paradisalost | 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]

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Kinda. I mean ... it's ... [he drags his hands over his face, then picks Cohen up and lets him run around on the table]

I know I get loud and crude when I'm afraid people will think what I get upset or worked up about doesn't matter. When I want to make sure I'm heard, even if ... it might not be that important in the scheme of things, but it's important to me. And sometimes it really is still fun, to poke the badger and see what happens. Because that's when you get the real side of people.

I just ... I know there's a line. And sometimes I'm afraid that once I cross it, I won't go back. Or more that I won't be able to - that people won't let me.

[His voice is quiet, contemplative]

Mark. The fact that you're aware of that line speaks volumes in and of itself. Knowing one's boundaries is one thing, or the boundaries of a given situation. Being willing and able to cross them is quite another. Speaking as someone who hasn't just crossed the line but leaped whole heartedly over it without a second thought, it's absolutely possible to return back from it. As long as you remember where the line is you can always go back.

[he's quiet for a moment while he digests this. he's pissed off more friends than he wanted to, recently ... but some of them pushed some pretty touchy buttons, too. they knew they were crossing lines just as much as he did. maybe it's a matter of stubbornness, but he can't help but worry, anyway]

And people forgave you?

[There's a longer pause, here. He'd love to tell Mark yes, everyone had forgiven him and they lived happily ever after... but he can't lie to the boy. He sighs softly]

Not everyone. But most of people who matter most have.

The people who matter. [he sighs. until recently, he'd thought Jono would be one of those people]

... Hey. What ... what'd'ya do when someone you thought would matter... turns out not to?

[He pauses. He could answer vaguely, but there's something in Mark's voice...]

Did something happen?

Yeah. While I was on that loss, one of my friends ... well, he kind of turned out to be a douche. I thought he understood me, where I was comin' from -- but he just ... doesn't get it.

[He sighs softly]

I'm sorry, Mark. Have you tried speaking with him? What happened?

He .... okay, well. He's in the Peace Patrol? So he stopped me and Nora from tearing the town apart. Which, sure, I'm kinda glad he did before we did serious damage, but ....

[he sighs, running his hands up over his face and through his hair. it's hard expressing exactly how messy this is, why it upsets him so much, what the core of it is.] ... the reasons why we did it aren't any less true now that we're back to normal. We've just got more restraint. And ... now he thinks that being part of the Patrol gives him carte blanche to sell out his ideals and act like he's got a stick up his ass. ... And it kinda turns out he's been acting like he thinks people expect him to act, instead of being himself.

... You know how I feel about that.

I do. And you're frustrated because he's no longer the person you became friends with. Because he's become someone else entirely instead of staying true to himself.

[He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.] I'm sorry, Mark. I wish I could say there was something you could tell him, or some quick fix to put things back the way they were. Have you tried telling him how you feel?

Yeah, I did. ... It didn't exactly go that hot.

What happened?