Thursday, January 12, 2006

Interlude

I had the most amazing dream the other night and I still remember the details now, which is extremely weird for me.  Well, I’m going to share it with you.  It’s a dream revolving around Gerard.  I rate it R for sexuality, rape, violence, thematic elements surround vampires, and a brief mention of incest.

Me and four friends go to an MCR concert. Gerard makes eye contact with me and I’m doing the whole girl thing. We leave the concert and go to a restaurant and then we’re driving home. I’m sitting in the backseat with two of my girlfriends and I’m on the right side of the car, next to the door.

For some unknown reason I suddenly have this emotional epiphany that my life is too predictable. I open the car door and fling myself out of it. The two friends in the back seat follow me.

They chase me until we’re all on the subway. They try and drag me out, but I refuse to move and the train starts moving. The car is completely empty. They’re bitching at me, saying that some guy’s going to come onto the train and rape us.

The lights flicker and then go out as the train stops. The doors open and we see the sillouette of a man stepping onto the train: long hair, long jacket, and an apple.

The doors close and the train moves, and then the lights come on. Me and my friends see that it’s Gerard. They’re both sitting on one of the benches and I’m sitting on the floor, leaning back on my arms, my legs bent up at the knee.

He smiles at us and takes a bite out of the apple. We’re all quite at ease with the situation and then I notice something, but my friends don’t. As Gerard is taking bites out of his apple, I notice his teeth morphing from molars to fangs and back again. He realizes I notice and smiles, dropping the apple.

I scramble onto the bench next to my friends and he crosses the car until he’s directly in front of us. Quickly, he sucks the blood of both my friends; killing one and turning the other.

When he turns to me I try and run from the seat, but he knocks me onto the ground, hovering over me. He’s trying to bite my neck and I struggle as my friends did not.

The scene changes to some time later, but I understand the backstory.

I live in a house filled with other vampires. Gerard refuses to turn me until I agree to it, much to the displeasure of everyone else living in the house, but they won’t lay a hand on me. Everyday I try and run away, to the subway, but Gerard’s spies always catch me before I make it. Then, he rapes me. The next day the cycle repeats.

Returning to present time, there is a banquet going on in the house. I try to run again, but trip before I’ve even made it out of the yard. For reasons completely unknown and unrelated, my mother chases me out of the house in tears and asks if I’m trying to get her attention by doing this.

I’m trying to explain, but the next thing I know I’m in Gerard’s chambers yet again. He teases me about only making it ten yards out of the house. Then, he rapes me again.

We have a discussion and an agreement (more his agreeing and my submitting). He promises not to send spies after me the next day, but if I do not agree to be turned by midnight and marry him, I will die.

I run and I make it, but he finds me sitting on a bench as if I were simply waiting. And I was. We go to a hotel and he doesn’t rape me, although we have a discussion.

I agree to marry him on a few conditions. The first is that he may no longer have mistresses. The second is that he will treat me as a wife, not as a toy or sex slave.

He agrees and then I ask him some questions about turning. One of them is if female vampires continue to have periods and he tells me know. In a sad voice I murmur that I will never be able to have a child. He corrects me and tells me that it is possible for vampires to have children. I tell him I want a child and he agrees that we can have one in 100 years.

Then, he turns me in a scene ripped straight from the pages of Interview With the Vampire. He sucks my blood and then draws his own with a device on his finger. I drink his blood. Then he calls a member of the hotel staff to our room and I drink their blood.

I’m repulsed after I realize what I’ve done and I yell something about how I can’t kill innocent people for food. He snides me on having a soft heart, but tells me that I can drink from rapists, thieves, murderers, drug dealers if I so choose. He tells me that I need to drink blood from at least 6 people if I’m to retain proper strength.

Another part of the backstory enters here. Vampires can go out in daylight, cannot be staked through the heart, but can be severly hurt by holy water.

Fast forward one or two months and I realize Gerard is having an affair with a man, not a woman, and that man is his brother. This is when he refuses to give up his other lover and also how I learn of the turning of the five band members.

Mikey was turned first at the age of 20. He turned Gerard next, when Gerard was 26. After that I’m not sure who was turned next, but the point is that they were all turned and are now each nearly two thousand years old. In this era they have chosen to be a rock group.

I also realize that despite Mikey being older in the ways of vampires, Gerard is the leader of our ‘cult’, if you will.

I grow bored of my life. I may have been raped every night, but running was a struggle that I enjoyed. Gerard agrees to a game I’ve concocted in my head. We are going to find a night and humans that will be falling into the same trap my friends and I were tricked into so long ago, except now I will be in the subway car.

We create every scene, including the young woman running everyday and my husband raping her everytime she is caught, with me right there to watch.

One night he leaves after violating her and I stay behind. She asks how I can love a man like that and I break her neck.

Then … I wake up.

Posted by Dru at 21:32:11 | Permalink | No Comments »

Jack the Ripper

“Then holding hands and life was perfect,
Just like up on the screen.” -MCR, Early Sunsets Over Monroeville

My mom is having an affair.  And not just with anyone.  With her ex-husband who is currently married to her ex-best friend.  We’re all living in the house my ’stepdad’ (as I call him) lives in (Nebraska).  His wife left for NYC and is never coming back.

They’ve been sleeping together since June.  He loves her and she loves him, but he’s stupid and she’s stupid too.  He won’t leave his wife and she won’t shut up. 

It’s enough to make my head spin.  But mostly I just act like I don’t know what’s going on.

There’s my rant.

Adults are so fucking stupid sometimes.

Luvverzz,
Mrs. Iero, aka Dru

BERT: I like the smell of a dirty rock club.  Cigarette and sweat and … balls.
GERARD: That’s pretty accurate, actually.
BERT: Like a tour bus smell.
GERARD: Tour bus smell …
BERT: I love that smell.  It remind of … who is that stupid bitch? … Just kidding.

 

Posted by Dru at 21:14:30 | Permalink | No Comments »

I Never Told You What I Do For a Living

“My obsession with kissing boys is purely for fun.  You know, like worshipping Satan is fun.” -Bert McCracken

Actually, I never told you what I got for Christmas.

My shmexy MCR shirt (the red one with the graveyard)
Two pairs of dangly earrings
These super hot rose earrings from Hot Topic
2 CDs that I returned (I returned Taste of Chaos (the CD) and the first MCR record (because I already have it) and I got the Taste of Chaos DVD, the Making Memories DVD/CD, and the new AP magazine!)
This cool chunky ring from Claire’s with a fake red jewel in it.  Super cool.
MY NEW CELL PHONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A new MCR poster
Some stuff from Bath & Body works
A really cool mud green tie with three red stars on it.
I can’t remember what else.

Luvverzz,
Mrs. McCracken, aka Dru

“One night Gerard and I were making out for so long it almost wasn’t funny any more — even though it still was.” -Bert

Posted by Dru at 21:05:24 | Permalink | No Comments »

Manifestation of Self-Inflicted Hate

I wanted this poem to have it’s own post.

Manifestation of Self-Inflicted Hate

why do people hate themselves?
you always ask that when you can’t possibly know.
why do you starve yourself? why do you cut?
why do you get high? why do you sell yourself for drugs?

why can’t you love yourself?
only people untouched by this manifestation of self-inflicted hate
dare to ask that question.
and they will never understand.

i try to escape myself and run up the stairs
only to find it’s a one-way elevator
i try to escape myself by breaking myself in the mirror
but my shadow just laughs behind me

i forget who i am when those pills touch my tongue
i forget who i am when i stare at the blood
i forgot what brought me here when i wake up
and i can’t remember how to get out

how dare you ask me when you can’t even know?
if you knew you wouldn’t ask for you know there’s no answer.
one can never be found; this isn’t a test
there’s no pass or fail, just a broken spirit and a second glance

you can’t comprehend why someone would starve
why they can’t forget what it’s like to not feel empty.
you can’t comprehend why i’m fascinated with my blood
as it contrasts with my pale skin, the false spirit i’ve become

i trip and i fall and i can’t run away
hands hold us back, there’s no chance of return
if you knew it, if you felt it you wouldn’t ask questions
you’d know there’s no answer for this one person dance

you’d understand that these words are a confession
not a meaningless plea for help that will never come
you’d understand i don’t want pity or you to understand
i just want some release for the ghost i’ve become

why i lock myself in my room for hours, listening to the same song over and over
why i stare at my walls and the pictures i’ve plastered of everything and nothing, just a hollowness best forgotten
why i can’t forget despite my vows and no matter how much i pull myself up, i just continue to fall back down
you can’t understand, you can’t possibly know, what it feels like to be me

i know from your questions, your pityful and pityless stares
i know from the look of horror on your face as you glimpse a white pill or a scar
i know from the way you can’t look away no matter how repulsed you are
i know and you know but you continue to watch my dance

your questions are meaningless, a charade of wanting to understand
you know that you don’t want to understand how dark a person can become
i’m a manifestation of self-inflicted hate
and you are nothing in my hazed over state.

Posted by Dru at 20:54:35 | Permalink | No Comments »

Some New Poetry

“Where the searchlights find us
Drinking by the mausoleum doors
And they found you on the bathroom floor.” -MCR, Cemetery Drive

Forget

If I could feel for you
I would.
Don’t you know that?
If I could spare a heartbeat for you
I would.
Don’t you know that?

If your eyes weren’t sad and red.
If your lips weren’t bruised and bled.
If your face weren’t flushed and torn.
If your neck were not adorned
By bruises not of my creation.

If I could feel your pulse
I would.
Don’t you know that?
If I could choke you with my hands
I would.
Don’t you forget that.

If I could spare a moment of my time
To glance at your pale body in that stupid fucking box
I wouldn’t.
Don’t you fucking forget that.

Two Days, Two Minutes

it’s unwashed, this sea of red
unexplored, unknown
it’s untouched, these murderous hands
feared, too well known

chipped nail polish, faded lipstick
eyes of blue filled with tears
no remorse, just fear of repayment
for the body at her feet

metal hits pavement, tears fall down
she stares at the body, kicks it, runs
nowhere to go, nowhere but down
she hears voices, she yells

a pale body lies ten floors down
her blood spattered shirt a reminder
her blue eyes close as she turns and smiles
laughing at the people before her

four days ago an honor student
three days ago discovered pregnant
two days ago he left her
two minutes age he left the earth

her hand touches her stomach
her eyes fill with tears
stepping backward toward an open window
as they scream reassurances she falls

one last look at a black sky
the moon hidden by smog
one last thought of her unborn son
as she joins his father on the ground

Luvverzz,
Dru

“White it out like glittering wax butterflies …” -The Used, Maybe Memories

Posted by Dru at 20:53:41 | Permalink | No Comments »

I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts…

(Gerard is reading questions from a fan to Bert)
GERARD: Bert, does broccoli really make you so horny?
BERT: Yes.
GERARD: … and would you autograph my Used panties?
BERT: Yes.  Don’t tell your mom.  Don’t tell your mom about that broccoli either.

I was on INO (imnotokay.net) and they had a rant going about Teen Beat and Bop and those magazines making Gerard out to be their new poster boy and basically the only member of MCR.  The rant rambled off on teenies.  This was my reply.

I said this to someone.  I hate it when bands seem to only have one member.

However, I do buy those magazines simply because I want the pictures up on my walls.  It makes me laugh out loud at the way they portray them and how they just regurgitate facts and make it sound like it was an exclusive interview or something. 

I end up throwing at least 80% of the magazine away as soon as I get my MCR & GD stuff, sometimes some SP or GC.

In my area those are basically the only magazines you can get that have anything to do with MCR or Green Day or any bands that you wouldn’t play on ‘TeenyBoppers Top 40′, so I do buy the magazines for pictures.

When I’m in Omaha or a large city, that’s when I have the opportunities to get AP and things like that (which I do), but in my area you have to take what you can get.

And I am one of those girls that puts my bands all over my walls, simply because I like knowing that … well, that they’re there, I guess.

I don’t think putting pictures on your walls is a sin, but I do think that it’s sad that bands are made out to be one-man shows.

Also, I do not think new fans are automatically teenies.  I’m a new fan.  I’d never heard of MCR because in the small town I grew up in, that sort of music was not only evil, but unhead of.  I didn’t get into MCR until I graduated and a friend told me about them and then I became a huge fan.  I didn’t jump on the bandwagon, I was introduced to music I had never heard of.

It was amazing to be able to finally experience things that I couldn’t.  I don’t love MCR because ‘they’re sooooo hawt’ or whatever.  I love their music, I love their lyrics, I think they’re entire viewpoint and existance is an art form. 

People are often labelled as teenies if they owned MCR’s second album before they’re first or the first MCR song they heard was ‘Helena’.  To me that’s a type of prejudice.  You don’t even take the time to find out someone’s story before you label them.  Yeah, there are teenies and they are new “fans” but not all new fans are teenies.

Luvverzz,
Dru

“People think we’re rich vampires.” -Gerard

Posted by Dru at 20:48:01 | Permalink | No Comments »