FuckFaceBook

To: Facebook
From: Veronica

Hi
My facebook account was disabled. I have no idea why.
The links below in my signature are my webpages, so you can see more about me. I'm a ghost writer living in NY.

Can someone please help me?
Thanks,
Veronica



To: Veronica
From: appeals+ngcqnre@facebook.com

Hi Veronica,

Fake accounts are a violation of our Terms of Use. Facebook requires users to provide their real first and last names. Impersonating anyone or anything is prohibited. Unfortunately, we will not be able to reactivate this account for any reason. This decision is final.

Thanks for your understanding,

Shawn
User Operations
Facebook

The Taste of Altar Boys

"It doesn't work this way." She hands the manuscript back to me with a flip of her hand. Her annoyance with me has manifested physically. "I told you, we don't want all that childhood drama in there. The readers don't want that... you know."

I take the pages and tuck them underneath my arm. "I know. You want the molestation left out."

She flares her eyes a little. "It's vulgar. It's off putting."

I glance out her office window at the city. I remember the Words he chose as he told me. I remember watching his hand tremble, and I remember feeling sick to my stomach. "I realize it's vulgar and it's off putting. But this isn't fiction. This is what happened. This is his story."

Her assistant is acting like he doesn't overhear us as he stands at the file cabinet looking in, a big pile of folders in his arm, a little curl in the corner of his lip.

Her call phone plays a small piece of an old Madonna song and she looks at the screen while she speaks to me. "Just because it happened doesn't mean it has to be in his story. I'm sure lots of things happened to him that aren't in the story. I'm sure he's been constipated, or got a bad haircut. You don't mention those things."

I can't hide the stun I feel as I say, "Are you actually comparing the impact on his life that being molested has had, to the impact of bad haircuts and bowel movements?"

She is looking at her phone as if she's never seen it before. "I'm saying these are unimportant things. It's not what the story is about."

"That's not how he feels. Look, I interviewed him. I spoke to him for hours, on several different occasions. He is willing to be this open. He sees the affect it has had. It's important for people who read his story to know." I'm holding the manuscript firmly, in my hands and in my mind.

She opens the phone, then closes it. Then she opens it again. "You don't seem to understand for whom you're working. You're working for us, not him. He has authorized the biography. What we say goes. It doesn't really matter what he thinks is important."

I'm not responsible for bad contracts, or safe editors. I'm not responsible for the truth, either. I know how to earn a paycheck. And I can write anything. But I listened to the details of what he had been through. I listened to him recount it for me. I saw it on his face. I felt it in my gut. And I'm not going to write the book of his life, that signs his name, that leaves it out.

"I'm not going to write the book that you want, not even as a ghost."

She is attempting to text someone while she gets up and walks out of the office. "I think we're done."

Yeah, I think we are.

I stand up and bend over my briefcase sliding my manuscript inside. The assistant winks at me as I make my exit, lighter in the wallet and richer in the soul. That walk up Columbus Avenue is a long one.

It's not my battle. I don't even know if it was up to me to take the stand I did. But I know if I bump into him someplace, some time, I can look him in the eye and shake his hand.


"You dream of demons when you sleep
They make you stutter when you speak.
Speak now,
Or forever hold your peace
In pieces."
- The Academy Is...

.

Long Time

Took A Long Time To Come
- The Zombies


Thanks, mitm2002 for sharing this.

Linger

Some things don't just go away.

You feed them a little. You throw in a little truth with the white lies. You spin a web as intricately as you can. And if there's enough real information, the web will hold together for a surprising length of time. However, eventually, it won't. It can't hold water.
Eventually your story falls apart.
And your part is obvious.

Some things don't go away.

When someone starts picking or pulling at threads, that's pretty much the end. It will all unravel. It is only a matter of time. It will fall and crack and disintegrate. It will do several things. But, it will not just go away.
It will not just disappear.


The lies you tell, tell on you in the end.

Nothing feels quite like a gun. Can I get witness?

It wasn't one of my places. It wasn't a place of mine.
Not mine. Not this place.
It was foreign feeling, different music
It was a different danger
Foreign feeling moving not my music not my place.

Locked eyes with tall dark gorgeous skinny. Locked eyes and wet
Locked eyes and waited.
Tall dark drop-dead-gorgeous skinny at the bar,
Elbows on, bent, bowed.
I moved not waiting.
I was behind him.
When he leaned forward
When he leaned, I was behind.
Dark bangs in deep eyes, sliding his hand into his pants for money, sliding
Super sexy dark eyes dark bangs dark as the demon thought and the would-be hesitate.

Sliding behind him, I was pressing.
Watched him pay for his drink.
Felt him leaning through my skin
I was slow sliding.
Standing sliding behind him I was,
Brushed my groin into tall dark gorgeous skinny
My hips his ass, and I slid slowly.
Feel me in the foreign music.
Pressed back into my hips. Meet my movement
My non waiting slowly sliding foreign feeling music groove.

Arched his back against the slider.
Turned his head without moving his tall skinny. Without sliding
Just drink sipping
Straw clenching between vampire teeth grinning,
looking back over his tall skinny shoulder at me behind him slowly sliding
Gorgeous, he was
Sipping, he was
Gorgeous, I was slowly sliding, and

He was loaded.
He was packed.
There it was
Pressing into my hip.
Sticking out of his jeans at the small of his back-ing.
I looked down to verify.
"Can I get a witness?"
He knew I knew. And he was grinning.
I remember sliding. Not so slowly.
I remembered it was not my place, not one of mine,
Foreign feeling different music
Not this place, not my feeling.

And there was a hesitate.
There was a wait and hesitate this.
Vampire grin wicked,
Tall dark skinny gorgeous packed.
Not mine.

Made my way to the door to leave
But I did stop and I looked back
Through not mine different foreign sounding
Toward the bar in orange light at
Tall dark gorgeous skinny standing grinning.
Winked
And lifted his drink to me.
He knew I knew.
Slow slider smiled, but
He knew this wasn't my place.



"Booty Betty Thick-o-licious
Shake it like she's fearless
This lovely lady got the thickness
Can I get a 'Hell Yeah!' "
- Puscifer

.

Derate

Only a handful of things.
And this is the hand that holds them.
.