trip, to the park [open]

[kirk nelton zappata]

to be, to free.

just a pigment, of your imagination...,,

<sub>Perhaps, it was the overwhelmingly cogent taste of marijuana on the walls of his small house, that had made him want to explore. Early that morning, he had rolled a dense joint, just for himself to enjoy. Whole clouds of thick ashen smoke swirled and overlaid above his head. The stereo’s jamming to abnormal mix of ska and reggae, another unknown band that had formed deep in the nation of Jamaica. However, he could tell that it was going to be a good morning, the way the high lifted his spirits and emotions. Leaving him with a feeling of heedless blithe. It was moments after he had smoked the last bit of his roach, that his phone was ringing, as it usually was. He had answered cautiously, clearing his throat, his tone adjusted to the rhythm of his relaxed body. “Yo, whose this?” Unknown numbers, were often common. “Hey, just wondering if you gots some bud?” It was safe, a nervous high school boy. Of course, he had bud. He had so many drugs in his house alone. However, maybe this would be a new client. “Yeah, man. Lucky you called, I got three types of dank ass ganja on me. I got bubblegum, you know…very good shit. Then there is California Skunk, taste likes oranges. Last, I got Northern Lights, powerful. Anything you interested in, man?” He didn’t even know why he was being so generous to this kid, with new “clients” he just gave them normal stuff most of the time. However, he knew he could make a good impression. “Uh, could I just have a dub of that California Skunk?” He asked, his gawky voice breaking quietly. “For sure, dude. Where you want me to meet you?” He eyed around his house, feeling the affects of the marijuana in his blood. “Uhm, park? Ten minutes?” This kid obviously didn’t smoke a lot of weed. He yawned, throwing papers from his living room coffee table. “Yeah, be right there.” With that, the two hung up.

It was moments that Kirk slipped on his splotchy green blue and orange tie die shirt, his paint splattered pants, and his dark orange beanie. He let his thick dreads fall, just all around his face, not bothering to push them away. Within moments he grabbed a already weighed out dub of California Skunk. Also taking a small container of normal weed, just in case he happened to run into somebody. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes, his lighter, and his keys. Then he went through the door, and was ready for his day to begin. It wasn’t a long drive, just nearly about five minutes from his house. However, by the looks of today, the whole town looked dead. Perhaps, it was the earliness of the morning. The drab gray in the sky, with heavy hanging clouds, looked as if it was threats of rain. However, for him it was going to be a good day. Though he was driving, baked, blasting the stereo of some Gojira. He could feel the sensation of his mind letting all the positive emotions intertwine with the rumble of the music. It generated through his body. The rhythm of the music, the feeling of the day, the highness in which his mind brought…it was all pumping through his blood stream to his conscious. He was so high.

He pulled in quickly into the narrow parking lot, what seemed hours, only was a few minutes. He pushed himself out of the car, tasting the coolness of the early morning air. The soft breeze, eased his mind. Yet, it always made him curious, why was the air always fresher in the morning? Did a new start re-start the world? Then renewed the air to its freshness? Ah, stupid curiosity always killed him when he was high. It took him a moment to snap into reality. Making his way into the park. He was all alone, and to him, he looked very suspicious. Though, he really didn’t care what he looked like at the moment. He just wanted his damn money, his twenty bucks was worth great value. He brushed a nappy dread from his face, his eyes calmly exploring the faint blue starting to intertwine with the blotchy ash hue of the sky. The gray, seemed to dissolve before his eyes. The warmth of the turquoise blue lightly mixing and sprawling out. He loved to notice little things like that, the Earth’s interesting ways. However, as he observed, he heard a familiar gawky voice. “Uhm, hey.” It was the kid who wanted his pot. He turned quickly, his eyes fixing on the thin dark haired kid. It surprised him he was alone, usually high school kids came with their friends to public places. He didn’t care, he just was trying to deal his business. “Hey, bro’. I got your shit.” He grabbed a well folded baggy from his pocket, as the kid anxiously exchanged it with a twenty dollar bill. “Remember, this shit is strong. So it ain’t gonna be long before your feelin’ baked as fuck.” The kid nodded nervously, looking up at him, he briefly made eye contact. However, it wasn’t long he walked away quickly without saying a word. Shit, what a weirdo, he thought quietly to himself. Leaning against a tree, feeling his entire body relax. He loved being outside, just chilling. Within moments, he felt his nicotine craving. Placing the filter of a cigarette to his lips, lighting it quickly. He took a deep inhale of the toxic smoke, loving how it eased his stresses within moments. His eyes briefly explored. His mind dispersing into a trip where only his conscious brought questions. Questions of the Earth, the creation of many things. In reality, he was only high.</sub>

[violet joyce owens]

and i know you (know you, know you)
ALWAYS STEAL AND BORROW
and i know you (know you, know you)

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Violet woke early that morning, quite typical of her. She never slept in much past nine thirty in the morning, rather unlike most of her peers that were knocked out until noon or later. Vi always felt like she was missing out on something when she slept too late, she liked to be in the know, and sleeping so late meant wasting half a day's worth of events. Granted, she did go to bed around eleven every night, so needless to say she was not much of one for the nightlife. Violet padded downstairs in her silk pajamas, her feet bare. Breakfast was just being brought out by the cook's assistants, for an early riser such as herself, she did not do breakfast very well. Food just didn't sit well in her stomach before eleven o'clock. Crinkling her nose, Vi slid into a chair across the table from her mother, who was already clean and clothed, and reading the newspaper. She could not help but chuckle, her parents were so behind the times. They must be the only people on their block with a subscription to a physical newspaper.

Vi poured herself a mug of black coffee, it was the good stuff, imported Columbian beans, hand ground by the people that worked in the kitchen. She held the mug in both hands to warm them, letting the steam coming off the liquid to attack her face, opening up her pores. "Did you sleep well, Violet?" asked her mother, not looking over the top of her newspaper. She hastily swallowed a mouthful of coffee in order to reply. "Yeah," Vi responded, and then returned to her coffee. Yes, she had just a slight bit of an addiction to the stuff, nothing in the world could taste quite like it. Not even the coffee you could get at Starbucks, the stuff was good, but it just wasn't the same as home. It must be all those artificial additives that they stuck in there. Nothing could beat the real deal. "Well that's good," her mother said in an offhand sort of tone, and then fell silent. Violet figured that there must be a semi-interesting article in there, otherwise her mother probably would have abandoned it a long time ago.

Once she had had her fill on coffee and forced down a slice of buttered toast, Vi made her way back to her own room to find some clothes for the day. She spent fifteen minutes finding an outfit, and then went into her bathroom. Her shower was lukewarm at best, she didn't like it when the water was too hot, it turned her pale skin beet red. Once she was clean, Violet went about her routine getting ready. She looked in the mirror and smiled at her reflection, it was one of those days where everything went just the way that it was supposed to. Going out on a whim, Violet decided she was going to grab her sketchbook and colored pencils and head to the park to work on her sketches. Grabbing up her messenger bag, which conveniently held all the supplies that she needed, Vi walked a bit more cautiously down the stairs with her killer high heeled shoes. "I'm going to the park, mom," Violet called in direction of the dining room. She paused, and then came the response, "okay sweetheart, have fun!" She was all clear. Heading outside, she had to blink several times in the bright sunlight as she ambled over to her car.

The drive to the park was pleasant enough, she had the road to herself virtually the entire way there, spare for the cop car sitting at the residential intersection where people tended to run the stop sign. Vi took extra care to come to a complete stop, there was no need for a ticket today, that would be a terrible waste of time. She took a spot in the shade of a large tree in the parking lot, then looked around, the place was entirely void of people. Deciding that this was a good thing, Violet took her keys and her bag to one of the tables under the pavilion and set to work on her sketching. She did what she spent most of her time on, that being designing new fashions. Everyone had thought this was just another phase of hers, as when she was younger she changed ideal careers like a Barbie doll, but they knew this was it when she invested time into learning to sew. Her parents had even given her one of the spare rooms to use for a studio, complete with mannequins. The sound of footsteps alerted her to the presence of someone else, a boy. She stuck her pencil into the spine of her notebook and got up, closing the gap between them. "Hello," Vi said cheerfully with a warm smile.

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NEVER CATCH, YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CATCH TOMORROW

Words: 823
Outfit: clicky
Tagged: Kirk Zappata
Notes: none

[kirk nelton zappata]

to be, to free.

just a pigment, of your imagination...,,

<sub>His cigarette was burning unknown toxins into the atmosphere. It wasn’t like he had the whole list of chemical pollutants memorized to a tee. However, either which way he knew it was a terrible habit. Much like many others of his, he had the notion in his head that he really didn’t care as much as other people did. With each puff of swirling ashen smoke…he felt a sense of relief. Unknown to exactly what it was. If it was possibly sedative poisons for his lungs, he’d live with it. After awhile he became used to the addiction. It eased the little tension within his life, and further more giving him something to do in his boredom. He just plain liked the habit. He leaned against the tree, with smoke leisurely twisting up into the sky above. At the moment he had the attention span of a fly. The affects of such drug were sluggish, giving him a droning sense in his personality. However, Kirk (well known by most) was one of those typical pot heads, that would never give it up. Marijuana, was his number one choice.

His day wouldn’t be much. He knew it already. His routine was followed up during this summer time span by enjoying himself in the luxury of his own home. It was solemn often of the times, and he made quite a living off of his drugs during the day. Sometimes, he’d just kick back and smoke a blunt or a few with his friends. At night was where the parties were at, where the shaded memories were. It seemed a constant party where he was at. He couldn’t get enough of the social attention. He adored the distinct idea behind the communal feel in the life of parties. It wasn’t the only thing he did. He just really liked people, music, living life and having fun. There was no defined line between living life and having fun. He lived each day with the most of entertainment he could had.

It was a good environment he was in at that moment of time. Or at least he felt ceaseless calamity within the area. No fears, worries, or bad vibes seemingly projected through his conscious. Therefore, he was still nearby the tree. He began to forget about the nervous kid he was making the deal to, in stead his distracted thoughts swarmed over different topics. His still dark eyes continuously scanned the area, in search for individuals sauntering about. The khaki hued grass began to appear vibrant as the sun crested over the horizon. He saw it faintly. Beginning to clear up the ration of clouds within the sky.

Just as his awareness began to focus in on the little details of that morning, he was distracted again. A voice in which had secretly startled him out of his meandering attention. It had caught him off guard, though he played it off suavely. Turning abruptly and inspecting the features of a familiar face. The recognizable blonde beauty with the big bright eyes. She was a friend at school he hadn’t made all too long ago. In a sense, their friendship was abnormal. Though, Kirk hated the division of cliques within their school…he tried best to avoid them. He was as kind to Violet as he could be. He wanted to non-conform to the idealistic formation of friendships being divided by certain groups. He liked everybody. So he was good to all.

“Hey, if it isn’t…Bright Eyes.” He said as smoothly charming as possible. Kirk was high, but he could often hold a decent conversation under the influence. Oh, and how he was good at picking nicknames for people. He thought it was catchier then their real name. Kirk turned completely, still holding the cigarette between his fingers. “Man, you were beside me and everything and I didn’t even notice. I’m the true definition of a dimwit. Hell, drawin’ up yourself something far out?” His lips folded back and twisted into the largest smile he could give her. Revealing a bright array of aligned ivory teeth. He shook his head slowly and casually as he made his way nearby her side. Sitting beside her cross legged, his smile began to fade.

He made eye contact with her. As he did most people. The reasoning behind nicknaming her Bright Eyes, she seemed to have the brightest pair of blue eyes he liked to look at. He seemed to like to stare at her in a trifled manner. However, he admired the girl for her good nature. “Well, hell…how long has it been, girl? Its been awhile. More than ever its cool to see you again.” His voice had a tendency to deepen and slur, it was all in his language.</sub>

[violet joyce owens]

and i know you (know you, know you)
ALWAYS STEAL AND BORROW
and i know you (know you, know you)

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Vi kept eye contact, but was a bit taken aback by Kirk's strange behavior, it hinted toward being on something. That was one of the few things she disliked about him, the drugs and the partying. But still, she admired his friendliness, not very many people were willing to converse with those that were not in their clique. Violet, of course, did not mind the boundaries instilled be social classifications, she herself would rather not be shoved into standings with those called "preps," as she really did enjoy talking to people that fell into other stereotypes. But as she would be heading into her senior year that fall, it was a bit too late to change her public personality, she would just go to college someplace glamorous and faraway, like London or Paris, fashion capitals of the world. When Kirk (she only just noticed the odd smell that lingered around him) inquired about her drawing, Vi glanced back down at the pages briefly, she had only just started, but she had a wonderful idea in mind, once it was finished it would go in her portfolio.

The figure was headless, she found that faces weren't her strongest drawing point, she could never get the expressions quite right. Even her hands were better than her faces, a rarity in artists. The obviously female figure stood up straight, her arms straight out, forming a "t", she faced forward without any tilt whatsoever. But the person wasn't the focus in the drawing, no, it was the dress. Violet had gotten a stroke of brilliance as she showered that morning involving the concept for her next design. It would be evening/special occasion wear, it was inspired by those pictures in the mythology books that the Greek goddesses wore, only instead of white it was a pale pink. There was elaborate beading under the bust that formed that ancient pattern of the squares with the blockish swirls. In gold glass beads of course. Invisible seams, perhaps an inner shaping slip for less than ideal figures, it could certainly be well hidden beneath the sheath inner dress and broad straps. A wrap maybe? Either in the same pink material as the outside shell of the dress, or gold like the beads.

It was one of her better ideas, Vi had to admit. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, she wasn't even sure if the fabric shop would have the fabric that she needed for it, she was thinking a light, airy gauze for the shell, maybe polyester or a cotton-rayon blend for comfort. She immediately decided to do away with the shaping inner slip, people could provide their own foundation garments. Three layers would be a bit too tedious to sew anyways. "It's nice to see you again too," said Violet, recalling some of the details of their less-than-normal relationship. They had shared a few classes throughout Junior year, talked a bit, had some fun together. Kirk really was a nice guy, the relationship she had with him was a lot less superficial than the rest of her supposed "friends." Her mind returning to the dress, she had seen some gauze at the shop before, just not the color she needed. Glancing again at her drawing, Vi figured that she could always get it in white and then dye it the appropriate color. It was a tedious, messy project, but it was the only way to secure that it was the color that she wanted. She may not be able to get it to match the drawing perfectly, but shecould at least get a somewhat close match.

Bright Eyes, that was certainly a nickname tossed her way that she had not heard before. Most people called her Vi, simply because it was short for Violet. And then there was the dreaded nickname of Pockets because of one afternoon when her friends had observed her using her bra as a second purse. Normally quite passive, Vi was quite firm on not being called this, but the name had unfortunately stuck. But every one of her friends knew that unless they wished for her to be cross with them, they should call her Violet or Vi. She was starting to get the suspicion that Kirk was high, or on some sort of substance that she would never touch in her lifetime. It was then that her half-groggy brain finally recalled his surname, it was Zappata. They got along fairly well, and the people in her clique at school tended to look down on her because of the fact that she would talk to him- in spite of how hard she would insist that he was kind and very understanding. Most of her friends had insisted they had best leave his type alone. Risking her social status, Violet did not do as they said. Probably the only reason she hadn't been shunted to some other clique would be her money and impeccable fashion sense.

Quietly, Vi closed her sketchbook. She tended to not share her designs with other people. No, she wasn't afraid that they would be stolen, Vi was certain that nobody she knew had even thought about becoming a designer, they were all a bit too busy with Daddy's money. Yes, Violet liked to shop, but more of her time was spent creating. "How have you been?" asked Vi, beginning simple conversation as she tried to ignore the smell of smoke on Kirk.

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NEVER CATCH, YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CATCH TOMORROW

Words: 922
Outfit: clicky
Tagged: Kirk Zappata
Notes: none

[kirk nelton zappata]

to be, to free.

just a pigment, of your imagination...,,

<sub>Kirk was the type of individual that didn’t concern himself with what others thought of him. More than most, he knew what they thought of him. While some people troubled themselves with changing who they were because people noticed a flaw, he embraced it. Hippie, pot-head, druggie, dread-head, ash-tray; he heard those nicknames by many inhabitants of around the area. The truth was, he knew they only labeled him because they noticed faults of themselves so they picked out the flaws of others. He loved his defects. Mainly because it sought out traits within him that made him the entity he was. He liked seeing himself as a individual and not what others made him out to be. It was common sense that the people who listened to others opinions, where the ones that were easily brought down.

Kirk drew a deep breath as he inhaled the last bit of smoke, putting the cigarette butt out within the grass. Ashen smoke slowly crept out from the corner of his lips, and he exhaled away from Violet. He understood that she disliked the smell, he could tell sometimes. Most of all, he could tell she disfavored his drug habits. In the past they had a couple brief conversations about it. For the most part, Kirk understood why people detested his drug habits. He knew more about drugs than most did. However, it wasn’t all in the drugs that he loved. It was the psychedelic trip and more “out of the world” feeling he would experience. That was what most people couldn’t fathom. Kirk had reasoning to ignore people’s belligerent warnings of such toxins. It was the pot that he loved the most. What he thought as the cleanest, purest “drug” (not even acknowledging it as a drug).

Kirk’s gaze returned to Violet’s eyes, noticing she didn’t comment on her sketch. Perhaps, a drawing of her future fashion designs…he knew that she enjoyed fashion. Kirk couldn’t say much about himself, scraggly orange beanie., ripped up jeans, and a tie-die shirt. Dressing like any typical hippie. He didn’t even perceive he had a fashion sense, he would wear nearly anything baggy and vintage. Often destroying his clothes accidentally on the many adventures he would depart on. Kirk lowered his gaze to her unfinished drawing, eyes solemnly retracing the lines. His cogency recollected the other sketches of hers he had seen in the previous months, remembering she had a distinct style in her way of drawing and fashion.

The high was slowly burning off. He could tell by the lack of delusion within his vision, and the dwindling body high. He could comprehend just find, even though there was a lack of immediate reaction. However, he constantly smoked the herb. It always appeared as if he had some sort of blazed nature about him. The redness in his eyes, the lingering scent of marijuana, and the slurring drone within his words. Either way, he wasn’t about to change any time soon. Ganja, was one of his favorite things to do. Kirk’s eyes retraced the structure of Violet’s facial appearance. He looked away for a moment, listening to her words. He leaned back casually and smirked as he thought out a reply. “I’ve been pretty rad, life’s been going great for me. Lots’ of opportunities with jobs. Been reading a lot, drawing, playing music, hanging out with my buds’. Pretty fuckin’ fantastic. How about you, bright eyes? Seems like the last time I saw you was school, we need to hangout more. Maybe you can show me how to sew.” He spoke enthusiastically, moving a bit towards Violet’s direction.

He especially liked how she didn’t care what her friends thought of their friendship. Kirk could remember the stuck-up girls’ that she was friends with. They’d sometimes point at him from far away and shake their heads, and he’d just sarcastically flip them off. Of course, he didn’t care what they thought. He acted oblivious to their gossip, but it seemed nothing to him. Now school was out and he didn’t need to confront the idea of people’s nonsense beliefs. High school to him, was just doused in gallons of drama. However, he was one of the few that neglected drama, and pushed it away.

Kirk began to notice the warmth splitting through the clouds, as the sun began to rose. The solar brightness was lightly shedding on the flat terrace of the park. Revealing little sparkles and gleams of light upon the verdant lawn. He treasured the sight, usually all of Texas was just a parched piece of veranda. It was a beautiful scene to scope out, due to the lush green sprawling along. However, the heat would be immense. In such heat it was a idea to swim.</sub>

[violet joyce owens]

and i know you (know you, know you)
ALWAYS STEAL AND BORROW
and i know you (know you, know you)

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There was something about Kirk, he was just so different from other people, not just because of all the drugs and his hippie-isms, but it was his personality. He always seemed happy, and she had yet to see him be more rude to someone than the occasional flipping of the bird to someone that really pissed him off- usually her other friends. Vi had been thinking a lot about friends lately, she had been reevaluating what a real friend was, something that she had not thought much about over the past few years of her life. All Violet was knew was the people that either were rich, weren't but wanted her money, or those in the upper portion of the high school social order; like the jocks, cheerleaders, populars, or other preps. She had over a hundred numbers stored in her phone, most of them being people that she felt that were not really her true friends. She spent a good chunk of time exchanging text messages with them, too. Not five minutes during the day went by when she didn't get at least four new messages. True to the typical happenings, she felt her phone vibrate.

At first she dismissed it, but when it didn't stop after a few seconds she figured that someone was calling her. Vi reached down her shirtfront and into the pocket between her breasts that her bra formed and pulled out her phone. She glanced briefly at the screen, seeing that it was one of the people she wasn't sure was a friend or not. Violet set it down, she was spending time with Kirk, she wasn't about to interrupt that with some sort of phone call, even if it was an invite to go shopping or something. "You want to learn to sew?" said Vi, a bit surprised. Not that she wanted to put Kirk in a box or anything, she knew how much he hated that, she was just taken off guard by his suggestion. Guys in general did not learn to do such things. But, Violet did suppose that was how all the big names started, learning with a sewing machine, having nothing but their sketches and fabric to go to, very little money to their names. Vi, of course, avoided the last description by a long shot, she came from one of the wealthiest families in town, and she rather liked it that way. Not having a strict budget when she went shopping was the best thing in the world.

"I mean, I'll teach you if you want to learn," Violet continued, not wanting to sound tactless, "it would give us a constructive excuse to hang out more often." So far, Kirk was the only one of her friends that expressed any interest in her designs or her main hobby. The rest of the people that she hung out with preferred to come to her for the latest scoop on celebrity gossip, hair or makeup advice, or going shopping. They never talked about what they wanted to do after graduation, most of them just wanted to lay around and not make anything out of themselves. But Vi had more ambition than that, she wanted her names immortalized like Chanel, Calvin Klein, Gucci, and Giorgio Armani. Somehow, Owens just didn't sound glamorous enough, it didn't hold the same ring to it. Perhaps she would marry a French or Italian man, and start pronouncing her first name as "veeoh-let" instead of the American way. Maybe then she might construct a more ample designer-sounding name that way, after all, what luxury brand sounded as domestic as "Violet Owens"? No, they had to be exotic, even if the designers were American.

Vi smiled lightly, something about hanging out with Kirk made her feel good, it gave her fulfillment that her shopping buddies couldn't, and that was always welcome with her. "I'm pretty good, though. My dad is going to invite over a bunch of his colleagues for some stupid party tomorrow night and I'm required to be there. It's going to be a bitch, they're the kind of people that think you're some kind of Neanderthal if you use the wrong spoon at dinner." Violet added with a roll of her eyes. She would bail as soon as her mother gave her "the sign," meaning she would smile in her direction and itch her left wrist. Her mom hated those things as much as Vi did, but as the spouse of the host, she was supposed to stay the whole time. After dinner and she socialized for an hour or so, her father's annoying colleagues wouldn't miss her when she disappeared to her room. Besides, they were all men around their fifties, and never gave a damn about what the women had to say.

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NEVER CATCH, YOU'RE NEVER GONNA CATCH TOMORROW

Words: 821
Outfit: clicky
Tagged: Kirk Zappata
Notes: none