Post by joseph michael kennedy on Jun 21, 2010 19:38:09 GMT -6
joseph michael kennedy
a r e y o u u p f o r , a r e y o u u p f o r t h i s ?
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[/font] and i've been roleplaying for too many[/font] years. i'm eighteen[/font] years old, and i found you through sketchy-poo[/font]. as you can see, i enjoy using jake gyllenhaal[/font] as a play-by. oh, and if you want to see what i can do, check out the role play sample. yeah, i'm awesome. i know ! [/blockquote][/blockquote]` I DARE SAY THAT I'VE HEARD OF YOU BEFORE. REMIND ME AGAIN, WHAT'S THE NAME YOUR PARENTS GAVE YOU, ANY SIGNIFICANCE ?- - - - - My full name is Joseph Michael Kennedy, but I normally just go by Joe. It's easier. I've never really thought much about my name. I guess it was just never really an important topic of conversation. I never asked why my parents named me what they did, and even if I'd wanted to my dad was long gone by the time I could even speak, so it was...sort of meaningless. A name is a name is a name. I never really understood the whole "meaning" behind them, y'know? It's kind of, well, fucking stupid.
` REMIND ME AGAIN, WHEN WERE YOU BORN ? I CAN NEVER GET ENOUGH OF THE STORY SURROUNDING YOUR BIRTH.- - - - - I was born on January twenty-third, nineteen-ninety-one, which makes me nineteen as of now. Birthdays were never a big thing in my family. It wasn't that we necessarily forgot about each other, but the lack of funds and low morale that comes along with it put a damper on any sort of celebration. Besides that, my dad decided to bail on us a few days before my mother's own birthday when I was around five, so I guess that just left a bad taste in her mouth. The only time I really received any sort of acknowledgment for my birthday was during the years when we lived with my uncle. He bought me a cake and all that shit. I remember feeling guilty, though. Something about being the spotlight of attention never say well with me. And I sort of got the feeling that his niceties were only given to me as an incentive to keep my mouth shut about the very large dick being shoved up my ass on a nightly basis.
` YOU LOOK FAMILIAR, HAVE I SEEN YOU AROUND SCHOOL ?- - - - - I'm a senior. A nineteen year old senior. I mean, I guess it's my fault, and partly my mother's. After all, she was the one who insisted that I be shipped off to rehab halfway across the country instead of attending my junior year. I can't say I exactly blame her, though. I probably would have done the same thing if I had a kid...which is strange for me to admit. But anyway, I missed that entire year and when I completed the program I chose to enroll back in school to finish out my high school education. Probably the one decent choice I've made.
` MAYBE IT WAS JUST AROUND. WHERE ARE YOU FROM ?- - - - - I'm from Boston, Massachusetts. And yes, similar to popular belief I do have an accent. It's not exactly the most flattering, but I honestly couldn't care less. My parents both stayed up there after finishing art school, so I've never lived anywhere else. However, with all the bullshit that went down regarding sending me to rehab in California and then enrolling back in school, my mom thought it best that I stay put to finish out high school. So, I've been here for about...two and a half to three years. That would be my best guess.
` OKAY, BE HONEST HERE. WHICH ARE YOU IN TO MORE: GUYS OR DOLLS ? DON'T WORRY, MY LIPS ARE SEALED.- - - - - A simple question with a complicated answer -- I'll do my best to sum it up. Basically, it all kind of started when I was six, around the time when we moved into my uncle's house (my mom's brother). I'd never really questioned the whole gay or straight thing before. I mean, I was six years old. Kids don't think about that kind of shit. Then he raped me. And he continued to do so 'til I was around ten or eleven. I don't really remember much about those years...but somewhere in that time period I started questioning things. A lot of things -- everything really. It plagued me and haunted my every thought. I mean, it still does to this day, but I'm not about to show that. I learned to stuff it down and fake it. Well, at least the best that I could. But I tried not to think about the whole sexuality thing. Through high school I hooked up with a few girls here and there, but there was still that nagging thing in the back of my mind. Long story short, I got into heroin and cut a deal with my supplier that if I let him fuck me, I get free drugs. Call me what you will, but not even I have a clear answer to this one.
` ALRIGHT, ON TO THE GOOD STUFF. WHAT DO YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME ? ANY FAVORITE PASTIMES ?- - - - - Besides chain smoking and sleeping, I really don't do much else. I'll frequent parties when I feel up to it, but I haven't really done so in a while. I'm not exactly a "social butterfly", but I do know people. Mostly the people I deal to. Aside from drugs altogether, I do draw and paint, and write on occasion. It sounds pretty damn cliché, and it probably is, but I do it mainly for myself. I don't even consider it to be my "life" or something I dream to pursue in the future. I do it because I literally have nothing else to do. That, and it's pretty conducive to acid trips.
` TELL ME: WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE THINGS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD ? THINGS THAT JUST MAKE YOU WANT TO SMILE.- - - - - Smoking, solitude, drawing, drugs, mixing drugs, vodka shots, not eating for extended periods of time, sleeping when I can, live music, old record shops, conspiracy theories, politics, art with no meaning, over analyzing everything, prescription pills, sex, socialism.
` AND SADLY, WE ALL KNOW THERE ARE THINGS WE JUST CAN'T STAND. WHAT ARE YOUR'S ?- - - - - Hypocrites, the entire monetary system, capitalism, most authority representation, condiments, fast food, drugs, over dosing, rage black outs, sex, homosexuals, children, art museums, people who find meaning in things where there is obviously no meaning, classic literature, being told what I can and cannot do.
` ANY SHORT OR LONG TERM GOALS ? WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS ? IN TEN ? HOW DO YOU PLAN TO GET THERE ?- - - - - To be honest, I don't see myself living past the age of twenty-five, if even that long. Because of that, I have made a conscious attempt at not setting any goals - long term or short term - for myself. Why hope for things that will 1) fail or 2) never come true? I don't like to give myself false hope, but it seems that's what's become the latest trend. Though, I have to admit, if I did think I could actually make something of myself, I'd at least go after something with my art. It's the only thing I'm at least mediocre in.
` WHAT MAKES YOU QUAKE IN YOUR BOOTS ? IF YOU HAD TO PICK ONE THING THAT HAS SCARED YOU THE MOST, WHAT WOULD IT BE ?- - - - - I'm afraid of rejection. It's probably one of the most common fears, but I'm petrified of it. Which is why I don't have relationships, and I keep my friends at arms length. I've pretty much turned into somewhat of a recluse, but at least I know that I can't abandon myself. Ironically, my other fear is, well, myself. I got myself into the situation I'm in, which must mean that there's something severely fucked. The fact that I don't trust myself with my own life sort of creeps me out.
` IS THERE A SIGNIFICANT OTHER IN YOUR LIFE ? HOW DO YOU DO WITH RELATIONSHIPS ?- - - - - I hate relationships in any and every form. They're a waste of time, and every single one of them will end in heartbreak, emotional distress, and way too much unneeded and avoidable drama. If you feel the need to be in a relationship to give yourself a sense of self worth, then you need to look at that long and hard. Because that's pitiful, and weak. And disgusting. People need to learn not to waste their time on others. No one is worth that much trouble.
` NOW, YOU KNOW THAT I ADORE YOU, BUT LET'S TALK ABOUT SOME OTHER PEOPLE FOR A BIT. A LITTLE BIRD TOLD ME THAT YOU HAVE SOME PRETTY EXTRAVAGANT PARENTS, TELL ME ABOUT THEM.- - - - - I'd rather not dwell on this, but whatever. My mom's name is Antoinette Zozam. Well, Zozam was her maiden name and her current name. After my dad left she naturally dropped Kennedy for her former one. She's forty-one years old, which is a tad bit young considering how old I am. But then again, I was a mistake. Essentially, a result of a malfunctioned rubber. My dad's name was Conan Kennedy - obviously, he was nearly one hundred percent Irish. I don't have many memories of him, but from what I hear he was a real jerk off. My mom went to college to become a graphic designer, but because of our family situation and...a few other variables, she was forced to pick up a job as an art teacher.
` DANG. ANY OTHER IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN YOUR FAMILY ? DID YOUR PARENTS HAVE ANY OTHER CHILDREN ?- - - - - No siblings. My mom couldn't afford to have any other kids. Though, there was my uncle, who I guess could be considered an "important" person. After all, he did take us in when our house was repossessed. His name was Charles Zozam, but we all called him Uncle Chuck. Well, I did, that is. I never really grew up around my cousins or any of my other family members.
` HOW ABOUT PETS, HAVE ANY OF THOSE ?- - - - - We never had the money for any pets, so I never even bothered to ask. Though, even as a kid I can't remember ever having a desire to own a pet unlike most children.
` OKAY, YOU HAVE TO HAVE KNOWN THAT WE WERE GOING TO ASK. WHAT'S YOUR BEST KEPT SECRET ? I WON'T TELL !- - - - - I've already mentioned it, but I suppose I'll mention it again. My uncle sexually abused me from the time I was six years old until I was eleven. He only stopped because we eventually moved out and got our own apartment. I've never told anyone about this, not even my mom. And quite frankly, I don't plan to. It's not really a secret, but I guess it's something I don't exactly proclaim to the world - I am self abusive. Interpret that in whatever way you please. I'm also a drug addict; heroin being my drug of choice. Though, that's definitely not a secret around here anymore.------------------------------------------------------------
oh hai there, CARSON HIGH ! my name is boston
Joe never expected to get a letter like this in the mail. Not in a million years. Especially after the way in which things had ended -- not exactly on a decent note. Six years without a word to each other, and one simple folded piece of paper was supposed to reconcile it. It had to be a joke.
However, the joke was very much on him, because before he knew it he was pulling up to the front of the Arizona house in an obnoxious yellow taxi. It was the only thing he could afford. The flight alone was well out of his meager budget range, but somehow he was able to scrape up enough cash to purchase a one-way ticket. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly as well off as most people should be at twenty-four.
"Here, just...stop here."
"Ten fifty."
"Ten fifty?"
"I didn't stutter, did I?"
"I don't know, man, I mean, it sounded kinda--"
"Ten fifty."
With a disgruntled expression slapped across his features, he rummaged around the bottom of the only bag he'd brought for some spare change. At least he had the ten dollars covered. After what seemed like an eternity of the grungy cab driver staring into his soul, Joe shoved the bills and coins into the man's calloused hand.
"Thanks, bro."
"Just get out."
And with those last words, Joe saluted the polite man with two fingers, grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and barely had enough time to slam the car door shut before he sped off in a plume of exhaust. People sure were pleasant in Arizona.
Smirking a bit to himself as his dull blue eyes followed the small yellow car until it couldn't be seen anymore, Joe turned around to face the house. Or rather, very large house. Much larger than the one room apartment of his own current residence. And it was only in that moment that it finally hit him -- this reunion was going to happen, in only a matter of minutes. The realization caused his chest to grow tight, causing him a bit of discomfort as he shoved his hands into the pockets of a pair of well well-worn black jeans. Even though they were in the popular style of the "skinny jean" fashion, it was quite obvious that they were at least two sizes too big for him. Barely clinging to his hips, he was forced to tie a belt around the waist in order to hold them up on his nearly emaciated figure. It was his own fault, though. The intentional sleep deprivation and lack of a nutritious diet (or, a diet altogether) finally seemed to have taken it's toll. It was a slight difference from the Joe Kennedy in high school -- the rather attractive boy who ran track almost well enough to receive a scholarship. That opportunity was long gone, however, and harsh reality had indeed bitten off more than its fair share from him. Dragging himself further up the driveway, Joe cast his eyes down at the ground, nervously wiping his clammy palms on his old white t-shirt. It bore the logo and name of a band he was fond of in high school; 'Sonic Youth'. His clothes were obviously outdated by at least six years. Lack of funds does that to a person. He was forced to prioritize, and thus had no extra currency to go waste away on luxuries such as a new pair of pants or a decent shirt. Peeling his eyes from the ground, he noticed that a girl seemed to have beaten him to the door. Against all of his "better" judgement, he found himself approaching her, justifying his actions with the excuse of, 'Well, I need to ring the doorbell anyway.' As he grew closer, he narrowed his eyes, trying to place the unfamiliar back of a girl somewhere lost in his memory. He seemed to be failing. Running a hand briefly through his bed-disheveled hair, he frowned at the thought of what he could possibly look like. It couldn't have been pleasant, with the ill-like pale complexion accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. He almost looked as terrible as he felt. But, shoving those fleeting thoughts out of his mind, he gave his head a quick shake, almost a signal to himself.
Clearing his throat slightly, he anxiously scratched at the back of his neck. "I wonder how long he's gonna keep us out here," Joe then spoke, his voice coming out a lot less clearer and a lot more raspy as he'd originally anticipated. Clearing his throat for a second time, he hoped it was just a passing tone. "Arizona is way hotter than I thought..." Thankfully, it was. He at least sounded relatively normal.
However, the joke was very much on him, because before he knew it he was pulling up to the front of the Arizona house in an obnoxious yellow taxi. It was the only thing he could afford. The flight alone was well out of his meager budget range, but somehow he was able to scrape up enough cash to purchase a one-way ticket. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly as well off as most people should be at twenty-four.
"Here, just...stop here."
"Ten fifty."
"Ten fifty?"
"I didn't stutter, did I?"
"I don't know, man, I mean, it sounded kinda--"
"Ten fifty."
With a disgruntled expression slapped across his features, he rummaged around the bottom of the only bag he'd brought for some spare change. At least he had the ten dollars covered. After what seemed like an eternity of the grungy cab driver staring into his soul, Joe shoved the bills and coins into the man's calloused hand.
"Thanks, bro."
"Just get out."
And with those last words, Joe saluted the polite man with two fingers, grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and barely had enough time to slam the car door shut before he sped off in a plume of exhaust. People sure were pleasant in Arizona.
Smirking a bit to himself as his dull blue eyes followed the small yellow car until it couldn't be seen anymore, Joe turned around to face the house. Or rather, very large house. Much larger than the one room apartment of his own current residence. And it was only in that moment that it finally hit him -- this reunion was going to happen, in only a matter of minutes. The realization caused his chest to grow tight, causing him a bit of discomfort as he shoved his hands into the pockets of a pair of well well-worn black jeans. Even though they were in the popular style of the "skinny jean" fashion, it was quite obvious that they were at least two sizes too big for him. Barely clinging to his hips, he was forced to tie a belt around the waist in order to hold them up on his nearly emaciated figure. It was his own fault, though. The intentional sleep deprivation and lack of a nutritious diet (or, a diet altogether) finally seemed to have taken it's toll. It was a slight difference from the Joe Kennedy in high school -- the rather attractive boy who ran track almost well enough to receive a scholarship. That opportunity was long gone, however, and harsh reality had indeed bitten off more than its fair share from him. Dragging himself further up the driveway, Joe cast his eyes down at the ground, nervously wiping his clammy palms on his old white t-shirt. It bore the logo and name of a band he was fond of in high school; 'Sonic Youth'. His clothes were obviously outdated by at least six years. Lack of funds does that to a person. He was forced to prioritize, and thus had no extra currency to go waste away on luxuries such as a new pair of pants or a decent shirt. Peeling his eyes from the ground, he noticed that a girl seemed to have beaten him to the door. Against all of his "better" judgement, he found himself approaching her, justifying his actions with the excuse of, 'Well, I need to ring the doorbell anyway.' As he grew closer, he narrowed his eyes, trying to place the unfamiliar back of a girl somewhere lost in his memory. He seemed to be failing. Running a hand briefly through his bed-disheveled hair, he frowned at the thought of what he could possibly look like. It couldn't have been pleasant, with the ill-like pale complexion accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. He almost looked as terrible as he felt. But, shoving those fleeting thoughts out of his mind, he gave his head a quick shake, almost a signal to himself.
Clearing his throat slightly, he anxiously scratched at the back of his neck. "I wonder how long he's gonna keep us out here," Joe then spoke, his voice coming out a lot less clearer and a lot more raspy as he'd originally anticipated. Clearing his throat for a second time, he hoped it was just a passing tone. "Arizona is way hotter than I thought..." Thankfully, it was. He at least sounded relatively normal.
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this application was created by
TAKE A CHANCE on me from
CAUTION 2.0.
this application was created by
TAKE A CHANCE on me from
CAUTION 2.0.
