Twiin's New Writeups

A story of rape (idea)

2004-03-12T13:34:23Z

It started when she took up residence in my arm. The brachialis, to be specific (although I felt a tickle in my medial border, at times). She would whisper to me of her life in lands I would never see, and of her exile from Arcadia. I promised her safety, and she promised me stories.

I would sing to her at night, when the house was asleep. I spun tales of knights who moved mountains for true love, and warned her of the greed and hatred within men. We would spend eternities together, surrounded by moonlight and sand. Our joy was perfect, crystal pure and clean.

We would have had the world together, if it weren't for the gnomes.

They landed in my ankle, stubborn and gnarled. Green hats and ironwood canes, they were not friendly, and did not care for sovereignty. They annexed my synovial membrane, and made for the hip within weeks.

We did the only thing we could do, and soon the armies made camp at my xiphoid process. The lines were drawn,…

DJ leslie (person)

2004-01-27T11:00:59Z

DJ leslie was a young activist punk who somehow found herself at a Skinny Puppy show when she was 16. Moved by the visceral, raw element of the music, as well as the politics that seemed to flow over from punk to industrial, she soon became a fan of the music and a regular club attendee. Louis Ducharme, Ottawa's prime industrial DJ of the time, offered to teach her to play and she later joined him for guest sets throughout Ottawa and Hull at clubs like Zinc, Le Bistro, Café Deluxe, GiGi's and others. When DJ Louis stepped down, DJ leslie filled his spots and soon developed an audience of her own. Her philosophy about DJing underground music includes a commitment to playing new, challenging music in addition to ignoring the pigeon-holing that takes place in electronic music, playing whatever was underground and dark that fit with her set.

When DJ leslie began to play, there was one local industrial band named Zykotik K9. Soon after their formation, she got involved with…

January 27, 2004 (idea)

2004-01-27T10:40:20Z

In a move that surprised no-one more than myself, I asked Leslie to marry me last week.

...and in a move somehow more difficult to believe, the fool girl said yes.

No dates or anything, we're going to take our time with this. And, you'll probably need a plane ticket to get there, whenever it happens.

...

I will never have enough words to describe the beauty I see, every day I that spend with her.

June 3, 2003 (idea)

2003-06-03T04:30:20Z

This death is a slow one, this death is friction.

Listen:

There is a wall, made of language and logic and reasoning that I cannot penetrate. I cannot tell what the rules are beyond this wall, I cannot tell how it is that what I do is always so improper, so problematic.

I stumble and fall time and time again, thinking that what I am doing is correct. Appropriate. Just. In this, I cannot help thinking that I live alone.

I bloody myself via action and inaction, trying to make it to the other side through sheer will -- but stone is stronger than flesh, and every scar is forever.

I hear them, speaking to me through the skin. They whisper secrets and truth in another tongue, and I cannot make myself understand.

..

All things are a process; on a long enough timescale, the probability of any action will approach certainty.

The process of life will always resolve itself; the process of learning has no…

May 18, 2003 (idea)

2003-05-18T13:15:11Z

...and we crossed the street as fast as we could, the familiar words of hatred in the air.

Bitch. Cocksucker.

They had already knocked the girl down in front of traffic, and she was screaming, sobbing, screaming. The man who almost ran her over had tried to help, and he was on the concrete, three times my size. That left two of us, and six of them.

We got her out somehow, fighting to protect a young lady the size of a twelve-year-old. She didn't even know we were there, I don't think. Only that she wasn't being thrown around anymore, and she was getting away.

By the time security and the cops arrived and dealt with the others, we had made it to the underground parking and out of sight. Leslie kept the police looking elsewhere long enough to share a few cigarettes, and eventually she could talk again. She was from Ottawa, her name was Diane, and between the drugs and the crack of skull on asphalt, she was in pretty bad shape.

The…

Dream Log: April 22, 2003 (idea)

2003-04-22T13:05:40Z

In my dreams, I know only grey skies and the taste of asphalt.

Through a maze of back alleys and scorched fields I try for freedom, the smell of burning cities drives me as much as what will happen when they find me.

Raven's Skeleton, my totem, is here. We are bleached white and broken, we are bound.