Title: Purple Glitter and Trent Reznor
Author: Cordelia LaMorte
Summery: Release of bordem. That and I'm struck with the utterly destestful
Dedication: This one goes specially to the very kickass guy passed out ont he
couch who bought me this very kickass Deftones shirt today. Phil baby, you
kick some major ass and just scored yourself good boyfriend points. And as
always to the usual suspects, Dark Ferret, Victoria, Susan, Em, Jen(s),
Malantha, Terri, and everybody else who let's me know I don't suck as much
as I think. You guys are saving me a lot on theropy bills!
Disclaimer: Own? Ha! I own a broken leg and new Deftones shirt...however if
anyone will like to send me the deed's to both Trent Reznor and Hugh
I love Trent Reznor. Simple all there is to it. Kitty and Jubilee are
into teeney bopper stuff. Backdoor-something and all that crap, well Kitty
more than Jubes. Kitty is into the same techno as Bobby, which makes her
stuff more tolerble than the other.
Me? I grew up in small town Mississippi. The only thing we have to do
is rebel. Rebel against God, which explains my abandonment of Catholism.
Rebel against your parents. My momma wasn't someone who was easy to rebel
against being she did all the things parents preach against anyways, but that
just made the challenge more intriging, I found ways and it landed me in the
emergancy room more than a few time. Makes me almost glad the woman's dead
now. Then came Aunt Margot and Uncle Julien. My families French and that
equates to Catholic which translate to perfect stomping ground for utter
extravagance. The big shit they ignored. Attributed it to the fact I was
still grieving for my mother. Ignored Trent's majestic voice scream that God
was dead and no one cared, ignored the colour changes in my hair every other
day. Ignored that my best friend was gay. Well almost ignored that any way.
But the smaller rebellions held the most impact. Keeping my eyes open
during the blessing, not bothering to cover up the marajuna smoke as I walked
in the house, not wearing a bra sometimes. Though I do believe I took it a
step to far when after one of my uncle's gospel's on how prayer should be put
in school, I believe that is a form of segregation of religion. Too many
religons, too many who don't even believe in such a figure, also
unconstitutional, I bit my tongue to keep from reminding my naval officer
uncle of that. Seperation of Church and State after all. As an act of revenge
I made sure a copy of Anton Szander LeVay's satonic bible sat at the end of
my bed one day. Tante Margot cried. Julien beat me, sent me to confession. I
didn't go. Headed for Zakk's house and hid out in his VW bus for a night.
I came back and found out that Tante Margot miscarried during the
night. I even went with my mother's brother- in -law to church that Sunday,
though I feigned ill and hid in the bathroom to avoid looking at the
crusifiction fixed above the alter. Though I could still hear the sermen over
the speaker afixed in the powder room. To me there is nothing more morbid
than the crusifiction. Especially after a particularly bad trip of LSD where
I'd wondered into the house of the absentee god and had viewed a living man
strung up on the wood. Zakk had found me and took me back to his house. That
was the night I meet Cody.
A precher's son. One of the most rebelious people on the Lord's Tara.
Also someone I wanted to impress which lead me to the wearing of a skirt that
day in my room. I'd been so proud at how I'd picked out an outfit that wasn't
a pair of jeans with the knees missing and a Sublime shirt. I think back now
and a realize how ugly it had been. I'd even done my hair, though it didn't
look like it.
My guardians approved because of Cody's church assossiation. Though
the boy was less than Christian. Even allowed us up into my room alone. I was
suprised. I was usually jumping off the low roof above the porch to go to
Jakob's to play pool. I'm damn good at it too. I confided in Cody my
desperation to get the hell out of Mississippi and figure out what I was.
Alaska seemed an intresting pick. Few people. Snow. The complete and thorough
oppisate of Mississippi, that and that's where the dart I threw landed.
Escape the memories of my mother's over drug use. My relative's religious
oppression, and my bordem.
There was a family secret my Grand Mere told me before she died. Grand
Poppy used to beat Evangeline and Margot. The results were very different
though. Momma turned to chemicals and a never ending string of swamp trash
bastards, Tante burried herself into her religion. I think she only took me
in cause she thought she might atone for her wayward sister's actions. The
same that got me here. The same that made Margot LeCroix believe I would burn
in hell even if I stood for the pledge at school every morning, even if I
didn't listen to Tori Amos or Nine Inch Nails or watch The Crow religiously
and read Poppy Z. Brite.
Didn't stop them from sending me off to piano class for four hours a
day, disn't stop them from buying me a new bible everytime I let Zakk set the
last one on fire, or a new crusifix for both my Christmas and Birthday. I
pawned all those by the way. I needed money for the road and I couldn't
access my mother's insurance money for another two years when I originally
started out. Now I only have three month's til I can and the first thing I'm
doing is buying Logan a new jacket, being his is all torn up on account of
Sabretooth. Then I'm buying a gutair. Same as Jakob's: Driskell Diablo MQ-S,
holographic midnight blue finish, silver and pooka shell rose vine design up
the neck, sterling silver tuning pegs. It's the multible orgasim of gutairs
and I already found a music store in Salem Center that has one.
Tante's religous belief's also didn't stop her from sending me to
Catholic school when the state dropped me off with her, four hour's after
Evangeline's funeral, my stuff had already been sent and was unpacked waiting
for me. Catholic school does something to people. Most everyone I've ever
spoken to that has attended one agrees on this one, those that don't are also
the one's that believe that French kissing and murder will get you sent to
the same place.
I don't know where I get my shyness from though. Momma was sure as
hell not prude in any damn way, I slept through theology class at school. I
think maye it might be me not wanting to become Evangeline. Though physically
I see it. Same greenish eyes, same auburn hair, she didn't have a white
streak though- that's probably one of reasons I never dyed my hair after the
whole thing with Magneto. It was a way to make sure I wouldn't be mistaken
for her. Same scrunniness, though I definately have some curves going on. I'm
naive but not enough to let some rather appriative glance go unnoticed as I
Never will I ever turn my back on Trent Reznor. Infact last summer I
went with Remy down to New Orleans and he showed me Trent's house in the
Garden District. Black and white, Greek revival,short, black wrought irorn
fence surrounds it. I reached in between the metal ribs of the gate and
snatched a handful of grass. It's in a gris gris Remy made me sitting on my
vanity along with a small collection of Trent memorabilia , purple glitter
and eyeliner. I'll love him for always. Trent is my God. But I still miss
Kitty's bubbley tunes beating wheezily out of a half battered boom box, and
Jubilee's rave music that I'd dance to. They're gone now. Kitty's in England
with the Excalibur people, and Jubes is in Massachusetts attending our sister
Logan's currantly seated on my bed, Grace Slick's voice is pouring
from my stereo, full of gravel and drugs. He's playing around with my
unfolded laundry, trying to figure out what the white cloth is in his hands.
I wonder if I should tell him it's a bra. Nah let him figure it out.
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