As I am a student of the savage garden, there are no walls to my classrooms, there are limitless teachers, other classmates, group projects well sometimes I assign work to David because it does make him feel useful, aside from being my punching bag. However, I am tested. Often. And not always in the manner or at the time I would prefer *snorts*
Merci, cherie, consider your love passed onto the coven, they are always flattered although they try not to show it that my adoring fans care for their well-being, too!
♛Your gift is a stroll along the East river in New York City, a flight up to the top of the Brooklyn Bridge to gaze upon the twinkling lights of one of my favorite cities in the world.
And a lifetime subscription to Cat Fancy, because you have cats!
♛As for your self discovery, that is wonderful! Does it feel as if a weight is being lifted? Asexuality is a very real orientation. After Louis’ book, many people asked Anne Rice our ghostwriter whether we were asexual as if it was a bad thing. Not just Louis and myself, but all vampires. The term is very specific… and I am certain that I have mentioned that certain features no longer “work” the same way after we are turned.
I defy definition as always. You may consider us asexual if it helps you.
I can tell you that whatever your definition of sex is (and it can be so much more than merely penetration), love is absolutely possible, nay, necessary. I am just realizing now that my search for goodness, doing good… these things are deeply rooted in a desire to be praised, but more than that, to be loved. Isn’t that what we all want? That first love you feel for your mother/parent is without language, it’s that simple.
Sex itself is an act of closeness, of allowing oneself to be vulnerable to another, to nurturing and satisfying that other person(s) (hey, there can be more than 2!). There’s a spectrum in that. You can be vulnerable and nurturing to others outside of sex, too.
*flashes her a smile, hops onto the window sill. Bows courteously and then takes to the air*
Perhaps we should conclude our concert and discuss plans for celebrating the birth of your lord and savior? Well, technically my birthday was last month, but seeing as you missed it, I believe you owe me a celebration *wicked smile*
♛*Lestat leans back in his chair, cracks his knuckles, licks his fangs. Leans forward, a look of concern etched across his face. Begins to write*
Ishmael, it sounds so egotistical for me to recommend that you go back and read my books, but those are my words of comfort, you can glean from them the messages that speak to you. Sometimes I’m rather explicit in my advice, this is relevant here:
“… I was worn and miserable and I loved crying. I couldn’t do anything else. I gave in to it fully. I felt that profound release of the utterly grief-stricken. I didn’t give a damn who saw or heard. I cried and cried.
Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there’s nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don’t know the trick. It’s like whistling or singing.” me, Memnoch the Devil. [X]
Read The Vampire Lestat and Memnoch the Devil, two of my books that I believe would be helpful to you… and imagine that I am there, with an arm wrapped around you, reading those words aloud.
Santa Lestat hears you. There is no easy solution.
Sometimes I feel that some cosmic power has it out for me, as well. Are we to cry out that it’s unfair? Yes. But more than that, we have to kill the wolves. Metaphorically speaking.
Find strength where you can, and spread kindness and goodness to your family and friends. This will help fill the void that you feel.
*embraces tightly*
♛Ishmael, are you aware that your name means God hears? Despite having been to heaven and hell, I’m still not sure if I believe in God, and whether if he hears, does he listen? There is a distinction. With a religious name like that, I would guess that your family did believe, and perhaps, so do you. At least in the existence of God, if not the fact that he is a listener.
I’m not calling myself a God, but I hear you. I’m listening.
So, not a God, although I have had Papal aspirations. Perhaps that’s more to do with my wanting/needing to be given a place, a reason to exist, and Popes have the advantage in that it is their job to do Good, and encourage others to do the same.
Reading my books means that you’ve heard my words. Twelve! I may have just been enlightened myself at that age, at the monastery. It’s a young age to be reading the kind of grotesquery that is my life story, but the good outweighs the bad, and the overall message I would want my story to convey is for Louis to quit it with the religious guilt that follows any carnal, romantic, or platonic satisfaction!!! *ahem*… that life deals us different hands and it is possible to survive, even thrive, in the face of searing adversity. To hear that my stories have helped you cope with life’s obstacles is proof that I’ve done some good in this world, which was always my mission, even as a child in a monastery.
I’ve lost many people I’ve loved. I’ve led many people to their deaths. Real or not, it was absolutely terrifying to be confronted with the souls of those I’ve killed.
How does one deal with such great losses… a parent is someone who brought you into this world. That’s why I had to ask Louis to help my own father, ease his suffering, that was something I could not do myself. I’m still grateful for that.
A best friend is the family you claim for yourself, completely irreplaceable.
Cherish the memories, and know that you have room in your heart for more joy than you can imagine.
I felt a sudden sagging, a complete exhaustion, and a despair.
Typical.
I rolled over on my face and tucked my arm under my head and started crying like a child. I was perishing from exhaustion. I was worn and miserable and I loved crying. I couldn’t do anything else. I gave in to it fully. I felt that profound release of the utterly grief-stricken. I didn’t give a damn who saw or heard. I cried and cried.
Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there’s nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don’t know the trick. It’s like whistling or singing.
Whatever the case, I was too miserable to take much consolation just from feeling good for a moment in a welter of shudders and salted, bloodstained tears.
