January Chronicle by the Shine.
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* BING BING *
* You just got mailed *
* (a quiet beep) *
* VIBRRRRRRRRRATE *
* [Nokia acoustic cover of a long-expired Mecano song] *
* DING *
The phones in the room are going crazy. It has basically become a flip phone orchestra. A sudden shuffling sound takes over as everyone looks for their phones.
- GUYS! It’s Tavi L.! - Glownorrhea farts out sonorously.
Madness overtakes the room.
A communal “scream” composed of a polyphony of tavic sounds echoes through the building’s structure, down to its foundations. It is the furore of true love, felt is a solid shake of collective hysterical excitement. As everyone starts whipping out their over-tasseled phones, a gasp so big is taken in by the entire group that the oxygen in the room is vacuumed out for a few seconds.
As they all open their freshly received party invite from
www.brillibrilli.com/youareinvitedtomyshinyorgy
some phones drop on the floor, screens cracking.
The invite contains so many glittery gifs that M. falls to the floor, victims of a dramatic epileptic attack. The others, too excited to actually pay attention to his shaky undertaking, can’t take their eyes off the remaining screens in the room. Except Care(n)tin, of course, who whips out her emergency excitement epilepsy spoon to push it down his throats.
The glossary, sitting on their favourite spot - the shelf - starts to read with a charming soft lisp:
Glownorrhea, who can never get it together in these situations, starts to melt into the floor out of sheer excitement, slowly seeping into the cracks between its wooden planks.
The whole room nods at once, excited. The communal hyperventilation is REAL.
- Wait! - Says Th(e) Body Builder - As any good invitation, it has SMALL print!
M. starts shaking again, Care(n)tin is not bothered this time.
Scream
Scream
Scream
Scream
Scream
We need to GET READY
(Somebody collects Glownorrhea off the floor to take them to the party)
***
[ Two mornings later, as they all congregate again, in the shambles of a terrifying hangover]
- Oh My GAWDDD - Says The Sober Li(s)p (known in the official books as Vita), as she stumbles through the door, dressed as Tavi out of sheer dyslexia. - You cannot believe what I HAVE BEEN TOLD! The maddening T I just got, you will drop dead on the floor! So (……………//………/…….) - She says in a horrible suspense, twitching like a wet robot out of a hangover flash that just hit her like a tsunami - APPARENTLY, Tavi L. likes coming glamorously late to parties. But the glamour, is so UNCONTAINABLE, UNATTAINABLE, UNBELIEVABLE, UNFATHOMABLE, that the bitch rocked up after the party had already moved into the after. Can you believe? What a style, my gawd. I need to learn that move. Show up to work on Friday as if it is Monday, like a true diva.
Hearing the news, some of the creatures in the room wipe off their silent groupie tears with the remaining gloss in their dildo shaped Eau the toilette bottles. Th(e) Body Builder, who has used so much of the gloss that it is beginning to become one with their tears, becoming this crusty yellow mass on their face, swipes through the glistening pictures of the other night, vaguely nostalgic.
The Shine, in their habitual narcissism that their Moon in Piscis is not really able to eclipse, has evaporated into the glimmering air, dramatically. As they narrate the events in a twisting glittery riddle, they contemplate the inception this whole never-ending party has become, an ethereal multiple deflection of a million glimpses of shiny dis-abstractons ("Girl, cut being so pretentious", interferes High-Drain-Ja), spreading around the room like confetti. They selfishly consider plagiarism of that that cannot be owned, as the entire gang gets slowly gobbled up by the late reminiscences of that midnight shimmer.
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