Hey Everyone!

Happy 2010!!! I hope that all of your years are starting off as well as mine! I'm getting ready for the big jump down into Florida, so expect a lot of inspiration and an increase of updates. Speaking of which, I know it's been forever since I've updated, I know I'm a bad person =\ Truth be told, my laptop charger blew up, and I kinda need to buy a new one... fun! So it hasn't been lack of creativity, just been going online from my phone pretty much so I haven't been able to get onto xanga.

So here's a little poem I wrote during my Modern History class... I mean honestly, how many times can you learn about WWI? I hope you enjoy, and have a great day!

-lots of love,

John

 

The Streets I Love

 

The streets are deserted,

the winter scattered the mass

The streets are empty

the night, my last

 

A homeless man, his wife,

a daisy in the gutter

They’re all I can see

and send my heart a flutter

 

A scarf around my neck,

my finger frozen in its glove

I shiver in my coat

snow falls from above

 

I escape in a diner,

stealing its heat

I begin to recall

a life so sweet

 

The touch of your hand,

the smell of your skin

The feeling I get

when I see your grin

 

I can see your face,

haunting me so clearly

My eyes begin to burn

remembering your words sincerely

 

A night like tonight,

not long ago

When you took my hand,

set my heart aglow

 

What’s happened since,

still troubles my mind

Breaks my heart

and leaves me blind

 

I look to the street,

a taxi rolls by

I sink in my seat,

I begin to cry.

 

So I'm in another Creative Writing class, so expect lots more of updates...

The assignment was to take two characters "Tony Figgerello" and Mo'Nique Della Qui and have them interact. That was it. Oh and it was a group project, so my group decided to all write a draft, and compair, and see what worked and what didn't work... Here's my draft...

P.S. Look at what I'm listening to... suprisingly enough the Hippie Love Music can inspire some pretty dark writing, YEAH!

*WARNING* They're some pretty vulgar parts, it's written in the perspective of a Mobster/Hittman... Enjoy!

           The rain beat against the windshield, blurring my vision. I could barely see two inches in front of me, but none of that mattered. In the distance I could see that red blur that has haunted my sleep for the past three months. She’s speeding, and there’s only one way to catch her. I push the pedal, the wheels below me almost skidding out.

            I’m right on her ass, driving as if I had a death wish. Her scarlet Cadillac is inches away from me; I haven’t been this close to her in months.  I can’t take my eyes off her rear-view mirror, watching her every move. My body’s on autopilot as I swerve from lane to lane, trying to bridge the distance between our two cars.

            Crap, the bitch noticed me. A sharp turn and she’s gone. I sped past the road, unable to follow her. I spin the wheel with far more force than necessary, spinning my car around completely. I floor it, following her down Basin Street. I’ve lost her, her car’s nowhere to be found.

            After what seems like hours meandering through these empty streets, I finally find what I’ve been searching for; her red trail. I park across the street, almost forgetting to kill the ignition before swinging open the door. I step into the street, my foot splashing the water pooled along the curb. I run across the street to her car, my footsteps heavy on the flooded pavement. I place a hand on the car’s hood, it’s still warm. She’s close.

Behind her car, I saw an opening to a passageway. She has to be there. The ally felt narrow, bordered by blackened skyscrapers on both sides. The buildings seem rundown, bums lining the steps to my right. I fondle the cannon in my pocket, picturing her corpse lying behind a dumpster. A small smile found its way to my face.

`I see the neon lights and know exactly where the passage leads; some fag joint. I pause briefly wondering if this damn ally is where Mo’Nique Della Qui had first laid her filthy eyes on my sweet sweet Nancy. The image of them together still burns my eyes, twists my stomach into knots. I can’t think of my wife in the arms of anyone else, especially not some other broad.

Nancy told me she wanted a child, and my god she’s going to get one. Killers aren’t raised, they’re born. I won’t be around forever to pick off the scum of this city; someone’s gotta replace me one day. My kid, he’d be a cold hearted son of a bitch, perfect for this. He’ll make me proud one day… But first they’re a couple things I need to take care of. That’s when I see her. I grip the handle of the revolver, tempted to blast her away right then and there.

She leaned against the brick wall, her eyes lidded. Her thin sepia fingers held a cigarette to her thick ruby lips. Mo’Nique took a long drag, before slowly exhaling the smoke. Her hair fell in thick raven curls reaching her mid back. Her red dress was soaked from the rain, clinging to her perfect hour glass body. God has some sense of human, making a girl like that a dyke.

“Hello Tony.”

Her eyes are still closed as she spoke, still sucking on that butt. My nostrils flared, as I pulled the cannon from my pocket. I clicked back the safety, pointing the barrel towards Mo’Nique. My hand is steady, as I follow the gun right between Mo’Nique’s still sealed eyes. She still hasn’t flinched, not since she looked in her mirror.

“What, not gonna beg?”

“Tony,” Her voice had a slight tremble to it. “I’m with child.”

Preface

It all started in the year 2051. France was in turmoil, a civil war had just broken out. No one truly knew the reason for the wars beginning, but everyone had their own suspicions. Some said the newly re-established monarchy was already corrupted by the power it held. Others claimed the group of radicals sought to overthrow the king in order to shatter France’s peaceful facade.  A few conspiracy theorists began to theorize that the king was secretly hiding a claustrophobe that had resulted in a zombie outbreak. There were even rumors of the king’s family secretly aiding the rebels. The only thing that was truly known was that France was a dangerous battle ground with countless innocent civilians dying daily.

The militant extremists first attacked in early January, destroying the small town of Villepreux in hours. Many other small towns fell in the days that followed. The soldiers continued to march through cities, obliterating anything that got in their way. They called themselves the étioler, taking pride in all that they devastated. In a week the étioler had Paris surrounded, tiptoeing around the nation’s capital. Hushed whispers started suggesting the étioler were planning an attack on the castle. It wasn’t long before France declared a state of emergency.

The young king Émile plead to foreign nations for assistance, fearing for the lives of his people. After tensions between nations escalated to a near World War III in the year 2017, foreign nations began to lose touch with each other. Soon after all countries cut off contact with each other, focusing in on their own nations needs. The United Nations dispersed, and tourism flat lined. Few countries even began to build massive walls around their borders, cutting off all contact with the outside world. Émile hoped to rekindle former allies with his cry for help, but King Landry was heartbroken when all nations refused to assist the French Monarchy.

It wasn’t long until the monarchy fell, crumbling all hope of peace in France. King Émile addressed the public, saying was prepared to stand his ground in Paris and was ready to die fighting off anyone who threatened France’s peace. The next morning Émile fled France, and hasn’t been heard from since. King Landry’s older brother, André, remained in Paris to fight for his younger brother’s kingdom. The étioler took Paris by storm, ambushing the one beautiful city. André held down the castle for days, relentlessly fighting off the étioler.  But André’s front wouldn’t last forever. The étioler infiltrated the castle on February 2^nd 2051. Tristan Renard, the elite founder of the étioler, was quick to take the king’s throne. His first order was the public execution of André Landry. In a mere couple of hours the French Monarchy had withered away and a dictatorship swept across France.

A newfound sense of fear quickly spread throughout the once peaceful streets of France. It started with kidnappings, quickly followed with the murder of anyone who opposed the étioler. Tristan Renard became known as a merciless killer, slaying hundreds of people without a hint of remorse. The people of France began to live in terror, rarely leaving the safety of their homes.  The people began to blame Émile for fleeing, holding public rallies against the former king. Renard ordered the étioler to break up the riots, violently killing anyone who spoke ill of Émile.

No one understood why Renard tried protecting Émile’s name. People began to suspect Émile had offered Tristan the thrown, in exchange for a way out of the county. The young king was seen as a coward, leaving his people to be killed. The people labeled him as an accomplice to Renard, accusing Émile of high treason. The once beloved king was now one of the most hated men in all of France, second only to Tristan Renard.

On February 9^th 2052 Émile was spotted in Cuenca, Spain. He was seen in Los Moralejos, resting under the shade of a willow tree. A group of traveling Frenchmen surrounded Émile, allowing him no room to breathe.  They confronted the boy, demanding answers. When Émile attempted to respond to the allegations, he was struck down. The men didn’t stop striking the boy until he stopped moving. Émile didn’t attempt to defend himself, taking the beating he was receiving. Before his heavy eye lids fell, Émile managed to articulate one last sentence heard only by the men. Whatever he had said, it had managed to end the cruel beat down. The boy died with tears streaming down his face as the men stood in silence.

Or at least that’s what the news had broadcasted.