Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Best Laid Summer Plans

Okay. So it has been over ten days since my last post... TEN!  Ugh. I told myself I was going to write this summer. I was full of ambition to be my best self and to be productive. But instead I am focusing on things very typical of teenagers at this state, I guess. I am in like. Deep like. But it's a work thing, and I don't know that it's reciprocated, and I can't seem to stop looking in the mirror thinking about what he sees and under the moon when some song makes me want to move, I start thinking about his face BLAAAAA ...

Anyways. There is NO reason I should be telling you this. My last ten days were not noteworthy or important. Not here in Montauk anyways ... I can't speak for LA!

I miss Bev. I've also not seen much of Bev since her ocean "incident," as my dad calls it. Dad put a lock on the gate between the houses. He said she needs her privacy. Ummm.... wut? I swear sometimes it seems like my parents want any excuse to get me away from Bev. They are my parents, they'll always be my parents, and I'll always care what they think, but why they have to get all paranoid and insecure about loyalties and boundaries, it's just like, why do you even pay for her house if you don't want me to think of her as family...

Anyways.

Like I said none of that matters, because we are gonna talk about the fucking boanthropic (sorry I had couple beers on the beach after work ... woops!)

Oh man, I have missed The Boanthropic. I've missed the energy it brought. The confusion. The danger. I know that for you guys it's just getting started, and that you have really important stuff to do (and a really important person to save), but since TheBoanthropic went silent, myself I just feel kinda useless ... and probably will until TheBoanthropic returns. Oh man, I can't wait.

When did you say it was? October something? It said something on The Devil's Gates scroll.

Remember? ... because I don't HA!

Boy it would be cool if we could be together on that day, if the voice does come back.

Anyways.

The sun is coming up. Better get back to my summer reading and try to catch a couple hours (Pynchon puts me right to sleep).



Moar Soon

K







Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Looking for Independence

Hihihihi. Krysta here.

Before I continue. Just want to talk about last night.

Bev and I went to the beach to watch the fireworks. I love fireworks, but it took some convincing to get her out of the house. She steadied herself on my arm while our toes settled into the shifting tideline and we waited for the blue sky to turn black. The water came in, came out. I could feel some of her tension leaving her body. It was the first time since all this Boanthropic stuff started that we'd taken the time to just breathe.

Then the fireworks started.

First light. Then sound. She loves the light, and she can't hear the sound -- so I thought it'd be perfect for her. I didn't think of how the explosions feel. I forgot about the blast wave.

That all surrounding WOMP to the chest.

That's what I felt when The Boanthropic were here. The voice only she could hear -- just like of the two of us only I could hear the fireworks. But we both could feel the wave. The WOMP WOMP WOMP.

I felt Bev's body go cold, and goosebumpy. I had to hold her up as she steadied herself. I tried to turn to her to mouth, "should we go?" But she brushed me away and walked toward the water.

The feeling of The Boanthropic felt like chaos to me and made me feel totally unsettled. But for Bev, the feeling was different. She was at home in that heart-stopping pressure and wore it like a blanket. Without it, she was so uneasy. So lost.

As the explosions grew and night wind picked up, I could see Bev's shoulders softly shaking as she walked into the water. First to her ankles, then her knees. Then the seventh wave, the one that takes you by surprise, crested quickly and swallowed her up.

I ran into the water and grabbed her hand, but she pulled it away. I grabbed at anything I could and got hold of the tail of her sweater as we churned in the saltwater. I dragged her back to the shore and pulled her onto the sand, her body shaking, weeping. I pulled the hair from her eyes and held her face in my hands -- what she had done for me a thousand times when my rage or my frustration were just too much.

Her eyes told me everything. That living without them, for her was living a life without hope.

++++++

Now back to the story of June 7th:

When I found Bev at her kitchen table, she was in a trance. Staring mouth agape at the ceiling as whisker-thin arcs of static electricity jumped from her head to the walls.

When it passed, and we had sat on the floor drinking glass after glass of water, I only had one thought.

What. The. Fuck.

I had so many questions.

Turns out on the other side of the country at the exact same time, some other shit was going down.

TheBoanthropic were making moves in Los Angeles, here...




Something magic happened at this spot if we were to believe the voices Beverly heard. The Boanthropic spirit that spoke to her -- this ethereal ghostly presence composed of what I did not know -- had an urgent message to relay to people near the spot.

"But why?" I asked. "What's so urgent?"

She looked down at the floor, playing with the linoleum like a scared child. "They're down from the mountain."

"Who?"

"The Society."


- K

moar soon

Saturday, July 1, 2017

Introductions

I'm Krysta.

As far as I can remember I never believed in anything before.  The only 'spirit' I ever believed in was music -- nothing religious or superstitious. Since I was little my parents called me their 'pet atheist.' But then afterwards they'd always warn, "never been is not never will." ... fucking parents.

Up until a few weeks ago, I had laughed at the dumb kids who still believed in TheBoanthropic. Up until a few weeks ago, I never thought I'd have anything to do with that stupid LA mountain sex-cult The Society. And I definitely never thought I'd be used in a plot by those anarcho-dumbdumbs, The Bobo.

Up until then, I didn't know anything about the way things really were. The only thing I did know was that I had a neighbor named Beverly. And there was something special about her.

By the time I got on this ride, it was already going. I guess it has been for decades. I've had to play catch up to understand what's happening. Who's who. What's what. Who's real, what's not, and where to go next.

If you're here, I imagine you're in a similar boat.

I'll help catch you up, and we'll find our way together.

I'll start with me:

I live in Montauk, New York which is at the NE tip of Long Island. For those looking at a map, look at the island as a forearm in profile. If Bay Ridge is the elbow wenis, Montauk is the middle finger giving The Atlantic the bird.

I live with my parents. I'm 17. I will not give out more personal details. My parents are... worriers.

But I will tell you about my neighbor. Bev.

We say we're neighbors, but I know she's more than that. Mom and Dad always said we have to be careful talking about Bev because if people knew she wasn't a landowner, or even a renter, then she'd lose any standing in the community, and she's been here forever. The deed of the lot next to ours where she lives, it may be in my dad's name, but it's hers, and for as long as she wants to be there. My parents never wavered on that. Family is family they'd say. She's not my aunt, she's not my grandma, but she's more than a neighbor. The words don't work to describe what she is to me, but that doesn't matter to Beverly. They're just words she can't hear anyway.

She doesn't go out much, but when she does, she's beloved, and people have considerately (and also a bit patronizingly) learned the basics of signing. Thank yous, hellos, and whatnot.

I run back and forth between my side of the fence and her side, always have and I've worn down a path through the opening between the two. They're both home to me. But, I always knew Bev's side was different. A different smell, a different energy, a different frequency. Like a weird fun-house mirror from the house where my parents and I slept. A little exciting. A little dangerous.                                                                                                                                                                            
I had no idea how important Bev was. To me she was just Bev.

Until that night. June 7th. Around midnight.

I was in my room, reading. I started daydreaming, looking out the window to the full moon hanging over Bev's place, listening to the breeze and the waves whipping up. Then under that sound there was this growing hum. It grew. It was coming from Bev's place. Looking over, I could see the lights were flickering. The hum grew. My eardrum was saturated. My head felt heavy with an adrenaline rush that made my mouth whimper and my jaw lock up. My body moved on its own. I ran.

I was afraid for Beverly. I busted through the screen door through Bev's back gate and into her kitchen. She was sitting there like a statue. She was staring at a spilled tea cup resting on her table. Tears were running down her smiling face.

As I took her by her shoulders, this rush of faint memories washed over me. I had seen those flickering lights before, hadn't I? I had known that smile. That dark cold rush that cracks me open with a shiver. But quickly warms. I'm vulnerable now and exposed my gut gets pulled in taught, my diaphragm suspended, locking my jaw open, sending me to my knees. Awestruck.

This is still the only time I can remember. But I know there've been more. I saw them. I think.

When the thing passed we didn't quite know. It was just a slow realization. By then we were on the cold kitchen floor, leaning on our hands and each other.

We both took turns pouring each other waters from the tap. We both swallowed four glasses in four long gulps punctuated by some deep gasping.

"What was that?" I asked her, after my last glass.

"That," she said, her smile lines still cracking all over her sweet face, "that, my love,  is TheBoanthropic."

- K

p.s. moar soon