Chapter 1 : Lost

*This is a rough.
Overview: Lani Analyse Michel is an accomplished blogger in Seattle, however because of her success she is beginning to lose herself in her work.

Lani sat in her office, her lavish little office decorated in congratulatory flowers and bath scented things. She had not been this praised in a while and due to her 100,000 viewer success of a blog she was able to rejoice with a tiny cup of wine and a new CD to boot.
Who bought CD's anyway? She mused. She felt irked, empty almost and as she sipped her bouschie wine and contemplated newer arrivals of things to blog about she could not shake a certain feeling. A certain void, something was seriously irritating her and she couldn't put her finger on what.


The next day as her brand new computer came in she signed the release, thanked the UPS guy and slipped it into her living room. Pursing her lips, she curled her fists on to her hips and leaned on her left leg. God! she hissed and picked up her cell phone to check it for the millionth time. Nothing, not even a text. Irritated she threw it on the couch and sat on the floor to rip open the packaging to hack at her new baby. 


Days slipped by--with cup of noodles in her hand, invitations she had never R.S.V.P'd to and friends she had not seen,She felt herself slipping. Things that normally she felt excited about seemed to drift off into a place where she seemed to completely forget where she was, the thunk of keys from the keyboard were her comfort for the week when her phone buzzed. 


"Yeah?" She blurted, her fingers poking irritably at the so-called touch screen that refused to obey. 


"This is an attempt to collect a debt.." came a monotoned voice.


Lani sighed, disconnecting the call and turning back to her work.Her fingers stopped, she pushed herself away from the chair, ran her fingers through her ear lengthed hair and sat up.
Today she'd get out of the damn house. 
damnit. 


"Where are you?" a calamity of text messages, popping up one after another as she entered her local grocery store. Seemed to be that she simply had no reception at her home, so she admirably flipped open her phone scootching the cart lazily down the dairy aisle right into a young man, her age, auburn hair and brilliant blue eyes. She gasped and apologized profusely, her card causing a jolt to his normal shopping day and nearly knocking the wind out of him. 
"Yeah its alright.." he furrowed his brow at her apologies and gently brushing her off so that he could gather his belongings that had fallen.

She gulped, her heart pounding as she helplessly clutched her phone and purse and scooted away. Embarrassed by her actions of the ridiculously beautiful man she paused at the end of an aisle. Biting her lips she watched as he was checked out, slipping open his armani wallet to purchase his groceries.

"Wow.." she said softly to herself, leaning against the cart so heavily that it screeched loudly as it swerved from her weight. Half the aisle turned to stare as she quickly made her way into another aisle. 

One upper.

In every class there is always a select group of people that have to make their situation seem far more dire than the person sitting next to them.

In their eyes they are the martyrs of art, sacrificing hours of sleep, food and money in order to provide--oh wait! Shit everything went to waste. All is wrong with the world and the Gods are set up against you solely to provide you weeks worth of nothing because your computer became downtrot. Sobbing and tears ensue and the entire blooming class has to here it.


Welcome to my advanced materials and lighting class. I've been fortunate and smarter enough that when I would be at work or not at home my computer would be rendering non-stop. My computer was on, miserable and rendering for three straight days. (Poor thing.)

I wish I could say that I am done but I'm not. Currently at the school watching digital paint dry with a fellow groupmate who was patient enough to re-take the scene re-vise it and make it so that the renders are just as good in half the time. I am in awe, he was a trooper and we're revising this so that we can pass this damn class. (if the Computer Gods let us.)

Today was a weird day. I keep having these out of body experiences where I dont quite focus on what it feels like to be in my body, except the fatigue. The exhaustion my body is holding to despite a two hour nap. In the last two days I have had 8 hours of sleep,if you heard it in my voice you would most likely notice how rehearsed I sound. My chapped lips and my crackly voice symbolizing that in a few years time I just might resemble Gollum, eh well .We had a good run didn't we looks?

Alas, Seattle has been accomodating. The weather is cold and grey in the middle of june and I sort of like it. At least no one else is having a ton of fun while I'm choking and coughing up finals like the black plague.

After today no stress, all my homework will have been turned in and I will be a happy camper.

Let's get some fuckin french toast!

Ride.

Life doesn't stop for Finals.
Friends dont stop grabbing for your hand, smiles on their beautiful faces begging you to come out and enjoy the sunshine.

I cant help but reach out and then pull back knowing I have other obligations that involve sitting in a computer lab and being far to intimate with a keyboard rather than I'd let a lover.

It's almost over.
My mind races with thoughts of compositing while i'm sitting here paralyzed by the lack of a power cord for my computer  (i'm at work using theirs..) and the all to prevalent realization that I'm once again here til midnight. Fidgetting, readjusting my sitting position and staring out the window like a lost puppy.

I stretch out my legs, dancing for no one and humming songs that are suddenly quieted by passerbys. God FORBID they hear a note escape my mostly mute lips.

Whatever. In literally a day i'll be done with school and have to show up on friday, look pretty and high five my group mates for working their asses off to make a 22 minute presentation. Shivering in our nice garb and praying to God that the thing is over with as soon as humanly possible.

Life is funny that way.
People dont stop leaving.
They expect you to stay however.

I guess I can be okay with that for now.

For my ancestors

There's a tribe that believes that the better you feast and live your life the better your ancestors will see how far you've come. You celebrate the dead by enjoying your life.

Last night I came home to my two roommates who had laid out an entire indian dinner, chicken curry, naan bread, garlic hummus and lit candles. They created a card for me that had all my favorite celebrity crushes. They took the time to cut out "Happy birthday" signs with streamers place them just before you enter the kitchen.

Every year I never quite expect anything for my birthday. Every year im surprised with the amount of love that I get from my peers, my friends, my family and my friends who I consider family.

They dont know that simply by being there they're showing me how much they care about me. They dont realize that after coming out of house after house with family tribs. After arguing my way to find a home that they've given me a home outside of my own immediate family.

I am grateful. Spoiled. Happy. Fat and rich.
I am also broke, stubborn, loud and voluptous.



I couldn't be happier.

Katie Girl.

Hubble cars never peaked their interest in a land where airships whizzed by.
Shalla wiggled her toes, settling next to the nook around her window. Perfect for people watching and curling up in her billowy dress as the next set of tourists flew by.
Her hair, toppled with curls was strapped by a single thread of ribbon, feathers bombarded a tiny hat that flowered beaded silver. She was certainly a sight to be seen. Shalla, now 21 stretched out her freshly tanned ankles and stretched out in the sun like a cat. Her corset taut as ever made her back slightly itchy from the mesh of cloth and lace.

An asian man, beautiful skin and emerald tweed suit smiled at her but she bashfully shook her head.
Outside her window was a world of imagineering. Robots cranked and motorized to behave like humans. They too, were powered by water, cogs and steel. Bubbling happy along with their work, unencumbered by human emotions they too did their part in building the 8 mile high city.  Bombarded by clocks, Valencia and Victorian Clothes. She was enamored with it. The lot of it.

Gypsies littered the streets below with venomous laughs, claps and tamborine sizzle. Their hearts soared every full moon with spirits, flowing skirts and flirtatious smiles. It was utterly addicting and Shalla felt herself wanting to leave her tower more and more.
Find herself amongst feathered men with pocket watches and ask them how exactly it is that they charm with a smile.
She picked up a trinket toy with her foot bringing it to her hands and winding the tiny little music box.
It chimed merrily for her as she passed it from palm to palm.

She sang along her lips molding into a soft smile thinking of ..

find me in the garden my dear,my dear
ne'ever should a word be spoken from here
in the garden once light hits the water at night
i'll find you there if not now then tonight


She brushed the toy to her lips, her eyelids getting heavy and finally slumping to the floor, her hand falling softly onto the pillows that were scattered around her.

a soft thump,thump, thump rolled across the ceiling above her but she did not stir.
The Gypsies giggled to themselves as they walked across tight rope to find the princess of the goons.
Goons, they called them. Idiots who lived in high rises and considered themselves above the fun.
They never once wondered about the Nouveaux court of miracles, The tamborines or the loud horn music.fools.

Nor she did expect the most charming of them to find her, to watch her sleep within her cocoon of pillows. She looked like a princess.

Shalla Ideole Jarrah.
She was the only child of a wealthy game exhibitor. His love for wild geese and shot guns protected his daughter from the chance of truly ever being in a romance. It had been rumored all of her lovers were murdered at gun point. Shot straight through the forehead.

No mercy musket heads. 




The next night.
After sun fall there was a secret circus. A freak show of sorts showing off the best of the best, sword swallowers, fortune tellers and children with monkeys. The sea of the most wonderful of performances would take place and Shalla would be there.
Her laced up boots made her stick out like a sore thumb as she peaked into the tent. Hoards of unhappy animals growled and paced as she made her way towards the center ring. The roar of the crowd and drunken stupor was mystifying.

The ringer was handsome as ever, his arms reached up high as he wafted the crowd in an crescendo of cheers, booze and animal taming. His whip cracked with the howl of a sad elephant and he ran from pole to pole announcing the next acrobatics until his eyes fell upon her.
A smile twitched on his perfectly groomed mustache and he bowed before disappearing so that the next act could appear.

She found a seat for herself near the edge of the steps.
"Enjoying the show?" Came a whisper, brushing her ear lightly she jerked to her left. Eyes wide and frightened.
His toothy grin was unmistakable.
Even as the high flying act spun she couldn't take her eyes off of his top hat, his spats.

Wreck of the Day.

I had a rough Monday.
I wonder how many tiems in this lifetime and the last people have been saying that, all the while grabbing at their necks and tugging away. How many times have they furrowed their brows and ran their fingers through their hair in hopes that the stress would then lessen?
Prayed to a God that made things harder so they would learn some valuable lesson about patience and time constraints. Oiga a la chingada! Bull shit-- I crack my knuckles religiously in classes and try my best to not freak out on my peers who are just trying to help. Trying to make it better and trying to shake me into not sucking. I respect them, they're good to me and at least i've done something its just I keep finding myself in this dance of homework sleep homework sleep school work sleep homework.

Only I dont sleep-- dreams just whirl around class assignments and regardless of where I am I'm in front of a computer trying to make a UV lay out that doesn't want to work.

The pressure is on.
I can feel it in my chest when I remember to breathe.
Thank God most of that is involuntary, oh respiration. You are so good to me.

One more week.
One more week.
One more fucking week.

Wild Child/As I am

When I was a really young girl my mother would snatch her hand away, hiss through her teeth and shout out "Wild Child!"

I was, I would snarl and growl like a little boy and play in the woods. I would take my barbies to climb trees towering at 6 foot. I scraped my knees trying to rollerblade down gravel ridden roads and dug into mud to find a worm not necessarily paying attention to the dirt that threatened its way underneath my finger nails.

Wild Child; It sort of stuck and even with my mother gone and only seeing my Dad on occasion.
For a good year and a even better summer I followed my girls into clubs, lights flickering over head and drunken girls squealing in delight. I was apart of that and every now and then I still am.

I have no idea what's going on.
Would often be a phrase that would cycle in my head and waking up now.
Waking up in a far more productive state I've become entranced by long elbows and soft hands on my side.
I'm stifled by generous affection and nearly puzzled by honest adoration.

I'm happy.
The more I smile the farther that voice gets.
"Wild child!" becomes less audible with time and I'm reminded how nice it is.