SEX...CIGARETTES...& SEWING MACHINES © MAY 2014
INGREDIENTZ.
FALL FROM GRACE -----INFATUATION NATION
“The monstrous display that played out on-screen was one that matched the Fashion PR’s equivalent to adultery. Throughout the video, the most disastrous and brand disintegrating event took place; surely no one could repair their reputation after a blow like this one.” --[FALL FROM GRACE]
Fall From Grace written by Sojourner Edmonson-Sealy
CHAPTER 1 GILES February 1, 3135 -- 7:42 a.m. Adorned in a fitted, navy pin-stripe Thom Browne suit, complemented with bespoke Cream-on-Cream Nicholas Kirkwood Oxfords, Giles Onyx Daniels sat with his feet propped up and crossed on his massive desk; made entirely of sculpted porcelain that shimmered like cocaine. With great aid from the glass floor that covered every inch of his 50 sq. foot office, Giles comfortably rested within vision of the floor below him as he laced his fingers behind his head. The chaos unfolding beneath him from the main design department of “H.V.N.” -- the crème de la crème of Androgynous Luxury Clothing -- was a jungle of pressure due to the upcoming Spring/Summer 3135 Fashion Presentation due to take place digitally, through their impressive digital application; one that automatically projects a life-size, real-time fashion presentation right in front of the viewer, no matter where they are. H.V.N., being the creator of this new form of technology in the fashion industry, meant that Giles would be able to take complete advantage of this complex program’s full potential. As the Chief Executive Officer of H.V.N., Giles wasn’t the picture of a humble man, grateful for his success. In fact, Giles was a man that believed he was the Soul and the Holy Ghost of H.V.N.; the angel that answered the prayers of his constituents, as well as the wrathful dictator that spewed disciplinary commands when challenged by anyone, in any little way. Exactly three minutes until the official headlining stories were planted and watered throughout cyberspace, Giles realized what time it was. He began to pace back and forth on the glass floor beneath him – stroking his acutely shaped-up, pitch-black beard – as he mentally prepared for that day’s predetermined events. Giles’ coffee complexion became furrowed as his holographic secretary, Mindy, spontaneously materialized in front of him, mid-stride. “Your first appointment of the day is here Mr. Daniels!!” Mindy, squeaked as she appeared in front of him at a five foot, seven-inch stature; seductively dressed in a vintage Balenciaga shift dress. “Thank You Mindy, send them in.” Giles softly roared. He then walked behind his desk to take a seat; a practice he did before any of his visitor’s entered his office, a way to assert his position as the one in power.
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Calmly walking into his office was Charlie Bee, a woman known for the digital coding symphony her fingers performed on a daily basis; she was also blessed with digital design skills that aided the company in creating a superior marketing aesthetic. As her runway model stature glided into the office, her Caramel skintone contrasted well with the full cream-colored pantsuit that looked as if she were poured into it; promptly complimented by her favorite pair of Giuseppe Zanotti’s — the 6-inch suede Mary Jane pumps with a royal blue coating and thin ankle straps. The sleek 1940s wave that sculpted her honeyblonde hair complimented her sharp fuchsia lip-color. As she walked towards Giles’ desk, her heels clapped like thunder before a midnight rain as they hit the floor. “Giles,” Charlie greeted in a flat tone, as she clenched her jaw. “Charlie…so glad you could make it!” “Well…I wasn’t really given a choice, now was I?” Charlie challenged. “Oh…no need for the attitude love, just tell me what I want to hear.” Giles retorted, slightly agitated by the attitude. “Everything is going as planned and the Fashion Industry will be witnessing the demise of Mr. Ernwell’s glistening reputation in five seconds. So………is that all?” Charlie expressed, rather exactly. “Absolutely not. How about you pull up the headline…you’re the only soul I want to share this moment with.” Giles spoke in a seductive tone as he now stood six inches away from her face, with a seductive grin creeping along his face. Charlie stared back in contempt; unfazed by the flirtatious nature of Giles she pressed her “Mind-I” -- the quarter-inch, metallic gold hexagon implanted between her left index finger and thumb. Once pressed, a personalized touch-screen projection materialized instantly. Mainly cluttered with scrolling headlines of that day’s pressing events, tabloid news, and social media non-sense, Charlie pressed the link to the video that had taken her exactly one year to produce for Giles. The monstrous display that played out on-screen was one that matched the Fashion PR’s equivalent to adultery. Throughout the video, the most disastrous and brand disintegrating event took place; surely no one could repair their reputation after a blow like this one. While entranced in the profanely blasphemous display on screen, Mindy interrupted the blind gaze, and slight horror, that both of them gave to the video, as she materialized in front of the “Mind-I” projection -- digitally dressed in an alluring vintage Versace body-con dress change -- a deliberate feature in Mindy’s programming, at Giles’ request. “Giles! Your Press Conference is in five minutes; you need to get to your ‘Cubix’ immediately.” Mindy speedily stated. “Thank You Mindy.” Giles stated matter-of-factly as Mindy dissolved into digital particles. “And Thank You Charlie…for your extended loyalty. You truly are an Angel.” Giles said with sarcasm dripping from every word; a way to squash Charlie’s sour attitude and remind her of the fact that this favor was owed to him anyway.
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The Fuchsia Neon light, projected onto the glass floor from the 5-inch steel cube, dangling from the ceiling, also functioned as a digital transportation device. As soon as Giles stood in the heavenly glow of his ‘Cubix’, his heart began to pump in a crescendo at unordinary levels as his blood, simultaneously, sped through his veins faster than normal; he was high off of the Power he knew he would experience by the end of the conference.
LUCIF February 1, 3135 -- 7:50 a.m. The raw and rugged interior of the Renovated Garment Factory, turned Bachelor Pad, on the 666th floor of the new “Chrysler V” Building, served as the domicile of H.V.N.’s, World-Renown Creative Director. Sitting smack dab in the middle of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, this venue oversaw the quadruple-decked tattoo parlors and sushi bars, equipped with 50-foot high window panels -- lightly dusted in a Rose tint. ###################################### Covered in a blanket of aggressively artistic tattoos, Lucif’s athletically muscular body was coated in milk chocolate flesh; also functioning as a sculpted work of art that many women had been blessed with throughout the years. “Urgent Message Awaiting Your Action Mr. Ernwell!” The digitized female voice rang from Lucif’s “Mind-I” as he lay sprawled out on his stomach; his naked body laced throughout the silky, thermal-coated sheets that covered his levitating, king-size mattress. “Urgent Message Awaiting Your Action Mr. Ernwell!” the voice resounded five seconds later, causing Lucif to rub his eyes before finally opening them. Recovering from what seemed to be an excruciating hangover from the night before, Lucif pressed his “Mind-I” as he struggled to focus on the projection that danced in the air, alerting him of the urgent message. The face of his design assistant, Charlie Bee, appeared in a pre-recorded projection obviously taken from their design offices, with this season’s moodboard serving as her background. With not one hair out of place, she gave an unusually timid and internally torn scripted performance -- scheduled by Giles. “Lucif…please tell me it isn’t real…that you didn’t…that you couldn’t… its all over the news…it’s on video…” Conflicted within her-self for aiding in the takedown of the man that she had worked side by side with, and grown extremely close to, during the past year, Charlie continued the charade in order to save her own personal assets. “I don’t even know who you are anymore…there’s no undoing what you’ve
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done…” Charlie stated as her eyes began to water because of the war her conscience was having with her soul. “I don’t know where you are, but you might as well consider your reputation foiled…” Charlie paused for a moment, looking as if the words she was searching for were lying scattered on the ground. “What would possess you to do something like that? I…I quit.” she finally uttered in a disappointed pout. As the projection of Charlie’s face dissolved into the air, Lucif stared up at his distant ceiling with a furrowed brow, mixed with an unsettling nauseous feeling that wouldn’t go away. Struggling to remember his last actions before he passed out in his bed, Lucif’s head pounded with questions trying to figure out what Charlie was talking about; what could he have done to anger her to the point of resignation? Needing credible proof of what was going on, Lucif dragged his naked limbs to his projected newsfeed; unfolding across the glass of his 50-foot high windows lining the far-side of his bedroom. As he read the headlines of the day, his body went numb and a glassy gaze took over his stare. Lucif then cautiously pressed play to see what proof was given of his actions. As the pictures rapidly danced on screen, Lucif stared in horror at what was taking place before his eyes. As he watched, Lucif frantically searched, within his mind, for the last thing he remembered about last night. At this point, Lucif’s reputation had disintegrated into ashes right before his eyes. Fighting back the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, Lucif pressed the mini-hexagon implanted between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. “Call Giles!” he commanded the projection from his hand, which also functioned as a communication device. Receiving no answer, he commanded the projection again -- this time only receiving Giles’ video voicemail, which was a sign that something was not right. With this drastic turn of events Lucif took high caution as he threw on a low-key ensemble in order to get past the speculators and the chaotic press hounds. As Lucif stuck one leg into his trousers, a special Story popped up all over the ‘GILDED’ instant newsfeed. As the American Fashion Industry’s most traded publication -- whatever was exposed and verified through ‘GILDED,’ biblically rang out through the industry as the gospel truth; controlling the way the industry functioned, as well as its opinion of the other players within it. The news caption, reading “CEO SPEAKS AGAINST SADISTIC SCANDAL,” instantly grabbed Lucif’s undivided attention; however, what actually kept his attention was the familiar face of the man standing at the podium about to speak.
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GILES February 1, 3135 – 8:05 a.m. The soundtrack, of chattering Fashion Industry Reporters and the clicking of their flashing cameras, set the tone for an eventful Press Conference outside of the H.V.N. Headquarters. Taking his stance at the Press Podium, to address the devastating scandal attached to H.V.N., Giles lightly stroked his goatee as he began his “Industry Address.” “Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen!” Giles’ voice echoed, silencing the mindless chatter among his audience. “This morning I will be taking a strong stance against the aforementioned video in question, that has taken on a viral life of its own throughout cyberspace. Please let me officially state that this video is in NO WAY associated with the beliefs or dealings of the H.V.N. Brand.” An impassioned pause laced the air; a silent approval was given from the crowd, as Giles continued. “This vile display truly embodies the lengths at which Mr. Ernwell has successfully disguised his severely carnal and hazardous Soul, with an Angelic Camouflage. So…in response to this appalling and sadistic stunt, from this moment on, Lucif Ernwell is PERMANENTLY terminated from his position as the Creative Director of H.V.N.!” Grinning internally, Giles gazed over the crowd of industry pawns. “Any Questions?” A barrage of hands rose to the heavens in a rapturous faction, as Giles then pointed towards a frail looking reporter, whom appeared to be a rooky with a shy disposition. Apparently no one had warned the poor reporter of the aggressively chaotic nature of these types of conferences. “Yes!?” Giles commanded. The crowd of reporters surrounding the young reporter, instantly sent disgusted looks of annoyance and entitlement his way as he spoke in a nasally drone. “Uhhh...At this point in the scandal w..what can you say about the…the indefinite future uh……of H.V.N.?” the reporter stumbled. “From this point on -- I, Giles Onyx Daniels, will be taking full control of all business and design oriented commitments involving the H.V.N. establishment! The future of H.V.N. IS, IN FACT, VERY DEFINITE!” Giles declared as a matter of fact, with a slight chuckle; as to make an example of the naive reporter. Hands rejoiced in the air once more as Giles pointed in an exacting manner towards Penny Ink -- the lead reporter of ‘GILDED’; a woman known for being one of the most well-read and credible Fashion Historians in the entire industry. “How do you feel, personally, about the video -- being that you and Mr. Ernwell created H.V.N. together as partners?” She stated in an inquisitive tone. Taking advantage of the question, Giles took in a powerful and calculated breath, and further annihilated Lucif’s reputation throughout the industry.
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“The hedonistic actions displayed in that video, by Mr. Ernwell, are Intolerably Destructive……Neurotically Perverse……and Disgustingly Barbarous! And This Concludes This Conference…That Will Be All!” Intentionally silencing his audience, Giles knew exactly which emotional buttons to press when it came to addressing and persuading the public to join the church of H.V.N. -- he knew his fate, as sole-controlling CEO of H.V.N., had been permanently sealed at that moment. Fighting the internal Kool-Aid smile, nudging to come out, Giles had officially concluded the conference.
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CHAPTER 2 GILES February 1, 3134 – 7:45 a.m. Smack dab in the middle of the X-Atlantic Ocean, where the aquatic tides struggle with each other for a place to lay, a deserted slab of land floats peacefully while encapsulated by a dome-shaped electric grid surrounding the solid glass infrastructure of Happy Valley Prison. The notorious Happy Valley, was the domicile to the world’s most dangerously intelligent criminals and crooked law enforcers. If a prisoner were to somehow escape this voltaic bubble of infamy, the miles of crashing waves would destroy them before they reached the freedom they craved. ############################## In the perfect cube of a room, Giles sat comfortably in his luscious, Royal Blue Velvet suit from the Fall/Winter 3134 H.V.N. collection, on the visitor’s side of the wall-to-wall, electrically charged laser columns; separating the room into exact halves. The transparent glass walls and iridescent, neon-lit floors, set the stage for the entrance of one of the world’s most intellectually cunning masters of the digital world. A lonely glass stool awaited its treacherous patron on the prisoner’s side of the isolated suite. As the entrance disintegrated into loose particles, a tall and pale, statuesque brunette glided in with an unusually confident and arrogant stride; wearing a matching set of a boxy short-sleeve top and crease tailored trousers; made out of charcoal gray, translucent vinyl, which aided in taking away another aspect of the prisoner’s privacy. Her wrists were clasped in front of her with glass handcuffs carrying an electric current surging throughout them that resembled the static of lightning that came from the sky. Giles was agape by her fluid confidence, in spite of being a caged mammal on an unknown island, floating in the middle of the ocean. As he sat in the illuminated interior of Happy Valley’s isolated visiting room, he hadn’t thought that this woman would still hold true to her reputation after 3 years of being locked in a jolted penitentiary, with no real possibility of escape. “Well…if it isn’t the infamous Jude Savage.” Giles impolitely greeted, with a slightly sarcastic smirk plastered on his perfectly shaven visage. Jude greeted Giles by rolling her naturally gray eyes in annoyance, figuring that Giles was just another powerless asshole whom wanted to use the same superior digital coding and hacking skills-- that landed her at Happy Valley -- to his advantage. Many had come trying to bribe her with unsatisfactory and miniscule lump sums of currency; as well as gilded lies of freeing her, which held no true consistency or strategy. Jude’s mindset existed on a higher plane than most; seeing money simply as a tool to get
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from point A to Point B in life. Her main concern was coveting her most prized possession; one that was hidden from the world and awaited her outside of the electric bubble, which was now her main dwelling. As Jude sat on the glass stool across the electric barricade that separated her from Giles, she stared him down, slightly cocking her head to the side while sizing him up. She was impressed by the power that radiated from him, though her poker face told another story. Breaking the silence and the uncomfortable stare down, Giles interjected. “If I may introduce myself, I’m—“ “I know who your are..” Jude intervened, “You’re just another foolish lummox who wants to manipulate me for your next so-called power play, and in turn, offer me a pathetic lump sum that you think will appease me beyond belief. So, if you don’t mind I’d rather get back to my 50 year bid.” After Jude’s mini-soliloquy, Giles simply leaned back into his chair, while resting his right ankle on his left thigh and crossing his arms, while stroking his goatee in deep thought. Impressed by Jude’s hard and fearless exterior, Giles became slightly aroused. “Well, that’s unfortunate.” Giles retorted as he rose from his chair and buttoned his blazer. Taking a few steps towards the door, Giles paused and stared Jude straight in the eyes as she sat with her head leaning to the side, shrugging carelessly as she raised her left eyebrow; which complimented the snide grin that crawled along her face simultaneously. “Though I do think Lola would want you to hear what I have to say.” Giles so cleverly tossed onto the metaphorical table of negotiations. Jude’s face froze. To hear her most prized possession’s name spoken from the lips of a stranger stopped her blood flow. Jude’s five year-old daughter, Lola, was hidden from even the government who put Jude away. Lola was a child in a critical condition coma, being taken care of at the hidden Rogue Heart Care Unit; a black market medical clinic that closely copied the molecules of certain drugs that were too expensive for the extremely poverty-stricken. The cure needed to bring her out of her coma, was a rare drug that only the elite of society had access to; it was a drug that even the Rogue Heart Care Unit couldn’t get close to. Having come from the demolished and spoiled Compton-33 Projects of California — a wasteland of no discerning race, based in pure poverty – Jude used her hacking skills to provide a higher level of treatment for Lola than what was offered in her region. Jude’s Achilles heel had always been her daughter, which is why she had hidden her from the prying egos of her past adversaries. Lola was Jude’s hidden treasure; a piece of her life that was untouchable from the world. Trying not to show that Giles had pulled her card, was a futile attempt. “Have a seat…” Jude stated in defeat.
[TO BE CONTINUED...]
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Infatuation Nation written by Sojourner Edmonson-Sealy
BAMBI Wearing your dirty pink, polka dotted pajama pants in coordination with your favorite screen-printed Carrie Blow T-shirt, you search for your favorite spot on the old, dingy white carpet covering the cluttered jungle of your Mommy’s trailer home living room. Your spot is the only place you feel like your dreams can come true; the perfect distance away from the dusty screened chunky TV your mommy found in the garbage a few weeks ago. It now sits on an 8-month old air conditioner cardboard box covered in your Crayola Marker drawings of the mansion you want when you get older; just to let the visitors know that your mansion will be nothing like the one your mommy has. Random odds and ends cover the makeshift coffee table -- a circular sheet of glass, sat atop a deteriorating milk crate stolen from your neighborhood Deli. Old magazines are randomly stacked throughout -- surrounding the lived-in couch with only three legs and a stack of magazines holding the place of the missing leg. The paint on your T-shirt, making up the photo of Carrie sprawled out on a comfy looking bed in a sexy pose, covered in nothing but silky sheets, scrunches up as you sit Indian-style on your dented space in the carpet. It’s time for your favorite reality show “How To Carrie Blow,” featuring the infamous Carrie Blow; a celebrity whose career can be traced back to a series of sexy tapes. “Bambi!!! Come take out the trash!!!” your mommy yells, like the house is on fire. You don’t answer because you don’t want to miss any part of the show; this is the episode where Carrie does a Playboy magazine photo shoot. You fantasize about doing a Playboy photo shoot, in nothing but diamonds, like Carrie. You think about how fantastically famous Carrie is and how her life is so perfect; especially compared to yours. “Bambi!!!” your mommy yells even louder this time, even though you didn’t think she could get any louder. “I’m coming!” You yell. You don’t understand why she always wants you to take out the garbage when your stepdad is always sitting around doing nothing; unless its nighttime and he is sneaking into your room when mommy is asleep. But you get up now since a commercial just came on and you race to take the trash out. As you drag the trash bag outside you see your next-door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Tacky fighting again like cats and dogs. You plop the trash bag into the trashcan and stare around the “Hopeless Fields Trailer Park.” The weeds in the ground are countless and the
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trash is two times that, but its home...at least for now. “Why can’t I live in a clean house with nice grass...a bedroom with a door that locks, and a maid to take out the trash for me?” You ask yourself. Your thoughts drift to Carrie; the most prettiest, funniest, sexiest, smartest, richest, most famous woman you ever saw. Your thoughts then drift to how all your problems would be solved once you are able to touch and taste fame and the true happiness it has waiting for you; like a wellto-do neighborhood on Halloween. If you could even get close to that, then your life would be so much easier. It would be perfect. As a satisfied smirk creeps along your face, lost in your daydream, you hear the show’s theme song playing continuing the show -- you rush in to finish watching. ##################################### As your caught up in an intense scavenger hunt for your favorite tangerine M.A.C. lipstick you become entranced in the overwhelming collage of Carrie Blow that you meticulously scotch-taped to the severely waterstained “Motel 6” walls. While scanning the wrinkled editorials, like foreign language flash cards, your eyes glide by the treasure of your hunt, sitting atop the hefty SONY television like the one your mother had when you were 10 years old. You check your watch as you grab the lipstick off the stack of ancient Playboy magazines your clients are accustomed to using in addition to your services. You rush to the bathroom mirror, almost tripping over a pile of dirty clothes, General Tso’s chicken mixed with shrimp-fried rice from last night, and a glass of wine next to your bed/workstation. As you color within the lines of your full lips, you pause to stare at your model card stuck to the bottom right-hand corner of the mirror frame, in comparison to the Carrie Blow picture right above it, and smile. You look just like her! Your boob-job did miracles in getting you closer to being Carrie Blow’s Doppelganger. Finishing up your lip-color application, you remember to check the status of Carrie’s whereabouts in Los Angeles tonight on Twitter before texting your next client for the day. Maybe tonight you can get your 48th picture with her to post on your Instagram? You know the one… with Carrie playfully acting as if she doesn’t remember you, while you cling to her custom Alexander Wang outfit. All your past acquaintances from “Hopeless Fields Trailer Park” will be even more jealous that Carrie knows who you are -- so her fame glitter can some how be brushed onto you; giving you at least a little shine in the world. You remember that you left your bright yellow iPhone 5S on the scratched up nightstand; home to your makeshift bank account -- an old jelly jar. Scrolling down Carrie’s twitter, you find a post directly from her account stating that she’s going to be at “The Horny Toad” nightclub tonight. While waiting on your next client, you spot the half-smoked blunt lying in the cigarette-cluttered ashtray and light it as you plop down on the edge of your bed and flip the T.V. on; its time for your favorite show “The
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Fabulous Life…” on VH1, featuring Carrie Blow, showcasing her lavish life style; stirring the pot of jealousy throughout America, putting on blast the amount of money spent on a daily basis by celebrities with unlimited money flow. Taking a hit of your blunt, you become lost in your empty and unrealistic dreams of fame and fortune.
[TO BE CONTINUED…]
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