured. The raw skill with words is belied by how even the tone and dialog is throughout the story. This is something that authors twice his age with 100X his published material will never get just right.

[Rats Racing]

Blue editing monkey says there's the same problem with:

Out of breath, wish for death, loose yourself in regret

However, the poem is a winner. Really liked it.

Problem fixed.

I need an editor.

Thanks guys. There's some things spelling checkers just make worse.

[Suburbian Mommy]

Sounds familiar (see It Could Be About Heredity and Angel). That brings back a lot of the bad times . . . . Thank you.

Sorry- the demons must be brought into the light of day to slay them

[Suburbian Mommy]

Some explanation for this might be in order.

The love of my life's mother was a drug addict and an alcoholic. It hurt him a lot because his Dad left and, well it was just a very sad situation.

It got to the point to where Jeff couldn't bear to be around her. She would say horrible things things to him- and by extension would hurt me too.

Once I was there and we were shooting hoops on his garage. She woke up and we were outside. She knew about us and she came outside screaming obsenities and anti-gay stuff at both of us in fron of God, the neighbors and everybody.

What made it so shocking to both of us was when she was sober, she was cool with us. She even claimed to like me and thought that I was good for Jeff. When she got drunk though, she was mean as hell.

You just can't watch someone you love go through this and be untouched.

[Suburbian Mommy]

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.

[Rats Racing]

yup- you're right you diabolical green spelling monkey :-D

Fixed it.

[Hello AweSomeDudes]

Thanks for the warm welcome blue, aussie and cody.

You are some of my favorite people anyway so its not like the first day of school. :D

[Rats Racing]

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.

[Killswitch]

Killswitch

Hash, speed, downers and cocaine,

All useful for easing the pain,

Acid, booze, valium and weed,

Helpful for when you feel the need.

But what is it that you really want?

Does it even have a name?

Is it pain or loneliness,

Or someone else to blame?

Can you even talk about it,

That pain inside your head?

Can you name the nameless fear,

That fills you so with dread?

Do you really want an answer?

To that which you already know.

Be careful, you might be human,

A few emotions might even show.

Stagger to work and sleep throgh class,

Finding solace at the bottom of a glass,

When you can't take the pain,

Take some more and shut down your brain.

[Broken Heart a song by Nate and Codey]

Cody-

I've seen your work on Dewey's board and it just keeps gets better and better.

You've got a lot of talent and, as is the hazard with poetry, your soul is showing. Don't worry about it- it shines.

-James

[Music!]

Is it loud, does it thrash?

Is it bold, is it brash?

Does it make me bang my head?

Or does it make me think instead?

Is it metal, jazz or punk,

Psycadellic, synthethic or way cool funk?

Does it lift me up and make me high?

Or does it inspire me to ask why?

Does it get into my head?

Or another part of me instead?

Does it make me look at life?

Does it settle my interal strife?

Does it really have heart,

Or is it just commercial art?

Classic Rock, techno, smooth old Blues,

Rock the house and move your shoes,

Make a joyful noise in the silence of the night,

Split asunder darkness with your delight.

:smt109

[Hello AweSomeDudes]

I'm new here but not a stranger,

so have no worries I'm no danger,

another bit storm in the night,

with tales of woe and delight.

Don't ask me about the great mysteries,

I'm not sure you'ld want to know my history,

All I've got to offer is a bruised but good heart,

A humble enough yet honest place to start.

-JS