It was a cool morning in the winter of L.A. Trax hadn't woken up from his late night ventures with his crew the "Capitulating Duets", as they called themselves. His mother, Veronica, was downstairs in the kitchen making breakfast and she asked Blake, her boyfriend of the past year, to wake her son up.
Blake was aptly named, Blake the Flake, by Trax and his homeboys. He was a real estate scam artist who walke the path to a plethera of animated bullshit artistry.
Veronica: Blake go get Trax up please! It's half past nine and he has acting class at college today.
Blake: I don't know why you even bother Ronnie! The boy is some kind of hoodlum...
Blake runs up the stairs methodically stopping to stretch his calves and do leg lifts. After his little sebatical he gets halfway to Trax's room and yells...
Blake: Hey asshole, it's breakfast time runt. Get your slimy butt out of bed!
Trax hears but he is about a thousand miles away in his subconscious. He is in a dream about ramification. The quantity of such is unknown, but he dreams about being persuaded by a malicious smiling face that multiplies and snickers about while using a ventriloquist technique. A disembodied voice cries...
Blake: Get up dickhead, time for breakfast!
Trax's room was adjacent to the attic on the upstairs wing of the house. The attic decorum was vast and dark attributed by a variatude of brightly lit neon posters with a black light. The posters were of Tool, Korn, Linkin Park and Nine Inch Nails.
Blake stood at the door slovenly attired as usual in the morning and says...
Blake: Time to rise and shine you little vagrant!
Trax's nap ended as he heard Blake's voice the second time and a dose of reality slipped in as...
Trax: (Waking Up) Don't stand aloof and uncouth without the proof at my door big man. You know raking in the playdough is o.k., but eavesdropping leaves no leafs.
Blake: Get your ass downstairs kid!
Trax: What the...what the hell does my Mom see in this guy?
Trax jumps out of bed startled and gallantly slips on some clothes.
As he rounds the corner downstairs his Mother starts a sentence and see him in a tee shirt and underwear...
Veronica: Why can't you...what the hell! Who do you think you are? Tom Booze or something in that in that movie "Risky Picnics"?
Trax: Whatever Mom! (To the obsequious question that always implies the frequented derrogatory and complacent understanding of the now)
Veronica: Whatever to you to...
Trax: Hold that thought...
Veronica: Try to get situated so I can cheer you up with some cheery oat nuts and bacon.
Trax: (laughs) Hee..hee!
Veronica: What's so funny?
Trax: I just don't know how you're gonna cheer me up with some honey nut cereal that I've been eating since I was five?
Veronica: O.K. so maybe some frosted flakies are better?
Trax: Thrive since five, just can't stay alive without the golden beehive!
Veronica: So Cheery Oat Nuts it is...
Blake: You're such a loser Trax!
Trax: That is a bold statement coming from Blake the Flake!
Veronica: Now you boys behave!
Blake: (Ignoring him) C'mon kid, put on your sundry T-shirt and get with the prose grammar. What the heck are you thinking? Are you modeling for that new 18 mag? Cause you ain't so pretty! You know you procrastinate way too much?
Trax: That's because Mom never showed me the error of consequences to misunderstanding my actions.
Blake: Whatever I would have just kicked your ass!
Veronica: That is b.s. Trax! I didn't raise you in direct diplomacy or that other mumbo jumbo you were talking about the other day.
Trax: You know I'm a clown's frown going down Mom!
Veronica: Whatever Trax! Lay off the "Klined" bud!
Trax: That is kind bud, and I swear I haven't touched the stuff in a month.
Veronica: Well, well the wheels are turning in my mind bucko. Wakey, wakey time to get riled up honey! New dawn, new day and all that stuff! What kept you last night? Another party or something?
Trax: Nope just your usual masterbating bullshit! We hosed some losers down with our pee-guns and ran to super soaker haven. We told him it was water from the fountain of uncouth as we ran away!
Veronica: Trax...!
Blake: If you did that to me I would beat your ass and hold you down till the cops came. Although that is kind of freaky. Where did you get the pee from?
Trax: I milked Lazzo of course! The finest dog pee this side of the pretentious.
Veronica: What are you gonna bottle it or something? You and that damned dog. Naming him Lazarus and all that.
(Lazzo was an abbreviation for Lazarus because Trax's buddy Crux insisted he had arisen from the dead and was a patron of the damned. So he named the dog after the bad pit.)
Trax: Allright I'm outta here, I'm going to get my stuff and go to school.
As Trax meanders back to his atticside he notices his vintage Star Wars Death Star poster and his black Darth Vader mask in his armoire.
Trax: The force is definately not with me today! (He thinks)
Trax had a little adventure the following night more than just hosing people down with dog piss squirtguns. A gallavant with the boogeyman and the road ended up with the night of 1000 cigarettes.
Ecstatically charged to a casual duality to tell the tale of faulty cerebrums in the L.A. streets of the fiery furnace they call California. It all started on April 25th with Trax's friend finding a broken down and belittled book with torn off pages in an almost empty garbage can.
They called the book "The Hyperion", because it was about a story called the "Puristocane's Adrenaland".
The Hyperion was about the way things worked in a remote society of distraught totalitarionism. It had a lot to do with a distinctive monarchy who called themselves "The Downstairs Men". As the book encapsolated that they only capitulated to themselves or the allies of investment.
Trax was apathetic to the idea of such an ologopolistic cataclysm of misfortune. Being a gothic somewhat anarchistic person, he curtailed to the sense that the higher state was that of an all seeing eye.
He denied that he could fathom the inner meaning of the book, yet he foresaw dreaming about his own possible future of going from technofaustian to futuristocated in a plebarian sense and being politically minded. An accuristic accuitary particular in the sense that he would remake himself in image and mindset.
"Placing bets on freshly endowed climactics", he put it. As it implied in the book...
"Going from clenching girth to parlaying with the venierable, for variety sparks and abdocates calamnity with outfinishing shine. A waxing wane of vanity's caligraphy', which enlightened him as he considered this to be tender for all tardy notions of brile ligaments. Those being endearing to all matters mysterious, also tender to the master of mischief.
(The book itself starts by talking about becoming an environmental changeling to overcome fiscal obscurity. A chameleon who changes context to an order's justificatious pantheon.)
The book also delved into other ideas, saying "There is always a pretense in the hysteria made out of propaganda and scare tactics. That is why a resourceful person diplomatically exchanges vows of credulity in derelection in a misfitting society. A tool is bereft in vacancy of a tinkerer who fits into place pieces of a pathology.
These concepts stirred Trzx into a new found awakening. He saw himself becoming fanatically perserverant to a horticulture of personal and corporately minded growth. He sought to immerse himself into computer technology to get some points across.
He then created a website called "Pure Adrenaland" which entailed both minded ideas of anarchism with corporation. An irony that befit goth with prep.
The conversion took place as he was wearing new clothes and astonishing his mother with frequent stories and slogans for a preconcepted campaign.
This made Veronica proud and her misbehoven boyfriend quite belligerent that her son was actually free thinking instead of being deranged, like his derelectual repetoir of friends. Trax was actually doing things with himself other than taking up space.
"A concierto of commerce" as Trax put it, begins with a corporate cresendo of selling yourself as your most valuable asset.
Veronica kept asking him where he got such ideas, but he kept it to himself...
As Trax makes his way downstairs one day a conversation erupts...
Veronica: What about getting a job over at that bar "Vanity"?
Trax: I'd prefer to become a mixologist of anology Mom!
Veronica: I hear that Carl Flemming cruises down there frequently. You might be able to meet a celebrity!
Trax: Being a celebrity is all in the mind and taken in kind to find it benign.
Blake: You are not as poetically particular when you don't have a job. Real Estate is where it's at!
Trax: What kind of bullshit do you sell? Anything onsite? All you sell is deception.
Blake: I'm going to beat your ass if you dis me again kid!
Veronica: He means it in a good way!
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