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Date Posted: 13:06:20 11/27/11 Sun
Author: Vincent
Subject: Abominable Cherubs (Novel Idea?)

(I haven't really thought too much about a complete storyline.... I know I want the main character's name to be Christopher Browning.
I guess I wanted to very loosely based on myself when I was like 14-16 years old. I haven't really thought of a title for the entire story.
I wanted Abominable Cherubs to be the name of the first chapter.)

Christopher Browning:(Abominable Cherubs) Chapter: 1

Christopher had fallen asleep doing his homework. He had school the
next morning but apparently he didn't care. He usually saved his busfare,

got up a little earlier and walked anyway. He'd buy some weed if he had to
but alot of times it'd be free. A lot of the kids at his school would follow
whoever had marijuana that evening.
He could feel hisself slipping into a trance-like space between lucid dream

and conscious reality. He kept a dream journal which he hadn't written in,
in awhile. He filled it with poetry he had written. He still had a few spare pages

left.



He was falling into that luminous void between lucid trance and the reality

he felt he existed in spite of. At first he imagined pleasant shapes and

beings. He imagined himself as Alex in "A Clockwork Orange" being morally
Reconditioned. He was now in a lucid dreamstate. The shapes and settings

changed according to his will at the moment.

On occassion he dreamed that he was in his favorite Dali painting,
"The Persistence of Memory". Christopher was fascinated by the way certain

artists whether realist or abstract handled visual-metaphor. He juxtaposed

new arubic dreamscapes and cubist shapes. He often had the nightmare

of having a dream within a dream.


A few nights in a row he had sleep-paralysis. People had different theories

about sleep-paralysis but he felt it was a sign he was being repressed in a

particular area of his waking life. He often read books about Freud's

dreamworks. He really wasn't interested in reading things people his age

read.

He was fascinated with the awe-inspiring beauty and horrific density of

his and the subconscious mind in general.


"Fuck!", I screamed out so that everyone in the classroom could hear.

Mrs. Rowe was a young math teacher. She seemed horrified at hearing

a teenager curse which seemed ironic in itself. She explaine dhow I

wa sbeing disruptive and that profanity was not allowed in her classroom.

Mrs. Rowe spoke, sounding extremely upset,
"You're going to be written up and honestly I hope you get suspended.

You come in my class and you just sit here, you don't participate or do any of

the work. You're going to be 21 years-old in this class, if you don't pass my

class you won't get to the next grade."


I didn't care to argue, although I knew that teachers, adults or whoever

shouldn't speak to kids like that. I had already failed two grades.

Human-beings shouldn't speak to other human-beings that way that, that bitch

spoke to me. As she continued to speak and write equations on the overhead

projection I imagined raping and torturing her.

She was writing with a blue Vis-a-Vis. She had paper towels, the kind like

the ones they had in the bathrooms of the school. She was using them to erase

something she had written down. I loved words but I was numbers-retarded

or something. I imagined Mrs. Rowe as a coy, hitchhiker, I imagined myself

as Rodney Alcala giving her a ride and asking to photograph her in

some random, secluded location.



I think that when I wasn't writing poetry or rap lyrics in her class, I

was imagining Mrs. Rowe in some dark, twisted sexual fantasy. She

was younger than my other teachers and she didn't look bad. She

was a rail-thin, white lady with shoulder-lenght, blonde-hair.

She had pretty eyes.

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