I swear the detectives have been… too interested in finding my father’s body. The grizzled, paunchy or gaunt men sharply state they’re fans of his serial comic written towards entertaining teens. It’s unfortunate Dad’s title hero Xana, is an ex-soldier-turned-laser gun wielding vigilante. I would have rewritten Xana to use some form of Karate instead, but it’s not my creation. Regardless, I have to deal with his unwanted followers, warding them off like the raccoons at our house I also inherited.
Everyone’s been acting cuckoo around the case, but I can’t deny that my father’s also guilty of being odd, yet what strikes me as ironic is that Xana and Dad hate everything to do with the military, the police, and the government, and capitalism, yet all of a sudden all parties involved are zealous “disciples” of his. I spit in the dirt at that thought.
Peril Publishing hasn’t cut ties with the estate yet, checks still come into the mail. I’ve hired an accountant to act on his behalf just so they don’t suddenly close the contract, and pooh pooh me for trying to manage money, (it’s nearly Stan Lee level). The general public simply don’t recognize comic artist’s names, other than Stan Lee, Art Spiegelman, and Vincent Beverly. Vincent, my Dad, is both clever and irrational. He once told me to ‘never openly be too clever or else somebody down the line is going to find a way to milk your intellect and sell it at the supermarket’. Could his dreams really be fatal?
A friend of mine after consoling me said he probably died like Phil Ochs, for the same reasons, and “don’t get your hopes up kid, you’ll waste your time.” I say that’s disrespectful to Phil Ochs. A man’s self determined death is his own business, but we both agree that the poor soul didn’t truly die of his own will, but instead a certain department of the state’s.
That said, I’ve got enough time to waste, the one thing written in my agenda is “waste time”. I need that time to unpack his mind, the intellect he shared to the world in code. In his office desk drawer, unlocked with a key were two diaries that might have answers. Neither are his, they’re written by his two best friends who also disappeared separately. When one of them moved on; these horrific wails shook the walls of the house. He cried, screamed, in his room as if demons were torturing him in hell.
Christ, I don’t want to write this. I can feel the same torment rising up in me. I’m already starting to miss him. I have to find him, or what happened to him, or whoever truly saw him last.
I skimmed the pages like someone flipping through a bible to a random verse, looking for a message from on high. The diaries both contained a general paranoia of life, mixed with hope, the hope arises, blossoms, and then there’s a sudden end to them. Venus and Avery, a magazine model and a theoretical physicist (specialising in thermodynamics) had the same philosophy in common with each other and my dad. Xana is my father’s diary. Xana is how he unpacks his past. So those three people are the only clues I have to decipher where he is. Time is precious so I can’t sift through these resources idly. I’m writing them all here word for word, so that I can find some clues. If you’re reading this, it means I’ve trusted you with the life of my own best friend and with discovering his current status. Consider that severely.
I’m starting with Venus’s first since she’s more metaphorical than analytical. That doesn’t mean she isn’t equally as cryptic as Avery, it’s just my own choice because I’m more experienced with artistic language as an artist myself. I might insert some notes at the end of her diary but I need to keep all of the documents together in one volume, perfectly sorted out so you’ll find them all easy to reach.
Her diary begins after graduating from high school in the summer of 196(2) (specific year based on cross-referenced estimate). (Note: Venus initially refers to herself by her birth name: Donna until later entries)
May 24th- “It’s all over, my boring conservative life. I no longer have to hide my books from the sisters. I’m going to stay with an old-ish friend I made at the community theatre. She's even stranger and more mystical than I am. Dominique, She’s Haitian, hopefully she’ll instruct me in the art of voodoo.
I don’t know how she came into control over the old building. Maybe a former husband’s. I’ve never seen any signs that a man has been allowed into her proximity. I wonder what she’ll think of Ian.
June 18th- I’m supposed to meet a man at a studio… His name is Daniel. Too bad his name’s boring, but if he can live with it and still be an interesting person then I suppose I can live with the boring parts of me. I’m surrounded by boring things. Too many telephone wires and smog, even the theatre has gotten shabby. I’d like to do movies. That’s why I’m meeting with Daniel. He says many actors get started by modelling. I might have to get my Union card soon.
June 30th- I’m almost settled, moving in with Dom. I’ve barely had time to absorb her little paradise in a crumbling Harlem building with all the employment pursuit. She has birds and some sort of aquatic garden in a fish bowl without fish. Holy Mary, I love eccentric people. I’ve collected so many books but she has even more, and plenty of room for far more. My meeting with Daniel went well, Dom is already giving me advice on how to navigate men.
July 11th- Every session I have, we take photos and he shows me photos from the previous sessions. He keeps sending them to agencies and magazines. I haven’t spoken with Ian in a few weeks and he’s very mad at me for it. He called me right before I was going off to bed and monologued way too long about how I don’t need to earn money and the truly successful models don’t have to work hard, so I’m really working against myself. Daniel seems less delusional compared to Ian which is strange because I love to fantasize. I don’t think Ian sees me as a fantasy like Daniel does. Goodness, I feel embarrassed thinking about this. It’s just that I want to have appreciation, and instead I get humiliation. I won’t stand for that.
July 27th- I really like Dom as a person. She’s like the mother I… well almost had. There’s nothing wrong with my mother, it’s just that she isn’t and will never be in touch with her spirit like Dom is. Dom does not know voodoo. That’s fine.
August 15th- Daniel says he gets laughed at because I’m all that he ever talks about, but he doesn’t mind. Well Daniel, I hope you’re trying to tell me that you’re making progress with publicity because it sounds like you’re stalling.
August 31st- Food has been pretty thin lately. Dom says she’s giving me enough help but Daniel surely isn’t. Where exactly does he send my photos anyway? Playboy? Imagine what the sisters would think of me now. I don’t particularly care, it’s just that I think they’re silly. Well if Daniel’s a pervert as Dom warned me he might be, then I can be perverted too. With my own principles of course. I don’t think I’ve ever been perverted before.
September 6th- I’ve been talking around clubs. I’ve met at least one person who said they recognized me from my photos. They looked drunk. “Why didn’t you send me a letter? Or call me?” “I thought the photos looked pretty dull, and I didn’t care for any new models, you look far nicer in person… very exotic, you need a real studio.” Said the man who claimed his representation for some Macy’s runner-up dept. store was a big deal. He did not have any other clientele ‘at the moment’. Daniel has also called me exotic. I have a feeling everyone's going to call me exotic. I know I’m supposed to like that, and I almost do, but it feels like a superficial shortcut of a label. Dom says that it’s “ostracising”.
Sept 10th- Modelling sounds fun, but I want to be in movies, that’s the real magic. That modelling agent actually turned up an open invite to a casting call for Christian Dior tomorrow. I can’t help but be excited. I’m wearing a black leotard and some petal pushers he gave me a discount for. I’m pretty thin so I had to buy a children’s size. I hope it’s not too embarrassing.
Sept 12th- It certainly was embarrassing. The casting lady scoffed when she looked at me. I’ve never cared about my appearance until now. What did I do wrong? She looked like an ancient Greek woman, an elegant, but mean, stately lady. Does she enjoy scoffing at girls? Does she make herself feel like she’s better? I can almost believe she is with her confidence. I can’t help my prejudice of her character, she used prejudice on me, and it hurts. I haven’t talked about this with Dom yet, she has seemed to be in too good of a mood lately. She’s working with the YMCA to add more programs for children. It’s an old organization and all of the attendees either have children or know children, she argues. I hope she wins, she says kids need programs to keep them off the streets. I wonder if all this work I’m doing will be enough. I wish I could win people over.
Sept 13th- I’ve started praying again, I’ve prayed to pagan gods before but they were random ones chosen just for the sake of rebellion. Now I pray to Fortuna, Yama, and the Rozhanitsy. Dom tells me never to pray merely for fortune, or anything abstract. She warns me that the spirits are cunning and mischievous. They like to experiment on humans. I feel they’ve always been kind to me. She warns me that that was because I was a child and not only do children not know how to take advantage of the spirits, but the spirits cultivate children to their personal purpose. She speaks with cautious reverence towards them. I appreciate that, but I never want to be shy around the spirits or around people. You know what’s funny? Now that I think about it, I’ve seen people with great favor around people, and terrible favor with the spirits and vice versa. I’m definitely someone who has great favor with the spirits and terrible favor with people.
Sept 29th- I’ve been having strange dreams, I can’t fully remember them, but they involve jumping between planets in a solar system, but the planets get further and further away, and I have to jump exponentially or else either be stranded on a planet forever, or be lost in the vacuum of space forever, but the things I saw on each planet were even weirder! Strange fluorescent colors and shapes that I’m not sure exist in the waking world. I could have sworn there was also some sort of chant filling my ears. Something… there’s something reaching for me, I’m having this feeling of awe that I’ve never felt before.
Oct 3rd- Dom says that the spirits don’t control people like we think they do, they simply set things in motion and a person’s character determines their fate. It’s true that I used to think spirits directly controlled people, like the nuns believed. Catholicism and Christianity are such fun religions, but the ways they’re interpreted are so silly. Maybe that’s a generic way to look at religions, with respect, and without whatever people’s queer expectations are within religion. I guess I’m not supposed to have queer expectations towards spirits no matter how powerful they are rumored to be.
It’s strange though, when you label a god as omnipotent, you’d expect him to at least help a little with the issues and on-the-fence-ness everyone suffers from. I feel as though the world is holding its breath 24/7. I can’t avoid the political tie-in to that statement considering this so-called “Cold War.” Well with all that in mind, I’ve started praying that I can get a nice contract, some food, a lover, and a working heater. In return I promise to cultivate a love for the spirits and donate my profits to the needy. I promised Dom I would not feel daunted as I await my prayer’s fulfilment. It’s the hardest task I’ve taken on in my small life. I’m scared. People’s prejudice scares me. I also pray to take the fear of prejudice away.
Nov 16th- I got Dom a Christmas present. A blender that dices up vegetables for you. It will help her. She’s starting to feel arthritic. She’s only in her fifties. She finally told me how she got the building. She lost her son and husband in the war. Many people have come to her with offers for the building, they say it’s too difficult for her to manage on her own, and she says “That’s why I have fucking tenants, and I don’t fucking evict them.” She’s a very happy but stressed woman. She has wiry reddish hair that every so often hides a thread of silver.
Nov 19th- I spend time with her by the fire reading. This black street cat has appeared on her fire escape. I say street cat but it was probably owned by someone who moved out. It knows its way all around, it crawls on the terrace and can reach every window with or without scaffolding. Dom nearly got hysterical as it tried to get in. “Donna! It will be after my birds quicker than Sylvester!” (I forgot to mention she watches cartoons sometimes. So queer!) I told her the more she shuts it out the more it will pester to be let in, so we have to let the cat in as a trap, then deal with them. Dom nodded hesitantly. I opened the window, and before the cat could get her sooty paws on the ground I caught her. She was feisty, but not mean. She wriggled and yowled as I took her out into the hallway. I knew all she wanted was some warmth and food. When I returned to her from grabbing some canned tuna, she ran away at first, until I twisted open the top. I think she recognised the sound of peeling metal. She trotted right back up to me like nothing before had happened. I named her Delilah.
Nov 31st- Dom really is funny, she believes in good luck, bad luck, and ironic luck. She says Delilah will bring me good luck because she is a black cat.
Dec 14th- I was invited to a Christmas Party. I’m too tired to recount it fully but it was lavish and the people there adored me. I got a little tipsy and spoke out of my usual comfort zone and danced! I was never allowed to dance like I did. It was sacred and gaudy at the same time. I took home some apple cider. Dom said she was surprised I didn’t sneak some leftovers and other loot. “Who knows?” I said “Some reward might come in the future.” I had given my number to several people there. At least one person said I should be on Broadway. It was a sort of empty compliment but it meant a lot more to me than the ones based on my appearance. Delilah yowls outside of my bedroom at night, but I don’t want to leave the door to the hallway open for anyone to walk in. She’s a weird cat. Anyways, goodnight. I won’t write again until after Christmas.
(Starting from this section on, she takes on longer, more narrative passages, there is at least one flashback)
Dec 27th- For Christmas, Dom got me an ornament in the shape of a swan she had painted black. It is so delicate and regal, I’m holding her to my heart. I also had gotten her a statuette along with the blender. She loved both- at first. She asked me to dice some apples with it. I did and a monstrous din blared our heads. “You’ll have to wait until there’s construction nearby to make any use of that.” She laughed. I love Christmas. The less fuss and the more thoughtful warmth you put into it, the better. The heater still doesn’t work though but Delilah has begun to sleep with me now. With her and the heating pan, I don’t get too cold as often anymore.
Jan 1st- I’m more determined than ever. I’m scouting on behalf of myself. I’ve gotten many calls but they all sound like Daniel- full of half-baked promises. These people need to give me written agreements, not verbal smattering.
Feb 11th- I’ve got at least five auditions now. Two are for movies and the rest for the Spring Season of runways. I didn’t know there were so many designers! Men keep asking to take my photo but they won’t tell me what publishing house they’re from. Fickle! Not my problem though. I’ve been earning money as Dom’s assistant. She’s too tired to leave the house for anything except going to the movies and going to marches. Those are definitely tiring enough. I went to one. The scale of governmental negligence hadn’t hit me until now. Ah look at me, a typical sheltered being, but isn’t nearly every child sheltered? Dom says no, for every child that had a slow and dull childhood, there’s one who had no childhood whatsoever, and had to grow up as fast as possible. Sure, I’ve got the short end of the stick, but some kids get no stick at all, and others get beaten with it only because they exist. It’s strange,
Feb 12th- My mother while she was chopping turnips in the kitchen gave me “the talk” about racism. Father turned down the radio, a rare act, and chimed in but I simply thought it was like the stranger danger thing: something you could simply avoid. I wish I could say all that isn’t my problem either, but that problem is so pushed into my life, to the point that it festers and I can’t weed it out like I weed men out. Chin up though.
March 18th- I can’t buy any Broadway tickets, 20 bucks is highway robbery, but maybe I can go watch something with a friend. I’ve caught up with a few familiar faces at bars. I explained my situation to them and they told me I wanted to be famous (I don’t but I appreciate the sympathy). They gave me some decent advice, that if I want to be famous I have to hang around famous people. I don’t know why I didn’t think of directly interacting with the heads of whatever creative projects I wanted to be a part of. I could just find out who, what, when and where, and if they like me, good. And if they don;t like me, well I wasn’t meant to be around them anyway. Only good people will like me, right? I always try to come to Dom to keep my ego in check but she says I barely even have a lick of confidence. Anyway, perhaps I could meet some director at a Broadway show, or a ballet. If it weren’t for my terrible lack of flexibility I would have wanted to be a ballerina. The acting side of ballet is a little stale but it’s still magical. As for Opera… well… if someone ever finds my diary, please don’t tell anyone but I can’t sing. I can barely sing Nina Simone when she’s singing light little ditties. I hear the notes but they escape me, especially when I’m singing alone. I can hide it if I'm singing along but otherwise, well, it’s almost comedic. I’m glad I find it comedic because some people base their entire self worth on talent, but I base mine on my heart. I’m proud of that. I still care about reputation though, so please don’t tell anyone.
March 19th- I love music though. I don’t need a party to dance. Maybe I could be in a movie where I dance. If I had enough practice I could keep up with the more professional types, but that doesn’t matter. I love the magic of it. Sometimes on the subway platform, there’s buskers who play the saxophone and it echoes as if the walls were a cathedral. Except with more longing than a church organ, notes reaching way way way for what god won’t give, echoing its pleas down the unending halls, trapped below the earth, never able to climb up. I love how haunting it is. I lightly dance with it, and people stop to watch us both.
You all deserved to have an update. Thank you for your loyalty and patience. Life just keeps happening, you know? :D