How To Kill Queer Scum Properly (PART 2)
Her character and her very concept of self had been smashed and ripped out. the frontal lobe is the repository of personality. your very concept of identity exists in the frontal lobe and so does your concept of other like brains as yours as other peer conscious organs. The vaguely paranormal sounding studied 6th sense of something sort of inbetween the collective unconscious memes and reading auras. sybils got smashed in some weird way where if anyone tried to read her mind it would sound like a smashed guitar feeding back through echo. her brain does that when she walks in to the coffee shop. people can't read or remember what there where thinking and people having conversations start speaking more curtly and yelling. She can glower at the back of someone's neck from 40 feet away, the maximum distance she can see, and make them lose their mind and jump around screaming “what?” Over the next six months she broke her powers down to like 4 basic powers
Bionic Power Number one is the new skull. It might be all fragile and delicate because they mail slot of a hole in her head big enuff to stuff a sunday paper in to cuz the newspaper was starting up again since Morteville’s population had been over 100000 a while. But what if it wasn't delicate? what if it was a headbutting tupperware battering ram? with over a dozen screws all along her unflattering relocated hair line and two really noticeable finger sized dents. her sense of self was smashed to pulp but her interests and her passions her view of the world and people were all still in here. Her character was gone but she found herself inferred in the remains of her practical knowledge and aesthetic memory ?
Bionic power number two is that I got 80% of my vision back after a few months in the remaining eye that is.. The left can do some things. Left eye has pinhole vision can’t read and there's purple clouds and sparkles everywhere these days. her zygoma topic orbit was patched with bits of her skull and skull glue or whatever they use. the muscles were stuck back wrong or sumthin’ cuz lefty moved similar to righty but pointing way off to the side. Sometimes she’d see imaginary people and animals and shadows sneaking up on her from the left but they vanish when I turn my head, bionic imaginary friend detector powers. for the first 3 month she’d wished she could have felt sad cuz she couldnt find her way through a house she couldnt walk down unfamiliar streets cuz everything swam around. she couldnt tell what things were. she crossed busy streets by walking in to advancing traffic deflecting them from hitting her by broadcasting mind rays.
Bionic power number three was that her my left arm being useless but the left hand works sort of but with some glitching. with her left traps and levator scapula and part of her rhomboid chewed up and beat in her left shoulder is constricted tight. her arm is weak and she always carries it folded up like a Trex arm but with a limp wrist. her left neck is boot leather. her collar bone was crushed in to her collar bone so she can now effortlessly pin her own arm behind her own back and it will lock there like a rack and pinion. her left arm is more of a burden than a help for riding a bike. but its perfectly locked in to a little hook for little plastic bags of food she picked out the garbage or whatever. The flood was 2 years ago, the town is 1 third populated and phone services is intermittent and theres only 4 grocery stores but theres 30 bars and things are starting to cost money again and the red cross had left. she hasn't quite lived to thirty yet but she had one one eye and one arm now which would be helpful for helping her focus now that her attention span was 3 seconds at most now.
Bionic power number four was losing her sense of smell and most of sense of taste. her frontal sinus smashed open, perforated ear drum, cracked maxillary sinus suture; she didn't have a left sinus cavity anymore. It hadn't been the 4th year pushing her naisio frontal suture back together that severed her olfactory nerves, i had been the blow that split her skull open twisting on the pipe and wedging her left eye socket to break off shattered complex nasal bone fractures. the sense of smell is a little cocktail hot dog with 1 cell thick hairs growing in to the nose from inside the brain. Syb had lost all the nerve cells as a side effect of loosing the front left of her head but the olfactory bulb was still healthy and located right between her eyes, a relatively big and ancient piece of brain that to this day is the basis of the flight fight fright reflexes. what was this prehistoric proto human part of her brain doing now that it couldnt smell? here primitive brain had lost its senses and was screaming paranoid notions at her.
but with her self smashed to a pulp there was no self to worry about. nothing could mess with her, nothing could obstruct her cuz there was no compelling threat now. What could you do to me any worse than destroying a substantial eighth of my head ?
Bionic power 4a. Super brain with mind powers. thanks to trauma to the frontal temporal broca's region Sybils structure for communicating and even thinking in articulated words was scrambled and its connectivity was affected.the hematoma left 98% or her brain intact but the inter cell neural density had been about 88% reduced in the skull trauma regions. a erth year abnormal psych student intern diagnosed her as a 301.83 borderline personality disorder with disorder or metaphor; a concept of like or as abnormally removed from the mean norm,
Bionic 4b mind power through control brain space radio. functions of the not at all dormant olfactory bulb. it also works as a little pheromone and endocrine radio transmitter receiver. only brute id level thinking can be effectively communicated in endocrine and pheromones. No idea how it detects pheromones if it cant smell, mind rays seemingly.
Syb figured out fast shes super sensative to phermones now (since like ever) not thats she can tell from phermones what people are in to, just if people are ripe or seasoned.no longer being a person it would be imposible for to be sad, experienc esorrow or loss or defat. all her pains are over. the worst happened and she was killed brutally. but surprise, the remaining 7/8ths of you could live to be 100.
I got more bionic powers like how 2 months later a patch of skin with hair and li’l frecklws on it the sive of a silver dollar fell off her headwhile routininly checking to make sure her brain.to make sure her brain had not accidently. she can't feel sad or fearful. Its not just PTSD but the very root concepts of those primal emotions are pruned back to just active reaction to stimuli.everything is bizarrely delightful. discovering new side effects of the damage is hilarious, news of other punk kids getting beaten is darling. Sybil’s was not even the worst beatings. By fall 285 there were two active gang games. beating fags and bangin’ northern girls. the girls were banges and beaten including one to death and one dying a month later from related trauma. All the fags lived but lost most of the teeth, Syb was the only brain damages unless you count a boy shot to death in the head. but lots of teeth kicked out, broek arms and ribs, targeted non lethal stab wounds in the legs, others had their eye sockets and jaws busted but syb definitely lost the most brains
The reason she can never remember any ones name, and this will never improve, is related to the mostly destroyed sense of self and internal identity i relation to all external to her. her notions of personal space and privacy and the difference between herself and other people is now only understood approximately and by rote. she can't trust her senses or her memory or that enuff of her core consciousness is here for her to actually be a significant consciousness. As compared to, say, a chiken. or perhaps a fish. and with a heightened interest in her own self preservation now, she has to hold everyone to the same standard and find them all terribly wanting.
5Gallon had gone to hell. without sybil’s blasse apathetic attention deficit disorder tyrany, the house had devolved into an uneasy stand off between foppish degenerates trying to build and antisocial club and drunk punks trying to take over sybil’s absurd garbage drugs buyers connections and both factions defending different wings of the house and the degenerates were beginning to regret picking the wing with the missing wall and floor and a dead tree in one room. But the did have the bathroom. There was no privacy, never quiet, dog shit in the kitchen. The house had 24 residents regardless of the habitability of the rooms. syb couldnt remember her way around the house she’d lived in 18 months.
She bumbled around her neighbourhood 3 quarters blind daring any young guys to come up and try to mess her up better. was it sufficient to ruin her good and nasty and then to haunt the neighborhood turning slowly into one of those stray dogs who live on the tracks eating garbage and slow cats and possum smucked by the trains. That was obviously where she belonged cuz she acted like one of those diseased little scavengers. raiding nests when their occupants were out, desperately devouring anything slower or smaller than themselves.
Her head impaled on a pipe with an iron pipe running right through her mind and she was sliding along a nicked up rusted iron pipe through her brain like a shower curtain. home for 2 weeks the civil war of the junkies vs the drunks rages on. She supports the junkies side briefly until after 3 days it turned into 2 or 3 of them nodding out in her room and coming 2 hours later with another 2 bux for her unless she went to the bathroom and then he'd do as much as he could before she got back. He was the one she had to call the hospital on that one time. its too bad that little lamby busker girl got killed or whatever but she had got to keep her little lamb had and she took to wearing it all the time and whenever anyone asked a question she’d say “let me me think about that with my super brain.” and then she’d take the lamb hat off and feel the 33 staples holding her face on an obvious ¼ inch rotated angle, but clearly unfixable at this point. Then she would roll her bad eye awake and watch the purple cloud version of things. after a while she devised a thinking song she’d sing for while she was pretending to think.
All Sorts of preposterous bullshit happened. the drunk punks were gearing up to take over all crack and meth bizznizz is sector 7 by flipping all the ghettos tables and getting all the heads in to BX03, cooked up with a vile of B1 they brought from califurnyeh and x03 cooked from all the weird schizophrenia meds syb had never figured out what to do with. the thought of how this was going to affect established rock vendors in sector7 and how they might react was irrelevant as 5 Gallon had its own gun shop now.
Shortly the least useless of both the drunks and the junkies where weede out and theto sides distilled into super drunk punks and ultra junkie wraiths. by this point they all had the same vices just in slightly different proportions, their nightly faux battles which included discharging firearms in eachothers rooms declaring the ceiling and the light bulbs fair game. one guy got messed up by an exploding lightbulb but that didn't count as sumbuddy overdoing it and shooting someone exactly. Y’know what, I can't talk about it.
Sybil watched as the awkward wobbly door she and cake had built 2 years ago was torn out completely and replaced with a proper wall made with good materials. her and Cakes organic rube goldbergian plumbing and electrical system slowly being replaced by stuff that could pass building code amidst exclamations of amazement at how high they musta been when they wired these things, electrical outlets controlled by hidden switches. lights switched on and with giant levers labeled HEAD. she came home one day to that all coiled up and piled in her room. sumbuddy replaced it with outlets which was fine but there were no legic outlets in her room, just wires and tape.
the drunks got how drunk at 2am and the junkies were up all night jittering. Sybs brain was screaming and broken and couldnt do anything cuz it was broken.
she locked herself in her room with a chainsaw while people pounded on her door screaming and she cut the outside wall off her room and cut off 4 floor joists and the center of the room caved in. she through the oxys on the floor in the kitchen and the chainsaw in the dead bathtub in her room . and she walked out the collapsed back side of the 5 gallon with a bucket of orange and pink paint splattered when her room collapsed, and she walked down main sector road 7 past people walking around and doing summer time stuff and the city had people in it, sell over 33% populated now.
Sybe was two thirds blind and wearing a lamb hat over her brain surgery scars. she walked all the way to sector 3 to find JK and Lex.
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Yuri Ivan the Jackal 's hillbilly punk formal grande ball wedding was perfect. The young Atchuflyan Moonshiner was marrying a young smart mouth scamp named Sean from boston. Sean was like a cross between a cat and a runty, puffy diner roll. He wanted to be a professional, high-end flower arranger after they’d rebuilt the city. Sean helped the Jackal get out of the house from time to time and they’d go watch horses and bet on em and if they got money they’d drink it and go find some amusing thing to do. They’d get really drunk and laugh a lot. Their life seemed perfect.
Just around the corner from anything significant, the wedding was held on a 200-foot pier on the Mississippissippi. The piers on either side were burnt, splintered husks after a lightning fire during the flood. When the harbor security arrived to shut the wedding down, Sybil a bunch of semi-useful documents she’d created from printing out emails from the peoples hurricane relief center to the harbor master. The letters alluded to permits to stage an event, supposedly an action by Morteville Art Therapy college to revitalise the arts in the post-flood period. Syb was convinced it would have worked if any of them had been sober enuff to keep it together.
As it was, the Harbor Police didn’t do much. They guarded the foot of the pier, but didn’t set foot on it, cuz it was horribly falling apart. Many in the wedding party had bloody legs from near falls. With the national guard were on its way, Sean and the Jackal got married very quickly, at the far end of the pier.
Ivan wore a pinstripe suit with no sleeves and knickers. Sea was wearing just a really frilly white apron and paper clips and clothespins in his hair. Lexus officiated, and pronounced them “bitch and wife” and when she declared, “you may drink now,” everybuddy started pounding moonshine as the national guard arrives and began yelling from the land side of the pier.
Eventually, one brave National guard tip-toed all the way from to the wedding from the land. By then everyone was drunk. He had come over and started telling everyone to back off and get out of there and they’d be let go, and no charges, if they left right away. Sea screamed “NO!” and ran at him with a really big handful of wedding cake and threw it in his face and mushed it all over him. The reception party went on for hours, as nobuddy was able to leave the pier without getting arrested.
Syb made out with both the bride and groom by accident while refilling her moonshine. She thought Sea was adorbs like a pixie and they played really really lost boys and they had a pirate sword fight with dead seagulls picked out the flotum. Syb had been the one to walk Sea to the altar so the two of em making out wasn’t weird. Sexual politics is a whole different system in the south. Nevermind queerness, the south has decadence.
By 10pm several guardsmen tried to board the pier at once and one kid sacrificed himself by tackling one into the water. The guardsman swam to shore and the kid swam away. Suddenly everyone went crazy yelling at eachother and half the party swam away then and the other half argued with the National Guard. Everybuddy was yelling so much that Syb was able to quietly climb off the pier and walk away in the shallow water near the shore.
She ran into some other kids who escaped sneaking away too, heading into the little punk camp next to the train yard so they could smoke all night. she was wobbling and throwing up but followed them in that direction for a bit. She didn't linger on the slabs cuz she knew she was in her final window of consciousness, said she was gonna piss and grabbed her shitty blown tire bike and pushed it forward using it as a crutch to keep her wasted all standing and groan mumbled a song on all swear words to keep conscious and stepped in to a floating infinity of railroad ballast rocks and wooden ties and dense tangles of steel rails and its all darkness rust rocks and 53 foot long booming metal tanks rolling past you with no lights or drivers. dozens of trains cars without drivers shuttling back and forth mostly unsupervised sorting by destination semi automatically. Its called a hump yard. 1 quarter of kids who die from freight trains die in these yards.
No she ran off on her own by then. She din’t know those 2 guys. I dont think you do either. If you have an excellent guess that means that you so don’t know. Nobuddy know who they were. I’ve said exactly who it was a dozen time already.
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When they asked her Sybil remembered her name, and she remembered she had no ID cards with her name on it that even allowed her to be in this country, she said her name was Shitty Delight which 3 years ago had sometimes been true. When they had asked her if she knew the date or what city she was in she din’t understand the question. She remembered waking up in an abandoned warehouse in a pile of garbage under a mountain of forklift pallets. It had been the warehouse by the train tracks where you can get on the roof, drink, and watch trains build under the water tower that looks like an 140 foot tall can of purple soda. She remembers kinda stumbling floating through the train yard with bloody hair, eyes swelling up, dizzy, falling a lot. She remembers she was maybe trying to hide before the guy came back? She couldnt stand she couldnt stay concious much longer. I remember all these rooms in her head collapsing in on themselves and everything within buried and torn to pieces and who could have know that who you are is not written of your soul but its scribbled on your meat and that identity can thus be chewed up in to a squishy wad of pink meat and spit.
Well Sybil remembers that well, but its all in dream shadows. any of her memory of the first 3 days is in blasted bleary newborn vision with her functioning right eye still trying to remember how to interpret color blobs and her half crushed blood filled left eye broadcasting really intense retina burning anti light. It looked light darkness except it was really bright darkness. Not “light” darkness, but bright darkness. She remember giving up on her bike and my purse full of wedding pictures and a polaroid camera and a while crawling through the grass and gravel. She just wanted to hide and sleep and pulled a pile of forklift pallets over on top of her to not be found. It would have been funny if she’ died there and no one would have found her for a year or two until people picked all the pallets for firewood.
The time between disappearing from the wedding and getting wheeled in to emergency so they could strip her naked and leave her flopped out in a half coma, that was 3 and a half days. 3 and a half days was as long as she could endure waiting, letting the frontal hematoma soak in nice internal bleeding hot and swollen cook her frontal lobe out from hot pussy infection setting in. Having jumped into a 10 foot deep pit of forklift pallets to hide, she was now at the bottom of a pit. She would have to climb a pile of splintered forklift pallets to escape while holding in her brain with her one working hand.
She remember how everyone found her now: she lay in a pile of garbage for 3 fucking days. every few hours i'd try to get up, and it would be agony and I'd slump back in the garbage pile. felt like 3 minutes but she knew, remembers lying in the garbage watching the sun appear, cross the sky, and go back down a few times. She could really count cuz she perceived the sun as going back and forth across the sky. causality and sequences of events could only exist in theory and are were not be relevant to her thinkingness or decisions. She was in an out of consciousness and by the second day under the pallets she really thought she was at a hospital. Her body was folded with her arm pinned behind her back folded up by the pipe and she bent her arm around a pallet she pulled on top of her back for relief from her arm trying to curl foetal in to her shoulder. . This hospital was all fucked up. all the forklift pallets turned in to hospital beds it was like crawling through hospital beds. it was like 8 months ago when they looted a north side destroyed hospital for stainless steel goods and they had found where one long abandoned attempt to fortify the hospital, barricading the doors with dozens of metal chrome railed hospital beds.The next thing she remembered she was levitating to a better hospital.
She didn't actually levitate to the next hospital, She felt her entire mind get crushed as if the hand of gawd had just suddenly ripped all the electrical wires out of the walls of your house and all the stuff you’d had plugged in went flying and all the sheetrock ripped open and live electrical wires that were shoot extra electricity in electrical death throws where thrashing everything. what actually happened is she spent a long time trying to climb the pallets over the corugated metal fence with a fucked up arm and head and vision. She fell off the pallet pile and bashed her self up more that one and getting over the corrugated metal fence was also nasty work. climbing out of the pit bloodied and bruised her up even more but she just blundered forward holding her brain in having no idea where she was but she knew where she was and she was going sumwhere.
When she thought she was flying she was actually this bloody bruise stumbling randomly through the neighborhood .She doesn’t remember interacting with anybuddy, some woman on st Claude asked her if she needed help and she turned her away saying she had to go sumwhere. She don't remember her stumbling into Eustice and MK's house and them being "holy shit" at her covered in blood and garbage and crashing in to everything, screaming to keep from passing out.. She’d slumped on the floor and garbled "I have come 3 by 7 blocks! they hit me with a pipe. Our hands, our hands are rocks, we throw rocks at them..."
I don't remember any of this but that's what MK told me a month later. MK brought me to the hospital and that attention deficit whore circus flamer boy who lived in 5Gallon’s attic snuck her in ice cream 3 times, each time delaying her brain surgery 24 hours cuz she couldnt be anesthetised with anything in her stomach. She used this extra time to meditate really hard on all the genius skills she wanted her new brain to have as it grew from all the old brain bits, she would endeavor to keep it all organised nicely and, um, something ways about how information is organised to see how good its going. one time it was butter scotch ice cream and then the second it was pink cuz she’d said pink a bunch of times the first time. and the third time she had like a mango sorbet or sumthing and the nurse who was also a non snarked at her for not wanted her brain saved from slowly turning into a large mole.She remembered lying in my very own private hospital room that I got cuz my friend had been nice enuff to complain about them leaving me naked in emergency for 3 days. this may surprise some readers but not that many of her friends had seen her naked before.there were some minor scandals including an engagement broken off and lots of processing but syb declared herself CANCELED and mostly lost consciousness 13 days in hospital went by in 3 hours at most.
Everything else about the hospital was Syb throwing medical junk on the floor for no reason, my friends stealing things, and her every so often trying to get to the toilet under her own power instead of just peeing in the jug. Nobuddy else had any good physiotherapy ideas. After 13 days of mostly being passed out they woke her up and told her they'd finished repairing her skull and She could go now. The bill would be mailed.
Her sight was just blurry double vision with one eye just broadcasting garbage with fuzzy blurry purple crap. She couldn't walk 1000 feet without passing out so she just lay in a hospital room with nurses telling me to leave staring at them and saying ‘yeh’ over and over. They didn't really throw me out until a day later when Dr No showed up and they insisted that he was now responsible for me and get the fuck rid of me. No follow ups, no explanation of how my head is doing, or what I'm supposed to do next.
No stole a lot of gauze from them in retaliation. kept an eye on her , wrote her legitimate non moldy pain killer scripts and took her stitches out from where her face had been cut off to rebuild her left eye and then sewn back of crooked.
Her memory is gobbledegook and all the 5Gallon kids tried to ask her about what happened and everyone hear a totally different version, every one who talked to her had each uncannily foreseen the beating in their minds eye exactly as she described it, over a dozen times. She wasn’t reading her friends minds so much as she was working a much older magic, of how she could steal their ideas and also put thought in their heads. He mind reading abilities only worked because her own had been erases and then few ravenously on any compatible mind that got near. her memory was like a library with all the pages torn out the books and thrown in the air and set on fire. What if she’d done this to herself. Couldnt she remember herself kneeling on the train tracks spun on speed and drunk and smashing in her own skull with that iron rod she’d noticed on the ground sneaking through the yard before. was it real, had that rod gone inside her otherways? had she really come blurry up the tracks pushing a bike with a flat time calling 2 guys faggots and demanding some of what they were smoking ? What kind of person had she been when she’d been alive., to turn up ina train yard collapsing under 4 different substances at midnight picking fights with the roughest crack heads in town.
The last time Syb had got beaten up for being a queer had been in 277 was when she was 19.. Two jock party boys called her and and her skinny goth shaved head hairdresser friend Butterfield a couple of ‘your ass is open faggots.’ Butterfield had flipped them off and the boys had run around the block and jumped them as we walked by the corner. Butterfield got shoved into a parked car and called a fag again. Syb had the larger a 6 foot 3 guy punch her in the head a bunch of times until a bouncer from some bar ran over and chased him off. Broken teeth, concussion, dislocated jaw, one month of purple bag of blood for a face, two months of eating pudding.
No wait, thats not the last time I got queer punched! They all blur together, it can be hard to remember them all in order. There's this whole other story about Syb being depressed and on morphine and She had gone and thrown a rock through Maybe’s window cuz she was feeling incurably lonely. long story. short version is the humongous roofer who lived next door comes outside and starts screaming at her and called her an "it". As in he was hollering at his mates to "Throw this IT the fuck off our property"
You, who are a what exactly? Syb thought. You do not call me an "it". I perceive that as provocational and disrespectful. Why are you asking me to fight you and be disgusted by you ?.
That she had smashed out Yeka’s window and she and Maybe where watching this all furrious and perplexed was completely irrelevant to who ever the hell this guy was. Syb ran right up in his face and pointed at him laughing, "You’re a fucking IT you cock sucking faggot !!"
He was who jaw drop flabbergasted, "...What!?"
So she called him a cocksucking fag again, and she elucidated on the subtle pleasures or fellation this stranger looked like he enjoyed, the filthier the better for the likes of his toilet of a mouth.
Roofer rushed her and pummeled her face. Syb wobbled jacked up from the adrenalin and whatever else and spat blood and started laughing and just jumped right back up at him screaming ‘dick sucking ass rim job shit lick faggy fag fag’ at him. Maybe and Yeka grabbed an arm each and pulled her inside begrudgingly while the cocksucker just stood there shaking and telling his friend to hold him back, bro, hold him back, and his friend tried to stay way back away from any part of it.
Back in 280 in New Paris, working at the tattoo shop and super of an apartment house in Evelyn, neighbours called her fag-witch. Drunk guys on their porches yell at her when she walks down the street that they better not catch her round their children. Fuck you. Those children broke out all the lights on syb’s old station wagon, they throw rocks at her when she does groceries.
Ever been surrounded by 10 children throwing dirt at you and screaming "WE'RE NOT AFRAID OF YOU FAGGOT WITCH!!!" ? Syb walked that off so many times it ain't no thing.
Syb is working on her shit where she calls people “fag”s for calling her a fag. There was s'posed to be a theory about that which went something like"if you cant ignore them away, and trying to explain that she is not really a fag, but more like a queer woman who in spite of conciously acting kind of faggy but sort if isn’t cuz titties and whose only partially male, anyways, kind of, only sumtimes. And she likes fags, at least the dozen shes good friends with.” that doesn't really work in practice in the field. Calling someone a fag for calling her a fag kind of works cuz they just called her a fag like they meant it as an insult so lets call you a fucking fag and you show me what kind of response to that you were expecting.
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CLICK HERE FOR THE TURF WAR OF THE DRUNKS Vs THE JUNKIES !!
http://lilybutterland.livejournal.com/355841.html