94.9 - close the door and find a chair
[it's been a little while, but yet again, at ten, "Everybody Knows" comes wafting over the journals. Harry's kind to his record this week and doesn't scratch the needle over the vinyl - he just lifts it off, and lets silence reign over the journal for a good twenty seconds or so. long enough to make people wonder if he's actually going to open his big fat mouth and start talking]
Wow, you can almost hear the crickets ... and I've got a hungry iguana. What say we feed Cohen, and liven things up around here in one fell swoop? C'mere, buddy. [there's a pause and some audible rustling as he hoists the little lizard out of his terrarium]
I know a lot of you are still gettin' your feet under you, gettin' used to havin' your regular rooms back, goin' on about havin' to walk around in or avoid your own brains for nearly a whole week. Hell, I'm still getting used to it. I love mouthin' off to you guys, but five days of a taste of my own fuckin' medicine? [he laughs] Jesus Christ, how the hell do you sad, sorry fuckers put up with me?
In case you all missed it, running around everyone else's private personal thoughts, the Pie Hole is hiring. As for yours truly, I tried one door out of random curiosity, and all I got for my trouble was soaking wet. And not in the fun way. So, there's that. And to our new people: Danarius, Tear Grants, Anders, and Jet? Congratulations, you showed up in the midst of the weirdest castle fuckery I think I've seen since I got here. This place really outdid itself, this time. And you know why? You guys really wanna know why? Don't say "no", wise-asses, I'm gonna tell you anyway. Bear with me, here.
[he lounges back in his chair, letting Cohen perch on his chest as he digests his dinner] Picture the life of your average Paradisa resident. And I'm not just talking wake up, get outta bed, drag a comb across your head. I'm talking, straight from the inital shock of "where the hell ass balls am I" down to one minute you're walkin' down the hall, and suddenly someone else is tellin' everyone else you're not around anymore. You get here... you flip out. Or not! Some people are amazingly chill about this whole thing - something which yours truly will never completely understand, beyond it being a cultural thing. But one way or another, y'get here. And you start learnin' the ropes. Kitchen on the first floor, beach room, wishes, magic - with or without air quotes around it. Crazy changes to things. People turnin' into random shit. Talking books. The whole enchilada, the works. And whether you want to or not, sooner or later, you make a routine.
Maybe you make a few friends, maybe you're a loner. Maybe you find a job, down in town, or spend the whole day picking your ass on the couch down in the lobby, watchin' everyone go by. Maybe you try an' help people out, or make their lives hell. Maybe you spend your Monday nights listening to some asshole talk bullshit. But you get a groove goin', something that doesn't mean too much to you, somethin' to fill the space in between the crazy bullshit, so that when the downtime hits, you can pretend you're still sane. That life's normal.
And then we all get mirrors held up to our brains for five days, and the truth hits like a ton of shit bricks: none of us are normal. None of this is normal. Whether we had the right to go crawlin' around inside each other's heads isn't the point. The point IS: nobody's head was the same as anyone else's - well, 'cept maybe the Doctors, but they don't really count, because they're fucking insane in the good kinda way. We were all special snowflakes, and we still are.
So the next time you go wanderin' around and get into some argument with somebody else, because you think they should automatically know exactly where you're comin' from and why they're pushin' your buttons ... or on the other hand, if you decide to be That Guy and tell someone what they think is wrong, or they're lookin' at somethin' the wrong way? Remember that their room didn't look a goddamn thing like yours.
And thank this crazy, fucked-up place for at least having the last shred of decency it possibly could, by not makin' us all cookie-cutter clones. 'Cuz you KNOW it could, if it really wanted to.
[with that, he'll put on some music and just chill, waiting for the masses to chime in. at some point during the evening's broadcast, he idly scribbles in a filter]
[Peace Patrol]
Hey, you guys all heard about the problem this Fenris guy is having, right? ... And I've heard some scuttlebutt about some people wanting to get one of the prisoners released. What's the skinny on that?
[/Peace Patrol]
Wow, you can almost hear the crickets ... and I've got a hungry iguana. What say we feed Cohen, and liven things up around here in one fell swoop? C'mere, buddy. [there's a pause and some audible rustling as he hoists the little lizard out of his terrarium]
I know a lot of you are still gettin' your feet under you, gettin' used to havin' your regular rooms back, goin' on about havin' to walk around in or avoid your own brains for nearly a whole week. Hell, I'm still getting used to it. I love mouthin' off to you guys, but five days of a taste of my own fuckin' medicine? [he laughs] Jesus Christ, how the hell do you sad, sorry fuckers put up with me?
In case you all missed it, running around everyone else's private personal thoughts, the Pie Hole is hiring. As for yours truly, I tried one door out of random curiosity, and all I got for my trouble was soaking wet. And not in the fun way. So, there's that. And to our new people: Danarius, Tear Grants, Anders, and Jet? Congratulations, you showed up in the midst of the weirdest castle fuckery I think I've seen since I got here. This place really outdid itself, this time. And you know why? You guys really wanna know why? Don't say "no", wise-asses, I'm gonna tell you anyway. Bear with me, here.
[he lounges back in his chair, letting Cohen perch on his chest as he digests his dinner] Picture the life of your average Paradisa resident. And I'm not just talking wake up, get outta bed, drag a comb across your head. I'm talking, straight from the inital shock of "where the hell ass balls am I" down to one minute you're walkin' down the hall, and suddenly someone else is tellin' everyone else you're not around anymore. You get here... you flip out. Or not! Some people are amazingly chill about this whole thing - something which yours truly will never completely understand, beyond it being a cultural thing. But one way or another, y'get here. And you start learnin' the ropes. Kitchen on the first floor, beach room, wishes, magic - with or without air quotes around it. Crazy changes to things. People turnin' into random shit. Talking books. The whole enchilada, the works. And whether you want to or not, sooner or later, you make a routine.
Maybe you make a few friends, maybe you're a loner. Maybe you find a job, down in town, or spend the whole day picking your ass on the couch down in the lobby, watchin' everyone go by. Maybe you try an' help people out, or make their lives hell. Maybe you spend your Monday nights listening to some asshole talk bullshit. But you get a groove goin', something that doesn't mean too much to you, somethin' to fill the space in between the crazy bullshit, so that when the downtime hits, you can pretend you're still sane. That life's normal.
And then we all get mirrors held up to our brains for five days, and the truth hits like a ton of shit bricks: none of us are normal. None of this is normal. Whether we had the right to go crawlin' around inside each other's heads isn't the point. The point IS: nobody's head was the same as anyone else's - well, 'cept maybe the Doctors, but they don't really count, because they're fucking insane in the good kinda way. We were all special snowflakes, and we still are.
So the next time you go wanderin' around and get into some argument with somebody else, because you think they should automatically know exactly where you're comin' from and why they're pushin' your buttons ... or on the other hand, if you decide to be That Guy and tell someone what they think is wrong, or they're lookin' at somethin' the wrong way? Remember that their room didn't look a goddamn thing like yours.
And thank this crazy, fucked-up place for at least having the last shred of decency it possibly could, by not makin' us all cookie-cutter clones. 'Cuz you KNOW it could, if it really wanted to.
[with that, he'll put on some music and just chill, waiting for the masses to chime in. at some point during the evening's broadcast, he idly scribbles in a filter]
[Peace Patrol]
Hey, you guys all heard about the problem this Fenris guy is having, right? ... And I've heard some scuttlebutt about some people wanting to get one of the prisoners released. What's the skinny on that?
[/Peace Patrol]