Archive for December, 2006


Trying to catch you two

Hey guys,

I’ve been trying to get a hold of the two of you for days, but that hasn’t been easy. I wanted to extend the official invite to our place for New Years Eve tomorrow night. There will be food and music and friends, and we’d love it if you would both come along. Kitty, I know you need to get out, I just hope you decide to get out over here. Austin, we haven’t seen you in a while, and it’d be nice to have you over.

Kaoru

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world Moonpanther didn’t exist.

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

Interesting

Visit lustsign.com to learn your Lustsign!

Very interesting. While I’d like to believe this, I think I might have taken the test for Nick instead of myself. Or Noel in the right mood. In fact,now that I think about it, maybe I’m suppressing.

::shrug::

Bored and really pretty blah today. Don’t know why. I don’t want to do anything at all and I have no idea what the reason is. Gonna lie here and watch some movies to brighten myself up.

After the trauma of the birth, I had thought that despite Reilly’s being killed in the process, most everything would be able to settle down for a while. That is, until Fiction told me about Fee.

I found her hanging from the ceiling in our living room next to another person whom I had never met. I’d learn later that this person was named Thomas and needed some help as well, but in the meantime, I could only stare at the tied up creature who I had gotten to know so well in the last few months. She looked so helpless. While I had only actually been a father for a few hours, a part of me honestly saw Fee as a daughter. A slightly insane daughter with a spiritual companion and a lust for life that made my head spin on a regular basis, but a daughter none the less. I pulled up a chair to stand on so I could look her in the eyes.
“Noel! You’ve gotta help me. Take me down from here.” She was pleading with her eyes. I could see how much she wanted to get down.

“Alright, my bonnie girl, but I have to check some things first.” I concentrated on her mind, trying to ease my way in so as not to hurt her or disrupt her privacy any more than necessary.

“Noel, please let me go. I have to go back so I can transcend,” she told me in her head.

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘transcend?'” I was stalling for time while I carefully slid into her brain, feeling along neural pathways and streams of consciousness, following one idea to another until I ran across the source of the problem. Some sort of effect, a compulsion, had been put on her to return to the person who originally set it there. I summoned all of my power, imagining my mind as an ax, striking at the very thick rope that was her compulsion. I beat at it, watching it fray a layer at a time. Meanwhile, I looked for what happened to her.

The set of rooms I watched through Fee’s eyes was clinical in a sinister way. I could see the different rooms, each with a new and strange form of torture going on. He led Fee/I into one of the rooms, and I could feel her desire to be there, a longing unlike anything natural. The man turned toward Kellen and spoke to him in the Spirit Tongue. Suddenly, our lifelong friend was choking us, but that was ok because it would help with the transcendence. They tied us down, and we felt the ecstasy of an invisible force that started penetrating us. Then Fiction came and ruined it all.

I paused in my casting, the metaphorical ax hovering over the last strand of rope. Letting this go would let the flood of memory hit her, and the pain would begin. If it were anything but her life in danger, I might have even spared her that pain. Even as I write this, I wish that there was something I could do to make the memories go away, to make it not have happened. She’s been through so much of the hell I grew up with just since meeting me, and there are times I regret picking her out of that MOSS meeting instead of just sending her away for her own good. I finished the spell and cut the last part of the rope, freeing Fee from her compulsion.

The first thing I felt from her was shock. Often the first thing a person feels upon being released from a compulsion is shock or curiosity at how they didn’t realize that they didn’t want to do what they were doing. Then came the fear, coupled with guilt and shame. Anxiety would be coming pretty soon. I saw her tears, felt them running down her cheek in her head.

“It’ll be ok, my bonnie girl,” I told her, trying to comfort her as best as I can.

“Can you make this go away?” She was in so much pain. I wanted more than anything to say, “Yes.” But I couldn’t lie to her, not now. That would make me a cruel as the man who did this to her.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t make it go away.” I tried to be comforting, but I knew there was very little I could do.

“Of course you can! I’ve seen you do amazing things. You can make me feel better, I know you can.” It broke my heart. I wanted to make her better so much, but what could I do? Erase the memories so that when she is finally ready to be with someone voluntarily she breaks down crying for no reason? Let her be afraid for days or weeks on end and not know why? No, I couldn’t do that to her.

“Listen to me carefully, Fee. I know it hurts, but you can learn to live with it. Trust me.” I don’t know what impulse made me share. I hadn’t shared this with anyone, but I let one of my own memories slip across our mental link.

I was in my church back in Dublin. With one hand I gripped a comic book, with the other, the alter cloth that I was bent over. I was careful to only let Fee see and not actually experience what I was showing her. Demons stood all around, calling me names, laughing, delighting in the constant red blush in my cheeks, my utter humiliation. My trousers and pants were around my ankles, and I felt that invisible force penetrating my nine-year-old ass in front of the rest of the neighborhood who sat in the pews for Sunday worship. I couldn’t stop crying, mostly because I knew that they were all too afraid to do anything, even my parents.

With sudden and unexpected force, the spirit behind me lifted me by the thighs and flung me over the alter to land hard on the steps. My cheeks burned with shame as I stood up and shuffled my way to the pew reserved for those Chosen for the week. I wanted to get dressed again, I wanted to hold myself, but I knew if I did anything before the Act of Thanksgiving that things would get worse. I kneeled next to several other children of various ages and states of undress and folded my hand, intoning aloud, “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for giving us this chance to nourish our Earthly masters. I am nothing to Their power, and Their word is Yours. Amen.”

“The pain never really goes away, my bonnie girl. But it will make you stronger.” I slowly untied her, careful not to burn her with the ropes. She was shivering as I carried her down from where she was tied. I took up a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “It can get cold.”

She nodded and pulled the blanket tighter. “Noel, can I go back to my room, at EPIC?”

“I suppose so. It’ll be safe there. Let me get the keys to the SUV.” I went and grabbed the key, letting Fiction know Fee wanted to go to her own room and I was going to drive her home. I opened her door and made sure she was buckled in, then drove her home and made sure she got safely up stairs behind the wards and bans. I’ll have to let Elle know that she’ll be needed. I’ve introduced Fee into a world of pain, now I’m going to have to teach her how to live with that pain.

Corol Meme

Ok, so the first one I got was:

Sleep in heavenly Moonpanther,
Sleep in heavenly Moonpanther.

Silent Night
from the Christmas Song Generator.

Get your own song :

Which I thought was hilarious and a good suggestion all around. But I kept looking until I found my favorite Christmas carol.

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Moonpanther.

Good King Wenceslas
from the Christmas Song Generator.

Get your own song :

Ok, off to Disney for the day.

The Journal of the Late Noel Aig

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Fatherhood has thrown many of my assumptions about life into a rather harsh perspective. I now realize how much my obsession with heroism can be hurtful to those around me and myself. The problem is, I can’t really help myself any longer. I have to feel useful. I can remember the day that I decided to stop sitting idlly by.

Mum and Dad had gotten permission to take a vacation to Wales. It wasn’t easy, especially since for so many years we had taken one every year, at least until Aunt Abbie died, and most of the Masters considered this excess, especially since this one was out of the country and my sisters and I were particularly good at feeding a variety of spirits. They sat inside, talking to Mr. Brennen and his wife. I could hear them arguing as I sat outside in the twilight, reading a Captain Britain comic.

I am so high, I can hear heaven.
I am so high, I can hear heaven.
Oh but heaven, no heaven don’t hear me.

“Wesley?” I turned around and saw a young woman standing behind me. It took me a moment to study her, adjusting my glasses to miss the glare from the remaining rays of the sun.

“Maggie?” The more I thought about it, the more it looked like her. Most of us had assumed she had died in the fire, but there she was, sitting in front of me. Somehow she looked more adult than before, as if she had aged 20 years in the last five.

“I’m called Elle now.” I started to get up so I could run inside and let my parents know that their niece was still alive, that…that what? She seemed to know I wouldn’t say anything about her visit. The only thing my parents could do would be to bring her home with us, and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. She sat down on a step just to the right of me, barely an adult next to barely a teenager.

“Where have you been, Mag…I mean Elle?”

“I finished school. I didn’t expect to find you here.” She shrugged. Something about her seemed accepting or maybe…numb? I couldn’t place my finger on it. Something had happened to her, and she didn’t want to think about it any more than I wanted to think about being exhausted all the time, or the rapes, or the pain. Across the street a few boys were kicking around a football. “What are you doing here?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Brennen are trying to convince Mum and Dad not to go back to Dublin. Said they’re free now, and we don’t have that much stuff to worry about having to go back and get it. But Mum and Dad won’t.” He looked down at my comic and traced the lines of Captain Britain’s costume.

And they say that a hero can save us.
I’m not gonna stand here and wait.
I’ll hold on to the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.

Two other kids rode up on bicycles across the street. They took no specific notice of the ones playing with the football when they scooped it up and casually started walking back to their bikes, nonchalantly strutting away with somebody else’s property. For a moment I caught their eyes and was surprised to notice them dancing. These boys took incredible pleasure in their own power.

“Maybe they should do that. Anything has to be better than your neighborhood if I heard right when we used to meet you in Cork.” She looked concerned, like she could see right through me, through my own numbness, and recognized all of the scarring there.

“They can’t. The Finnegans volunteered to act as hostages. If we don’t come back when we’re supposed to, they die, and all nine of their children.” The littlest one, Francis Robert Finnegan, was only seven months old, and I was sure that they would split him on Sunday morning and use his blood for the Eucharist. I wish to this day that that surety was based on childhood hyperbole and not actual experience. The execution of babies was always the worst, the most grotesque.

Someone told me that love would all save us.
But how can that be?
Look what love gave us.
A world full of killing, and blood-spilling, that
world never came.

A couple of the smaller children, likely the owners of the football, ran up and started tugging on the shirts of the bullies. I couldn’t hear them very well, but I imagine they were begging for their ball back. The pleas were answered by a sucker punch to the jaw and the two older children fell upon the other boys, kicking them repeatedly.

Elle noticed my attention, which should have been focused on my long-lost cousin, was instead fixed across the street. “Why don’t you do something about it, then?” I could feel the anger rising up in me with every blow. Their cries were clear in my ears, even in my head. I found myself standing and stalking across the street, picking up all the speed my twelve-year-old body could muster, and charging into the larger of the two boys.

And they say that a hero can save us.
I’m not gonna stand here and wait.
I’ll hold on to the wings of the eagles.
Watch as we all fly away.

I don’t know where my brain went to or what I was thinking at that moment, but I started beating that boy with all of my might. Every indignity I had ever suffered manifested itself in my fists and knees, drawing blood and smearing it across his large, oval face. I wanted to destroy him. I wanted to send him back to the hell that my demons came from. I wanted to breathe fire and incinerate him. I didn’t even notice the comic book still clenched in my hand, nigh unreadable on the open pages from blood stains.

Then I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, drawing me back to the world. The boy scrambled from beneath my legs as I was getting up, running for his bike and trying not to stumble into his equally frightened friend. Elle stood there with the football in her hand, giving it to me so I could return it to the other boys, most of which stayed a good distance away. I rolled it back to them and watched, a little sad, to see them collect the ball and run away as well.

“Elle, there has to be a way to fight these things. We cannot leave, but we might be able to make them.” I closed my hand around the comic even tighter, determined that I wouldn’t sit by and watch people suffer like that. Not any more. Not ever again. “If you can help me, do it from as far away as possible.”

Her eyebrows crawled up her head, a new expression I’d never seen before. “You’re going to be like Captain Britain now?”

And they’re watching us (Watching us)
They’re watching us (watching us) as we all fly away.
And they’re watching us (Watching us)
They’re watching us (watching us) as we all fly away.
And they’re watching us (Watching us)
They’re watching us (watching us) as we all fly away.

“No,” I said as I looked up at her. “Doctor Strange.”

Friends w/ Benefits

Seems like a good reason to screen comments. Never done that before.

Behind Here

Inspiration for the season

I’ve been having a little trouble getting into the Christmas spirit this season. Normally, the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is my favorite time of year, but I just can’t seem to get in the mood I usually do. Like the title character in A Charlie Brown Christmas, “I’m just not happy.” And I have every reason to be. The lit mag that my story is published in came in the mail yesterday (which, I admit, I’m excited about. I’m on page 41), I’m going to my parents’ for a couple of holiday parties, the first of which should be a blast, I have incredible friends and family, I’m the new ARST Changeling for my region. So, last night, looking for inspiration for the holiday season, I ran across one of my favorite holiday texts. While it has not made me happy or really into the spirit like I normally am, it has given me hope, which is always the first step in any direction. I’ll reprint here for all of you. Happy holidays.

Written by Francis Pharcellus Church and published in The Sun, September 21st, 1897.

“DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
“Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
“Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’
“Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

“VIRGINIA O’HANLON.
“115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.”

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measure by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank GOD! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Quick update

Been doing a lot of these lately. Ok, we’re in the Manchester Airport and will be boarding soon. I’ve checked my email and LJ, so with nothing left to do at the moment that won’t take too long, I’m going to shut down the computer. In the meantime, I can at least say that we will be boarding around 10 and will hopefully be back in Orlando around 3 this afternoon. I think I’m going to watch the first episode of Heroes on my iPod (I’ve managed to get eps 1-8 on there) and chill out for a while. Probably won’t be another update unless I feel like breaking out the laptop in Washington during our layover. Otherwise, see most of you and give a more detailed post when I get home this afternoon.