#which went into the whole 'i have to present myself a certain way and its slowly killing me' part of cait's character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

i-am-the-oyster · 10 months ago

Note

hey! you know icke braun’s autobiography? i saw a post that you made about the book and that you and somebody were working on translating (the post is from like 2022) and i was wondering if you had a pdf or something of the translated version?

Yes! Icke Braun should get so much more attention from Beatles fans.

@packyourromanticmind has very kindly shared the full text that she and her mother translated (below the cut).

If you'd like to follow along the analysis of Icke and Paul's relationship that I've been working on with @ilovedig go here (we're hoping to continue the series soon).

Anyway, back to the translation:

Kathia heard from a friend that a great group was playing the Kaiserkeller in the Grosser Freiheit area . She kept going on at me that we should go see them play. When we talked about it in the Pigalle, people all pulled skeptical faces.. ‘That’s rock n’ roll that they’re playing, it’s absolutely below our level’. And anyway, for us it was a dangerous area, but still, I was very intrigued. One could go and listen to them and then decide what we thought of the music, and so I went with Kathia.

It was a sort of wake up experience. This music meant, without exaggeration, a total change in my life. For the first time, I saw The Beatles, I was totally out of my comfort zone; that was my music. From one moment to the next, Earl Alexander and the whole jazz scene was yesterday’s news. The Beatles brought much more dynamic energy and aggressiveness to the stage. I could feel myself bodily transmorph into the music. It wasn’t just the music that I found amazing, I also found the way that the boys presented themselves on stage - their choreography was amazing. Paul was left-handed and stood with John or George together who were right-handed and the microphone was in the middle. So they stood with their faces to the microphone but the public saw them from the side and it was a wonderful symmetry which fitted their music. At this time the band consisted of five people, Paul McCartney on bass guitar and song, John Lennon; rhythm guitar and song, George; lead guitarist and song, Stu Sutcliffe; bass, and Pete Best on drums. In the shortest time possible, I became a fervent fan. I went to the Kaiserkeller several times. The atmosphere was rough there, sometimes even dangerous because most of the guests there were rockers. Rock n’ roll was their sole music and they had no patience with people next to them who weren’t Exis. The Beatles at that time had their own style. As I said, I don’t understand music a lot, but to my ears, there was everything in their music that later became their sound. Above all, it was rock n roll. They covered Chuck Berry, and of course the rock fans loved him. The music and the beer would flow freely, the atmosphere could change quickly, and they would have start a fight. This was not allowed by the Kaiserkeller and its owner, (who was called Horst and was a former boxer). For the rockers, it was a seal of honour to poke fun at the people who that didn’t fit in with them, especially their enemies, among them of course the Exis to which I belonged. The best thing was to ignore the poking altogether and take yourself to another corner. Luckily I always managed to keep away from the fights, without completely losing face.

After a few weeks, the Beatles went into the Top Ten on the Reeperbahn, where their concerts were mostly visited by people who allowed themselves greater musical freedom. So, visitors like Kathia and I weren’t in the minority anymore. We were at the Top Ten most evenings, where a certain trust situation between The Beatles and us developed. There were situations where I really regretted that I hadn’t learnt better English, otherwise I would have had many more chances to have contact with the boys. One morning after a long night in Top Ten, Kathia and I went to bed between 3 and 4am in the morning. We went to her house and fell into bed exhausted, where we spent the rest of the day in bed. In the evening around 8 or 9pm we made our way to Hamburg again, back to the Top Ten. On the way from Ahrensburg, we came past a large strawberry plantation. Because there were no people around, Katia said, let’s steal a few strawberries. The strawberries were small, red and sweet and after we had eaten enough, we said, let’s take some for The Beatles. Kathia went into a barn and came out with a big basket. We picked so many strawberries that the basket overflowed, and on the way to the car, most fell into the road. We put the basket behind my seat and drove off. At 10pm at the Top Ten, The Beatles were already in full swing, and the dance floor was thick with people. Between two sets, we took the strawberries to the stage. The other guests joked and called us the young strawberries. We could have invited the band for a round of beer or schnapps, like the sailors or rockers did, but the strawberries were something else. The Beatles were overjoyed like children, and Paul said ‘what a wonderful idea, you can do this again!’ (He said this in bad German, which he had learnt in school). The four boys started to eat and couldn’t stop. The interval became longer and longer because the basket was so full and took a long time to empty. The public began to protest, so John decided to start throwing strawberries at people, and then Paul and the others copied him. The public then threw back the squashed strawberries and it became a food fight…Luckily most of the strawberries had been eaten. Paul then came down from the stage and asked Kathia and myself if we had a musical wish. There was a song which we liked called ‘Till There Was You’ and Kathia whispered to me that we should choose this song. It was a love song and didn’t actually fit into the whole rock n’ roll genre that they normally played. Unfortunately Paul didn’t understand that this was Kathia’s music choice and thought for years that this was my favourite song . Every time that I went to the Top Ten or The Star and he saw me, he would play ‘Till There Was You, which was was quite embarrassing for me because it wasn’t my taste of music at all, and also because the rockers bombarded me with rude gestures and remarks. Years later, when the boys were already famous, and I was allowed backstage, we were sitting in the Ernst Merck hall and George Harrison mentioned ‘Till There Was You. I told him that it was actually Kathia’s music taste and not mine. So he understood, but there is still footage from The Star Club where one can hear “And now we will play ‘till there was you’ for Icke”.

After the strawberry episode, we came to know The Beatles better. Sometimes we went with them to a bar. Down below in the port, there was an English speaking pub where you could get English food and be served by English waiters and we went there a few times to eat. It was called British Sailors Society. Pete Best was very rarely there, he usually stayed in the background. And also we didn’t see much of Stu Sutcliffe, he was already dating Astrid Kircherr and concentrating more on his studies in his art school, instead of the music. The best contact I had was with Paul, not only because he was the only one who spoke German, but to me he was the most likeable. I went with him a few times to the Raa-Wiese. At one point he wanted to sleep with a girl, a groupie who he met in the Top Ten. He didn’t want to meet in the little room that he shared with John, George and Pete, so there were very few other opportunities for inviting girls back . He asked me if he could take the girl back to mine. Although I didn’t have much space either, but I still said yes. So I invited both of them into my little beatle car; Paul sat next to me on the passenger seat, and he had the girl on his lap. Even though she was small and dainty, it was a very tight squeeze. In a convivial mood we drove along the river at 4am in the morning, reciting tongue twisters. It was my job to say ‘red lorry yellow lorry’ three times. It was very difficult with my bad English…it was even more difficult because I was laughing so much. Suddenly the girl shrieked as in front of us a car appeared. I could only steer the car to the right and we narrowly avoided a crash. However I turned the wheel too sharply and we turned around full circle and came to a stop in the middle of the street. We really had amazing luck that at this time of day, as there was very little traffic. The car that we nearly hit was a taxi , a tank-like black Mercedes. The driver was standing next to his car and shouting like a lunatic, and he was not far from starting a fight. I was in two minds whether to drive off or not, because the taxi driver was a bullish type and he wanted to lay into me. However I decided to walk over to him, and with great effort and honest regret, I persuaded him not to report us so we were able to continue our journey in peace, although the girl now had to sit behind us. That was the worst near fatal collision of my whole life. We had been laughing so much, I didn’t notice that we had somehow ended up on the other side of the road, and we were a hairs breath away from a head on crash. We were uninsured, without airbags or safety belts and it could have been curtains for all three of us and the lorry driver. One could imagine how much poorer the world would have been without Paul.. no Beatles! The band would not have made it without Paul. George might have become an electrician, John an artist and Ringo, well he wasn’t even in the picture. No, I don’t want to imagine it. I later relayed the story to Thomas Struck, a Hamburger underground filmmaker who went on to make a small film of our near accident .

It’s strange that there is a rumour in this context which has been going around since 1969, and that is that Paul McCartney apparently died in a car accident in 1966 and has since been impersonated by a double. This rumour became almost a conspiracy theory which the 74 year old Ringo Starr corroborated in an interview in 2015. The theory, he said, was that Billy Shears played the double for Paul. At first, everyone wanted to keep the story going, so that record companies, and concert venues and the public were spared the gruesome details of the reality, and because Shears played his role so perfectly and nobody noticed the exchange of personality, they left it at that. Even on stage, Shears played Paul perfectly . In fact, Ringo asserts, he was better than McCartney! I don’t know what was going on between him and Paul, but such differences to me seemed very hateful. Paul apparently, after this unveiling, very angrily retorted that it was the senile gossip of an old man.

I met Paul long after the supposed accident and I never had the feeling that I was talking to a double. On the contrary, in 1991, at the Hamburg premiere about their previous world tour, I visited him in the Hotel Atlantic. He was standing with his wife Linda and two men at reception and was just about to leave when he saw me. Spontaneously he came over to me and greeted me. Billy Shears couldn’t have reacted like this, because he didn’t know me. Ringo got his comeuppance for his angry diatribes later when a post on Twitter dated 2016 declared him dead. This rumour (and naturally it was nothing more), spread like wildfire over the whole internet. I am curious to see which rumour will be the next one to make the rounds.

Anyway back to reality. When we arrived in Rahlstedt, we had to drive through a little housing estate, and it was night when we arrived; the moon was shining brightly, and the little allotment houses looked like normal houses in miniature form. Paul laughter and said; ‘I’ve never seen anything like this, do dwarves live in them?’ No I said, these are garden houses , they belong to normal people and I live in one of these houses (I was joking). In Paul’s defence , he had had a few drinks, and his tolerance wasn’t very high.

My little room suddenly became quite tight for three people; Paul, his girlfriend, and myself. Paul thought that there was even less space here than the room the group shared above the Top Ten. Because I was feeling hospitable (and because I had a bad conscience about the accident), I gave him my bed, and proceeded to make myself comfortable on the floor. Sleep however, did not come to mind, because the girl tried repeatedly to charm Paul and to pull him into her arms. Instead, he lay with his head supported by the headboard and told us stories about how he and his friends spent their nights in Hamburg. He was talking about himself, John , George and Pete Best. Stu Sutcliffe was better off because he lived with his girlfriend Astrid Kircherr . For the first time I discovered that the four Beatles lived together in a room above the Top Ten with only a little skylight, and that was only a small improvement to the hellhole their previous boss, Bruno Koschmider had put them in when they first arrived in Hamburg. They were still with Stu at that point, so it was five of them in total. Bruno, who owned the Bambi Kino, vacated a room for them that previously housed the film reels. It was small, unheated, had no window and in comparison to their current abode, it didn’t even have a skylight. To sleep, they had to lie on straw sacks on the floor. The only positive, Paul said, was that this room was directly behind the cinema screen and the boys were able to listen to the dialogue and music of the films that played from 4pm in the afternoon. The room was lit with one tiny bare lightbulb which hung from the ceiling, and there wasn’t even a wash basin in the room. To wash themselves, they had to go to the mens toilets in the cellar. That’s where they got know Tante Rosa, the toilet attendant. Paul was charmed by her, she washed all their sweat soaked clothes, otherwise, they would have had nothing to wear. Without Tante Rosa, they would have long ago been buried in their own dirt. He also told us of the first time they went on stage at the Indra, a strip tease joint, which was also owned by Bruno. Because it was such a bad joint, the Beatles had to share billing with the strip tease dancers. For two months they had to endure this crap, because their previous manager, Alan Williams had told them that they would be appearing in a huge nightclub, (which actually turned out to be the Kaiserkeller). Unfortunately, Derry And The Seniors were appearing there, who were of the opinion that The Beatles had nothing to offer in Hamburg, and they would bring the place into ill repute with their English rock n’ roll. However it wasn’t long before The Beatles were allowed to appear, because the Senior’s contract had expired. However, their living situation didn’t change.

Paul couldn’t stop telling these stories, and I felt very privileged and honoured that he trusted me to share so much. In the meantime, the girl had long since fallen asleep and was snoring loudly, whereas we two talked deep into the night, and our conversation didn’t find an end. Very late in the night, just as it got light outside, Paul suddenly stopped speaking mid-sentence, fell asleep and began snoring louder than the girl. I tried to find myself a bearable place on the floor, but I couldn’t fall sleep for a long time because of the snoring.

I never got to know Bruno Koschmider but after Pauls stories, I’m assuming he must have been a dreadful man. Small, hunched and constantly with a miserable face.. strangely, in World War Two, apparently he performed as a clown, although he never made us laugh. This is the story that Pete Best told us anyway; that ‘he was never a clown and he never made us laugh’. In some strange way however, he had came into the money and was able to buy the Indra, the Kaiserkeller, and the Bambi-Kino cinema . His only merits was he was the first one to bring a British sound to Hamburg; he had started with Tony Sheridan, then came Derry And The Seniors, Rory Storm and The Hurricanes and finally, the Beatles. On the other hand, one could say that he misused these young people shamefully. For instance, The Beatles had to sign an agreement that for 30 marks per person, they had to play four hours a night from Monday - Friday, and on Saturday they had to play for six hours. Bruno even took money during their intervals. When they moved above the Top Ten and were earning 5 marks more a day, they had to play for longer. But even so, they thought it was a move in the right direction, because they got on better with their new boss, Pete Eckhorn. Bruno threw it in their faces that they ‘deserted’ him. Then he became nasty and threw all sorts of accusations at them. First of all, because George Harrison was underage, he reported him for this. Then he reported Paul and Pete, accusing them of trying to burn down his cinema. In reality, they had only left their old boss two used condoms as a farewell present . In the end, it was only John who stayed behind in Hamburg, however he became very lonely without his friends and later returned of his own free will back to the U.K. So the story of The Beatles in Hamburg could have come to an end without much ado . But as luck would have it, they had signed a contract with Eckhorn, which means they could travel back to Germany very soon.

I once had Paul, John and George stay with me at my home in the Raawiese. My landlords weren’t home, only their 12 year old son who hung around us, and their Chinese Nightingale, who were heard singing in the background. We made a small fire in the garden and started to empty a bottle of whisky that we had bought with us. The little boy showed us a mass of twigs which were waiting to be burned, the wood was a little fresh and it was hard to light. After a short while, we had a little campfire, although the smoke got into all our eyes! Perhaps it was the whiskey talking, or our sporting aspirations , but we decided to start jumping over the fire. After every jump we were allowed to take a slug of whiskey. Even the young boy dared to join in. When John made a misjudged jump and nearly landed in the fire and burnt his trousers, we stopped playing. He complained his only lederhosen was now kaput, although they didn’t seem damaged to me. In the meantime, the whiskey flask was nearly empty and we were all quite drunk. It was late and the three wanted to get home to rest before their next performance. With my drunken head on, I told them I could drive them, but John wanted to borrow my beatle car instead. The fact that he had no driving license, and probably couldn’t drive anyway, didn’t matter to him. Unfortunately it mattered to me, so instead of driving my taking the car, I took them to the bus stop. It was really hard for us to walk even the few hundred meters with our wobbly legs. If we had driven there definitely would have been another accident!

When I returned to the Raawiese, the little boy came to me in great distress and told me that the nightingale was dead. ‘Which nightingale?’ I mumbled. I let myself be taken to the house where the birdcage hung. Then I saw the problem…The nightingale lay on his back with rolled up feet and he wasn’t moving. Even when I gently nudged him, I couldn’t bring him back to life. Perhaps our campfire had killed him. I actually thought to myself, when the landlords find out about this, I will be out on the street. So I told the boy that our adventures with the fire had to be kept a secret from his parents. He agreed, and we threw some water onto the campfire and moved everything away that was still lying around from the garden party. I was hoping the neighbours were away, and wouldn’t tell on us. Anyway, my fears were ungrounded, because although the landlords were sad about the death of my bird, they never asked any questions. Obviously the little boy stayed true to his word. I met him recently after a visit to the Kleingartensiedlung. He still lived in the little old house. In the meantime, he had renovated and extended, but otherwise it looked exactly like it did in bygone days. He told me proudly that he tells our story to the people on his estate, and they fall about in surprise when he says that The Beatles once came to his house and jumped over their camp fire.

From April 3rd 1962, The Beatles played in the Star Club. Kathia and I had a sort of place of honour in the upper circle which was always reserved for us. We never paid any entrance fee and we always had a great view. Although since then, I’ve had another girlfriend - we still sat together in the same box. On the box in front of us was Astrid Kirchherr, Klaus Vormann and Jurgen Vollmer. There were the first guard of Beatles friends, and we belonged to the second. The great thing about our box was that we were allowed to use it even when other musicians appeared in the star club . In those days, these were the prominent people in the rock n’ roll scene of the time; Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis. For all these visits, we didn’t have to pay a penny, except for Ray Charles, who we once saw in the Star Club; that cost me 20 Marks.

Next to the Star Club, there was a place called Zer Holle. This was where I often sat with The Beatles, but also with other bands, such as Gerry And The Pacemakers. There was sometimes a woman joining us called Mary Brown, who was the leader of the Beatles fan club. I was once here with Mary, Paul McCartney, Gerry and a few others. Gerry went on at me that I should become his fan too. He spoke nonstop and he kept repeating the same sentence. “Icke, you should become MY fan”. At the beginning I felt very honoured and flattered, but after a while he got on my nerves . I ordered him a beer and although he was already fairly merry, he toasted me and said, “now I’m becoming an honorary Beatles fan”. I asked Mary to show me my fan passport which she showed me immediately. I was member number 62. Until the late 60s, Mary Brown sent every member of the fan club a vinyl recording of music and best wishes from The Beatles. As an honorary member, I also had to pay very little for the beer. Once, a waiter who was new to the Star Club, asked me for 1.50 Marks and I didn’t have any change, so I gave him a 20 Mark note . He said to me, ‘when I’ve got the change i’ll come back to you’. I tried to attract his attention when he passed by my seat, but he looked at me like he didn’t recognise me. He insisted that I’d only given 1.50 and I became very stubborn and started arguing, and he threatened to throw me out. At that moment Horst Fascher walked past. I didn’t know him very well but he knew me. I told him I’d given the waiter 50 marks but he hadn’t given me any change. One moment said Horst. The waiter was a head higher than the owner but he knew what was coming. Horst grabbed him by his arm , turned him away from me and said a word I didn’t understand . Then he waited until the the waiter opened his pocket book and gave me 48.50 as change. Normally I’m an honest person, but when I’m being swindled, the war-child in me comes through, who has learnt to insist and get tough, even if it’s at the cost of other people. I didn’t have a bad conscience because of what I had done. First, I did to him what he did to me, and second, on his evening round, he had probably done the same to the rest of his evening guests.

Horst was the eldest of three brothers. They were all small men under 1m 70, but they were feared fighters. He was the first one to have the idea to bring English rock music to Germany. In 1959 he appeared as a lightweight fighter in a match in London. That evening after the fight, he partied through Soho and landed in a club where rock n’ roll bands were playing live. The German version of this music was also playing at the moment in the Kaiserkeller, but this was a different format. The singer was Tony Sheridan. His appearance was as strong and authentic as Bill Haley or Elvis Presley, who one only knew through Hollywood films. Horst was amazed. Back in Hamburg, he told Bruno Koschmider of his discovery. Bruno flew instantly to London and engaged Tony for his Kaiserkeller . Horst was the second string to his fiddle; he was later responsible for bringing the Beatles from the Kaiserkeller into Peter Eckhorn’s Top Ten, and then to Manfred Weissleder in the Star Club. Both his brothers were waiters in the Star Club but otherwise they didn’t really play a large role. Freddie, on the other hand, who was the youngest brother, became my protector. I was only a little player, and the impression was sometimes that people could push me around. But if I became cross with somebody and Freddie noticed, he would come between us . He was little, and his opponents were mostly bigger so he would grab them by the shirt, pull them down to his level and give them a headbutt, then there was peace.

With his brother Horst, I once had a special adventure. At Christmas of ’62 I had made The Beatles a special Christmas plate (as I had done the year before), where amongst other things I always distributed were bags of Liptons tea. That was a trademark - it was meant to be a quirky reminder of home. I also placed candles on the plates, and I wanted to bring all of this onto the stage, but Horst told me off and said, ‘you can’t do this with lit candles on stage - its much too dangerous…What were you thinking? Give them to me!’ So he dimmed the lighting in the room and took the coloured plates with the lit candles to the stage. The Beatles were already throwing tea bags and biscuits at each other, and Paul took the microphone and said, ‘Icke, you are so considerate’. Because of the teabags, they recognised the plates were my invention, even though Horst had taken them to the stage. The hardened rockers in the audience thought it was a bit feminine and misplaced that I should give such Christmas presents for them. But for me, every appearance The Beatles made was a present that was bigger than I ever could have given them back. Every time I listened to them, an intense feeling of happiness flowed through me . In them, I could forget everything around me. I never experienced such a total immersion in any other rock band who appeared at the Star Club. Perhaps there was something feminine about it , but I didn’t care.

Something feminine was at play the first time I met John. I sat with him and the rest of the band at The Star Club at the end of the night after their gig. The bar was the shape of a large oval on which one side John sat with George and a few other guests, whereas Paul and I were about five meters away on the other side. We chatted about who was our favourite author. Naturally the guys only knew English or American authors, that was clear. Who mentioned who I’m not so sure. One said Lewis Caroll, another said Dylan Thomas. I had recently seen the play Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas, otherwise I knew nothing of him. ‘And you Icke?’ Asked Paul.. ‘who is your favourite author?’. ‘Henry Miller, I find him really great’, I replied. At the same moment, John glanced over to me. Up until then, he had been watching - with his usual slightly bored expression, Bettina the bar lady as she washed up glasses and cleared up the bar. Our conversation didn’t seem to interest him enormously. Now he looked at me directly in the eyes. Silently and without taking his eyes off me, he came around the whole length of the bar, kissed me on the mouth and walked back to his place. At first I was very surprised and didn’t know what to do about this. Then I found it slightly amusing and didn’t think any more of it . A few days later, it happened again. I met him on the walkway behind the stage and again he took my hand and kissed me. That made me actually think about the fact.. ‘Oh my God, am I gay?, because I don’t know if I can do this’. But what was really behind this, I don’t know, and never knew. Maybe the kisses were a sort of overture? Because amongst homosexuals, he was known as a Klemm-schwuler (‘camp gay’ /closet case). I have no idea. In any case, I saw his girlfriend Cynthia, who visited him in 1961 and who he married a year later. Quite apart from that, he was often seen in the company of girls a lot.

On the 10th April, 1962, the fifth Beatle, Stu Sutcliffe died of a brain tumour. It was the same day that his band colleagues, (apart from George), landed at Hamburg airport a few days later to appear at the Star Club. I had very little contact with Stuart, because he left the band a year before I knew them to concentrate on his studies at the art school. Amongst his friends, his death was a huge shock. Especially hard hit was John, who was at art school in Liverpool with him and was close friends. For days he ran around like a corpse through the city, until he found himself again.

In the first half of Nov 1962, when The Beatles appeared at the Star Club again, the drummer was Ringo Starr and not Pete Best. I couldn’t get used to it at first. Even though I had very little personal contact with Pete, I felt that an important part of the brilliant ensemble had been lost. After a while, I became used to Ringo and strangely, the music became somehow rounder, and in any case, not as loud as before. Perhaps I’m just imagining it, as I’ve said, I’m not the greatest music expert. My impression was that Pete always drummed like a madman, whereas Ringo fitted in with the music. What Paul had said to me was that it was Brian Epstein who replaced Pete. It was already then very obvious the enormous influence this man had on the group. From the beginning of November, he monitored their performances and they appeared in a new, specially made outfits which they had overlooked so far in their Hamburg performances. Now they were in preppy clothes. And accordingly, they behaved themselves on stage. No more mucking around and no insults. It was only when Epstein left Hamburg on Nov 10th, they were able to go back to their old style of performance. Already on the Sunday evening, just a few hours after they had taken their manager to the airport, they were wearing their old leather rags and dancing on the stage as normal. John as usual, offended the whole audience by insulting them.

The Beatles last performances at the Star was Dec 18 -31st, 1962 . On New Years day, they were due to go back to England. I took Paul in my little beatle car to the airport, where he met with the others. Then the announcement came that the flight to London was delayed by four hours. Wonderful I thought, I have more time to hang out with them. It was in these last hours that I could talk to them all on the same level; because what happened in the next few months in England, at the crazy speed it developed, none of us, the Beatles or the fans could have imagined. The next time I saw them, they were absolute world stars and they lived in a different world. That time in the airport bar we were still thinking that in a few months, they would be appearing at the Star Club again . They were in good spirits, and not just because of the previous night where we had celebrated all night, and drunk a lot of alcohol. It was more because they were heading off on small tour in Scotland, which was due to take place the next day beginning in Keith. But most importantly, they were beginning a tour with Helen Shapiro, where they would appear as one of the six warm up acts. Helen was 16 years old, so a few years younger than The Beatles, but much more famous and much more savvy than the boys. Musically they didn’t think much of her, but her fame was hard to discredit. It was going to be their first professional tour. Us Hamburger fans followed their journey via newspapers and the radio, how they were celebrated by the public, and soon Helen Shapiro was displaced. This tour lasted a month from February to March 1963, and catapulted The Beatles into the heavies of rock music. Together with Tommy Roe and Chris Montez-Tournee, they had broken through. Brigitte Janner, who was my girlfriend at the time, kept me up to date with how famous the band were becoming and the welcome they received whenever they appeared .

It was three and a half years later that I saw them again. A teen magazine called Bravo had organised a lightening tour through Germany with them, and three weeks before had started creating an advertising frenzy . Even the people from Der Bild and Bravo stood outside my house and wanted to interview me. I said they could interview me if they could get me into the Beatles press conference . They didn’t want to do that, perhaps they couldn’t do it. In any case I didn’t give them an interview. The next day in Der Bild newspaper, there was a big article entitled ‘Icke And The Beatles’. There was a photo of me with wide open eyes, which somebody had shot the moment I had opened my door for them. It was not exactly a good image of me and I would have stopped the publication of it had I known. Also in this article, there were loads of made up stories . These stories started circulating at my work which made me uncomfortable, not least because my colleagues were gossiping about me. After all, I was head of the department, and I didn’t want to be compromised. There were newspaper articles in Der Bild and Bravo about me in Reinhold & Mahla (my workplace) which was uncomfortable for me, because it meant my colleagues had ratted on me.

The tour was booked from the 24th - 26th June; three days in three cities. Through the press photographer, Peter Bruchmann, I found out the Beatles would be arriving at 5 30 am on a special train at the Ahrensburg station, so I got up at 4 in the morning not to miss this moment. As the train approached, I stood very close to the edge of the platform. A mass of journalists, fans and other commuters also stood on the platform. It was terribly noisy and nobody could understand a word anyone was saying. Luckily, I found a favourable place on the platform - facing the wagon in which the Beatles were basically stood right outside my nose. I saw the guys standing at the window and Paul saw me too. He moved his lips as though he wanted to say something to me, and pointed to the front where they were going to disembark. Unfortunately this was about 10 meters deep with people who were all trying to see the band. I tried with all my might to push through but I was still stuck in the middle. It was just impossible to get through. The Beatles had already disembarked. They were corralled straight away by the bodyguards who had freed a walkway through the crowd. However, Paul managed to turn around, he called to me, ‘We’ll see you later!’, and then they ran at speed through the walkway, out to where the cars were standing, surrounded by journalists and fans who were waiting for them. They were taken with a police escort to the Castle Tremsbuttel, where they were staying the night.

The whole thing happened so quickly that on the way home, I thought it had been a dream. On the way back in the car, I asked myself, what did Paul mean when he called out to me? How should I approach him, how was it going to work that we would see each other when the instructions had been so vague. The two concerts were scheduled for 3pm - 4.45pm and then 7pm - 8 45 pm. In between both concerts there were press conferences being held, to which unfortunately I wasn’t invited. I managed to get a ticket for the second concert, but I still hung around for three hours with the other fans in the hall. Suddenly on the loudspeaker I heard my name. ‘Icke Braun is asked to come to the desk’. I thought to myself, what do I need to come to the desk for? but I went anyway. A man was standing there who I had met before - he was from the newspaper, Der Bild. He told me that Paul McCartney wanted to speak to me, then turned around and went into the conference room and I followed him. Already outside I could hear John Lennon’s voice and as the door opened, I saw him joking with the journalists. As everyone was only speaking English, I didn’t understand much of it. The Beatles were sitting on a podium together with a man I didn’t know. Later I discovered that that was Neil Aspinall who was the personal assistant to the Beatles. George saw me and waved me to his side. I went a bit nearer to the stage but kept my distance. Why should I stand around on the stage looking stupid when I had nothing to say? So I stayed where I was and waited until the end of the conference until I said hello to the guys. A few journalists then left the room but most stayed. When the Beatles came down from the stage, George asked me ‘how are you and what are you doing with yourself’? I said, ‘yes I’m good, I’m now married!’, John heard that and called, “Where’s your wife, let’s see your wife!” and Neil said to me; the Beatles wishes must be obeyed! So I called Evelyn and told her the Beatles wanted to meet her. She was able to come straight away because we had talked about something like this happening. We withdrew into a little room, and suddenly I saw that there was Kathia and Bettina from the the Star Club. I must have overlooked them amongst all the chaos. When Evelyn appeared, she was the first to be introduced to the Beatles. Everything revolved around her and as they were all speaking in English, I stood by looking stupid, so I took the chance to go to the toilet. in order to do that, I had to go through the hustle of journalists who were waiting to grab one of the Beatles. When I came back from the toilet, they were begging me to take them back into the conference room. One said, if you take me with you, I will give you 1000 Marks. When I got back to the Beatles, I asked if I could bring a few people in to meet them, but John and the others were emphatic; no way, we want this to be just us. Bettina took a few photos out of her bag, which showed the Beatles in the Top Ten and the Star Club. The boys were delighted and told her that they would like to have the photos. I told them that the photographer who took them was standing outside the door. ‘Fetch him in, fetch him!’ said John excitedly. The photographer was called Peter Bruchmann, and was absolutely delighted to be the only journalist to be allowed into the conference room. It was he who had given me the tip that the band would be alighting off the train at Ahrensburg . I knew him from the time when the Beatles played at the Top Ten. At that point he hadn’t heard anything about them, and I had to persuade him to come and see them and take a few photos. These became the most famous photos he had ever taken.

A few years ago, we spoke and he told me that his career never got better than these early days. Sadly in 2014 he died. The last photo that he ever took of The Beatles in Germany, he took at the Ernst-Merck-Halle concert venue. The other people in the picture were Bettina, Kathia, Evelyn and i. Unfortunately he couldn’t supply photos from their Hamburg time to the boys at this moment, but he promised them he would send them on if they gave him a forwarding address, however, in the general melee this conversation sadly got forgotten.

All together we stayed for two hours and told each other what we had been up to in our lives. Amongst other things, I asked if they and The Rolling Stones were enemies like the German press insisted. They said that was total nonsense; they were very friendly with them. Then we went into the dining room where we ate fillet steak with lots of onions. Ringo pushed the onions fussily to the side of his plate, and said ‘the whole world knows that I don’t eat onions apart from Hamburg evidently’. During the second concert, we sat int the first row in reserved places, so I could have said myself 20 Mark fee! The Beatles only played half an hour because they wanted to introduce some Hamburg band which included The Rattles. A few of these bands ended up being a bit disappointed because they were just pushed to the side and their music was hardly listened to. Unfortunately, I as an audience member, could understand because everyone had came to see the Beatles, not the Hamburg side acts. Paul told me before the band went onstage that we would see him afterwards, however they disappeared from the stage straight away; while the public was still clapping and calling for more, they were already in their cars. That was the only way to take them from their fans in safety. This was the only contact that my wife Evelyn had with the Beatles.

I myself had two more opportunities to meet Paul McCartney. The first time was in Scotland in 1988. I had long been married to Uta and she was pregnant with our first child. The car we had brought along was a Renault, a fairly long car, where we were transporting a canoe which wouldn’t fold, so it didn’t look very elegant. We had came to a town called Campbelltown, to meet our friend Mary who we had worked with at Amnesty international in Jagerberg . Mary remembered visiting us and seeing a picture of Paul, and told us that her mother had worked for him, at his estate which was not far from here. I said to Uta; ‘come on, let’s go and drive to see him’. But she did not want to go, so therefore I drove there alone. On the way, I had a rethink about what I was actually doing. The estate was guaranteed to be a tourist attraction for journalists and fans, so Paul would likely always have bodyguards on duty. If I were to arrive in my completely filthy Renault with a monster of a canoe on the roof, I wouldn’t stand a chance to get past the bodyguards. They would think that a lousy jerk was coming, who has no reason to be here. That I was once a friend of the famous Paul McCartney, they simply wouldn’t believe. The estate was quite a way away, but I stopped the car and really thought this through - should I carry on with this adventure, or would it be best to simply turn around and just go home. The humiliation that I could be turned around and sent away… I would never get over . For a while I fought with this, backward and forward, then I turned the car around and drove back at a snails pace.

So the last opportunity where I met Paul was in 1991 at the world premiere of Get Back, directed by Richard Lester. After the press conference, I met him and his wife Linda in a room at the back of the cinema. In the room with me was Astrid Kircherr, Ulf Kruger and Achim Reichel and his wife, who had won a place at this this meeting in a competition. During our chat, I mentioned my adventure in Scotland. Even though it was embarrassing to talk about this in front of people, I told Paul that I had planned to visit him, and that I was fearful of the consequences, didn’t trust my courage enough and therefore turned around. He said, “Oh for Gods sake Icke, that’s such a shame. It would have been wonderful if you had actually visited me”. It sounded like he really meant it. I’m still angry at myself over this, sometimes I’m too much of a doofus for this world.

#bonithica ask #packyourromanticmind #thanks again!#icke braun #paul and icke #tillthereweretangents

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valenteal · 1 year ago

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I’ve been posting a lot about my thoughts on Dazai’s characterization and motivations but honestly I’ve been dedicating a lot more energy to trying to understand Oda. Dazai is an amazingly complex character but he’s a constant in the story and we know quite a lot about him, comparatively. Oda is incredibly mysterious and much harder to understand. My breakthrough earlier figuring out that Oda had the book has really helped me open my mind to another side of Oda I hadn’t yet considered.

The things is, authors have to be a bit cruel. Oda’s reasoning for not killing because he wanted to be a writer doesn’t make sense, we kill our own characters all the time. We put them through hell over and over for entertainment/to convey a deeper meaning. I think maybe one of the conditions of having the book is not killing directly, or maybe a certain level of removal from the storyline. Like, if you control reality and others lives with the book you’re giving up a certain amount of control physically in the moment.

Oda is a killer. He is friends with killers. And if I’m right about him being the author of the Dark Era he wrote the deaths of the kids. I think his reaction was genuine, I think he really felt like he shouldn’t have the book, that he didn’t deserve to be its author anymore, but I really think that he wrote the story to give Dazai the opportunity and the motivation to get a better life. I mean, I’ve made myself cry with my writing. The most compelling stories are full of tragedy.

Oda was a child assassin. He was a writer. He was a mafioso. But most of all he was Dazai’s friend.

Wait! Holy shit idea!

Okay so Natsume had the book before Oda, but he was definitely following Dazai around before he got the book so we know there’s already a connection there. I’ve been wondering why Oda was so attached to Dazai. But Natsume wrote the story he adored, the third installment which Oda finished was The Book. But what did Natsume write about? What exactly were the books Oda loved? What if it was Dazai’s story? What if Oda knows Dazai so well because he read his life story over and over and yearned to give him a happy ending? What if his whole motivation was to finish the story in a satisfying way? And everything from the orphan’s existence to Ango’s betrayal was to create an open ended story in which Dazai could potentially have have a better life?

Oda is such an incredible character. He’s full of contradictions until you actually start thinking of him as an author. We authors have strange minds, we love our characters but we put them through so much. Because we wouldn’t love them if we didn’t make them struggle, make them realistic and deep and meaningful. Oda knew the kids were going to die, he wrote it. But he got attached like anyone would. But he was done writing the story, all that was left was for it to play out. So he passed ownership of the book to Dazai and went to play his role.

Fuck I’m getting emotional omg Odasaku is wonderful. I don’t even care if the entire theory is wrong, I’ve figured Oda out with the information I was given and filled in the blanks. Asagiri himself wouldn’t be able to make me give this theory up.

Oda isn’t a good person with strong morals the way he presents himself. He does that to fill the mentor roll for Dazai and to get Dazai to make the desired decisions. He just a fan who was given control of the story by the original author and basically used all the writing tools ever to create a story in which the character he loved but who was tragically doomed and seeped in darkness could find some happiness. Just like anyone writing a fix-it fic. Accept his fix is canon.

Holy shit I’m a genius.

Don’t come at me you have no idea how proud I am of this! Either I figured out the most confusing character ever written or I have created a genius explanation that nothing will ever top (for me anyway).

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simplylove101 · 2 months ago

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2024 Horror Challenge: [89/?]

↳"I thought I'd lost you forever.

"Lose me? No. You can never lose me, Laura. I'm your monster.” Your Monster (2024) dir. Caroline Lindy

Plot: After her life falls apart, soft-spoken actress Laura Franco finds her voice again when she meets a terrifying, yet weirdly charming Monster living in her closet. A romantic-comedy-horror film about falling in love with your inner rage.

Starring: Melissa Barrera, Tommy Dewey, Edmund Donovan, Kayla Foster & Meghann Fahy

Yes, the annual challenge is technically over since I always declare Halloween as the last day of it, but honestly, I might just have to keep it going on the whole year from now on at this point because, let's face it, horror movies still get released after October. And well, I have thoughts to share about certain ones. lol Now I'll watch older movies for the first time during this little limbo between challenges and not type up a review just because that's gonna slip my mind tbh. And it's not like I have a real audience for this thing anyway (despite plenty of people liking my reviews) so what's it matter, you know? That said, these newer movies, I have thoughts to share, and it only makes sense to get those thoughts out here where I can ramble for myself. Anyway, I kept hearing about this movie but felt like I wasn't getting the clearest idea what it actually was. Having watched it, I do get why. It's a very genre-bending movie that isn't necessarily going to be for everyone, which I think is why its rating keeps lower little by little each time I see it. I can't say that it's a complete 10/10 for me, but I actually think it mostly worked for what it was. I'm sure people went into it expecting a pure romcom since yes, its plot certainly had its inspiration from Beauty and the Beast, and it has plenty of that vibe, but it does also focus on Melissa's character outside of that where it's more about her dealing with her prior heartbreak & wanting approval from her ex, and then, without spoiling the ending, it takes the narrative a step further in a way that leaves some things up for interpretation for its audience. I personally didn't hate that the story went that way. I don't know if it necessarily stuck the landing when that happened, but I think Melissa sold it very well. I saw someone saying she was miscasted, but I actually liked getting to see her play a much softer character than I'm used to. It felt refreshing. Now again, I don't know if I'd say she hit every beat perfectly imo (I'm thinking more when her character was crying, and yeah, I know it was meant to be funny, but it did get a little shrilly at certain parts), but I think it was a great career move on her part. It was a good chance to show her range as an actress and she made me laugh. The strongest part of the movie for sure was her chemistry with Tommy Dewey as Monster. I think he really helped her make this movie work because he's so present in his scenes with her, and he definitely had me dying with laughter at certain parts. I really enjoyed their dynamic. Also gotta mention, I love that Meghann Fahy is finally getting some proper love lately since I adored her on The Bold Type, and while she doesn't necessarily get much to work with here, she was perfectly cast since ofc everyone's gonna love her. lol What's interesting is you'll watch it and wonder, so where's the horror element beyond him being a monster? Well, it comes near the end, but I promise there's something. It's not a scary movie by any means, but there's a bloody sequence, that's all I'll say. I know this movie was probably a hard sell to producers, and that's why it got the small theatrical release, but it's a solid enough indie movie that was trying to be a little different. Overall, I enjoyed it. If I had to place it in my earlier rankings, I think I would have wanted to put it in my Honorable Mentions category. I feel like it worked enough for me that feels right as a placement.

#your monster #horrorchallenge2024

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casicroaks · 1 year ago

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Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 2

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW JERSEY, 1984

“Honey, I’m home!” I said in a sing-song voice as I stepped into my apartment. Not that anyone would answer. I lived alone. I just liked saying that out loud.

I hung my coat and threw my heels off to the side, groaning from having to walk all the way from my workplace to my home. It wasn’t that far, but my last good pair of shoes had fallen to pieces a week ago, and I was still softening the new replacements. I knew I needed to go shopping one of these days. I had only three pairs of shoes: the new red heels, some indoor slippers, and the old leather boots which I was still figuring out a way to wear with my everyday outfits. I really had no excuse not to go get myself some new shoes… Especially since, once a week, I passed by the big shopping malls on my way back home, when it was all lit up with its neon lights and looking real pretty. I admired the clothes, the shoes, the jewelry in their glass cases, trying my best to hype myself up to at least consider buying myself something, like a little present from me to me… But there was nothing I really wanted. Despite working at a beauty parlor, I didn’t care much about looking beautiful anymore. I had the same dresses as before, and I was content with them. Not happy, really. I was never truly happy with the way I looked. Just content. And spending that money I was saving (and that I always ended up spending on groceries and rent) on dresses I didn’t have any interest in just seemed like a stupid idea. Still, I went to the mall every week, like a parishioner returning to the church. It was just something to do.

The little mirror I had nailed to the wall beside the front door gave me back a blur, and I silently chided myself for not stopping by to fluff my hair and check on my makeup. Just like the shoes, even if I had gotten my hair styled quite some months ago (as soon as I had my last break-up, actually) there was still a slight discomfort to seeing it. Like I didn’t quite recognize myself yet, and I didn’t know when I would. I had tried a new hair dye, for once: I had already been blond, brunette… Anything but going back to my original black color. So, red it was. Bright red, like my mother’s.

I read once that the reason women use red lipstick instead of any other color was to attract attention to the lips, since red’s the most eye-catching color in the spectrum. Going into my little kitchen I wondered, was I desperate for attention? Yeah, probably. Was I horny as hell, already tired of my own hand and too broke for a battery-operated alternative? That too. If there’s something I learnt from working at a beauty salon is that a change of image does wonders for a woman. Even something like dyeing your hair can help you feel like a whole different person. And for the first few days, it felt like that. I tried being happier, smiling more, adding a little skip to my step, doing all the bullshit self-help articles, radio therapists and motivational speakers on TV said one should do to be happy. Tough luck. I kept wanting to leave everything, my job, my apartment, change my name and start over somewhere else again (as if that would really change anything), or just skip town and scream in some field or abandoned grounds until my lungs gave up. Like that had worked so well last time. I was so goddamn pissed at everything, and there was a point in which I couldn’t just chalk it up to my breakup. The money always ran out, even when my pay wasn’t that bad, even as I tried to eat less, watch less TV, stop going to the movies, cut down on everything but the most basic expenses. And then, then I felt like I was starving, and it was a constant pull and push between spending my week’s earnings on convenience store snacks or loading it all inside my mattress, saving up for… Something.

Really, I simply had nothing to look forward to.

Maybe I should get a cat, I thought, opening the fridge and having a gulp of milk straight from the carton, before realizing it tasted sour and spitting it out. Well, maybe a dog, then… But I remembered what Arlene had told me not too long ago. A dog, a cat, a bird –they can and will all just up and leave when they get the chance. So much for loyalty. And cages were not cheap.

I remembered I still had some discount tequila left. I had been smart then, and bought two bottles. I was about to pour myself a glass, ready to change into my nightdress and spend the night watching TV, maybe order some Chinese food, and fall asleep in the couch, and do the same the next day, though most likely without the tequila. Or I could go straight to bed (I had heard that sleeping early did wonders for one’s skin) but I wasn’t tired, just exhausted… What I wanted most was to turn off my brain. Turn off my brain, and have a good screwing. By lack of a warm body to share the place, though, the best option I had was to lock myself up in my drab apartment, find the energy to try and finger myself, and watch TV. What else was I gonna do that night, and the weekend after that, after all? Listen to my mother’s voicemails? Eat three bowls of cereal for dinner again? Try to hook up with some rando who might just keep me occupied for a couple hours?

Yeah, that was exactly what I did.

I sighed, leaving the bottle on the cabinet, and went back to put on my coat and my shoes.

“Another night, another day goes by… I never stop myself to wonder why…” I hummed to myself, giving my lipstick one last touch up in front of the bathroom mirror. “You help me to forget to play my role…”

One could say I was looking for love in all the wrong places. And that was probably right. I knew I was looking for some sort of commitment, but… Let’s just say that searching for Prince Charming in a pig pen just isn’t the best way to go about it. I was ashamed of it, I’m not gonna lie. I had hoped I would never have to get into that sort of situations. After all, I was never interested in short-term-relationships, and I liked to think that I was better than casual sex… Not that any of the people I met up with were particularly, interestingly nasty anyways. I knew what I was getting myself into, what sorts of places I became a regular of. And, admittedly, I met some handsome men, a few pretty girls. Don’t get it twisted, though; always used protection, always checked they didn’t have the shadow of a wedding band. I was killing time, but at least I was gonna be careful about it. Just because I dyed my hair red and was feeling blue didn’t mean I became someone else completely. It just meant now I was a redhead, and feeling blue.

“I, I live among the creatures of the night… I haven’t got the will to try and fight…” I sang quietly, biting down on my cigarette’s filter to keep it from being blown away by the wind on the street.

It was a cold October night, and I felt the upcoming winter on my bare legs. The shops were already decked out in their Halloween décor, to my delight. I had made paper garlands and a few other decorations to make the beauty parlor extra spooky for the festivities, but Shelley had told me that it wasn’t necessary… That people didn’t really care about all that when they went to have their nails done. What a bunch of bull. Everyone loved Halloween! And those who didn’t, they were just buzzkills. I hang the decorations anyway. But not even Halloween managed to lift my spirits.

Not too far from the dance floor of the club, just enough for me to people-watch comfortably, I nursed something called a Blood and Sand instead of my usual margarita, having decided to treat myself for once. All things considered, I was simply expecting a mediocre screwing, to be kicked out of some guy or gal’s house which I would never set foot in again, and to head back to my apartment just in time to eat Chinese and cry while watching All That Heaven Allows on the late-night programming.

I had no idea that this was the night that would change my life.

“Hey, Red –what’s new?”

I was approached by not one guy, but by a guy and his girl.

“… Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked the man who had made the question.

Of course, though, I knew what they had in mind. The blonde was kinda cute, with her big eyes and smug grin like a Barbie doll, in an easy-to-forget eye candy, background-dancer-in-a-music-video kind of way. But the guy, with the triple whammy of rather long hair, black suit and tie, and having somehow both childish and sharp features, had a much more interesting sort of odd charisma to him. He was a weirdo, no doubt about it. But I liked his style. I never told him this, but he reminded me a little bit of Heath. Maybe he just happened to be a bit high when we met, like Heath used to be constantly. Maybe it was the hungry eyes, or something in the smile… I didn’t know why, but even as I kept my sight on the girl, I was always aware of his presence, even as he walked behind us on the way to the hotel.

The blonde (I think her name was Leah, or something?) was clearly a newbie. It seemed like she had learnt anything about fucking a girl through some porn movie or something. She kissed me, but not much else; she moaned and sighed and giggled as if she was having a ball, writhing around me, rubbing herself against me. I had barely even touched her. All tease, no action. I knew her type all too well from maybe two or three bi-curious girls I had met through the same methods. Too overexcited, too self-conscious, too eager to please… Please herself, that is, and in this case, please the guy watching. She turned to glance at him every few seconds, as if she needed constant approval to continue. Didn’t seem to be thinking about me at all. It was easy to assume how that would translate when we actually did something. So much for the red hair, I thought, but I tried to have fun, regardless, as I pushed her down and climbed on top of her, pulling that tacky necklace off of her, showing her how it was done. I was a bit disappointed the guy had decided he was just gonna watch, but to each his own, I thought. Maybe he’ll come in later, when we’re already turned on, I guessed.

So… Well, if I was surprised by being approached at the bar by the two of them, I was straight-up baffled when the guy grabbed my shoulder and pulled me off the bed and onto my knees.

“Hey—!”

For a second I thought this meant we would be switching, which honestly was a relief, since despite my best efforts I was getting a bit tired of her. But then he put his hand on my nape and stood over me, and I saw what he had in his right hand. The least subtle knife I’d seen. Where and how had he managed to smuggle it in? I smiled. So that was the plan, I realized. I glanced at the blonde, letting it all sink in. Had I stepped into some kinky Bonnie and Clyde situation? Were they into some fetish stuff we hadn’t discussed beforehand? But then I looked back at the guy, into his cold blue eyes, and I finally understood this was no roleplay. He wanted to kill me, stab me until I dyed the carpet deep red with my blood. So that was what turned him on. No wonder he had seemed as bored as I was feeling so far.

And I was feeling rotten enough to actually be thrilled by this.

“Do it,” I told him, as soon as he held me by the back of my neck, pressing my throat with his thumb, before I could even think it over. And when I did, I just smiled wider. I really wanted it. After all, if he killed me… Well, at least that would spare me having to wash the dishes that night. And if my life was really going to be what it had been for the last year or so, then I didn’t care much if that was how it ended. And, if he didn’t kill me… Then –what a chicken, right? Who goes ahead and pops out a big-ass knife, ready to charge, with another woman egging him on, only to not do it? What can I say –I was curious. Besides, it would be almost hilarious; what would we even do then, if he didn’t kill me now? Would he apologize for the inconvenience and leave? Would we just go home, like when bad weather cuts a ball game short?

Did this guy really have that killer instinct? Would he actually go through with it?

And he still doubted. He kept looking at me all confused. I wondered if he had done this before, and whether he thought I was special, in some way.

“Do it to me, now,” I insisted, keeping the grin firmly drawn on my face. But I kept staring back at him, watching how he faltered. Seemed like there were a hundred thoughts rushing through his head, his hand unsteady, his eyes shifting, and yet they always went back to mine. It was strangely intimate, that balance we had going, him holding me down on my knees and threatening me, but with me having a kind of control over the situation. I wasn’t screaming nor whimpering, I wasn’t intimidated at all, and that clearly threw him off his rhythm; and it was all truly much more exciting than whatever whatshername had been trying to pull in the bed.

And, because she was being ignored and she just needed to hog the spotlight, Blonde started whining. We both glanced at her, having forgotten she was there at all. The man looked back at me for a moment. She was getting in my nerves, and it was likely she was getting in his, too. If he wasn’t gonna kill me, then I might just ask him to borrow his knife and get that woman to shut up—

But then, as if he had just read my mind, he turned towards Blonde –pushed her against the floor –and stabbed her once, twice, thrice, nice and deep, right between the ribs, with the quick, confident pull and push of a professional. Oh, he had killed before. He was not a newbie at all.

And without missing a beat, he turned to me, actually smiling. “Hey, Red, wanna play?”

This had been a test all along, I thought, barely containing my giddiness. He offered me the knife. He really trusted me with it, to go on with it… Even though Blonde was gasping her last breaths already. But still, even if it was just scraps, it was hard to say no.

I let out a giggle when I got my hands on it. With both hands, like I used to. I got closer, still on my knees, and looked down at her body spread beside us. Blonde sure didn’t look as smug anymore… And then I stabbed her. Push in, pull back, with that nice wet sound, with that warmness that came with the splattered blood. My hands remained away from her, grasping the handle, but it was as if the knife had become an extension of myself –yes, I could feel her guts, sinking a bit deeper with each stab, pushing harder and carving a space inside her for me to dig through, making sure to go as far as possible, to the other side of her torso, to let the blood flow freely out of her, for it to splash all over me…

Boy, had I missed it. And even as I focused entirely on my task, becoming more and more excited, I noticed him (Charles, Blonde had called him) out of the corner of my eye, moving along with me to the thrust of the knife as I stabbed her over and over and over –and the way he did so, back and forward, tensing when we went back, letting go when I pushed on, as if guiding me from the side…

I closed my eyes and let out a euphoric laugh in sheer exhilaration, covered in Blonde’s blood. What a pleasure it was. The coldness of the night was gone, I felt my skin burning, my heart pounding, and I had forgotten all about Chinese and TV night. My lust for life had returned. God –I felt alive.

“Wow… It’s never happened like that before,” I admitted with a giggle, looking back at the guy. It wasn’t my first time killing, of course, but this was certainly different. I never had someone beside me, warming it up for me, for starters. Never had a partner in it. Maybe I never saw it as a bonding activity before. It always had been just a slipup, an accidental thing, sometimes a way to blow off some steam, perhaps even a bit of an embarrassing little secret. And there I was, thinking I had left it all behind me a year ago…

But now there was Charles, kindly inviting me along. How could I possibly refuse?

I put a hand on my chest and I frowned when I realized just how different I sounded. “Is that me?” The pure glee of it had probably caused me to slip. Shit… I thought I had managed my voice so far. Found that perfect balance between cute and sultry and kept it up for years. Now, my original voice, my annoying little voice, was back. Shit, shit, shit. Just when I had found a guy I could be truly myself with…

“Oh, it’s definitely you,” he said with a grin and a snicker, coming closer, embracing me. I smiled again, biting my lip, tasting the fresh blood. He picked me up and took me to the bed, and finally, finally I felt that great special rush of adrenaline, that kick I had been looking for for years, there, kissing him, tasting the blood on his own lips. I pushed his hair back, slick now, wanting to see his face. Charles. His cheeky grin, the devious twinkle in his eyes, his boyish charm… I could see myself getting used to it. I could see myself growing to love that face of his.

“Boy, you really know how to show a girl a good time,” I chuckled, and he joined me with his own. He leaned forward to kiss me again, but I wanted us to be properly introduced to one another, to get that out of the way. “I’m Tiffany.”

“I’m Charles,” he replied, now in a different voice, a low snarl that sounded almost menacing. But I wasn’t afraid of him. Why, after that whole display, he couldn’t scare me even if he tried.

“Know what, Charles—” I said, taking a moment to catch my breath. “You should be Chucky.” It went without saying that it would be on account of how much he liked to laugh. And besides, Charles was far too formal. And now that we had shown each other the wickedest parts of ourselves, I felt it was only natural to become more familiar with the other.

“You know what, Tiff…?” Chucky said, raising his eyebrows, giving the body on the floor a quick glance. “… You should be blonde.”

Well, good news for him, then, I thought with a smile. Bleaching black hair was a lot easier than going full red. However, as I gripped his blood-stained shirt and pulled him back in for the kiss he’d been wanting, feeling just how eager he was to keep going, he would be stuck with a redhead for the time being.

You know that one song that was all the rage that October, Like A Virgin? It was like that. Shiny and new, indeed. Best fuck I had in a very long time, truth be told, if not ever. Not that I was gonna tell him that, get his ego that blown. I would have never guessed the weirdo with the hair and the suit had it in him… But Chucky was always full of surprises.

I’m not sure how long passed then. During the eventual cigarette break, bathroom pause, and one moment in which we raided the minibar, I noticed that there was light out the window, but when I checked later, it was pitch dark. Neither one of us checked on the time at any point. I guess neither of us had anywhere better to be than there. And it suited me just right.

Apart from the pit stops, though, we truly managed to keep ourselves entertained for quite a while. What broke the spell was, because it couldn’t have been any other way, Blonde’s natural decomposition. We had switched again and now he was on top of me. I was taking him in and kissing him back, sinking my nails in his back, not a care in the world –when there was the weirdest squeaking noise, loud enough to make both of us stop right then and there. Chucky and I exchanged a quick awkward glance, but decided to simply ignore it. We went right back to what we were doing –and there was the sound again, not a squeak anymore, longer than before. He moved back and let out a deep frustrated sigh.

“Hey… I promise I won’t judge you or anything,” I said, drumming my fingers on his thighs, looking up at him as he kneeled on the bed. “… But did you just rip one?”

“What? No!” he exclaimed. “Thought that was you—”

“It wasn’t me—!”

He let out a bitter chuckle. “Right, won’t judge you or anything…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” I insisted, leaning on my forearms to prop myself up. “Y’know, it’s… It’s totally natural and stuff, I guess… But it wasn’t me—!”

There was the noise again, and now that we were both aware of it, we noticed the direction it was coming from. Blonde had gotten bloated and her skin was turning waxy. And, in the silence we kept for the next few seconds, we got another toot, clearly coming from her body.

The two of us burst out laughing. I had heard of bodies becoming gassy after death from some documentary on TV, but I really wasn’t expecting it to sound exactly what gassy sounded like. And apparently it was the music hour, because she kept passing wind for a while –to both our disgust and amusement.

As funny as it was, we did have stinky worm food in our hands. Once we finally calmed down, he suggested stuffing it into the closet and forgetting about it. The issue kept turning in my mind though. And what a pity it would be if we were forbidden to return to such a nice hotel some other time, if some other time could become a possibility… So, I proposed to use his handy knife to chop it up, put it into a laundry bag and throw it into the garbage. That way, at least, there wouldn’t be a dead body to link us to it. Even if it would still be hard to explain the amount of blood.

We dragged Blonde into the bathroom and took turns to hack her up. Once that was done (and it took quite a while, since we also had to break a few bones) Chucky stuffed the slabs in the laundry bag while I hosed the bathtub to get it as spotless as I could. I also took a moment to rinse Blonde’s nice purple corset. I could easily mend the stabbing holes, she was more or less my size (maybe a bit smaller), and it would’ve been a shame to throw it away along with the meat. Only then, with Blonde’s parts finally packed up and ready to go, we realized that it would seem a tad suspicious to leave through the front door while missing one person, and now carrying a big stinking bag.

“What d’you suggest, then?” Chucky asked me. I looked at him, and then at the window behind the messy, blood-dotted bed, and smiled.

I opened the window, the two of us picked up the bag and, with some effort, raised it and tossed her out into the street where it fell on the pavement with a crunch! Luckily it was either really late or really early, and there was nobody on the street to notice our suspicious behavior.

“Did it rip?” he asked, peeking out the window, lighting a new cigarette.

Hard to say with the little light. Since no blood pooled around it, though, we concluded the first half of the operation was a success. Chucky gave me an impressed little glance as he put on his coat. I put on mine, smiling wide in my satisfaction, dangling my heels in one hand.

The second half of the operation was to run like hell out the emergency exit. We giggled like schoolkids as we rushed down the stairs. He was a bit faster than me, since I was practically bouncing barefoot on the concrete steps. I gave him a couple light kicks to tease him, slipping my hands on the handrails. We weren’t rolling around naked anymore, but I was still dizzy with excitement, unable to wipe the smile off my face. Once we got to the backdoor, which was partly locked (that surely had to be a safety hazard), it was Chucky’s moment to impress me. He handed me his cigarette for safekeeping, and with a sniff and a quick rub of his nose, walking a few steps backwards, he got the momentum he needed –hopped for a bit where he stood, as a sort of warmup –and ran towards the door –and gave it one hard kick –managing to get it wide open. He grinned proudly, turning back to see my reaction, and I laughed and clapped. We hurried back to the street, to the bag that was waiting for us, circled by curious stray dogs, which fortunately hadn’t managed to open it and which Chucky swiftly shooed away. He waited politely for me to put my heels back on.

“I’ve never been around a dead body long enough to see it rotting,” I admitted as we both dragged the heavy bag towards the closest dumpster.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he said with a little chuckle. “And… Well, it was pretty warm in that hotel room.”

I snickered, standing on the tip of my toes, holding the lid of the dumpster as high as I could. Chucky picked up the bag with a grunt, swung it and tossed it into the dumpster, where it landed with a thump!, and I dropped the lid, and the operation was then done. We had both now created and disposed of a dead body. Quite an achievement.

With a long, satisfied sigh, Chucky leaned back against the wall of the alley. He took a drag of his cigarette and then offered it to me. By the faint yellow light of the lamppost beside us I noticed the pinkish lipstick stains I had left on it. I gazed at him as he blew the smoke. It could just have been some leftover smudges of blood, but judging by the shade it seemed to be that he actually had my lipstick all smeared on his mouth. Something about that sent a chill down my back.

I smiled at him, giving his cigarette a puff. He smiled back.

“D’you have the time, Chucky?” I asked him, leaning against the wall beside him.

“No, I lost my wristwatch a couple weeks ago,” he said, sinking his hands in his pockets. “Why’d you ask?”

“Wanted to know if it’s Monday already.”

He snorted. “Busy day, Mondays?”

I smiled and looked down at my worn shoes. I should have brought the boots instead, even if they didn’t match my skirt and jacket. “… Amazing, isn’t it?” If they had any traces of blood, I couldn’t tell. “All you can do in just one night.”

Chucky sighed and nodded. He handed me the cigarette again. “Yeah, well, the night’s still young, Tiff.”

We both had to take a moment to catch our breaths. We had run a few floors, dragged a whole person in a bag, been fucking for an unspecified amount of time. Exhaustion was finally kicking in. We shared a cold but comfortable silence, and I closed my eyes, feeling the roughness of the brick against my back, the light sting of the bruises on my legs, the quick but steady beating of my heart, and listening to his breathing, and, far away, the sounds of police sirens and ambulances, of cars and trucks speeding by, completely oblivious to us and to all we had done. There really were no people on the streets, only the eventual flashing lights of a passing car. Somehow that made it feel like Chucky and I were the only two people in the world.

I returned him his cigarette. He took one last puff and flicked it into the curb. I wrapped myself a bit tighter in my coat, rubbing my cheek against its fluffy collar, shivering at a cold rush of wind, my knees trembling just a bit. Chucky looked out into the streets, stretching his neck, checking if someone would come near. Then he sighed, turned back to me and looked me in the eye. A moment passed. It seemed it was time for us to say our goodbyes. And neither one of us wanted to be the one to start.

“… I had fun,” I finally said, trying to hide my… My what? My apprehension? My sadness? My curiosity? I’m not sure. I just had this sinking feeling at the idea of never seeing him again.

“Yeah… Me too,” he admitted gingerly. If we hadn’t spent what seemed to be at least one whole day together I would have thought Chucky might have been lying. “It’s… It was an interesting surprise, I guess.”

I nodded, wringing my hands. “Same here.”

He nodded, rocking on the balls of his feet, glancing awkwardly at the sides, as if that were a particularly fascinating alleyway. “So… Well…”

I didn’t care if it made things weird, I wasn’t gonna be the one to say goodbye. I didn’t want to. And I had the feeling he didn’t want to, either.

His face lit up out of a sudden. He rummaged in his pockets and fished out an old receipt and a shaved-down pencil. “Hey, uh, I don’t know if… I mean, maybe…” He chewed on his lip, looking down, clearly embarrassed. “… I don’t know, we might… Get together again, one of these days, or something…”

“Oh—”

“You got a phone?”

I snickered. “Don’t most people?”

He laughed, dropping his shoulders, loosening up a bit. “Shit, you… You know what I mean.”

I chuckled, taking the little flimsy piece of paper, holding it against the dumpster’s lid, and scribbled my phone number in the biggest, clearest numbers I could write. “Here you go, mister.”

Chucky gave it a glance, still grinning, and stuffed it back into his pocket. If there was a good moment to declare that encounter over, it was then. I waited for him to take it. There was already a promise of a future meeting. I gazed at his face, examining it, putting all my efforts into remembering every part of it. He looked back at me, still smiling. He reached out towards my face –and gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

That was it. I think that was when I really fell for him. My hair was caked with dry blood, my makeup was a mess, I was exhausted from the effort of running down stairs and pulling a bag with a dead body inside, and the late-night cold had me trembling like a shitting Chihuahua. But he looked at me, and I felt beautiful. I knew that, by the way he looked at me, he thought I was beautiful.

“Um… My place’s just a couple blocks away, you know,” I managed to blurt out.

Chucky’s eyebrows shot right up.

“I mean, if you’d like to wash up,” I said with a shrug. “We’re both looking like butchers, here.”

There was a pause. He seemed to be considering it. Maybe he was wondering if this could be his chance to try and kill me again, in a more intimate setting, somewhere where he might be able to pass it up as a gruesome suicide. Which I wouldn’t oppose, since, after all, anything would be better than to be unceremoniously killed in a random mucky alley. Maybe, though, he was just wondering if it was worth it.

“… Sure,” Chucky finally agreed. I grinned, noticing the smallest hint of a smile in his lips.

And with that, only stopping by the drugstore to pick up a few more condoms for good measure, I showed him the way to my apartment.

We didn’t really wash up, unsurprisingly. Once in the elevator he pulled me to him and kissed me again, and I held on to his shoulder and buried my fingers in his hair, and both of us already knew where this would end. I don’t know how we made it to my bed, but we did, and at least we didn’t have to share the room with a rotting farting corpse anymore.

At some point we did fall asleep, though. I saw Chucky’s eyes closing as he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. I had bitten him at some point (well, more than once) but that bite was probably most likely because I had been nodding while dozing off in the middle of a kiss. He let out a sigh, and there was the little glow of the cigarette butt he left on the ashtray on my bed next to his leg. As the smoke went up towards the ceiling, I could hear him breathing softly. It was strange, to think of him as anything near the word soft. I huddled against him, covering him with one arm, smiling to myself. I felt a warm hand setting on my shoulder. It was so comforting… Then, I finally fell asleep.

He woke up before I did. I yawned and dragged myself out of bed, my eyelids still half-shut by the smudged mascara, when I saw Chucky standing in his briefs and tee, holding his blood-stained shirt in one fist and a cigarette in the other hand, with his back to the bedroom. I walked up to him, just a little surprised at this.

“Trying to sneak out?” I asked him with a sleepy giggle, taking the cigarette from his fingers.

He glanced at me over his shoulder. I looked towards where he was looking, the chimney mantle, where I had set my doll collection. It was the best place to display them –as if I actually had anyone to show them to. It was small, but I was proud of it. All of them from garage sales, thrift shops, one or two found just lying around in the curb or in a dumpster, waiting for someone to pick them and fix them up. I had only gotten to gluing one of them back together, and the cracks were still pretty obvious: they would be, until I got some new paint to cover it…

I leaned my head on his shoulder. He had his eyes wide open, wide awake, his brow furrowed, staring at my dolls. He seemed to be trying to understand something. For the briefest moment I was nervous Chucky thought I was a psycho or something.

“You like them?” I asked quietly, slipping his cigarette back into his hand.

Chucky remained silent for a moment longer, looking at them carefully, and took a drag, taking his time to answer. I couldn’t read his face. I swear he knew I was anxious about his answer.

“… If that’s your thing, Tiff,” he finally shrugged it off.

I let out a little happy squeak and hugged him tight, giving him a loud smooch on the cheek.

“Well, we all need a hobby, right?” I said with a wink.

He chuckled, and gave me a little kiss on the temple. “Ain’t that the truth…”

Sunlight was already streaming through the window. I went back into the bedroom and put on my nightdress and slippers. There was the buzzing of the radio, and the voice of a newscaster announcing the day’s weather forecast. He already made himself right at home, I thought.

“You got yourself quite a nice little place here,” Chucky commented when I came back to the kitchen.

“Yeah… I’ve been meaning to paint the walls purple,” I said, pushing my hair back. “But my landlord won’t allow it. And I can’t afford to piss him off with rent being what it is…”

“Purple… I can see it,” he said approvingly, glancing around him.

“Where’s your place?” I asked him, letting the hot water run over the dirty dishes on the sink, hoping he didn’t mind the mess too much. “D’you live far?”

“Ridgefield Avenue, other side of the river. By the S46 Bridge.”

“Quiet part of town,” I said with a smile. “I assume there’s not a wide offer of clubs by those parts.”

“You’d be assuming right,” he snickered, fidgeting with one of the buttons of his shirt, scraping the dry blood with his nail. “It’s just where I’m staying for the time being, though. I want to move closer to where the action is, leave the sidelines.”

I nodded and let out a sigh, taking in the sight of my little apartment. It wasn’t that messy, I told myself. I had a couple bags and boxes lying around from when I moved back in after my last breakup, but mostly everything was in its proper place, and it was pretty clean, all things considered. The only issue was the kitchen, the dirty dishes that had piled up, all greasy and grimy and nasty. Chucky didn’t seem to notice; or, if he did, he didn’t seem to care.

“… What time’s it?”

We both turned to the clock. Two in the afternoon.

“Fuck, I’m starving,” he groaned, hanging his head backwards on the edge of the chair’s back.

As if agreeing with him, my stomach let out a low grumble. “We got some… Some cereal…” I said before taking the box out of the shelf and realizing there was just enough for a spoonful. “We had some, at least.”

He got off the chair and picked up the rest of his clothing. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, shooting me a sideways glance while I opened the fridge, bent over and checked if there was something for us to eat.

“There’s nothing in the fridge save for expired milk, one moldy tomato and some stale bread…” I sighed.

I really wasn’t expecting any visits, after all. Even less a visit that would be staying for a meal. Best I could do was some coffee, but that wouldn’t cut it on an empty stomach.

“Do you, uh, happen to have any money on you?” I asked him, closing the fridge and looking at him over my shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, zipping up his pants. “What d’you have in mind?”

I opened my eyes wide. Was he inviting me out? “… There’s a nice burger place ‘round the corner,” I suggested.

Before leaving the apartment and venturing out into the streets, though, we did have to wash up. I had forgotten about it already, but the two of us were covered in bloodstains, from the face to the chest to the arms and even some handprints on our legs. I wet a rag on the sink of the bathroom, sat on the toilet and washed myself off. Chucky leaned over the bathtub and rinsed his arms, face and neck, avoiding the shower just barely to keep his cigarette lit between his teeth. His stained shirt was a whole issue, which we ended up solving by me lending him an old Black Sabbath tee I had from my New York days that I wore to bed when my nightdress was in the laundry bag.

“I’ll take it with me next time I go to the laundromat,” I told him, examining the stains. They were pretty dark already. The cotton had probably already absorbed it fully. “And if that doesn’t take it out… Baking soda has never let me down before, at least where period blood is concerned.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve walked ‘round the street in broad daylight, red from head to toe, without anyone giving a shit,” he said, checking the tee’s fit, while I brushed the dry blood flakes off my hair. “It’s amazing what people don’t see.”

And so, finally looking like model citizens, we went out and had burgers and milkshakes. We were both pretty damn famished, it had to be said. We barely talked while we ate. Soon enough there was nothing but some dropped onions on our trays and ketchup leftovers on our fingers to lick off.

“I didn’t know about this place,” he said casually as he wiped his mouth. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?”

I smiled and nodded, tapping my nail against the half-empty cup. I watched him while he sucked on the straw of his strawberry shake, wondering what would happen now. Now that we both had cooled off for the time being, I was half expecting Chucky would decide that I was a loose end, and would try to find a good moment to tie that up. So far, though, everything seemed normal. Too normal. It was like an average date with just some guy. Seeing him no longer colored by the red glow of the club, nor by the bright yellow light of the hotel room, no more blood splattered across his face, and now enjoying a burger like your average Joe, wearing my old tee, it was almost as if everything that had happened had just been a weird wonderful dream.

Though, I have to admit, I was still kind of thrilled at the fact that I had met someone who shared my specific interests.

“Hey, uh… Hope you don’t mind me asking,” I said after swallowing my last bite. “… What’s your body count?”

“Boy, I lost track years ago,” he laughed as he leaned back. “Why, do you still have yours?”

“Um… Let me think,” I said, and got to counting with my fingers. “… Hm, Heath, Jordan, Maxine, Mimi, Kenny, Tony, Carole, Roy, Leanne, Gavin, Ronnie, Elliot… Mark… Uh, I think this one’s name was Zach… I must be missing someone, but I think those are the ones I remember the most… So, say around fourteen, fifteen. What do you think of that?”

Chucky hummed, resting his head on his hand. He thought about it for a minute. “… I mean, you know all their names, for one. So you clearly keep it personal.”

“Well, yes,” I frowned. “I’m not interested in total strangers—”

“But our first shared one was with a stranger, though,” he noted.

I blinked, a bit surprised by him specifying first. “Yeah, well—”

“Was that your first time with just, you know, a random person?” he asked, leaning forward, barely holding back a grin.

“I’m not telling you…!”

He let out a short but loud laugh. “So it was!”

I huffed. “So what if it was?”

“You’re, like, in your mid-twenties, right? So fourteen, fifteen’s not that bad,” Chucky shrugged. Now I was really curious to know his death count. I had the feeling he did remember it, but had decided that leaving that to the imagination was more impressive. “But you could do better. If you opened yourself to other options…”

I scoffed. I was thrilled, I was into him, yes –but I wasn’t that much into being talked down to. “So you say I should just go around and fuck up the first fella I come across?”

Chucky smiled even wider. “You did. I just gave you the chance. And hey, I’m no hypocrite, I won’t fault you for that. I’m just saying…” He leaned back on his chair, picking his cup and offering a toast. “It’s not exactly impressive, but you got promise, Tiff. Fifteen’s nothing to sneeze at.”

He probably knew I wasn’t really that offended, and soon enough I smiled back at him. Nobody had complimented me on my death count so far. We clinked cups, and I finally realized that Chucky wasn’t gonna kill me. There was something he saw in me that he liked. Or maybe he just wanted a side piece. I’m not a mind reader, I couldn’t know for sure. I just knew that I had fun with him –more fun than what I had had with anyone else –and that I liked the idea of staying around to see what happened next.

“I’d love to… You know, do something like this again,” I said, twirling my hair. “If you’re up to it.”

He tilted his head. “Go out for burgers?”

“No, silly,” I chuckled. “To… Meet again. Do something…” I just couldn’t blurt it out. I giggled, despite myself, becoming a bit flustered. “You got my number, so… If you ever, say, wanted to… To do something…”

“Are you talking about—?”

“Both,” I interrupted him, just as a mother and her child passed us by. “Both… Both would be great.”

Chucky looked at me, slowly realizing what I meant, and nodded. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, remembering when he did that, and fidgeted with my earring. We were no longer alone with each other. We were surrounded by other patrons at the burger place, by families with their kids, by people chatting on the street… But none of it erased what had happened when we were together.

I noticed that Chucky still had a little cut in his lower lip, where I had bitten him.

I smiled. Yes –it had all been real.

“What, do I have something on my face?” he asked me, scratching his cheek.

“No, it’s nothing,” I said, looking down, still smiling. “I’m just… I’m just happy I met you.”

We had already paid. It was about to be three o’clock. It felt like we had been together for a whole week. And still, we didn’t know how to say goodbye.

“Well…” he said, shifting uneasy in his chair. “… What’s next?”

“I –I got a job,” I blurted, immediately regretting it. “And, uh… I guess that—”

“Right.”

“So… Besides, you surely got your own stuff, your own life to go back to—”

“Yeah,” Chucky nodded quickly. “I’m a very busy man.”

I just barely stifled a laugh. “I bet you are.”

He shot me a glare, but then he smiled, too.

We got off the chairs and back onto the street. We walked a bit, just to get the circulation going. I wanted to take his hand, but he had both of them in the pockets of his coat. I already felt the sadness creeping in. I wondered for how long we would keep walking (hopefully all the way to Ridgefield Avenue on the other side of the river) but we stopped by my apartment.

“Well… See you around, Tiff,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face.

I smiled. “See you around, Chucky.”

He smiled back. I looked down at his mouth, at the little cut. Even at the risk of staining my teeth with lipstick, I bit down my lower lip, as if I was trying to give myself that same cut. I looked back into his big blue eyes.

And, somehow, we both knew. At this point, even if we hadn’t talked a lot to each other, I felt I knew him inside out. I knew him without saying a word. We moved towards the other –and kissed –and we embraced like that first night on the bed of the hotel room, not too long ago, but which felt like ages –and we kissed. Everyone else in the street disappeared in a blur. There was only us, and the warmth of our bodies, and the white light of day. I knew, right then and there, that this was love.

#childs play #chucky series #fanfiction

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joan-deactivated20230204 · 1 year ago

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The "Favorite Comics I Read in 2023" Roundup

I didn't read as many comics this year as I have in the last couple- partly because I've been a lot busier with university and living in a new country, partly because I've been trying to read more books, and partly because I spent a good few months on a certain behemoth of a comic that'll be taking the #1 spot on this list. At the end of the day, though, I'm an opinionated woman who can't resist doing a retrospective on her favorite reads of the year. There's a few honorable mentions that deserve to be given note, though: Dogsred and The Jojolands are two of my favorite ongoing series right now, and the only reason they aren't making it onto this list is that they're too new for me to have a really solid opinion on beyond "I get excited when the new chapter comes out". I also, somewhat guiltily, want to give a shoutout to Sins of Sinister, which isn't what I'd generally consider a "good" comic, but which went a long way to revitalizing my interest in the X-Men after a decade of not reading X-books, pretty much entirely off the back of the new faggy characterization of Sinister.

Without further ado,

10. Chainsaw Man (Part 2)

Despite starting the year as probably my favorite ongoing comic, this comes in at #10, with my feelings on it going pretty hot and cold over the course of the year. It struggles with the same erratic pacing that all of Fujimoto's projects seem to encounter, but the highs are very very high- there's a very interesting story being built here in which the idea of normalcy and in particular its relationship to heterosexuality and domesticity are called into question. It still remains to be seen if it'll stick the landing, though, and admittedly I'm not thrilled about the last bunch of chapters. But it's been a fun ride this year.

9. The Joker: The Man Who Stopped Laughing

This was the year in which I tried to really get back to familiarizing myself with what the superhero genre has been doing in the last decade, and this was, surprisingly, a standout. It presents the most interesting take on the character that I've read in a long time, turning the "one bad day" narrative on its head by emphasizing the Joker as a character defined by the negation of an originating narrative. The real highlights here, though, are the side stories that accompany each issue, giving great thematic juxtaposition but mostly just being darkly funny shorts in their own right. It does end up hitting a lot of the shortcomings of most superhero comics in 2023, though- there's a subplot with the Red Hood that doesn't contribute as much as it should, an annoying interjection by a crossover event I didn't read.. but looking past that, this was a good one the whole way through.

8. Jojolion

I almost didn't include this because I forgot that I read this all the way back in February! I do feel pretty strongly that this is Araki's most developed work (although Jojolands is shaping up to be a strong challenger)- it breaks away so dramatically from the storytelling conventions that have defined his career, keeping a lot of the superficial elements of a shonen but using them to tell a much more intimate and everyday kind of story. All of this comes through wonderfully in the art, where Araki's trend towards more and more unrealistically beautiful people meets a passion for grotesque violence and painstakingly detailed backgrounds, imbuing the whole work with a wonderful surreal feeling. The comic is governed by a tension between the highly graphic shonen elements and the comparative mundanity of the story around family and personal identity, and it threads that needle in a way that is so perfectly unique to Araki's style.

7. The Pervert

Honestly it's a surprise that it took me this long to read this, given how its become cemented as part of the "depressive trans girl indie" canon. Narratively its a gut-wrenching look at the interplay between isolation and sexuality in trans womens' lives, but what really elevated this for me was the use of very muted watercolors and consistent 2x6 panel grids to imbue the work with intense feelings of loneliness, punctuated by rare moments when the format gives way to these beautiful full-bleed pages. Fantastic stuff.

6. One! Hundred! Demons!

Honestly, I'm a little bit at a loss of what to say about this one: there's just so much going on. Lynda Barry's memoirs do an unbelievably effective job at building the texture of a childhood and adolescence, drawing us into a life that is sometimes very funny and sometimes deeply sad. Barry's unique cartoonish style is used to great effect; juxtaposing the limited worldview with which a child has to process their own experiences against text carrying the reinterpretations of an adult Barry. The whole thing has a very intimate tone, and while that feeling is underscored by Barry asking the reader to consider the precarious relationship between truth and fiction within a memoir; I feel that the admission of her own unreliability only enhances the personal qualities. Absent of the expectation that we are reading a chronicle of events as they happened, the work becomes much more interesting as a way of processing events as they are remembered.

5. Shimeji Simulation

It's a little awkward putting this here because I haven't finished it.. or read it since the summer... but it's such a masterful work. It takes the trappings of the slice of life 4koma in such interesting directions, where the mundanity of the genre and the negation of drama become diegetic forces governing the world. But its not really a story about that- the character of the older sister shows up from time to time to prod at the limits of the genre, but its secondary to the very touching Girls' Love story at the heart of the work. I'd love to say more about the intersection of these threads and how the work deals with the idea of normalcy as it relates to adolescence.. but its hard to give good takes when I haven't finished it! But! I've adored everything I've read so far.

4. Choujin X

If you wanted to point a finger at why Chainsaw Man is so low on this list, its because I read another ongoing madcap thriller with a ridiculous amount of gore: Sui Ishida's Choujin X. The story, about an organization of super-powered beings tasked with stopping other super-powered beings while trying to avoid being turned into monsters by their own powers, is nothing spectacularly new for the genre; what stands out is instead Ishida's artwork. The combination of sketchy stylized penwork and black and white photography give the series a gorgeous, unique look. And this isn't to say that the story is bad, either: there's a ton of personality to the characters and setting that make it a very very fun and interesting read above anything else.

3. X-Force (and its spinoff, X-Statix)

I'm not sure what surprises me more: that this seems to have been lost to the abyss of history, or that I loved this as much as I did. Milligan & Allred's run on X-Force and X-Statix is far from the only take on "what if superheroes were selfish assholes", but something about this really hooked me in a way that nothing like it really has. Maybe its the specific choice to apply early 2000s celebrity culture to the X-Men, maybe its the fact that the asshole superheroes in question still manage to be rich and compelling characters, maybe its the comedy of jumping from Rob Liefeld's "Cable shoots a bunch of guys and grimaces" to Milligan & Allred's neurotic wanna-be celebs with powers, or maybe i just have a really big crush on Dead Girl. One way or another, this has ended up being the standout hit for my sojourn back into superheroes (and its probably telling that my favorite superhero comic is the one that tries very hard to not be a superhero comic).

2. Maka Maka

There's an impulse to dismiss this offhand as just being lesbian porn, which it is; but aside from being really hot this manages to be one of the most interesting and endearing explorations of sexuality and intimacy I've read. There's no tension between the porniness and the maturity of the narrative here- its a work focused on the complexities of sex and desire that is just as intent on exploring those themes as it is on giving you something hot to read. Pretty undeniably one of the best girls' love works I've had the pleasure of reading.

1. Homestuck

I finally sat down and reread Homestuck this year, having originally read it from late 2014 until its conclusion in 2016, and flirted with rereading it now and then but never really committed, partly because of whatever drama surrounded it in any given year and more emphatically because its really long. But now I feel that I can say very strongly that Homestuck is a masterpiece. Given the scale of the work, there's so much that could be said about it: how it uses the format of a webcomic to its full potential by incorporating minigames, animations, changes to the site, & so on to convey narrative; how it plays with genre in a really interesting way by making genre conventions diegetic (not just with captchalogues &co but with things like Causality acting as a clear narrative thread for the cast to relate to); how effectively it captures being a teenager online at a certain point in time; or just how funny so much of it is. I'm extremely glad I read it this year, partly to be able to have an opinion about Homestuck that isn't informed by my teenage impressions and Tumblr discourse, but more than that because it was an extremely fun journey. At some point I'd like to write something longer about Homestuck and its place in comics because I do think that it is overdue for a reappraisal that is not overshadowed by the fandom.. but until then all I can say is that I loved this more than anything else I've read in a while.

And that's what I liked this year :3 As far as next year goes, I'm very excited to see where Dogsred and The Jojolands go, and I have hope that MamaYuyu could be really great if the writing gets a bit less rote. I've also liked the directions Frieren and Gokurakugai are heading, as well as the new Penguin series thats currently going. Hopefully, 2024 will also be the year that I sit myself down and finally read Berserk, which has been an embarrassing blank spot for me for the past few years. Unfortunately because I'm not on Twitter anymore, I'm less on the pulse of the cool Indies coming down the line, but I'm sure I'll get recommendations for the really good stuff from someone somewhere. And! Maybe if we're really good, Togashi will leave some new Hunter x Hunter chapters under the tree.

#long post

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harker-jonathan · 8 months ago

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When I found that I was a prisoner a sort of wild feeling came over me. I rushed up and down the stairs, trying every door and peering out of every window I could find, but after a little the conviction of my helplessness overpowered all other feelings. When I look back after a few hours I think I must have been mad for the time, for I behaved much as a rat does in a trap. When, however, the conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly, as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life, and began to think over what was best to be done. I am thinking still, and as yet have come to no definite conclusion. Of one thing only am I certain. That it is no use making my ideas known to the Count. He knows well that I am imprisoned, and as he has done it himself, and has doubtless his own motives for it, he would only deceive me if I trusted him fully with the facts. So far as I can see, my only plan will be to keep my knowledge and my fears to myself, and my eyes open. I am, I know, either being deceived, like a baby, by my own fears, or else I am in desperate straits, and if the latter be so, I need, and shall need, all my brains to get through.

I had hardly come to this conclusion when I heard the great door below shut, and knew that the Count had returned. He did not come at once into the library, so I went cautiously to my own room and found him making the bed. This was odd, but only confirmed what I had all along thought, that there are no servants in the house. When later I saw him through the chink of the hinges of the door laying the table in the dining room, I was assured of it. For if he does himself all these menial offices, surely it is proof that there is no one else in the castle, it must have been the Count himself who was the driver of the coach that brought me here. This is a terrible thought, for if so, what does it mean that he could control the wolves, as he did, by only holding up his hand for silence? How was it that all the people at Bistritz and on the coach had some terrible fear for me? What meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash?

Bless that good, good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! For it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there is something in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium, a tangible help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if it may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up my mind about it. In the meantime I must find out all I can about Count Dracula, as it may help me to understand. Tonight he may talk of himself, if I turn the conversation that way. I must be very careful, however, not to awake his suspicion.

Midnight.--I have had a long talk with the Count. I asked him a few questions on Transylvania history, and he warmed up to the subject wonderfully. In his speaking of things and people, and especially of battles, he spoke as if he had been present at them all. This he afterwards explained by saying that to a Boyar the pride of his house and name is his own pride, that their glory is his glory, that their fate is his fate. Whenever he spoke of his house he always said "we", and spoke almost in the plural, like a king speaking. I wish I could put down all he said exactly as he said it, for to me it was most fascinating. It seemed to have in it a whole history of the country. He grew excited as he spoke, and walked about the room pulling his great white moustache and grasping anything on which he laid his hands as though he would crush it by main strength. One thing he said which I shall put down as nearly as I can, for it tells in its way the story of his race.

"We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin game them, which their Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, aye, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the werewolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who, expelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins?" He held up his arms. "Is it a wonder that we were a conquering race, that we were proud, that when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he found us here when he reached the frontier, that the Honfoglalas was completed there?And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the Szekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us for centuries was trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkeyland. Aye, and more than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for as the Turks say, `water sleeps, and the enemy is sleepless.' Who more gladly than we throughout the Four Nations received the `bloody sword,' or at its warlike call flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When was redeemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent?Who was it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that his own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age again and again brought his forces over the great river into Turkeyland, who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again, though he had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph! They said that he thought only of himself. Bah! What good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without a brain and heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohacs, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were amongst their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we were not free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys, and the Dracula as their heart's blood, their brains, and their swords, can boast a record that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace, and the glories of the great races are as a tale that is told."

It was by this time close on morning, and we went to bed. (Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow, or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.)

#dracula daily #dracula #Entry of yesterday continued

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naughtygirl286 · 1 year ago

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So This past Tuesday we went to see the new Ninja Turtles we were originally suppose to go see Oppenheimer but plans changed last minute so we ended up going to see Ninja Turtles. I was very interested in this movie and followed it production. Much like Transformers I'm a life long Turtles fan so I was curious about it being I think Turtles stuff should look a certain way and somethings that have been done in recent years such as Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles I didn't like. I never watched an episode but I just think the character designs look like shit and I wasn't going to watch it becasue of that anyway on as for this movie I needed to see the character designs for this movie before I would do anything and happy to say I did like these designs but more on that below. Also yes there was some collectable goodies for this movie too which you can see here!

Now as for this movie. I thought it was great! I would have to say that I did enjoy it it was fun and funny at times and I do feel it has a nice message about family and acceptance and finding a place where you feel like you belong in the world.

Now this is a bit of a origin story and tries to reintroduce the turtles to a new and modern audiences. They are younger in this movie then they usually are in other forms of media the turtles are all 15 years old and not only that but April is also in her teens in this as well she is also around 15 and is still in High School in this movie

The Turtles origin is of course slightly different in this one. It is close to the familiar way the Turtles become mutants but its slightly changed as in how they became Ninjas. Also the origins of the other Mutant characters in this is changed as well. I think that did that just for the sake of the story and it does work in the context of this movies story.

As for the designs of the characters which as I mentioned was a very important thing I felt that the Turtle designs in this were actually very good they were different and did match the ages that the Turtles were shown as they were young and child like almost playing up the "Teenage" aspect of who they are. Some of the other characters looked great too like Bebop and Rocksteady and I love how they brought in various characters from Turtles lore like Leatherhead,Mondo Gecko, Wingnut (what no screwloose??), Genghis Frog, Ray Fillet, and more. Where its great that alot of these classic character appear on screen many of them don't look like their source material counterparts which is kind of a shame.

Now also another thing is the whole new April in this. She was alright for this she was written well and well voice acted and an interesting character in how she is presented. Now I could have done with out the whole puking stuff which was just a bit gross but also I know alot of people complained about her appearance and I can't say I would complain about it myself but I am a bit more old school and do prefer the more classic April with the short red hair and yellow track suit lol but this April was fine for this version of the characters.

Now like I said the movie is pretty great it was a lil bit funny and a lil bit weird but like I said it also nice message about family and acceptance and finding a place where you feel like you belong in the world. The animation was very nice and smooth and the artistic style of the movie where it all looks like it is sketched and painted to have that more comic book look and feel kinda reminded me of how the Spider-Verse movies look. but the voice acting and the music as well as the many references are really nicely done.

I feel the ending of the movie tho is a bit strange where they took it but over all I thought it was great and if you are a Turtle fan then I would probably recommend it.

also there is a mid credit sequence that is interesting and kinda sets up a possible sequel.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #ninja turtles #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles movies #teenage mutant ninja turtles movie series #teenage mutant ninja turtles animated #teenage mutant ninja turtles animated movie #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Mutant Mayhem #Mutant Mayhem

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parksprout · 2 months ago

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Sprout Journal 11/3/24

Hey Tumblr! There's some stuff I wanna talk about today, so I'm going to do a lil journal entry. I was doing journaling at home with pen and paper, but frankly my handwriting is so bad and I use my hands like that so infrequently that I was cramping before I got even close to writing all of my thoughts out each day. So I decided I'm going to put my thoughts that I can share out like this, it can be somewhat of a log of my own self growth! And also keep me a lil sane if I'm struggling again.

Today has been a really good day, actually! So I was on a really successful diet for about 6 months during which I got a 3rd of the way to my overall weight goal and built a bunch of muscle. Then, when I started college full time, I basically stopped altogether. I didn't gain any weight back, but I have been plateaued (least favorite word to spell omg) for a looonggggg time. This week, I've been finally eating how I want to again. My go to breakfast has been

Overnight oats: 1/2 cup of unrefined dried oats 1/2 cup of 2% milk 1 whole banana cut into thin slices 1 tablespoon of honey

Honestly I had it on like the 29th without any banana or honey and that SHIT WAS ASSSSSSS. It was so bland, but I hate wasting food so I downed that slop anyway and felt siicccckkkk ough. Honestly it's been really hard to eat lately due to my current tweak out sesh (breakup stuff) and forcing myself to down that was terrible ToT. This new version with banana and honey is AMAZING THOUGH LIKE ITS GENUINELY TASTY?

After I ate that I went to work and... honestly? As much as I hate my co-workers? It was really good to see them today. They may be bad people, but they are all really attached to me. I have been giving them all life advice for so long because I thought I had it all figured out, and it's very funny being on the opposite end of things now. I specifically asked them if they think I was being silly for reaching out and breaking no contact with my partner (they are my ex but... ugh it doesn't feel right to say that, it makes my stomach hurt). I explained to them why, how, and when I did it and... they actually supported me, they are the only ones in my life who think that reaching out was anything but a mistake. I probably asked 12 people about it and only those three felt like... maybe I'm not wrong for trying to continue the conversation more than we did. Either way, they responded yesterday and we've been talking a lot today. Us talking naturally doesn't mean we're automatically back together, but it might be a new beginning of sorts regardless of what the end looks like. I'm feeling hopeful that we might be able to talk things out and heal, but I can't say anything for certain for now and probably won't be able to for a long time.

I can say that... I found out today that they were thinking about me too. When they started replying to my texts today I snuck out of work to sit in the back of my car and just... take in what they were saying, and respond. They took a picture at work that had my name on it... that made me cry real, fat tears for the first time since this happened. It's strange how I had been sobbing but my cheeks stayed dry, but the moment I talked to them and saw a glimmer of us in their life I started bawling in the back of my own car.

Today is also the first day I've rested instead of heading to the gym after work since this all started. Oh my god my body is so sore. Right now I'm planning out the rest of my night and physical activity is NOT on the agenda.

- After I post this I'll give myself a bit more time to rest and relax - Then it's time to work on homework! First I have to practice for an oral exam I have tomorrow in Spanish class. Then after that, I have both a presentation and another project in Archaeology due on Friday ToT I also have this re-write of a short story for creative writing that I need to work on a second draft of - Then I want to work on OC stuff? I have some ideas for a sleep token OC that I wanna work on, and also I think I can refine my OC's for DnD, my personal writing projects and more somewhat? I think it'd been neat to try and draw them myself sometime soon - besides that I don't think I have plans. Maybe some video games or reading if I have extra time!

Thank you for listening tonight tumblr, you're the realest <3 if anyone sees this, I'm still looking for more mutuals! I wanna learn more about people who share my interests, don't be a stranger :3

#sproutposting #journaling #personal writing

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straykats · 4 months ago

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anyways hi guys i love u all here are some thoughts ive had

on ocean vuong and my own writing. i'm revisiting vuong's works for an assignment (bc i suddenly have the opportunity to centre an entire project around it the way that i want to hehe) and i think i'm realising how much he's influenced ymy writing fr? obviously not like. the stuff i post/ed here but the stuff i've done for my writing classes. i've acknowledged his work/s as inspiration, but mainly in the 'his use of the vietnamese language...' way but i think my writing style in general leans towards his as well.. and idk how i feel about that? i'm not saying i write exactly like him or as well as him (god no) but the tone? but i do want to believe that i've written in That Tone and Style before (im pretty sure i have, even before reading on earth) but im scared that im 'copying' his style. idk. i really do love the voice he uses when he writes, the way he poses questions and presents ideas. yes i would love for my writing to affect people the way his has affected mine. but i don't.. i want to still have my own thing, that isn't mine just because the reader hasn't read vuong's works? and ig its all about pov and interpretation at the end of the day - it all lays in the hands (eyes? mind?) of the reader/audience how something is interpretted, irrespective of creator intent - but i'm stil lconscious of it. idk. hm. smth to consider when i write later this week ig.

on my own writing (in general). i think i really do lack so much faith in myself. the feedback i've gotten back for my writing assignments have honestly all been beyond what i ever thought i could get (?????? fckin full marks last sem???? and this sem, a HD even though i gave it so little thight????) but i still don't think. i'm like. capable of pursuig writing in any capacity. i know one way to kind of 'venture out there' and find out how i fare 'in the real world' is to apply to comps and lit mags and stuff but i just. ahhhbhdsvhsvsvs when i think outside of the uni context i just don't think i have it in me but again, i realise i just need to kind of start applying to and entering stuff but ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

on crushes and relationships. sometimes i have like. Thoughts. like just passing 'oh i hope they think of me' or 'oh i hope they (only) do this to/with me' etcetc and i'm like. oh okay maybe this is what a crush is???? because in school it was more of a. like. the people i was conscious of were people i was being teased about, so i was conscious of them and had similar thoughts but not.. the way i do now? like. i was just worried that the other person would feel a certain way about something, or would only do something with me, would treat me differently etc and then people would notice and then the teasing and the rumours etc would get worse. but now im like. just thinking it myself. no anxieties other than 'oh is this weird' 'what if this is a crush? what if i actually have a crush on my friend/s????' (yes plural okay wait i'm getting to that soon) and idk like. the whole realm of 'romantic or platonic?' is not an unfamiliar one. but it being familiar does not mean i have an answer sigh. anyways. why plural friends??? (and additinoal question, which i wont explore here, but whats the general opinion on having multiple crushes? is that a thing? i know polyamory is a thing, but im not looking for or want a poly relo. is it even possible to have multiple romantic crushes at once? does that mean theyre NOT romantic? anyways. moving on.)

the one male friend who i am very conscious of having these thoughts about: we're not exactly childhood friends, but we were friends in childhood..? as in, we went to the same school. forced friendship kinda vibes. friends the way the majority of people in a primary schooler's class is their friend. but then i moved schools and ended up keeping in contact with him (amongst other primary school friends) and then we had serious/personal convos? and then we stopped talking for 5-8 years (memory sucks okay sorry) and then. now we work together and long story short we do share a friendgroup? but i'm not super close with him and idk if thats just how he is but ANYWAYS like do i just want us to be closer friends bc i ??? idk like i do wanna be closer friends w him uh guys this is actually EMBARRASSING

my best friend: okay look im more accepting of the fact that i do not (currently?) actually have a romantic crush on her but also like. what if i do and i just dont realise it and one day i realise it but its too late bc she'll be engaged fr (she has a boyfriend rn and i'm chill w it? sometimes i think smth about them and im like ??? wait huh is this jealousy or smth??? but then im like no its literally not) but yeah idk its 1am rn and my head isnt working so tldr; im pretty sure i dont have a romantic crush on her but i also do wish our friendship was more phsyically affectionate, the way some of my other female friendships are? and i think thats what confuses me? she's aware she's not a physical person (even w her bf) and we're aware that i am NVJKNVKS hm idk im making sense in my head but i dont think i am in writing

anyways them two^ do be the main ???? but im also like. what if im just wanting a different type of friendship yknow. like how much do i want. at what point is it no longer wanting a closer/different friendship, and is actually wanting a romantic friendship? how does one 'develop' romantic feelings??? im so confused man i wish there was a diagnostic criteria for these types of things. i cuold write a whole thing about rom/platonic relationships and confusion. maybe the confusion is a sign in itself (maybe im aro? but the idea of an (intentional and sconiously) romantic relationship is so neat and comforting and i??? but what if---- what if i just lobotomise myself fr feelings are so confusing

on the home situation [cw: fam neg, divorce, mental health?] mum got a house and she wants me to move in with her, if not both myself and my brother. dads kinda being a dick about this whole thing, but i also understand that with the way it happened, hes probably got a lot going on mentally. i don't like.. i don't like being able to understand and think about others the way i do. i become too conscious of the (possible) reasons why someone is acting the way they are. i get too empathetic and understanding and i don't know how to draw lines and do things with myself as a priority. i can't make choices that put my safety and wellbeing first, because i understand why everyone wants what they want and why they need what they want. i might even be extrapolating and overthinking things to the point that theyre not even half truths anymore. i'm so scared to make choices and hurt people because i've grown up with such strong fears that all sorts of bad things will happen if i do this or that, if i make someone feel a certain way. and theres a conscious part of my brain thats like. well. conscious that i need to Snap Out Of It and realise that i cant keep thinking and living like this and i need to prioritise myself at somepoint. idk i have a lot to say about this but i think it would need a sep post on its own. and better analysis of content post-writing to identify relevant warnings. hm. anyways. times do be tough.

on stationary, desk set ups, and productivity. this bits just for funsies but ive recently been kinda obsessed w the spiral notebooks that u can like. refill/replace paper etc and i think theyre so neat so i got a bunch of different paper packs and also folders or whatever BUT ive been too scared to use them? last week i tried to start like. daily planning and semi-journalling and i drew up september in calendar format or whatever and then a daily task thing w time schedules etcetc (trust okay the vision was visioning) and i knew i probably wouldnt be able to this daily but i could at least do it some days and try and get into a pattern but anyways yeah have not looked at it since KFJJKFNJSKNFSK. but i'm using the paper/folder thing now for project development (assignment) and i also want to have one dedicated to references etc (like an annotated bibliography kinda thing) bc a lot of the work i do centers around similar concepts so old material stays handy yknow but i always end up having to pull up old assignments and trying to remember what was in each reference. anyways. problem for later. i also got the logitech casa pop-up desk thing and i'm enjoying it v much. also got a desk lamp thing from amazon and its ocming tmrw and i'm hoping getting better lighting at my desk will make me more productive (i tend to be more productive working at the kitchen table, but its not ideal bc dads in the living room doing karaoke ....

#kat talks #okay fr guys like the plato/rom thing like this is me publically asking for advice/questions to reflect on #i can not keep living like this #i use those two friends as examples but there are times when i reconnect w people and or meet new people and i just get sp anxious and #exhausted because im so worried about what im doing and how im coming off and what my intents are and how i should react if they do or say #smth bc i do not want to mislead people or be mislead by people but how camn i mislead someone if idek wher eim going yknow #anyways goodnight holy crap

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