I'm not looking for the sun to shine today

So. I’m sitting on a bench. It’s hard and uncomfortable and I’m scared shitless because my lawyer’s not here yet. I’ve stolen another car. This is my second offence. I’m 12 fucking years old.

It’s not something I do because I saw it on tv, or because I want to be cool, or any other stupid reason like that. It’s because I need the money, because I’m saving up to run away. I’ve tried running away before, without money, and it ended badly to put it lightly. Being on the streets, being 12, being broke – these are things that do not go together.

So I learned to steal cars. It’s really pretty easy. Cars back then weren’t like cars now. They don’t come with all these fancy alarms and automatic locks and who knows what the fuck else. You wanted to break into a car – you broke the fucking window and that was it. Sometimes the person would even leave the key in the car’s sunguard or in the glove department. Every once in a while you had to hotwire the thing, you reach under the dash and pull away the plastic or sometimes the wires are even exposed. Guts and fire right there under your fingers. You connect red wire to red wire and the ignition starts and you hold together with gum and you’re done. You’re a crook.

I learned how from my brother.

But yeah – my chance encounter. I’m sitting there on the bench in court, and I’m waiting for my lawyer to show up. He’s twenty-five minutes late and my trial starts in fifteen. I might get time, I might have to go to juvie. My parents are nowhere in sight but that’s nothing new. It’s while I’m sitting there, looking at my shoes (and my feet almost don’t touch the floor), when someone sits down beside me.

I look to my right, just outta habit, and it’s some kid – my age – with black hair and a fierce grin. He don’t look scared, but then later I find out it’s for vandalism. That’s a fine at most. And his parents are with him, both sitting to his right.

He only has eyes for me though. And I grin back because, well, if you saw that smile of his you’d know why. Just something about it.

If I gotta tell you who it is I met that day, you haven’t been paying attention.

So my old man, his name was Mark William Boisy. I don’t remember him too well, he fucked off when I was about five years old and I haven’t heard from him since. From the way ma used to talk, it seems a good bet he’s in jail or dead. I don’t know and I don’t give a shit. I can’t miss someone I hardly remember.

Although when I was a kid I spent a lot of time thinking about him … thinking about who he could be. The stupid kid stuff you tell yourself so you can forget the truth, that he just didn’t give a shit about you. That he left because he didn’t care.

But you tell yourself he’s an international spy, or that he’s an astronaut, or that the mob kidnapped him and he can’t get away.

You lie and you believe and you repeat.

What I do remember about him is the boring every day shit – like eating cereal together at breakfast, the top of his head showing over his newspaper, the grey t-shirts he wore. He had good hands, but his fingernails were always dirty and bitten down. Sometimes he’d chew ‘em at the table and ma would yell at him and he’d laugh and spit the bits onto her plate.

He was fucking disgusting. But he was my dad.

The fucker who my mom re-married later, he liked it when I called him that. But he wasn’t.

I hate Mark for leaving. I hate ma for re-marrying. I hate the bastard who came into my life when I was six and stayed there and is still there and I’ll never get rid of him ever.

Fathers? Fuck that. Fuck it.



Character: Billy Tallent
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Word Count: 287

To Joe Dick,

It's scary as fucking Hell in your head, Joe, you know that?

There's a lot of shit going on there and some of it I knew already and some of it I didn't, and some of it I only suspected. Some all three. Like, I didn't know you planned on killing me during the tour, although I kinda suspected because that's the kind of fucker you are. And hell, I went anyway because that’s the kind of fucker *I* am. But I knew after I saw the videotape, after I saw Bruce's fucking documentary, and I saw you pull that gun out from under your arm when my back was turned and we were talking in the hallway.

It made more sense - you killing yourself, after that. Desperation’s a hard thing to shake and I think we both know a lot about being desperate.

There's one thing I did always want to make clear to you, Joe, one thing I never knew if you understood or not.

I never would have left if I thought you'd fucking kill yourself. Not the first time, not the second time. I think a lot of people think I should have known, or that I *did* know and that I just didn't care. And I don't give a fuck what those people think, but I do care what *you* think - and Joe, I never would have fucking left if I thought for a moment you'd do that shit, I hope to God you believe me. If there’s anything I fucking want in this world, it’s for you to believe me when I say that.

And as for your fucking reasons for faking it – you can take your reasons and you can stick them up your fucking ass. It’s not that I don’t fucking believe you, you fucking cunt, it’s that THEY’RE NOT FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH.

Nothing is good enough for fucking making me think that you were dead and that it was my fault. You got any idea how close we came to some goddamn Shakespearean tragedy here, you fucking bastard? Ten years of guilt, of Hell, of thinking about you every damn day and hating myself so much because I wish I’d done it a bit different, I wish I’d gotten to you first, I wish this and that.

I wanted to stand over Bruce’s fucking corpse with a goddamn shovel.

That time, those first couple of years, the only thing that stopped me was Billie.

After the hurdle of those first couple of years a person can live with anything.

Which brings me to who you addressed your letter to, Joseph Mulgrew. You’re so right when you say Bill Boisy is dead although I think he might have died a lot sooner than you think. Around six or seven maybe, when his old man fucked off and his mom got the new boyfriend. It was before Joseph Mulgrew ever came into his fucked up life and saved it. That kid I once was a million and a half years ago, he was fucked up and his life wasn’t going anywhere. *He* wasn’t going anywhere. He’d never be happy, Joe, not with what he had going for him and against him.
It was fucking easy then for me. I had things very black and white. I don’t want to talk about it but I had my life mapped out already and none of it really involved longevity or … anything, really, much less music. Then I met you and you somehow changed that for me. It got better, and I could finally get out of that house and away from those people. Joseph Mulgrew saved my life and I don’t think he ever knew it.

We had good times, Joe. You’re wrong when you say that Bill Boisy never used Joe Mulgrew because he did, even if he didn’t mean to do it. He used him so he could have a fucking life. But I wanted that life with you, Joe.

I love you, too. You say it way more than me, but I do. Have. Will. Just consider it a given, Joe. I’m not as good with words as you, I never fucking will be, but there you go.

(Yeah, what you said),
Bill.

Dear William,

I know things are hard now. It's a bitch to wake up in the mornings, isn't it? It's a bitch to get through the day. I know you can't breathe sometimes, you don't feel like there's anyway to get away from it, to escape. You stole that car 'cause you thought maybe you'd get somewhere, even though you didn't know how to drive. Too bad juvie wasn't much better than home or school.

I don't have any optimism for you, William Boisy, I don't got much for you at all. But in a couple of years you'll meet a guy, and you'll think he's a real freak at first, but he'll be the best thing that ever happens to you. He'll love you more than anyone, and you'll love him, too. I'm not joking.

But, because you're a fucktard, you'll screw it up. You'll screw it up and something awful will happen and you'll spend 10 fucking years miserable, depressed, and having bad thoughts.

But it'll get better.





Muse: Billy Tallent
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Words: 170

I usually hate these fucking things, but I'm all about educating the people with some good music:

Instructions: List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your Livejournal along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they're listening to.

In no particular order:

1. Mr. Brownstone (Guns n' Roses)

2. Miami (Against Me)

3. As I Watch the Sun fuck the Ocean (Boy Hits Car)

4. Crawling in the Dark (Hoobastank)

5. Bother (Stone Sour)

6. Dark Night (The Blasters)

7. Clash, Culture, and Violence (Rancid)

Honorable Mention:

8. Cut the Curtains (Billy Talent)

Would it be cheating to say I have no fucking shame? Yeah, I suppose it would be, that's more Joe's thing anyway.

The truth is I'm not very apologetic about most things. It's not that I don't have my share of regrets, I sure as fuck do, but most of the time what's done is done, y'know? If you live through your mistakes then what more could you fucking want? 'Cause I'll tell you right now I've had some fucking close calls on that one.

Shame though... okay. I have one. The big one.

( Jenifur )

Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Word Count: 430

I've seen this in a few other journals and thought it would be a good way to get a better feel for Billy. Somewhat rambling and unfocused thoughts behind the cut :)

( meme )

Billy Tallent, guitar player. I used to play for Hard Core Logo, but then the lead singer faked his death and things sort of fell apart. Go figure. Now I play for Jenifur, and they're better than some people will tell you. They're definitely better since I joined. Our last album went triple platinum, and last year we went on our first overseas tour. Things are good for what they are. I'm fucking the drummer.

I have a kid who I see a few weeks out of the summer, and I have a secret college fund for her that I won't let her mom touch. She calls me dad, but she calls Mary's husband 'dad', too, so I guess I'm bitter about that. I have dreams where I kidnap her, and we live somewhere in a house with a dog, and a backyard. Then I wake up screaming. I want to do right by her, but I have no idea what 'right' is. Which is something a lot of people would agree with me on.

I only feel good when I'm playing a guitar.

I bet you think you know the answer to this question, but you don't. I forgave him a long time ago, even though I may be a little more angry than I sometimes let on. Or even more angry than I do let on.

Joe Dick did me wrong, yeah, and it's all a sad, sad song, but I did him wrong, too. And I've come to grips with both sides of it. That's the thing about friendship, you learn to forgive all the little things and all the big things, and you keep going from there. At least, that's how it is with me and Joe. Or that's how it was. I don't know. Do I use past tense here?

Maybe I'm fucking crazy. Maybe we are a tanked-up, white trash married couple, and we take turns at playing the abused wife. But there you go.

So yeah, I don't need to forgive Joe Dick, and I don't need to forgive myself either. I'm accountable for my own mistakes enough as it is, and I don't need to complicate it by playing like they're okay.

But there is one person I do need to forgive:

( Mary )