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 So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?

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PostSubject: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   7/21/2008, 12:46 am

Jimmy Urine [frontman of Mindless Self Indulgence] fanfiction.
A little bit more of Jimmy that you wouldn't expect.
The title is from The Black Parade B-Side, "My Way Home Is Through You," by My Chemical Romance.
The lyrics in this chapter are from "Ride the Lights," by Morningwood.

- - - - -

Chapter 01 - White


White

The color of my favorite, powdery drug. The color I see when I'm sleeping, and the nightmares attack me again. The first color I see in the morning, when my eyes open and my ceiling is all that is in view. Except when I'm in the tour bus, and I see the brown ceilings we have. Those ceilings are the ones I have been waking up to the last 7 months. The ones that feel like they are caving in on me, trapping me inside, leaving me with no escape. 7 months and the redundancy has just started to kick in. I'm not feeling the redundancy from going on stage every night, no, that's probably the least annoying part of my day. The redundancy oozes from spending so many months, so many days, and so many seconds without her. It comes from sitting around and being bored all day, so you can play for less than 2 hours. It comes from waking up in a tiny fucking bunk with no one but yourself, and waking up to brown ceilings instead my white ones that I left in New York City.

I woke to the brown ceilings and stepped down from the top bunk. Steve was below me, sleeping away. I stumbeled over an alarm clock that read 4:36 in the morning. I past Lyn-Z and Kitty's sleeping body's and headed to the back of the bus. I closed the door behind me and layed down on the black loveseat. I grabbed a couple comic books from the table and started to read one. I turned my hot pink iPod on shuffle, and, of course one of her songs came on. The only song she ever wrote about me.

Tell me stories of myself
That I don't remember
I was too drunk or too young
Of that I can be sure


I sat the comic down. I couldn't read, or do anything for that matter, when this song was on. The way her voice flowed, to the way the drum beated to the slow guitar rythem. She sang the lyrics that never failed to stab me in the heart; that make me feel like an utter failure. You see, her and I go way back. Back before I got into the shit i'm into now, before we started getting more attention from the media, and before he came along. It was probably only 5 years ago, but it feels like it happened eons ago. Sorta like it never happened. It either feels like that because the drugs and the booze have started wipeing out my memories, or because I was happy back then, and your brain remembers the evil and meloncholy thoughts better than the blissful and exciting ones.

And when you come to see me,
You will ride the lights alone
And you'll turn with every change


I started getting a frog in my throat, to the point where I honestly thought I was going to bust into tears. I fought it back though, but continued to listen to the song. My mind was cursing at myself, demanding that I turn the damn thing off, but my heart was ordering me to keep playing it; like I deserved to go through the sheer agony that the melodies and lyrics in the song give me. The last chorus came on, and I felt like I could hear the hurt in her voice.

And I can't wake you up
Due to your perscriptions
Tell them all you were on track
To distract your addictions


I chocked back, and got so upset that I ripped of the earphones and flung the iPod against the bathroom door, shattering it to pieces. I began to sob, but have the most immortal yearn to call her, just to hear her voice. Just to hear if she still sounds as torn as she does in the song. To see what her reaction would be if she heard my voice again. Just to see.

I couldn't, though. Not only was it this early in the morning, but he would probably be there, and I don't want to talk to him.

When you burn all your bridges,
You will have to fight alone
It's a good thing you can swim


I wiped a few stray tears, and went back to reading. I must of dozed off, because Kitty woke me up a few hours later, telling me it was time to get ready and go. My eyes met with that brown fucking ceiling again, and I rolled onto my side, until I finally managed to get up. I squinted as a beam of sunlight pierced through the shutters, and rubbbed my eyes. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a Public Enemy T-shirt. I ran my fingers through my deflated liberty spiked hair, grabbed a bottle of water and a granola bar, and the 4 of us walked off the bus and into the venue that we played last night. Us and the crew decided to take a break last night and not pack everything back into the bus, and drive the 3 and a half hours to the next show. We decided we would do it in the morning. So our tour crew put everything in the bus, and by 10 in the morning, we were heading from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Allentown, Pennsylvania for the third show of the week.

We arrived around 2 in the afternoon, and we sent our driver, Craig, to get us some McDonald's since we we're all starving our fucking asses off. The rest of the guys stuffed their faces, but I had no desire to eat. I was hungry, yeah, but I just didn't feel like eating. Anorexic? No, fuck you if that even crossed your damn mind. I just..didn't want to.

It seemed like the other guys always had something to do. Kitty was always on the phone with her boyfriend, Asiah, or playing Guitar Hero. Steve was always chatting with the tour crew, his girlfriend, or burning CD's that he liked. Lyn-Z was always on the phone. Either with her husband, her sister, her best friend, her mom - you get the point. They all had someone to talk to, or something fun to do. I wasn't into any of that shit, and I had no one to talk to; besides them. So I usually sat around; warming up my vocals, reading comic books, watching a movie, or listening to my iPod - well, not anymore. Lyn asked me how the hell my iPod broke in half, and I told her I dropped it at the show last night, and some fan stepped on it. She believed me, thank God, because not one of them would of believed I got so angry, threw it and smashed it. I know they would be all amazed. "Jimmy has a temper? Hell no." "Jimmy was crying last night? Yeah, right." Oh, here's my favorite. "Jimmy is actually a human being and is not happy-go-lucky all the time? Fuck no."

Sorry. I'm just so fucking bitter right now.

We went into the venue, and began band practice around 3 PM. Our opening act, Robots in Disguise, had already finished practicing and were watching us. We finished around 6, and the show didn't start until 7. The kids started piling in at 6:30, and Robots went on about 10 minutes off scheduale, due to their sucky equipment. The played for 45 minutes, and it took our crew 15 minutes to get our shit on the stage.

Before we went on, I smiled at myself in the mirror, and told myself to suck it up.

"Whatever the fuck is wrong with you - get over it. Chantal isn't coming back. Let it go. Just get this goddamn show over with. You have tomorrow off, and you'll get everthing out of your fucking head then. As for now, just keep that smile plastered on your ugly face and give these kids what they want. Okay? 'Kay."

We went on at 8:04 PM, and we pounded through "Tornado" and "Shut Me Up". After that, I started screaming at the audience; calling them fat, ugly, stupid, etc. Don't write me off as an asshole; my fans know that I mean the complete opposite of that. I love them to death, man. If it wasn't for them, well, fuck me, I have no idea. When I lost her, I thought I lost everything. I didn't lose the fans. That's all I have left.

After the show, we signed autographs and took pictures with the fans for about an hour, before finally getting back on the bus. Craig immediatly starting driving us to Ohio, which was more than 15 hours away. It was around 1 AM, when I hit the sack, and went to sleep telling myself, "Tomorrow will be a better day."

- - - - -

Thoughts?
Sorry it took kinda long. I had everything typed, and then Mibba's draft had to go and be stupid, and I lost it all.
It's different than what I wrote, I know I left some stuff out, but I can't really remember what.
Oh well. I'll start chapter 2 ASAP, if you guys like it.
=D

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   7/21/2008, 11:19 am

oooohhhh!!! i really really like it sarah! i want MORE! xD

i love how you wrote, "I couldn't, though. Not only was it this early in the morning, but he would probably be there, and I don't want to talk to him."

because you just write him so we don't really know who the guy is yet =D

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   7/21/2008, 12:39 pm

Hehe, yeah. Thank you.

I actually have chapter 2 almost done.
This is pretty easy to write, I think because I have something specific, like a color, to write about, so it's not that hard to start it.
I don't knpw. I'll post chapter 2 tonight, or tomorrow, whenever I finish it.

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   7/21/2008, 1:10 pm

mkay, sounds good! =D

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   7/21/2008, 1:15 pm

Lmfao.
This chapter is sorta awkward though.
I'll explain when it's up. You'll be able to tell why, though.
I'm using the song "Prescription" in this one. =D
It'll be done and up in a few minutes.

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   7/21/2008, 2:02 pm

Chapter 02 - Pink

Pink

The color of her smeared lipgloss. The color of her smooth, lushish lips, that quivered a few moments before she told me it was over; that this dysfunctional thing we called a relationship needed to end. The lips with fadeing pink lipgloss, that moved when she screamed at me to wake up, when the pills overtook me. Pink was also the color her cheeks would turn when when I made her laugh, or when I told her how much I loved her. Her cheeks always glowed, and she had this giggle that, even if I was in the shittiest mood of my life, would have to laugh with.

Pink was also the color of my dismantled iPod that I broke and threw away last week. The iPod that had all of her songs in it; even the one that chokes me up with self-hate and agony.

I am the one to blame, not her. I fucked everything up. I fucked it all up by, not doing something, but by doing nothing. I took her for granted; I took us for granted. I never called her when I was on tour. Nothing was stopping her from thinking I was lying dead in a ditch somewhere, you know? And, as you can tell, there isn't a minute that goes by that I don't regret it and kick myself in the ass about it.

At least I'm waking up to white ceilings now.

We had 3 days off, and we all went home. I'm here In NYC, in my apartment with my white ceilings. Only for a few more hours, though. We have to get on a plane for Europe in 2 hours. I should be leaving here, well, now, but I'm not done packing yet.

We're ripping through Europe, doing our own tour, and doing some festivals. I'm actually looking forward to the festivals, because when you're not playing, you can just watch other bands play, and not be the main center of attention, because bands like Metallica and Rage Against the Machine are on the bill, and we're nobodies compared to that.

I left the apartment around 11 in the morning, and met up with the guys around 11:30. Lyn-Z's husband, Gerard, Kitty's boyfriend, and Steve's girlfriend we're all there, saying goodbye to their lovers. Well, you know how that would make me feel.

We got on this small, shitty plane and made the long trip from New York to the UK. After getting there, getting to the venue, and getting all the equipment out, it was 9 at night. We had a show tomorrow, and it was sold out. About 3,000 people, we're expecting. Pretty exciting, eh?

The 4 of us climbed into the tour bus around 10, and I had nothing to do, so I decided to try and sleep. I crawled into my top bunk with a new Japanese comic book I got when we were in Tokyo a few months ago, but never got around to reading it. When I was a few pages into it, my ears started ringing and my brain felt like it was going to expode out of my skull. I was about to ask myself where the fuck this was coming from, until I realized I hadn't take my pain pills since I left.

I'm the doctor
I'm the patient
Don't forget that it's important.


The pills started to settle in, and I was flying high on esctacy, valium, and vicodin. Fatal combination? Yeah, if your fucking stupid and take way too many of the three. But, you see, I'm a genious, and I know that all you need is two of each; you won't be feeling anything after that.

I don't remember much of what happened after that. I remember mumbeling, and thinking the brown ceilings were going to gave in on me; suffocate me and kill me. I remember chocking back vomit, and lying in the feedal position because I thought my stomach was eating itself.

If you love me
Like I love me
Everybody will be sorry.


I went from feeling the pain of the pills violently mixing together, to feeling like I was on top of the world; like I was indestructable. I picked up my cell phone, and, like a child, pressed the buttons. I could barely read the numbers, my vision was so screwy. I dialed her number, swallowed some puke that was in the back of my mouth, moaned from the amazing feeling of mindlessness, and waited for a response.

"Hello?"

I snorted with laughter at the sound of her voice. I thought everything was funny when I couldn't feel anything; not psychically, mentally, or emotionally. I was completley numb.

"Hey, there, Chanty," I said, laughter in my voice. I can't believe I'm even telling you about this night. I was such an asshole here. It's something else that goes on my list of regrets, I guess.

"Jimmy? What do you want?"

"Ugh, geeze, you could be a bit more pleasant, you know," I stupidly said, slurring my words.

"Are you drunk? Stoned, Jimmy are you stoned?"

"God, Chantal. Can't a man just call someone because he fucking feels like it? Does there have to be a reason?"

"Ugh, with you, yes, there has to be damn good reason. You don't just fucking call me out of the blue. You call me when your drunk or high, which you are obviously one or the other."

I don't need nothing before the show
I don't need nothing, well, that's not so
I need something before the show
Just a little something to make me go.


I chuckeled. "So what if I am. What's so wrong with me? Am I really that bad?

She sighed, the sound of annoyance oozing from her voice.

"Jimmy, I have to go. Try calling me when your clean and sober."

I chocked back vomit, and I had to pause a second until my vision cleared.

"Jimmy? Are you there? Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. What do you care, you have to leave. What, because of him? Is he there? Let me talk to him."

"No, Jimmy. Go get yourself some fucking help, and stop fucking calling me. I'm so fucking sick of you."

And, with that, she was gone and out of my life again, and, once again, it was all my fault.

Make it stop
Make it stop
Pretty please?
Prescription.


- - - - -
Eh..?
It was really awkward for me to write the dialouge between Jimmy and Chantal.
They are happily married in real life, and are one of the best couples ever,
So having to have them argue was really weird and hard to write.
I think it, and the rest came out alright.
Lyrics are from "Prescription" by Mindless Self Indulgence
More tomorrow, probably.

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   7/21/2008, 2:27 pm

loves it!!! =D

the color thing with the chapters is a great idea too ^__^

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   7/22/2008, 3:51 am

Thanks! =DD

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   8/16/2008, 2:06 pm

Chapter 3 - Yellow

Yellow.

The color of the sun that burns my eyes when it peaks through the shutters and curtains. The color of badly applied eyeshadow she was wearing the first day I ever met her. Along with too much glitter, she had bright yellow eyeshadow, that contrasted strangely with her vibrant orange hair. Plus the matching yellow tank top; you would think she was the sun with legs if you hadn't taken a second glance. I remember she had an obvious pasta stain underneath the collar. I remember that we hugged that day, just a friendly nice-to-meet-you hug, and a few pieces of her glitter got onto my face. I couldn't get that fucking shit off for days, maybe weeks, just like how I couldn't get my mind rid of her. From then, to this day, and everyday, my thoughts have been stuck on her, just like that shit was stuck on my body.

My embarrassing phone conversation I had with her last week has remained on my mind for what seems like forever. It was a week ago today that we had talked, and I felt so repulsed by the way I acted towards her, that I tried calling to apologize. She, being the intelligent woman that she is, didn't answer my call. I left a message telling her I was sorry, and she called back saying she accepted. We held a decent conversation for a decent amount of time, but I had band practice, and she probably would of wanted to talk to him, and not me.

When it rains,
On this side of town it touches everything,
Just say it again and mean it.


We were gearing up for a show in Memphis, Tennessee. Steve was changing his guitar strings, Kitty was drinking hot chocolate, and Lyn-Z and I went out for a smoke and, ironically, fresh air also.

"Is Gerard gonna make it tonight?" I asked, developing small talk.

She smiled. "Yeah, his plane should be landing an hour before the show, and the airports only, like, 20, 25 minutes away. I didn't think he was, he had to, like, change his flights and shit."

I nodded, and took another drag.

"How's Chantal been?" she inquired. I looked at her, dumbfounded.

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Do ya think I'm an idiot, Jim? I heard you talk to someone yesterday, and she's the only person I can think of that you would talk to."

I snorted. "You make it sound like I'm a lonely old man."

She grinned. "You know what I mean," she replied.

I tapped the ash off my cancer stick, and sighed. "Good, I guess. I made a bigger ass out of myself a few days ago 'cause I was..tired, and I just called her back to apologize."

"Is she still with that Dylan guy?"

I nodded again. "Yeah, still with him."

She frowned. "Sorry, Jim."

I smiled sadly at her. "Nah, it's okay. Well, mines done, and I'm too lazy to light and smoke another one."

Lyn laughed. "If you can't light a cigarette, how are you gonna make it through a fuckin' show?" she inquired.

"I have no clue. I always find some way," I answered as we walked back into the club.

You made yourself a bed,
At the bottom of the blackest hole.
You'll sleep until May and you'll say,
That you don't wanna see the sun anymore.


We went on at 8, and played to a small crowd of 900. We went out back and signed autographs, took pictures, blah, blah, blah. We then dragged our tired asses onto the bus and Craig drove us down to Texas, our last show before leaving the states and entering Mexico.

I climbed into my bunk with a cup of tea, a new Japanese comic book I bought the other day, and a stick of sugarless gum, when I checked my cell phone messages. Expecting to see the same 'ol lonesome zero I see every other day, I was surprised and shocked to see the lucky number of 13 instead. A combination of phone and text messages, and the only person I could figure they would be from is Chantal. Sure enough, 13 missed messages from Chantal. Faster than a speeding bullet, I dialed her number and waited for her lovely voice to reply at the other end.

"Jimmy?" was frantically asked from the other side.

"Chantal? Are you okay?"

She busted into tears, and I didn't know what the fuck to do. What could I do? Was she hurt? Is she okay? What happened? What should I say?

"Chantal! Goddammit, say something!"

"He's gone, Jimmy! Dylan's dead!"

And, oh, oh, how could you do it?
Oh, I never saw it coming,
Oh, oh, I need an ending,
So why can't you stay just long enough to explain?


________
*Gasp*
Sorry it took forever, and that it's kinda short.
The song is 'When it Rains' by Paramore.
I haven't started the next chapter yet, so it won't be updated soon.
Oh well. Choke on this until chapter 4.
=D

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   8/17/2008, 3:00 am

O________________O WHOA

lololol

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   8/17/2008, 3:05 am

Lmfaolmfao.

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   8/23/2008, 1:55 am

Chapter 4 - Brown

Brown.

The color of the teddy bear I bought her for our first Valentines Day together. The color of the acoustic guitar I played when I was trying not to write a song about her. The color of the dead grass that used to be in front of our old apartment, and the color of his tie that was wrapped around the collar of his lifeless body's shirt.

I canceled two shows to go to his funeral, and to be there for Chantal. She called me the day after she told her died in a car accident to say the funeral service was that Thursday, three days later. I offerered to go with her, and she said she would appreciate that. I sorely doubt she was telling the truth, but I'd take any chance I got to be with her.

Going to a funeral for a person you didn't know, but hated is weird. Going to his funeral with an estrainged ex girlfriend is even weirder, but I tried to make the best out of an awkward situation. I made sure I went with a clear head, no matter how badly I wanted to pop a few pain killers and take a few sips of beer.

How is your heart, little darling?
I didn't mean to get so mad.
Let me just hold you closely.
How did things get so bad?


I got on a plane from Texas to New York and arrived just in time for the service. I showed up with a killer headache from lack of drugs and alcohol not being in my system, but had a smile and a relaxed composure for Chantal's sake. I could tell she was upset, and trying so had not to just breakdown and bawl her eyes out. She shed a few tears during the service, but generally kept her cool. After he was buried, I took her out for coffee at some shitty diner.

"It's kinda sad something like this has to happen for us to talk to each other again," she said.

I smiled sadly. "Yeah, it is."

We sipped at our coffee, and smiled at each other when our eyes met. If you can think of a more awkward or nerve-wracking situation, please tell me, 'cause I highly doubt there is one.

"I'm sorry about being a jackass towards Dylan. I never met the guy, but I shoulda just been nicer about the whole thing."

Chantal smiled. "Thanks, Jim, that means a lot."

We sat in utter silence for a while, until we decided to leave and go to her place. It wasn't far, and we didn't want to ride in a cab during New York City rush hour, so we walked.

"I could of given you all of that," I said as we reached her apartment door. "All the love and happiness he gave you."

Chantal smiled at me. "You propsed, but that didn't mean much to me."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I loved you, James. I would of gone to the end of the fucking world for you. Did you feel the same way? I don't know. We never talked those last months we were together, and then you fucking propose? What was I supposed to do? I didn't get it, and I didn't think you loved me 'cause I didn't see or talk to you for months at a time. I mean, I don't know. I loved you, but I had to say no, and that fucked everything up worse, and then, yeah..I just couldn't do it. Then I met Dylan, and I wanted to be with him. I thought you would understand, but after the fight we had, I realized you didn't. That was the last day I talked to you, and, I don't know, I guess I forgot about it and you over time. I was in love with Dylan. I just couldn't be with you anymore."

I nodded, and swallowed hard, trying to take in everything she said. We never, ever discussed the end of us or anything like that before, so we were in a totally different ball game than ever before.

"I know I didn't talk to you for the longest time, and I'm sorry for that. I know I never called, but it's not like you ever tried calling me either."

Chantal laughed, but sounded hurt. "Are you blaming me for what you did?"

I know how to pick on you.
You pushed me over the edge.
We caused so much agony.
We can't seem to move ahead.


"It wasn't just my fuckin' fault, Chantal," I countered. "Neither of us did shit. It was both our faults."

"James, you were on tour, sometimes thousands and thousands of miles away from me. Before you left you promised you would call me once a week. The first week went by, and I didn't get a call. Before I knew it, two fucking months are gone and not one goddamn call from the man I love? How do you think I felt?"

"I'm sorry, Chantal, I really am. I just don't understand why you never called. How did you know I wasn't fuckin' lying dead somewhere?"

"You fucking promised me you would call~ I trusted you, and you broke my heart, and you didn't give a fuck about it, and now you blame me? Make me into a fucking scapegoat just because you make bullshit promises and break them?"

"I told you I was sorry a million times when I came home, and I'm fuckin' teling you sorry now!"

"Sorry does not always cut it, Jim," she snapped.

"Then what the fuck do you want from me?" I asked quickly.

"I want you to leave and never fucking talk to me again. You seem to be a pro at not calling the woman you supposibly loved, so I shouldn't have to worry about hearing from you, right?" she asked, tears rolling down her face.

This is such a pity.
We should give all our love to each other.
Not this hate that destroys us.
This is such a pity.


"Oh my fucking God," I said, my voice shaky from trying to hold back tears. "I thought everything was going to be fine. We talked fucking great on the phone. I was so excited to come here and be with you, and this goddamn bullshit just has to happen. I should of fuckin' knew it wouldn't last, that something would screw everything up."

"Oh, shut up, like your life is so fucking awful."

"Like yours is? Your boyfriend die, boo-fucking-hoo. You'll find someone else; fuck yeah, you'll find someone else. Someone who is the complete opposite of me, so you'll fuckin' marry them, spread your fuckin' legs and have a few fuckin' babies, whereas I'm all alone, as always, spending every goddamn moment of my life thinking about you."

This is such a pity.
We should give all our love to each other.
Not this hate that destroys us.
This is such a pity.


Chantal bit her lip hard, and looked over in another direction. With tears falling from her face and onto the pavement, she looked me in the eyes, and shook her head a little.

"I hate you," she hissed, then turned around and walked into her apartment, slaming the door in my face.

I walked down the apartment steps. With a pounding headache and tears rolling down my face, I headed down the street. I had a bad taste in my mouth and a broken heart as I breathed, "I love you," into the New York air.

Our love destorys us.

----
I really got into this chapter.
The song is 'This Is Such a Pity' by Weezer.
I have chapter 5 written, but I'm thinking of changing it a bit.
It should be up sometime soon though.
=D

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Last edited by Jimmy Urine on 8/27/2008, 10:49 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   8/27/2008, 10:44 am

Chapter 5 - Purple


Purple

The color of the bruises that were on my arms and legs due to side effects from the prescriptions I was abbusing. The color of the tie, shoes, and shirt I wear when I'm Jimmy Urine, and not real and unplugged Jimmy. Purple was also the color of the faint eyeshadow she was wearing the day of his funeral.

That spectacul was 1 month ago and counting. We haven't said a single word to each other since, but the heartbreaking way she mumered, "I hate you," is still playing like a broken record inside my head. I don't want to call her, because I have no clue what her reaction would be. At the same time, I do wat to because I want to tell her how fucking much I love her, and how sorry I am for all of this.

Before I could ever let you go,
Gonna beg until I drive you mad,
And say something you could understand,
I'm a statue baby, knock me out.


Words soon became actions as I dialed her number on my cell phone. The moment it rang, my heart jumped straight into my mouth and I quickly hung up. I sighed with frustration and decided that if I couldn't even call her, there was no way in hell I would be able to talk to her.

We were playing a show in Sydney, Australia that night, and, for once, I didn't think I was going to be able to do it. Whenever something shitty like that happens, Idug up energy and perserverence that was stored deep down inside of me, and put on a great performance that I was proud of. Even the day after the first fight we had, I was somehow able to perform. I just had such a heartache that day, and I felt the same way at the Sydney show, but times 10.

We did go on that day, though, but I was no where pleased with my performance. I pounded a bunch of beer beforehand, trying to ease the jitters I had, so I was close to being wasted, I guess. I just didn't have the will or desire to go on stage and be Jimmy Urine. I would of much rather of crawled into a hole and died.

"What was up with that?" a disappointed fan asked me after the show when we were out signing autographs. Others joined in, as I expected they would, and continued to ridicule my awful and dull "performance", or failure, if you will.

Oh how these moments fade away, you say you never loved me,
We say things we didn't mean to say ,
I take it back, I take it all back now,
I take it back, I take it all back.


Lyn-Z knew I was drunk, and was helping me walk to the bus. She spat a, "fuck off," to the ridiculing fans as she opened the bus door for me. She helped me into my bunk, and set a trash can near me for when I would puke my brains out later in the night. She then walked back outside to meet some of the hopefully understanding fans.

I was laying there in a drunken daze, unable to go to sleep. I heard the disappointed fans still ranting loudly. The ones that knew I was in the bus were being as obnoixiously loud as possible, just so I would be able to hear them loud and clear. My eyes began to burn as tears starting welling up in my eyes. I blinked, releasing them onto my pale face. I let them roll down my cheeks and down my chin and neck as I stared at those brown fuckin' ceilings once again.

Just when I started drifting off to sleep, my cell phone that was in my back pocket vibrated strongly. I groaned, figuring it was either Lyn, Steve or Kit asking if I was alright. I thought they would of realized that I just wanted to be left alone.

I pulled it out, and attempted to read who it was, but my vision was so screwy, it just looked like a tiny blur. I answered it tiredly.

"I'm fine, I just want to sleep," I said, groggily, chocking back vomit, and assuming it was someone in the band.

"James? Are you okay?"

"Chantal?" I asked, almost releasing the puke I had just chocked back, purly from shock and surprise.

"Yeah. You called me earlier. What's wrong with you, Jim, you sound weird."

"Uh, nothing', how are you?"

"You're lieing, what's wrong?"

"I'm just a little drunk, that's all."

"Oh, I should of guessed."

"Shut the fuck up," I countered.

"Don't tell me to shut the fuck up," she snapped back.

"You told me to shut up after Dylan's funeral, I'm just returning the favor," I quipped.

"Is that what you called about?"

"Yes, actually, that is why I called."

Paralyzed by the same old antics,
Back and forth like some walking spastic,
How could a fistfight be romantic?
Thinking back now, will you ever feel the same?


She sighed. "Well, make it quick, I have to go," she ordered.

"Why, do you have a new boyfriend?"

"Oh my God, no! I haven't spread my goddamn legs and had babies yet either!" she yelled.

I sighed, regretting everything I said. We were off to a horrible start, and my mind was spinning in circles like crazy once again.

"I love you," I spat.

"What?" Chantal questioned angrily.

"You heard me," I answered.

She laughed. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not," I started. "I know I have a fucked up way of showing it-"

"A real fucked up way," Chantal interrupted.

You mean more to me than you'll ever know,
You're my girl and I think it's a shame,
That we get along this way,
I'm just a statue, try to knock me out.


"Let me finish," I ordered. "I'm so sorry for everything. I'm sorry for not calling you while on tour. I'm sorry about being an asshole to you and Dylan. I'm sorry about all the fights we have had, and I'm sorry about the dumbass things I said now. I'm sorry I took you for granted. I'm so sorry, Chantey. I know sorry can't fix everything, but it's all I can say. I love you so much, though. God, I love you. I love you, and when you were with Dylan, I went into panic mode. I never want to loose you, but I did. I don't have you, but I don't want to loose you even more than I have already lost you. I want you," I said. "I love you."

I heard Chantal swallow. "What do you want me to say?"

I groaned. "I have no fuckin' idea, Chantal. I just had to tell you."

"Well, thank you for apologizing," she said, and paused. "Why do we always do this? 3 seconds into a conversation, and one of us is biting the other person's head off."

I sighed. "I don't know."

Steve, Kitty, and Lyn-Z walked in, and I told her I had to go. Craig started driving us to the airport, where we would catch a flight at 5 in the morning to Canada.

I ended up falling asleep, wondering why she didn't say she loved me back.

Paralyzed by the same old antics
Back and forth like some walking spastic
How could a fistfight be romantic?
Thinking back now will you ever feel the same?


---

Eh?
The song is 'Paralyzed' by The Used.
More sometime.
=D

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   8/31/2008, 2:21 pm

Chapter 6 - Green

Green

The color of the grass outside of the Australian airport. The color of the envy I once had for Dylan. The color of the bird she had whe we first started dating, and the current color of the everchanging leaves that fall from the trees on a warm Spring day.

And it all falls down at once,
And I try to get some sleep,
And the comforts of this bed,
Have all been shattered to pieces.
I have a knack for feeling lost,
All those times I couldn't eat,
Like I couldn't yell enough,
But getting tired of screaming.


We took a plane from Australia to Canada to around 5 in the morning, and landing in the late afternoon. We were playing a 3,000 person show in Toronto that everyone seemed to be all jazzed about. I was feeling better since I had a decent conversation with Chantal, but I didn't want to go through the embaressment of feeling like a failed my fans expectations all over again.

We took the stage at 7:00, because the band that was supposed to open up, some Japenese pop punk band, pulled out on the last minute, so we had no opening act. I was happy when I heard that news 'cause I wanted to start the show as soon as possible, instead of waiting around and letting the large nerves I had increase even more.

I figured I would give it all that I've got, just like I used to do. I tattooed the scenario that this would be my last show ever inside my head, and to perform like I never performed before. I was screaming as loud as I could, trying to sing every line as perfect as I could, stripping down to my boxers, and, by the time it was all over, I was bucket loads of sweat with a worn out little boy underneath it.

The sun comes up,
And now you have a chance again,
The world falls down,
We all forget where to begin,
The world collapses,
You hold it in..


I walked - well, more like stumbled - to the backstage and guzzled a water bottle down. I wiped my sweat with a cloth and made my way to the outside, where I couldn't wait to feel like refreshing and cool night air touch my skin.

I felt naceous, and like my legs were spaghetti noodles as I walked around the line of dozens and dozens, maybe hundreds of fans waiting outside to just catch a glimpse of us. The first words I received from the fans that I was able to understand were about how I probably performed the best I've ever performed in my whole career. There were a few fans that clapped for me, and a lot of, "great show, Jimmy," so I was feeling on the top of the fuckin' world, to say the least.

I basically crawled back into the tour bus afterwords, and collasped on the couch. I sighed and took a sip out of a freezing cold water bottle. I was the most tired and worn out I've felt in my entire life probably, but I'm not complaining. The pain in my joints and muscles, and the headache I would wake up with the next morning was completley worth it. The pain felt good, would be the easiest and simpliest way to state it.

The rest of the band later came in the bus, and I received hugs from all of them, which made me choke up a little. I mean, I love the three of them to death, but I never tell them much about things with Chantal, or how I feel everyday, but, now that I think about, they have to be able to realize it. The way I act, the way I look, and how I perform - it had to be obvious to them that I had been feeling off lately. And something as simple and overrated as a hug to tell me everything is what made me choke up. Hugs really do speak for themselves.

"That was a really good show, Jim," Steve told me as he hugged me, and later went to make himself a cup of coffee for some reason, even though it was past midnight. Lyn-Z smiled at me, and simply hugged me, no words needed to be exchanged; same with Kitty.

Maybe I have said too much,
Or really haven't said enough,
All these words they come undone,
I'm getting lost in the meaning,
And all the coldness in my thoughts,
Of being frozen all alone,
In a world that we destroy,
And try to pick up the pieces.


Afterwords, Steve and Lyn-Z hit the sack, tired from the incredible show we put on. Kitty went into the shower, and I started rereading the Death Note magna that I've read a million times already. The TV was turned onto a new episode of South Park, because I knew Kitty would want to watch that when she came back. I was hungry, but didn't feel like eating much of anything, so I munched on a few crackers as Kitty walked out from the shower.

She laughed as she started drying her hair with a towel. "Reading DN again?" she asked.

I smiled, and nodded. "It gets even better the zillionth time you read it, baby!" I joked.

She laughed again, and wrapped the towel around her still dripping wet hair and sat down beside me, her eyes already glued to South Park.

I snickered. "And you're watching South Park again?"

"Haha. At least it's a new episode," she countered.

I chuckeled. "Touche."

She smiled, and time soon flew by. South Park was over, and I finished reading Death Note. We sat together, bullshiting back and forth about nothing.

I sighed. "I need to find something else to do," I said.

"Ha, have you ever tried sleeping?"

I smiled. "Yeah, that doesn't work for me."

She smiled. "Well, you should try," she said as she stood up, stretching. "That's where I'm going. 'Night, Jimmy."

All you've lost,
Leave yourself, you drift away in your eyes,
Open up as you catch me,
Caught before I hit the ground,
I'm dying for you only.


"'Night," I replied, and she walked into the back room, climbing into her bunk.

I sighed, feeling a little tired. 'Maybe I should try sleeping,' I thought. I made myself a hot cup of tea, which usually helped me fall asleep faster and easier. I drank it as I watched a rare rerun of Invader Zim on Nicolodeon, turned it and all the lights off, and made my way to the top bunk. The brown ceilings looked black because of the jet black darkness that surronded me.

For once, I fell asleep with a smile on my face, and Chantal out of my mind. I was so happy with myself. I put on the most amazing show I've ever done, and I felt like I was back at peace with my fans. The band was happy, the fans were happy, so I was happy. Chantal and I were on okay terms, but that was effecting my great mood. She didn't even cross my mind as I layed in bed that night, and I'm not sure if that's good or not.

The sun comes up,
And now you have a chance again,
The world falls down,
We all forget where to begin,
The world collapses,
You hold it in..


- - - - - - -
This was sorta the uplifting chapter. =)
The song is 'Sun Comes Up' by The Used.
More sometime soon.

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   8/31/2008, 3:58 pm

awww..poor Jimmy lol

I WANT MORE! xD

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PostSubject: Re: So What's You're Favorite Color, Punk?   8/31/2008, 4:19 pm

Lmfao, yes, poor Jimmy.
I have zero written for chapter 7, so it might take a few days for ideas to come, and for it to get typed down.
More soon-ish, though. =)

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