Lies and Vaudeville, finding their way home.

Well, it's a good thing that that's worked out, then. As much as I don't like revenge - it's a messy thing - there has to be an equivalent exchange. I try not to think about it too much, or else I'll have to think about something else to balance it out, when I would much rather be talking with The Lord or finding out why rain is wet - or if it is wet at all - or if it's raining in the first place.

Tea-time's at four, anyway, every afternoon, and you're all invited; do stop by some time. We'd love to have you, or at least I would; but I rather think The Lord would love to have you, too.


Messenger's Report

This is not going to be pleasant.

I’m here to report the death of Emma-Sofia "Kathleen Schrödinger" Mondegreen.  She died...sometime within the past few days. Thursday evening is our best guess. As I’m sure all of you reading her blog know, she was being held hostage by a certain “Cheshire,” and he proposed a little “game” to determine her fate.  Only problem was, he had five aces and he dealt us a hand of Monopoly money.  He never intended to honor his deal.

Cheshire just sort of disappeared, and a few of our Agents went in after him to check out what had happened.  They found a note in her apartment directing them to the cellar of a library…the same one, if I’m not mistaken, that Schrödinger mentioned in her post that featured my own blog.  Funny how those things work out sometimes.

When the Agents got to the cellar, Cheshire was already gone.  So was Schrödinger.  They…didn’t find a body.  Technically.  I can still, unfortunately, report with all certainty that Schrödinger is dead, because while there was no body, there was still a head.

There were also bones.  Bones that we’ve managed to identify as belonging to Schrödinger.  Bones that…how do I even put this?

The bones were covered in bite marks. Human bite marks. I’ll give that a moment to sink in.

I’m not usually one to pay final respects.  Sure I’ll make observations or post any final wishes that may exist, but final, parting words to the deceased?  It’s unprofessional and it requires getting attached to the victim.  But I guess there are exceptions for everything.

Kathleen, you made me smile.  You convinced me that, no matter how dark things get, it’s possible to remain optimistic.  You made me, and I’m sure so many others, curious.  But they’ve opened up the box, and I guess that same curiosity is what killed the Kat.  But you live on.  If not in their hearts, then in mine.  And for you to be able to impact someone who’s technically your enemy as much as you have?  Well, it’s an understatement to say that you’ll be missed.  No one deserves to go like this. But you least of all.

Blog's over.  Move along, people.  Nothing more to see.

-Don’t Shoot The Messenger-



I'm a businessman. I'm fair. So I'll put the slut's fate in your hands.

How about a contest you all know and love?

One some of you have entered before.

One that's easy.

One that really shows off your true colors.

One that's fair.

If a predetermined number of people post OFF WITH HER HEAD in the comments,

Emma's life will end posthaste.

If a predetermined number of people post SUPERPOSITION OF STATES in the comments,

Emma will live on as is.

If a predetermined number of people post L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N. in the comments,

Emma's former condition will be restored and all memory of Master wiped.

Cast your vote below. You have three days.


Because Jellicles would, and Jellicles can
Jellicles can, and Jellicles do...


Last night I had a dream
We were inseparably entwined
Like a piece of rope
Made out of two pieces of vine
Held together
Holding each other
With no one else in mind
Like two atoms in a molecule
Inseparably combined
he drew a circle that shut me out
But then I woke
From the dream
To realize I was alone
A tragic event, I must admit
But let's not be overblown
I'm not trying to write a love song
Just a sad pathetic moan
And maybe I just need a change
Maybe I just need a new cologne
heretic, rebel, a thing to flout;
Now I look at love
Like being stabbed in the heart
You torture each other
From day to day
And then one day you part
Most of the time it's misery
But there's some joy at the start
And for that I'd say it's worth it
Just use a blade that's short and sharp on me
but love and i had the wit to win
If love is just a game

Then how come it's no fun?
he won't play fair
If love is just a game

How come I've never won?
we drew a circle that took him inininininininininininininininininininin
I guess maybe it's possible
I might be playing it wrong
And that's why every time I roll the dice
I always come undone


And so on, and so on...
Garret Patrick. Taken in from the streets by Emma-Sofia Mondegreen until his parents could locate and return him to his proper home. Was to be heir to an immense fortune formed in solid gold, until entire family was killed when their limousine was hit by a police car in the that was responding to a crash on February 29, 2008, Emma's twentieth birthday.


Seth Fitzgerald. Served in Vietnam for one year until he was taken as a prisoner of war until the last few troops pulled out, four years later, in 1973. Divorced his wife in 2000 and lived as a homeless man for some years until Emma-Sofia Mondegreen encouraged him to live his life the way he wanted to. Died when a taxi cab crashed into his bus on February 29, 2008, Emma's twentieth birthday.


Esmeralda Mondegreen. Loving mother of four and eventual grandmother of Emma-Sofia Mondegreen. Diagnosed with melanoma at age seventy-four. Struggled against it for a grand total of two years, and then recovered. Died one month later while being transferred to another hospital when the ambulance crashed at the wreck of a bus on February 29, 2008, Emma's twentieth birthday.


Sal Sigby. Bullied Emma-Sofia Mondegreen in school because she always had her dolls with her. Secretly wished he had the courage to bring his own stuffed animals. Died while driving his taxi on February 29, 2008, Emma's twentieth birthday.


We've come full circle

You're sitting alone in your car.

It's dark.
It's cold.

It's really no place to be,
but you were told you were to receive a package.

A man in a dark coat
and low-brimmed hat

steps up to the side of your car
and raps on the window.

You roll it down a few inches,
and he slips a manila folder through.

Inside are several envelopes,

each labeled with a name.
There's at least a dozen of them.

Maybe more.

(It's a big folder.)
Inside them are pictures.


Police reports.

You suddenly remember the names.

Recognize them.

However unfortunate it may be,

you've come


Her screams are like ambrosia.



he got me again

and he

i can't

when i stepped off the plane he was there

nowhere to run

nowhere to hide

couldn't even call for help

frozen in place like

like he had done something





he stroked my face

caressed me

spoke to me as a lover

and then


i can't


i can't

he can't

i can't walk

he, my

my knees


the hammer


none left


nine eight seven six five four three




zero, zero




he was curious

he was so curious

what would happen if he pledged himself to him?

he was too curious

curiosity killed the cat

but he was

and satisfaction brought it back

with a vengeance
Are you blind when you're born? Can you see in the dark?
Can you look at a king? Would you sit on his throne?
Can you say of your bite that it's worse than your bark?
Are you cock of the walk when you're walking alone?


Light as a feather

And...there are lots of trees here.

Enough to feel...claustrophobic.

But they don't look threatening.

Not to me, at least.

The trees here...are softer, almost.

As if they protect what they hide.

No doubt there's treasure buried away somewhere in this great forest.

But I'm in no shape to go searching for it.

I've not wandered about the trees, no, I'm not ready for that yet.

But I've stared out at them through the windows.

At least, the ones that aren't broken.

It's cold here. They say it's always cold, and I don't know how they can stand it.

I have Frankenstein to keep me warm, though. A big ol' jungle cat for protection.

I used to be afraid of dying.

Now that I'm basically a corpse anyway, I...
The boils have appeared now.

Maybe that means it'll be over soon.

Maybe if I die, people will be able to stop fussing over me.

I've only been a burden. I'm no use.

I'm not brave, like Elaine.

I'm not willful, like Rachael.

I'm not even huggable anymore, like Frank here.

I haven't helped anyone.

Have I?



It was a nice place. I wish it hadn't gone like it did.
The motel wasn't exactly a fortress, but it was out in the middle of nowhere, and that single fact gave off a sense of security like nothing else could. But senses don't translate well into reality.
At something like one in the morning, someone in the lobby, probably the receptionist, started screaming on the intercom system about a fire. We had known something could have happened at any time, so we were up and out the door within minutes. There were maybe two other occupied rooms in the whole building, and as there was only one floor everyone got out safely. There was more than one ridge of flame spreading across the building. The first fire had started on the opposite end from where we had been, but it wasn't long before more lit up, consuming all that was visible of the once-proud motel. The manager was the last out, carrying a registry, and he did his own headcount; I guess baked customers are bad for business.
He counted twice, nodded to himself, and sagged against a car. I was about to go over and comfort the poor man when I realized there was one head missing. A very furry one.
Frankenstein was nowhere to be seen.
I know I made a bad decision. I know cats can often take care of themselves, and get out of the worst situations. I know I could have gotten hurt - worse than I was, anyway. Or killed. But Frank was just barely not a kitten. And he was my last memory of Francis. I couldn't let him perish. I dashed back through the shattered revolving door and started to run in the direction of the room. I heard his mewling before I had even got my hand on the knob, and once I was back inside I saw him again. He looked fine, if a little scared. I ran to him and cradled him in my arms, whispering what I hoped to be calming words, soothing lullabies. Frank leaped from my grasp, clawed his way up the curtains, and tumbled out of the window. Then fire collapsed on my back.
Not a beam, not a plank of wood, but just pure fire landed on top of me, forcing me to my hands and knees and subsequently the floor, where I began to choke and cough from the smoke inhalation. It didn't take long for me to pass out.
When I woke up Elaine was looking down at me, and there were stars behind her head, or maybe in her eyes, or maybe there weren't any stars at all. It hurt to move at all for a while, but when the manager offered to call an ambulance I refused. When time enough had passed and I forgot how to feel the pain, I stood up, and Frankenstein barreled into me, almost knocking me back down. In the ashes of the motel, a dark, bulky figure was sweeping at the ashes. When he turned, he saw me looking at him, and in a strange twist of movement and with the slightest spark as if at a campfire, disappeared.
When we were out of sight of the ruined motel, Cheshire's voice came to me again. "Three left," it said.
Oh well. At least the cat's safe.


Old world blues

On Friday we ran into an old acquaintance of mine.

An...an ex.

We dated for a while in high school,

when we were young

and innocent,

and thought we could rule the world.

He didn't stick around long enough for a proper reunion.

He saw me - like this -

and he asked me how my cats were doing.

He knows I almost always have a cat or two around.

I told him they had...passed on.

Francis looked so genuinely sad when I said that.

He promised to get me a new cat.

He rushed away before I could say another word,

and an hour later he was back,

with a little kitten.

Its coat was patchy -
not that it was missing any part of it,

but there were splotches of brown,




and he has the deepest sea-green forest-green green-green eyes.

Which fits, I think.

Considering the - the other two had red ones.

I don't know how he found out

but Francis confronted me some time later
with eight words:

Did that Cheshire bastard do this to you?

I couldn't say no.

It's not in my nature to lie.

I bit my lip,

and nodded my head

almost imperceptibly.

He nodded more vigorously.

Ran off,

hopped in a car

and drove away.

Last night I had a dream.

Cheshire was there.

Francis was there.

Cheshire was laughing.

Francis was dead.

I'm so sorry, Francis.

I'm naming the cat Frankenstein.

After its latest, greatest owne-

no. Not owner.

You can't own an animal, any more than you could own a human.

And what are humans but animals, anyway?

I'm naming the cat Frankenstein,

after its latest



So much better than I'll ever be.

The scales are tipping so far in the wrong direction...

We need balance.


And now...

Elaine has come.

I probably didn't look so good.

I might have even appeared as if I were finally dead,

laying listlessly on the couch as I was.

But it didn't take long to leave,

to head towards the one place

to meet the person

that I've anticipated meeting

that I've dreaded meeting

for...some time, now.

Never feared.

I never was afraid. Not of -


For all the soft words she's giving us,

Rachael is...

I can't say what she is.

She intrigues me,

as I assume I intrigue her.

I wish I could manage to show her the kindness she shows us.

But something...

It's more like a maze than a wall.

More like a swamp than an ocean.

There's something there, maybe even near,

but getting there requires effort that could tire Hercules.

But never let it be said I couldn't complete a measly twelve tasks

for a man who hides in a brass pot.


Killjay is here.

She's...done something.

She...fixed this...thing Cheshire did to me.

I still feel like a corpse.

The last of my teeth fell out about an hour ago.

But it won't kill me now, if she's right.

And I trust her.

She says she doesn't care about anything.

She says she's not on anyone's side.

But I know this is important to her.

She has to deal with this...Wasting thing too.

But...as soon as it was done,

as soon as she had finished,

I heard him.

Heard his voice.

He wasn't nearby, I think.

I could see his smile on the edge of my vision.

"Five left."

Sir Thighpiece's...contraption did the job, though.

Cheshire never actually showed up.

Killjay is leaving, now, I think.

She has no reason to stay, she says,

although I think she should relax.

But I see them everywhere now.
The circles.

The circles, everywhere.

The circles of cats,

of boxes,

of swords,

of smiles.

I hate them.

I hate those circles.

Such ordinary things make me afraid now.

The moon.

The caterwauling at night.

Sharp shadows on grass.

Watches, clocks.



Cats, even.


And circles.


Such an ordinary thing.

And I should be meeting some friends soon.

Maybe I'll get a chance to relax.

She got into my head.

That's what Killjay does,

but it didn't force me out.

I was...

we were one.

For but a moment.

It was the most





frightening thing

I have ever experienced.

That kind of intimacy is...

probably not something you want to deal with.

Not that it's...bad?

But it's something big, on top of something huge.

We need to make some molehills out of mountains.

Not just keep piling rocks on top.


if i may

i would like to take a leaf from a friend's book

with the sun shining down over me and you
and there'll be love in the bodies of the elephants too
and i'll put my
and there'll be

sun, sun, sun

all over our bodies

and sun, sun, sun

and there'll be sun, sun, sun

all over our faces

and sun, sun, sun 

'cause i'll be laughing at all your
and we'll be laughing about how we
'cause it's what
but it was

fun, fun, fun

fun, fun, fun

fun, fun, fun

when we were laughing it was fun, fun, fun

oh it was fun

i'll say
i no longer feel i have to be James Dean
and she'll say
yeah well i feel
oh pretty happy too
and i'm always pretty happy when i'm just kickin' back with you
and it'd be

love, love, love

and love, love, love

and it'd be love, love, love

and love, love, love

i'll be thinking about them as i'm
and i know that admittedly
but in my mind i'm having a pretty good
time with you oh
in five years' time

in five years' time

in five years' time

in five years' time

you might just prove

oh there'll be love, love, love

there'll be love, love, love

there'll be love, love, love

there'll be love, love, love

wherever you go

there'll be love, love, love

wherever you go

there'll be love, love, love

wherever you go

there'll be love, love, love

wherever you go

there'll be l♥ve

i still feel like, uh

well, like shit

but i feel better?

and i'm sorry for -

you know.

i'm sorry

to you, Corey, to Sonia

to you, Elaine,

to you, Sir Thighpiece,

and you, Hakurei,

and you, Nick,

and you, Morningstar,

and Killjay,

and John

and to you, Maurice

and everyone else

all the names i can't say

all the names i don't know

i'm sorry

i'd Run if i thought i could

i'm not in any condition to do so

though if you want to come and pick me up

i'd be happy to get as far away from cheshire as possible

they're releasing me from the hospital in nine hours

they don't know i'm on the computer

they wouldn't want me to be

Corey brought me a laptop to use, courtesy of Sonia

whatever you think

of me

of anyone

whatever you know

whatever you see

just remember

i'm here

i'm smiling

i'm happy

and i love you

all of you

and that love is deep-seated enough that i can

that i can promise

i won't go down while i have that love

i can promise i won't go down without a fight


I'm going to start by saying that I WON'T be going on about how you're all crazy and this thing can't be real and blah blah blah. One of my oldest friends has been basically turned into a living corpse, is missing one hand, and just swallowed a bottle of pills. God knows how she managed to open the damn thing. Anyway, the point is, she's in trouble and I simply don't have time to argue about why. I know how that goes.

Emma is in the hospital right now. She's just had her stomach pumped, and the docs say there shouldn't be any residual effects, besides the psychological ones. What they're not addressing is why, after most of her hair fell out, she started losing teeth. Continuing with my not-being-in-denial method, I've been seeing the guy in the top hat around the hospital, though never directly. Always in a reflection or turning a corner, and he's always smiling. I managed to get one good glimpse of his face so far, and I can tell you two things: the first is that it is in fact Lewis, Emma's old boyfriend. The second is that his demented grin is something unnatural. It's not just a crazy stalker psycho-slasher grin; it's as if his face was stretched. At least he takes care of his teeth, although I can tell you, if I never see them again it'll be too soon.

The nurse says that the hospital is too crowded to allow Emma to stay here for very long, even with her obvious emotional trauma. They say that they can recommend a good psychiatrist, and she'll need lots of friends about her; and if we see Lewis again we should call the authorities, which I don't plan on doing. I know how that usually goes.

There's one more thing I should probably tell you, but I don't want to sound callous about it. I know how much Emma cares for her cats, and nobody's told her yet, but they're - you see? It's hard, in text, not to sound like an uncaring bitch. When me and Sonia showed up at Emma's place and found her laying on the bed with the bottle next to her, we found her cats. I won't disturb you with the details.

Look, I don't know exactly what Emma has done for you or what you've done for her. I don't know, either, how much you matter to her or how much she matters to you. But if you could give her some well-wishes, or say a prayer for her, or even just keep her in your thoughts, I, personally, would really appreciate it.


P.S. And don't give me any of that bullshit about "walking away now" and "in over your head." Okay? I couldn't care less right now.


A peek into another dimension...

There's a door, and you don't know where it leads.


There's a door, and you want it to lead to Paradise.

Who's there?
There's a door, and it leads to Paradise, but you don't know that.

Can you see me?

There's a door, and


I'm sorry

i'm so sorry

i can't do this anymore

i can't do this anymore

i'm sorry

i'm so sorry

i can't do this anymore

forgive me

please forgive me

for all i've done

for what i'm about to do


Because I Don't Know What He Does With His Half




You get out of the theater early.

A spotlight burned out,

and it won't be repaired for at least a week.

You get home two hours before you normally do.

You knock on the door,

get buzzed in by the receptionist,

take the elevator up to your apartment.

It takes you a little while

to find the proper key.

You can hear people talking from inside.

You wonder if there's a party.

Could it be yours?

No, your birthday was two months ago.

Could it be his?

No, his birthday isn't for another two months.

You shove the key into the door

and drag yourself inside.

There he is, sitting on the couch,

kissing some girl you've never seen before.

It takes you mere seconds to understand the scene.

You drop your bags and run,

tears running down your face

nearly as fast

as you run from the wreckage of your heart.

You run and run and run and run

until you can't run anymore.

You run so long and so hard and so fast

that you get to the end of the Earth.

You stand there at the edge,

staring over the brink,

waiting at the place

where the sidewalk ends.

You trip,

you fall,

you tumble.
You wake up.

You look around.

Just a bad dream.

Just a bad nightmare.


I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.


You're being interviewed for a job.

You're not in it for the money,

but for the experience.

The interviewer is a short man with a bushy beard

and a dimpled smile.

He looks like he'd be a nice guy to work with.

While you're waiting,

a man dressed in rags and Mardi Gras beads

enters the room.

He's muttering to himself.

Something about aliens or demons or -

or something.

He gets called in first,

since they're going by alphabetical order.

He's only in there for about ten minutes,

and then you get called in.

Over the course of an hour,

you feel like you've impressed the interviewer

with your extensive resume

and interesting personal skills.

Your great shining smile seems like it encourages him,

and he smiles back.

You really feel like you've got this interview down pat.

When all's said and done, you leave the building,

thinking you'll get the job.

After all, there are only a few applicants,

and you're pretty confident in yourself.

Eventually you receive a letter in the mail with the news.

No, you didn't get the job.


A friend of mine is here to type for me because I can't. Not after what Cheshire did. He just let me go when he was done with me, and I don't know why. I think he's done something to me. I keep throwing up every time I try to eat something, and my hair is falling out. Luckily my friends have been with me through thick and thin and it doesn't matter to them as long as they can help, and Sierra and Mab don't care about appearance as long as I love them and take care of them. Which I try. I've tried ever since I got them. But I just don't think I can do that anymore. I can't give them away. They're too young, and Sierra still hasn't recovered completely. It's not that I can't afford them anymore, but I'm scared that Cheshire will hurt them like he's hurt me. Or worse. He could hurt me so much worse, but he's saving his anger. "Six left," he said. So if a finger was one, and a hand was two, what's three? Four? Five? What happens at zero? I'm not a cat. I only have one life.

There's something I need to confess.

Kathleen Schrödinger isn't my real name. When I became an actress I took up a pseudonym that was more interesting than who I really was. I figured nobody would want to cast Emma-Sofia Mondegreen. But that doesn't matter now, does it? I won't be acting again any time soon.

I'll be back up to snuff soon. I hope.



Being a Tale of Danger and Fear Involving the Evasion of a Very Slender Man

anna derpin'.

You're on a camping trip.

You're all sitting around a campfire,

at midnight,

roasting s'mores

and telling ghost stories.

Then you step up,

and you volunteer to tell the tale

of Cap'n Gorehook,

the ghost pirate.

And it goes a little something like -

but then a terrible roar comes from the forest.

A sound like a cannon shot rips apart your ears.


screams a gravelly voice.

Laaaaaand hoooooo!

screams a...

squeakier voice.

And then a squawking parrot

flies in and pecks at the others!

A big man with a matted beard and strange outfit

moving like a whisper,

so silent among the pine needles,

walks into your circle

and starts digging up the fire,

looking for something underground.

Eventually he finds a huge chest,

that he opens and inside

are coins.

The whole time,

your campfire mates are just watching,



but then the pirate screams at them,

and they all run -

but not you.

You walk up to the pirate

and high-five him.

You take one of the coins,

unwrap it

and pop it into your mouth -

delicious chocolate.

And you giggle

and he chuckles,

and all the others

are hiding under the beds

 nononononono NO!