Endless Summer Of The Damned

The very moment I saw today’s Friday Fictioneers prompt picture, I was instantly reminded of one of my favorite albums from one of my favorite bands – “Swing The Heartache” by Bauhaus (to those of you not already “in the know'” click on the album title above in order to find out why).

As a result, I decided to do something Fictioneerary that I hadn’t done since around the time I was in the 8th grade, and I created a post using as many Bauhaus song titles as possible. These are italicized for your reference, and including the post title and accompanying song prompt, I was able to squeak 19 of them into today’s submission. As always, I hope you enjoy.

copyright - Jennifer Pendergast

copyright – Jennifer Pendergast

“Oh Harry, I’ll never make it. There’s no hope.”

“Yes you will, we need to catch up with the boys. It’s all we ever wanted, let’s move on.

“No, I’ll just stay here in this dive, m’dear.”

“No mother, you can’t. Remember, Satori’s directly behind us. It’s only a matter of time before he overcomes us with his poison pen.”

“But darling, I’ve no adrenalin, I feel like a muscle in plastic. I simply can’t move through these crowds.”

“You HAVE TO. It’s almost night time. We won’t be safe unless we’re in the flat field by then.”

“But… I don’t want to be safe anymore. Kingdom’s coming, and I’d rather be an exquisite corpse, than continue to live in fear of fear.”

Burning from the inside, her sudden assertion hit me like a kick in the eye.

•••

Side note: if you could, please visit my post from yesterday, as it pertains to a cause I feel very strongly about, and any support you could provide would be deeply appreciated. Now, here’s Peter, Daniel, Kevin and David – the unwitting baby daddies to Gothic rock, doing what they did best:

Spreading the cure…

I’m uncertain as to how many untold thousands, if not millions, have been spent on spreading the disease.

The disease of making us feel that, to be anything other than “exactly like everyone else” is somehow wrong. The disease of being suckered into the ideology that having physical strength, cash on-hand, good looks or even simple charisma, makes you somehow more valued – better – than others. The disease that mandates that in order for you to feel good about yourself, you must first make another feel bad about who they are. The God-damnable disease that has us believing that Life is merely some sort of popularity contest, and nothing more.

I’m uncertain as to how many dollars have been spent in the pursuit of honoring these archaic and regressive beliefs, but I am certain as to how much it costs to help in spreading the cure.

Just $25.00.

Click for more info

Click for more info

You see, for $25.00 you can have a copy of “It Gets Better” sent to the school or local library of your choice (or they can pick one for you, should you have no preference). Aimed primarily at LGBT youth, and begun initially as a response to turn the tide on gay youth suicides that resulted from oppressive bullying, this book is a gathering of great minds, all of whom simply want to express to teens everywhere that life does, in fact, get better. My son received a copy this past Christmas, and I believe that it has helped him to understand that it’s OK to simply be yourself. And that it’s also OK to let the bullies angrily shake the ignorant cages of their own construct; as long as you don’t willingly join them in their prisons yourself.

True, a donation of this nature may be seen by some as a small step. But I feel it’s a step in the right direction. And to one who’s maybe never taken a step at all in this matter, it could prove to be a giant leap, for either themselves or for some fortunate recipient.

I know that I don’t normally like to use this site as a vehicle to push for particular causes, but I feel that this is important enough to break with the norm. I would appreciate it if you would click on the image above to learn more, and consider donating one or more of these copies to our youth. Lord knows I could’ve benefited from having a resource such as this when I was growing up, and I’m pretty sure that a lot of you could’ve as well.

Thanks for your time, kids. No music today, as I would prefer to end this instead, with one of my heroes advise to “really, anybody who’s being picked on.”

Oh what the hell, who’re we kidding?

Here’s today’s song as well. Another of my heroes, engaged in another, earlier anti-bullying effort of sorts…

Rest In Peace

My youngest son, the heel-hoofing beautiful boy I recently “spoke” to my dad about, has a particular way of kissing me good night.

First he kisses my lips. Then my right ear. Then my left. And then my lips once more – presumably for good measure.

He kisses me good night in this fashion precisely each and every day, and last night was no exception.

Last night, however, I became painfully aware that while my 12 year old boy was kissing me good night, another father could very well have been kissing his 12 year old boy goodbye for the last time.

ONeills

My heart goes out to the parents, family and friends of Bailey O’Neill. I can not fathom the pain they must be feeling at this time, and I pray for their shared peace.

People, this shit has simply got to stop already. We have got to come to grips with the fact that we are not a nation of gun-totin’ John Wayne macho men walking off into the sunset – we are a nation of people. Living, breathing, loving – and sometimes hurting – people. None of us is any better than the rest, by mere incidence of physical appearance, skin color, sexual orientation, religious practice or social position.  God damn us for thinking anything otherwise.

A 12 year old boy died yesterday because we as a people not only allow bullying to occur, but have almost put the practice onto a pedestal of sorts, praising the “tough guy” while belittling the peace maker.

My son, my children, are no strangers to bullying. They have each learned to cope in their own fashion, with a sin that is upon us all. They have each learned to deal with this barbaric rite – a rite that no one should ever have live with, let alone die from.

Bailey, I am sorry that we allowed this to happen to you. I am so sorry.

People, this shit has simply got to stop already. Let’s get to work.

Briefly…

Keeping within my seemingly new methodology of no longer using pages for these entries (fewer clicks equals more clicks!), following is this week’s 100 Word Song

robot-badge

He would ofttimes find himself sitting idly by the dock, dipping his toe cautiously towards the tide, wondering if it would ever hold him again.

He could still feel the water beneath his feet. Or rather, himself weightless above the waves, as one minute he realized himself rushing towards his friend, the next drowning in trepidation.

How could he have faltered?

He was the only man who would ever know the feeling. It had been a simple, albeit brilliant mistake, one that would eventually serve for the remainder of his days, as a nagging reminder of his lack of faith.

•••

This week’s song was chosen by Linda:

The Adventures of Boba

Friday Fictioneers, here we go!

Copyright - Beth Carter

Copyright – Beth Carter

“I’m freakin’ Boba Fett, baby!

I’m the slam dance, cardiac arrest king of mofo, daddy-o! You can’t stop me.

Can.

Not.

STOP!

I’m flyin’ through hyperspace on hyperbole. Diggin’ the fascinatin’ rhythm of life, distorting it, blowing it right out its own ASS, Freakman!

These roads are my personal vagina, Nerdsville. I slide up n’ down ‘em until we both blow our freakin’ tops – slamming them hard into submission, Johnny Paper Hat!

I am a freakin’ Man-God, you Douchsicles.”

“That’s all well and good, Mr. ‘Fett,’ but I’m still going to need to see your license and registration, please.”

•••

Thought I should lighten up a bit. Happy Friday kids =)