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sparkindarknessRick again - I rearly need to give Darren more "air time" I always intended Darren to be the more vocal of the pair. Hah, I must have been mad!
Anyway, Rick, worried about Darren and looking for answers.
He’s sat, staring at the setting sun. Something in the way he holds himself tells me he’s meditating. Not here anymore, not in the flat with me. He’s been doing that a lot lately... I’m getting worried about him. I can understand it, hell, I spend more time meditating than he does, but, still. I’m worried...
Maybe he’s just trying to avoid your attempts at sparkling conversation?
“I don’t think so Ghost... he isn’t eating either. Fuck, it’s been four days since the mall, and all he’s done is sit there.”
I don’t think the extra loud screaming I hear from your room every night - and several times during the day - counts as ‘just sitting there.’ If it does, I want to know where he gets his chairs from.
He looks so tired. He hasn’t been sleeping much either. And it hasn’t just been us having sex all night. He says he never needs much sleep; but he won’t talk, and he looks so sad. He cried in his sleep last night. Not making any noise, but tears trailing down his silent cheeks. I’ve never seen anything so painful, I had to go get a coffee, I couldn‘t watch. I wanted to wake him, but he had only just drifted off. Isn‘t any sleep better than none?.
Shit, what can I do? He’s so sad... No, not sad; scared. Scared of himself. I can’t imagine what it must be like, to be afraid of your own reflection, a fear you can’t run from, a fear no-one can understand. I can’t understand him. Fuck, how can I help him.
Rick... you can’t kill yourself over this. Looking at him, at what he goes through, I don’t think you want to understand him. You make him a lot happier; you know that, I know that. Don’t cut yourself up over things you can’t control, amigo.
That catches me, I blink in surprise at the palm top on the unit next to me; Ghost’s favourite home.
“Gee, Ghost, you do care!” I give him an idiotic grin. “And fuck, it seems that the whole ‘wise spirit guide’ thing isn’t just some bullshit advertising they put on the box!”
Hah. I’m just trying to snap you out of it. I think one angst ridden pretty boy in the house is enough. There’s only so much Placebo and Godhead a spirit can take! Your taste in music is already enough to make any musician slash their wrists to escape the horror
“Keep talking like that, and you’ll regret it, Ghost.” Ok, I’m not nearly as menacing as Darren, but I try!
Heh, you can’t touch me. Without me you’d starve to death. After all, how else are you going to open a door without me giving you basic step by step instructions?
Hah, that spirit’s never had it so good. But I’m in no mood to piss about with Ghost. Even with an argument in the room Darren didn’t even blink. There must be something I can do.
A spectral sigh echoes through the room. You’ve got it bad Rick. Fine, I’ll put on my all knowing entity hat and see if I can throw you a life line, ‘kay?
“You’re going to help?” Alright, that’s unfair of me, Ghost has helped a hell of a lot, even with getting Darren here, even though he thought it was a major bad idea.
You can’t leave the helpless to flounder. It’s cruel. Besides if I don’t do the thinking, you might start trying and that pained look always makes you look constipated.
If you can’t understand Darren, get someone who can.
“What? A therapist? You want me to take him to a fucking shrink?! You tripping or something Ghost? Lets see how it‘ll work: ‘What is your problem, Mr. won’t give a last name?’ ‘Oh I have massive power and a nasty habit of killing things and getting all depressed about it.’ ‘Is that so? Well that’s terrible. Take these pills and you shouldn’t get depressed after genocide!’ Yeah, Ghost, that’ll work.”
Have you quite finished? I would say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but that’s still an improvement for you, I suppose. No I don’t mean a shrink - I don’t hate the guy that much. I was thinking more of a familiar. You got a spirit guide to confide in who understands you - even if I must force myself to think in monosyllables to do so. He needs a familiar.
“A mental link with an animal? Isn’t that severely cruel? I mean wouldn’t he have to imbue it with part of his energy - his darkness?” Behold the evil Hannibal hamster! Fear the Gruesome Goldfish! Ok, must not smile, being serious... must not smile...
Hah. Get him a cat. No matter how much evil you feed into the creature, it’s not as if you’d notice.
“Hey, I like cats!” What? They’re cute, and don’t require lots of work.
They’re still furry killing machines, who’d eat you if it weren’t for cat food being in hard to open cans. They just look pretty, like Darren for that matter. If he looked like Quasimodo, there’s no way we’d have an uber-evil, dark and angsty mass murderer in the house.
“Fuck Ghost, I’m not that shallow!” Like all I care about is a pretty face?! That is so fucking unfair.
Yeah. You’re not shallow. And the Pacific’s not wet, the sun’s not hot and I’m not a genius. Now go get him a feline friend so I can go back to mocking you rather than watching you all mope.
Well I suppose a pet won’t hurt... and it might help him. Shit, what’s the worst that could happen? Please don’t answer that, I really don’t want to know. If it all goes ape-shit, it’s Ghost whose going to be cleaning up fucking kitty organs off the walls, not me.
I kiss Darren before going out, nearly pulling him out of his trance - at least there’s still one thing he responds to, open the door, and go looking for a pet shop. Wanted: one psycho pussy, or maniacal moggy.
Anyway, Rick, worried about Darren and looking for answers.
He’s sat, staring at the setting sun. Something in the way he holds himself tells me he’s meditating. Not here anymore, not in the flat with me. He’s been doing that a lot lately... I’m getting worried about him. I can understand it, hell, I spend more time meditating than he does, but, still. I’m worried...
Maybe he’s just trying to avoid your attempts at sparkling conversation?
“I don’t think so Ghost... he isn’t eating either. Fuck, it’s been four days since the mall, and all he’s done is sit there.”
I don’t think the extra loud screaming I hear from your room every night - and several times during the day - counts as ‘just sitting there.’ If it does, I want to know where he gets his chairs from.
He looks so tired. He hasn’t been sleeping much either. And it hasn’t just been us having sex all night. He says he never needs much sleep; but he won’t talk, and he looks so sad. He cried in his sleep last night. Not making any noise, but tears trailing down his silent cheeks. I’ve never seen anything so painful, I had to go get a coffee, I couldn‘t watch. I wanted to wake him, but he had only just drifted off. Isn‘t any sleep better than none?.
Shit, what can I do? He’s so sad... No, not sad; scared. Scared of himself. I can’t imagine what it must be like, to be afraid of your own reflection, a fear you can’t run from, a fear no-one can understand. I can’t understand him. Fuck, how can I help him.
Rick... you can’t kill yourself over this. Looking at him, at what he goes through, I don’t think you want to understand him. You make him a lot happier; you know that, I know that. Don’t cut yourself up over things you can’t control, amigo.
That catches me, I blink in surprise at the palm top on the unit next to me; Ghost’s favourite home.
“Gee, Ghost, you do care!” I give him an idiotic grin. “And fuck, it seems that the whole ‘wise spirit guide’ thing isn’t just some bullshit advertising they put on the box!”
Hah. I’m just trying to snap you out of it. I think one angst ridden pretty boy in the house is enough. There’s only so much Placebo and Godhead a spirit can take! Your taste in music is already enough to make any musician slash their wrists to escape the horror
“Keep talking like that, and you’ll regret it, Ghost.” Ok, I’m not nearly as menacing as Darren, but I try!
Heh, you can’t touch me. Without me you’d starve to death. After all, how else are you going to open a door without me giving you basic step by step instructions?
Hah, that spirit’s never had it so good. But I’m in no mood to piss about with Ghost. Even with an argument in the room Darren didn’t even blink. There must be something I can do.
A spectral sigh echoes through the room. You’ve got it bad Rick. Fine, I’ll put on my all knowing entity hat and see if I can throw you a life line, ‘kay?
“You’re going to help?” Alright, that’s unfair of me, Ghost has helped a hell of a lot, even with getting Darren here, even though he thought it was a major bad idea.
You can’t leave the helpless to flounder. It’s cruel. Besides if I don’t do the thinking, you might start trying and that pained look always makes you look constipated.
If you can’t understand Darren, get someone who can.
“What? A therapist? You want me to take him to a fucking shrink?! You tripping or something Ghost? Lets see how it‘ll work: ‘What is your problem, Mr. won’t give a last name?’ ‘Oh I have massive power and a nasty habit of killing things and getting all depressed about it.’ ‘Is that so? Well that’s terrible. Take these pills and you shouldn’t get depressed after genocide!’ Yeah, Ghost, that’ll work.”
Have you quite finished? I would say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but that’s still an improvement for you, I suppose. No I don’t mean a shrink - I don’t hate the guy that much. I was thinking more of a familiar. You got a spirit guide to confide in who understands you - even if I must force myself to think in monosyllables to do so. He needs a familiar.
“A mental link with an animal? Isn’t that severely cruel? I mean wouldn’t he have to imbue it with part of his energy - his darkness?” Behold the evil Hannibal hamster! Fear the Gruesome Goldfish! Ok, must not smile, being serious... must not smile...
Hah. Get him a cat. No matter how much evil you feed into the creature, it’s not as if you’d notice.
“Hey, I like cats!” What? They’re cute, and don’t require lots of work.
They’re still furry killing machines, who’d eat you if it weren’t for cat food being in hard to open cans. They just look pretty, like Darren for that matter. If he looked like Quasimodo, there’s no way we’d have an uber-evil, dark and angsty mass murderer in the house.
“Fuck Ghost, I’m not that shallow!” Like all I care about is a pretty face?! That is so fucking unfair.
Yeah. You’re not shallow. And the Pacific’s not wet, the sun’s not hot and I’m not a genius. Now go get him a feline friend so I can go back to mocking you rather than watching you all mope.
Well I suppose a pet won’t hurt... and it might help him. Shit, what’s the worst that could happen? Please don’t answer that, I really don’t want to know. If it all goes ape-shit, it’s Ghost whose going to be cleaning up fucking kitty organs off the walls, not me.
I kiss Darren before going out, nearly pulling him out of his trance - at least there’s still one thing he responds to, open the door, and go looking for a pet shop. Wanted: one psycho pussy, or maniacal moggy.
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Date: 2003-05-21 02:48 pm (UTC)Godhead's Ok if you're in the mood for it, but usually when I'm that depressed I'd prefer to be cheered up. Though sometimes I'm sad and want to keep it, because sometimes you have to be, right? Sometimes the world is sad, and depression is the only appropriate response.
But loud clashing chords. Nah, I wanna hear lyrics, I want music I can listen too at high volumes without actual pain.
I see some use for psychiatrists, but I hate the way people are beginning to use therapists so casually. I have a problem - see a therapist. Yet another way for us not to try anymore, not to solve our own problems. Or try to at least.
Frankly I can;t understand the desire to tell an overpaid stranger my most intimate secrets.