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Post by richardl on Feb 20, 2013 13:23:38 GMT -5
 his second day in LA and already things weren't going very good. richard had one hell of a time moving his shit into his small, cramped apartment on the 5th floor. the building had no elevator which meant he'd been forced to lug his boxes all the way up 10 flights of stairs. 10 fucking flights of stairs. by the time he reached his door, richard wanted to pass out. and he would have, except for the fact that the room had no chairs, beds, or tables. it was bare. the paint peeled off the walls from the los angeles heat, and the carpet was starting to fray. his apartment looked like some ghetto mobster's crackhouse. richard was very unimpressed. growing up with money, it was rather new for him to live in conditions that did not allow him space and luxury at his every whim. his parents did not support him at all, especially after what happened in college. they tossed him out the day he graduated, telling him he was on his own and that mum and dad would no longer be supporting his filthy ass.
richard had very little money. the town he lived in was small and everyone knew each other. while he went to a rather large university, he'd never felt so alone in his life. richard grew up in a village and gossip got around. no one would talk to him or even look at him after the fraternity incident. looking back, richard underestimated the severity of the situation, deciding that: yes, it was pretty bad; the event was only one of many that led him to leave australia. he considered it his home more than america ever would be, even if he had been born in washington. his parents, on the other hand, were not american--they came to america for a short business trip that lasted four years after richard was born.
did he have a good life? he didn't really know. his parents were ex-military officials who believed in corporal punishment and shunning, two things that made richard's life extremely difficult. they were very busy people, running an absolutely huge national department store together. richard found himself left at home most of the day, coddled by nannies who accused him of being too spoiled and pampered. he grew up shy and withdrawn, not talking that much and avoiding social contact at all his father drank a lot, but his high tolerance rarely led to drunk stupors. however, when he did, he used to take his work stress out on his son. richard was afraid of belts and rarely ever wore one, associating them with painful memories of his childhood past. also homophobes, his family did not believe richard when he said the entire university event was unwanted, accusing their son of being some awful homosexual demon who could not be cleansed.
the entire reason he'd seriously considered moving out to LA in the first place was for work. richard loved to write--poetry, stories, novels, you name it. his fear of rejection and scorn, however, caused him not to publish, and it was his engineering teacher who'd caught him writing in class. initially upset by the boy's distraction, he found richard's poem to be more beautiful than words could describe. when the boy was too shy to pursue a career in song writing, his teacher made a few calls and arranged richard to meet a recording artist in los angeles who needed someone to write music for them. things were going from bad to worse at home, and richard only said he'd think about the opportunity. only a few months ago had he received another call from the musician, begging the boy to come down and at least try. so it was be an outcast or make some money, and richard chose the latter.
when he arrived to the only decent recording studio in town, richard was exhausted and cranky from a long day of moving. he brushed past the man at the entrance, his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. marching up the steps to the second floor recording studio, the man pushed his way through the door and made it to the back room, plopping down on one of the chairs positioned in front of a huge wall of sound controls. sighing, he rubbed his face, trying to unwind. he supposed he was too early because no one was out and about. not a bad first day. richard pulled his legs into his chest and sat curled up on the chair, resting his cheek on his bent knees. his entire body barely fit in the seat, but he didn't care. it was nice and quiet back here. a small smile crept upon richard's lips and he closed his eyes, snuggling against his thighs and wrapping his arms around himself, breathing softly. a few moments later, he'd managed to fall into a very light sleep.
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Post by alexzandra sophie mills on Feb 20, 2013 16:07:33 GMT -5
there's a fire starting in my heart reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.tinypic.com/wb98wn.jpg');,true] ROLLING IN THE DEEP !
Who thought that song writing was this difficult? For alexzandra was the worst part because she never seemed to good with letting her feelings out. She did it but after a lot of time trying of good words that would fit into the melody she had been working out for the past month. She had a lot in that she wanted out but most of the things that happened to her were so bad that she didn’t want to revive all of it by writing them. She knew it would make her feel much better, that it will make her wounds heal but it was so hard, all of her songs take forever to actually come out. But when they actually did, they came out perfectly detailed. People actually come to her and tell her, that her songs pretty much summed up their life. She didn’t like to brag but people that listened to her relate to her and that made her very proud of herself. She was just hoping that someday her songs could make a difference in the world.
She had been sitting in the studio and all she had was the chorus. This was frustrating. She had her guitar on her lap as she strummed a few times but nothing more came out. Throwing the pencil across the sound proof room, she just laid on the floor looking to the black ceiling. Why was this so hard? She always thought. She just wished she still had her grandpa to help her. He was her biggest inspiration; he helped her through everything, even writing lyrics. He could bring out the best in alex. He could take her inspiration out and she would write a lot in just a few hours. That doesn’t happen anymore, he was dead and she had lost her second father. She cleaned a tear from the corner of her eye, sitting back up and picking up the lyrics book again.
Alex had one more thing to write about… but she was sure she was stumble a lot while doing it. This diseased she had something that didn’t have any cure. They had tried everything, nothing ever worked, even sleeping pills that would surely put a horse to sleep for days worked. Her brain was an sex addicted, her doctor said and she couldn’t help it. Sexsomnia. She still couldn’t fit that name into her head, it was such a weird and rare disease that about 7.6 percent of the world population had it. Sleep sex… how can that thing even exist? Having sex while sleeping. The worse was that it wasn’t even all of things that alex did.
That was one of the reasons why she didn’t or will ever have a roommate. She was too scared she would get up and try to have sex with him or her. People who meet her, have called her all sorts of names. To slut to filthy whore, she has heard them all. But it was worse when she was in high school. Even one day she accidently fell asleep in school and woke with almost all her clothes off and trying to fuck her history teacher. It was the worst thing that could have happened to her, she lost almost all her friends because only simple thing she just couldn’t control. She had never had sex with anyone awake, she was too afraid to hurt or cheat on anyone. She just couldn’t deal with the pain of seeing someone cry for something she did, her heart hurt so much every time she thought about it. In her head, she was still a virgin because until she didn’t do it while she was awake it wouldn’t count. She was just focused on her career and hoping it would pay off, or else she had nothing else to live for.
as she heard the door, she got up and watched carefully the guy passing and sitting down on the chair, that was obviously too small for him. She let out a small chuckle before she passed through the door towards the area where he was sitting down. “excuse me?” she said almost in a whisper trying to wake up the boy, who was now in a soft sleep. She didn’t want to wake him up but he was there for a reason right? “excuse me… why are you sleeping? You are supposedly here to help me record.” She said hitting his leg with the tips of her fingers. “I am going to put the beat, then you can record my voice.” She said as she looked at him being all obvious. She turned her back to him towards the sound proof both again. Closing the door behind her. She put the headphones when the song started. She started to sing the lyrics of the song as she heard the melody in the headphones. This was one of her favorite songs that she ever wrote. ‘promise’ it was the name of it. It was actually everything she was feeling at the moment. When the song was over she turned to the boy and smiled. “how was that? Did you record it all?” she asked softly. Hopefully he did, because this was the best take she ever made of that song.
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table by california dreaming @ caution 2.0 |
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