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PLEASE NOTE: The Reality TV World Message Boards are filled with desperate
attention-seekers pretending to be one big happy PG/PG13-rated family. Don't
be fooled. Trying to get everyone to agree with you is like herding cats,
but intolerance for other viewpoints is NOT welcome and respect for other
posters IS required at all times. Jump in and play, and you'll soon find out
how easy it is to fit in, but save your drama for your mama. All members are
encouraged to read the
complete guidelines.
As entertainment critic Roger
Ebert once said, "If you disagree with something I write, tell me so, argue
with me, correct me--but don't tell me to shut up. That's not the American way."
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"SSC(CW) How Dare you?"
Superman 3156 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Car Show Celebrity"
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06-28-01, 06:02 AM (EST)
 
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"SSC(CW) How Dare you?" |
The children are my biggest fans. They gather everyday to watch me work in my little corner of the world. They play the same game, guessing what it is, and squealing when they get it right. Sometimes, I cheat a little and change it in midcourse so that the littlest ones can win. I'm an artist by trade and that's all that I ever was and all that I'll ever care to be. I let the kids paint with me sometimes. Their "m" birds and sideways feet amuse me at times and other times I can be amazed at the amount of beauty that can be found in a finger painting. That particular morning was filled with rain, so I stayed home. The urge to work finally overcame me and I sat down with my tools. There were no children about, the day was mine and mine alone and I wanted to create something that, that...."meant" something...to me anyway. The title was easy enough to come up with. I called it "Growing Up Me", before I ever laid brush to paper. The idea was clear. I wanted to create a story, my story, on one 12 x 15 canvas. So, I allowed myself to drift into the places that I hadn't been in many years. Places that I had forgotten, intentionally or otherwise. And as the memories flooded me, the rain seemed to try to erase them. But.....but it was too late, it was always too late. I remember now. I remember why I forgot. I tried to mix the blue, but it became gray. The black slipped in while I recalled the shame, as did the red. The shades of yellow and green escaped me and absent were the clouds, streams, and mountain tops that seemed to rule my work. No, not today. Not for me. I don't deserve it, do I? I can feel the strap beat against my back again and it becomes an crimson flash upon the canvas. I try to suppress the hate I feel for everyone, but suppression isn't the answer. It spills out of me as I recall them saying, "He was in an accident." I guess that was a little more socially acceptable than saying that I was born this way. The pressure of the brush is too great and it leaves indentions on the canvas, but I don't care. I stood back and looked at the finished work, the tear-stains resembled the rain. My friend the rain. And I wonder if the rain ever regrets falling to this wretched earth. I think it should live forever in my head. The painting was complete and it was true to it's name. I took my work to my little corner and put it on display. The children came and we played and enjoyed the rest of the day. That is, until someone finally asked about the painting. I told them that different paintings had different meanings to different people and this one was the story of my life. The children all stopped and stared at it. They became motionless and some began to wince and scream. The others either ran away or cried. A little boy turned to me and said, "How dare you paint this picture?" Slowly my thoughts became black again, mixed with gray and a touch of red. I took my picture and ran home. The next day, I brought my picture back to the corner. But this time, I had covered it all in a rose color. I sold it for twenty dollars. You can put a price on anything, I guess. It's hanging above someone's couch now, because it matches their carpet. The black slips in now as I recall the shame. I think back to that night as I dipped the bristles into the rose colored paint and I remember thinking, "How dare you paint this picture?" I hold out my hand and watch as little drops of water burst as they reach my palm. I pray that this time it seeps into my scalp and forever finds a home. A smile, once again reaches me. My friend the rain.
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VampKira 4433 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Jerry Springer Show Guest"
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06-28-01, 06:09 AM (EST)
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1. "RE: SSC(CW) How Dare you?" |
Supe.. This was beautiful.. sad and sweet.. And I adore you more now if that is possible. You are very talented, my friend. I love the "pictures" YOU "paint"  *goes and gives Supe a big hug* 
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"Let's spend the night together,
You'll wake up and live forever."
-Jamiroquai
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Du ar min hjälte, Supermänniska 
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SherpaDave 8324 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold"
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06-28-01, 11:42 AM (EST)
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2. "RE: SSC(CW) How Dare you?" |
Supes, one of the things I really like about this piece is that it didn't at all end in my mind when the writing itself ended. I kept picturing the painting, hanging in someone's house, the soul obscured but still there, waiting... on the exterior, matching the carpet, but internally the same and seeping its alien energy into the house, affecting the lives of the folks living there in ways they could not have possibly anticipated. Not necessariy badly, but in ways that would make their lives skew from their normal courses.Very rich, Supes. This one may continue telling the rest of the story in my brain for a while.
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mistofleas 8043 desperate attention whore postings
DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold"
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06-28-01, 01:53 PM (EST)
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5. "RE: SSC(CW) How Dare you?" |
*jaw drops* *stares at Supe*
*gets on the floor and grovels*
mistofleas
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p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e - p l a c e h o l d e r t e x t g o e s h e r e -
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