Goodbye, O precious halls of Eupheme.

Where will all of you be without Machiavelli and Sinclair Lewis? It's hard to say, but tomorrow we catch a flight to Italy. One way. No return flight. We're going to Florence, and this time we are staying in Florence.

Wish us luck, hey?

Charles Dickens kissed me. I feel like polling the masses to see whether or not I should mention it to Sinclair. I always get these things wrong, I think. I tell him the things I shouldn't, and don't tell him the things I should. However, given that a) this doesn't affect our relationship, and that b) no one knows except for me and Charlie (who I'm fairly certain is not going to be telling anyone at all), it is neither a fact that will harm Lewis by not knowing, nor one that he'll know from any source but me anyways. Thus, if I don't tell him, less harm.

'Sides. It's one of Charlie's personal issues, and I have no right going off and saying things, yeah?


... Maybe I'm just weaselling my way out of trouble. Let's hope it works.

Fuck's sake. Do you know how long I've been waiting for Charlie to come over to this side? Ace.

[[IC FRIENDSLOCK]]

I look at my f-list and it is all colleges, colleges, colleges. Of course everyone is going to Brahman. I mean hell, I would too. I'll probably apply next year. Because I certainly am not going this fall.

Nah, I get a year off, sort of.

Haven't told the parents, but mainly because they actually would kill me if they knew I was straying from "the Chosen Path." I mean kill. I'm the second son. They've got one to carry on the family name already, and current status says my chances of continuing that line are low anyways. I have a feeling they've been responsible for the deaths of more important people, so I may have to lay low for a bit. This doesn't bother me.

'Sides, I can come up with some bullshit plan anyways.

Main thing is, I can't tell them about the real idea, which mostly involves music and a certain boy with red hair.

Only problem will be the cut-off of the money source, and this is where I'm doing the greatest amount of thought.

Am researching ways to divert millions of dollars from Swiss bank accounts to my own.

Or, more mundane... music lessons? I could keep up the political writing, can use my own name now instead of my father's. I'll be a semi-legal adult on May 3rd (YES THE PARTY PLANS SHOULD'VE STARTED LAST MONTH, BITCHES MY FRIENDS). Or... or... modelling, maybe? For art classes. And for magazines. I don't look very wholesome, so I would be automatically excluded from Sears catalogues (good thing, I think). I get the distinct impression someone like Dolce & Gabbana would take me. (I'm just a sexy boy, [Sexy bo-oy]. I'm not your boy toy, [Boy to-oy].)

Also, said my first prayer on the Easter weekend. It was impressive. Seriously, for a few hours I was like... Nicky the Good Samaritan and Christian Follower of Jesus Christ Our Lord and Saviour and like... Holy Trinity shit and all that. And I apparently want to be a pastor when I grow up. And I am definitely not regularly having pre-marital sex with Doc Lewis' son.

Yeah. Aaaaaand soccer is going like mad. Getting back on form quickly. We are going to kick serious ass this season.


Hands off the merchandise


ETA: Oh yeah, fucking list? Have a feeling I narrowly missed the second. Have no idea how.

Sunday, 1:00PM-3:00PM
Tuesday, 6:30AM-8:00AM
Friday, 5:30PM-7:00PM


Soccer season comes but twice a year at Eupheme. There's been enough melting that we've got the field to ourselves again, boys. Champions of the fall season, we're going to win ourselves some trophies again this spring.

Considering that about half the student population here regularly goes missing, I'm short some players. Luckily Eupheme is also big on late acceptances, so there are some new people who've come into the school who are more than able, I'm sure, to play this glorious game.

If you're new and you want to try out, comment here or come find me. It's not hard. I'm the zombie kid who came back to life or something.

If there's enough interest, I'll hold some tryouts again.

And guys, honestly, it's only one early morning. It's not that hard.

On Monday night I died.

No one will believe my story, but Zenna saw my body. She knows, I was dead. And Jane toured through Hell with me.

Literal Hell.

The whole story is below the cut, it's light-hearted because there's been enough darkness around this already, but the point of it all is we bartered for our lives back with the only thing we really had -- and it wasn't even something in our hands.

I know everyone is gonna find it pretty insensitive of me to go off and die like that without warning, made everyone worry when they shouldn't have, but I really couldn't help this one.

The point is I'm alive, and I'm sure that makes some of you pretty angry. Friends too, on account of what I must've put you through. This sort of thing doesn't happen very often. I'm trying to track everyone down to let them know personally.

I've read the journals and I have to say that there is no way I can reply with the proper sentiment. Victor, I honestly respect your denial of the fact. I was dead, but death doesn't mean much in Icaria. Zenna, Violet, Charlie, Charlotte... Whether or not you wrote about it in your journal, whether or not you were overjoyed at the news (well I didn't want to go to your party anyways, Hemi), (and I am doing my very best to sound like a five-year-old there), sorry for halfway-unintentionally-misleading you. I'm not sorry for coming back, though.

I have this kind of vain hope that people will be happier to know I'm alive than being angry at me for dying in the first place.

Has anyone seen Sinclair? I haven't been able to find him. He isn't at my house, and I've been looking everywhere I can think of. If you've seen him, direct me his way.

( Me and Hades? Yeah, we're pals. I taught him a few things. )


Also, someone blew up the Dean's car? That is righteous.

( 70 Questions You've Never Answered )

I'm basically just trying to find ways to fill time. I'm sick of sleeping. I'm totally not going to school tomorrow.


Snowboarding was awesome, got pretty used to picking Sinclair up out of the snow and dusting him off, but he was fairly decent by the end of the day. I'm totally beat though, still.

Judging by the fact that I was still alive and there were no dents in my truck when I woke up at home, I guess Sinclair didn't do too bad a job driving you all back. It wasn't too frightening, was it? I've been with him driving a few times before... Unless you all hopped in with Violet to be safe.

We probably won't have any more good skiing days like that, so I guess it's good we made the most of it, or something like that.


Fuck. In pain. Going to bed.

So, it's been decreed that the skiing trip is going to be March 17th.

Alex and I are heading out to the mountain for a day of skiing or snowboarding. Sinclair's coming too (note to self: ask whether or not Sinclair even does ski/snowboard) and anyone who wants to join in on the party's welcome to. I can carry two or three others in my truck (unless people wanna hop in the back with the equipment, which might be a little bit cold) so if anyone else wanting to head out has a vehicle for carpooling, that might be very decently sweet of you.

Staying at the chalet afterwards is entirely optional. Unless I'm depended upon for rides home, I could be staying overnight.

The student rates are pretty decent there and they've got some good rentals. If you have your own stuff, you can, as noted above, pack it easily into my truck.

Coming? I promise we won't head out too early in the morning -- not soccer practise time -- so you can all get your beauty sleep and still have the day of skiing or boarding.

Zenna, Charlotte, Charlie, Violet, Jane -- I want you kids there for sure if you can make it! Anyone else can come too.

((PRIVATE PRIVATE PRIVATE))

Okay, I'm so serious I scare me. Because fuck, I love him. I totally, completely love him, and it becomes more and more clear every minute. Every time I wake up and its him that I'm holding it feels like its growing stronger. When he's the first person I see in the morning and the last I see at night. Every damn time he makes me laugh I love him more and more.

Why am I being such a girl over this? I can't understand a damn thing.

And I know he loves me too. I'm sure he does. I just can't ever see why. I mean, I criticize the relationships of everyone else in high school, I look at the couples and say "ha ha, how soon they'll fail" and fuck, I am usually right. You can find the person you'll marry in high school, it is plausible, but most of the time these relationships are transient. They happen, there is love, but then they have to die. At some point, they usually fizzle out. Sometimes they go with a bang, sometimes they simmer to a close.

CHAPTER 1 --
LOVE BASED ON HOMOSEXUALITY'S SOCIETAL REPRECUSSIONS

But I always feel like him and me are different. Maybe its in part because we're guys, and getting into that kind of relationship is sort of a risk still, no matter how much you know it's right. I mean, we can't even tell his dad that we're dating. Does he know Sinclair lives with me? I've actually got no idea -- Sinclair hates talking about him. But all the same, it was a risk, and there aren't many people I'd have taken that risk for. I mean, it hadn't really clicked till then that I was possibly bisexual. I mean, we've all hit on guys drunk -- difference between a gay man and a straight one is six beers -- but it wasn't till Sinclair came along that I realised "whoa, I like a dude, and this is... awesome and alright, and a bit weird, but I don't really care because he's worth it."

CHAPTER 2 --
CONCERNING RELATIONSHIPS FOR THE PURPOSE OF RELATIONSHIPS

And I always think we're different on account of the lack of contempt. I once heard that the ultimate sign a relationship will fail is if you can see contempt from either party. Even though I wrong him and people say he's a pushover for taking me back, I never hold him and contempt and he never does for me. But that's how I always see it with Jane and Lovecraft. Jane never outright says it, but from what I've pieced together he's contemptuous of her and her social persuasions. I mean, I just don't think they're compatible. Granted, I'm not Lovecraft and I'm not Jane, I don't know strictly what goes on between them, but I feel sure that it isn't the right relationship for her. However, due to the length of the union, there's probably some fear in the unknown idea of being alone again. You want it to last because it has lasted. You aren't together anymore because you really want to be, but rather for the purpose of being together.

So that's one thing I guess I fear with Sinclair. Maybe he's just afraid of being alone? Pretty much ever since he's been here he's been in a relationship with me. Maybe what he likes is the security, or a place to stay that isn't the dorms, with his own shower and he can smoke and drink almost all he likes.

CHAPTER 3 --
LOVE BASED ON LOSS OF VIRGINITY

Another issue in relationships is that of love based on who took your virginity. This was always the problem I thought with Charlotte and Jules. Straight out, I always hated Jules. I kind of missed him a bit when he left, because Charlotte was sad and he was decent at hockey, but all the same, other people liked him because he wasn't a bad sort of guy. However I think the reason she was so attached to him was because he was definitely her first lay. I don't think about the sex lives of my friends or anything, but it was sort of obvious, and I think a lot of her attachment was in that. She had placed a significant amount of trust in him with that offering and so she was bound to think he was the one, but only because he was the first.

Again, something to fear with Sinclair. Jesus christ, I was his first. I mean... There have been other virgins, but for some reason he feels more significant. So maybe I fear he holds on to me because he hasn't had anyone else. Because he did put that kind of trust in me. If he's serious about this polyamorous thing I hope he's the one who sees a few other people, just so he knows what its like. I mean, of course I don't want him actually getting attached to them. I don't know what I'd do if he realised there was someone he loved more than me. I've been around and I've seen what I like and what I don't, and sure I'm not even eighteen yet, but I feel positive that I love him and that its in a way I haven't with anyone else.

CHAPTER 4 --
LOVE BASED ON NICO MACHIAVELLI'S BEING A HEARTLESS PLAYBOY/MANWHORE WHO HAS NEVER EVER LOVED ANYONE BESIDES HIMSELF AND MAYBE FLORENCE (WHICH IS A CITY, NOT A PERSON, AND IS THUS DISCLUDED FROM THIS SCIENTIFIC/PHILOSOPHICAL RAMBLE STUDY) BEFORE

I haven't loved anyone else! I hardly even love my parents (okay, lie, but point = understood). Some people love constantly. The fall in love hard and fast, and a few weeks later, or even a few nights, its done and they fall in love with someone else. It sounds stupid, but that's how it happens. For those few days, they really do love. And they have sex then stop loving because the get past the illusions of that person, then go on to fall in love with the illusion of another. I am not one of those people. I have taken as many girls out to dinner as one of those people, but I haven't done it because I thought I loved them. I did it because I like going out, I like kissing, I like pretty people. Those kinds of reasons. But then I met Sinclair and before I even know what's going on I'm in love with him, and it hasn't changed. I guess maybe I feel like because I haven't loved anyone else, maybe I can only fall in love once. Maybe it'll only be just this one time, and he's it. Maybe I'm also stupid and more romantic than I'd like to admit to. Ahhhh fuck it all.

CHAPTER 5 --
LOVE BASED ON...

Oh who gives a fuck!? I love Sinclair in that way that I would make fun of other people for. I JUST WROTE A FOUR CHAPTER DISCOURSE ON IT. Fuck me, I'm absolutely insane, this love thing is probably fatal, I should've stopped while I was ahead.

i.e. I should've stopped before I even came to Eupheme and met him.

((PRIVATE ENTRY))


((VERY VERY PRIVATE))


((NICO PROBABLY HAS SOME SORT OF LOCK THAT DOESN'T EVEN ALLOW HIM TO SEE IT))

Dear Diary,

I love Harry Sinclair Lewis. Sinclair Lewis + Nico Machiavelli = Luv 4eva. The 'Love Calculator' says we're 90.5% awesomely compatible, and I trust that thing with my life.

Someday me and Sinclair will get married and live in Italy! We'll have this giant wedding (he can wear the dress) and there will be fireworks and giant leopards doing tricks and dancers and acrobats and it'll be the biggest wedding of the millennium. Everything will be made out of gold and people will talk about that wedding for centuries. My parents will be so happy they'll cry or something.

And maybe someday we'll adopt a kid! A beautiful Italian boy whose smart and talkative and cheeky. We'll all three of us live in biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig house in Florence, and we can work or not work or do whatever we want. I can play gigs and make music, write a thousand songs about Sinclair Lewis.

He'll stop drinking and we'll be happy forever.

... You know what the best part of all of that is? I actually said it to him. Granted, we were mercilessly high and it was in Italian, so he didn't understand a word and didn't get appropriately freaked out, but that doesn't stop me from getting scared. Because sarcastic-sugar-high aside, I kind of mean it.

Headed to Florence in a few, so things are looking promising. Can't wait to show it to Sinclair.

Only fear is the people that know me there. And maybe its not so much a fear and maybe things won't be so bad, but... damn, how to say this? At home, there are a few notches in Nico's bedpost. Old news et cetera, and most of them I either a) won't see this time around or b) won't see again ever, and I'm not about to say that all of them are going to be hunting me down if they know I'm back. BUT. There are a few. Psychos, really. Who, I am fairly sure, I will not be able to avoid.

There's Nina, the friend of the family, and I swear to god I haven't touched her, but last time I checked she still had her fingers crossed though definitely not her legs. There's Emma, who kept re-inviting herself over because she apparently left stuff in my room. Constantly. "Hey Nico, you busy? I left my shirt, cellphone, and cigarettes in your room, and I really can't go without them, so could I drop by today so that I can leave more items in your room to repeat the process with?" There was the Maria who still writes me long, emotional emails and the Maria who guilted me with the troubles she was having at home, and Esther-- Oh my fucking god Esther. Um... Let's not talk about Esther.
Because I'm a fan of the strikethrough I may as well use it so it looks like I didn't mean it when I say these psycho girls are lucky because at least I actually remember their names and what? Nico isn't an insensitive bastard. Who told you that?

Any one else hear me on this one?


Anyways, so I'm apparently in the play. So I read the play. And watched some Italian Theatre Company preform it with Sinclair the other night. So here's the question: why is it that I got the gay role? I mean, I'm sure macking on the occasional man could be viewed in certain lights, but as far as placing me in the role goes, I think there are far more obvious candidates. No! I'm not referring to the emo kid who got the priest ha ha ha I so am! Actually, all things considered, I was the priest in Earnest and will just be glad not to reprise that.

Mmmm, Palermo. Do you have any idea how warm it is here right now? (A: Warmer than your mother on a Tuesday night. I said it.)

So Sinclair and me are hanging tight in Sicily at the moment, and will probably get to Italy proper in a few days. Pace is leisurely, sun's been warm, we'll be heading out for supper in a few.

Lewis is completely wired off Italian espresso (told him he should stick to Italian coffee, it's strong enough, but noooo). He may not be able to get to sleep for several days. And you know, I don't mind this at all.

After dinner, we may get completely soused on a few bottles of Planeta we found in the house. Again, I don't mind this at all.

Also, oops, seem to have forgotten the Prozac at home. Shame, that. Completely didn't mean to...


Also, Sinclair said someone should drop by my house someday to check in on Babbitt and make sure he's being properly petted and spoiled and all those good things. Nothing I say will convince Sinclair that Aunt Ana isn't shipping Babbitt to a cruel boarding school in Timbuktu during our absence.

ETA: VIOLET! Vi-vi-vi-vi-Violet. We'll have to run into each other sometime about the rugby, yes? Yes. Clearly.

Alfric's gone all crazy about the irregularity of my attendance, especially recently because I was supposed to have notified someone of the fact before hand that I was going to introduce my truck to a fence during that storm Monday night. Then it was like boom, it's Thursday and I wake up again. Kind of hard to go to school when you aren't even conscious.

I was originally given a couple detentions, plus a day-long suspension. I managed to argue off the detentions, let the suspension lie because hey, who doesn't love taking Friday off. Point in fact, everybody should skip school tomorrow, if we're feeling so anti-Administration.

I know everyone got all worked up in my absence. It's okay. You can stop fretting now. Really.

Anyone see my truck? Apparently she's at the mechanics right now, and not looking so hot. I don't have the heart to go down and look at it myself.

I'm still trying to figure out why they got so worked up over the fact that I came back. The crazy drunk secretary whose name I can never remember seriously looked like she was about to scream when I showed up at the front desk. And Alfric made me sit down in his office to talk for about an hour, and he looked like he was about to have an aneurysm or something.

Charlotte, doll, stop by the record shop some time. I've got the new Shins for you, if you wanna check it out.

P.S. "Love" is spelt K-I-T-T-E-N.

To: Harry Sinclair Lewis [hlewis@euphememail.net]
From: Niccolo Machiavelli [nmachiavelli@euphememail.net]
Subject: (none)

I have no other way of getting a hold of you, and I just want to know where you are...

I'm so sorry. I wasn't lying. I know you don't believe me, but I swear I'd thought he was dead.

But it really needs to be said face to face. Come see me. Or tell me where I can go to see you. Please.

Wherever you are, are you alright?


-- Love, Nico.

Sinclair lives at my house officially now. Life rocks.



Oh. I'm sorry, what was that? You're cold and have no power? HA-HA.

Okay, so you know what? I'm actually a fairly nice guy.

Also, I have electricity. AND heat. (Which means I could probably write this journal entry for hours and not worry about it, ha ha ha on you).

But my point is, you give me something nice and I might let you in my house. Hell, I might even let you check your email and have a cup of hot chocolate or coffee or something.

Gifts will be approved at the door.

(Or if you happen to have a letter signed by Sinclair giving you his permission, that is alright too.)

(Or if you are good looking and I happen to like you.)

(Or if you are, in fact, Sinclair.)

To my most esteemed female colleagues, if you will:


Anyone remember that Girls Rugby Team? The one were everyone wore the prom dresses and played around in the mud and had an awesome good time -- except for the fact that it didn't happen?

Well now it's happening, because apparently the decision is that snow doesn't interfere with potential, and this team is going to get moving (Soccer boys, take note. If there is still snow at the beginning of March I really don't care. Wear two pairs of socks. Oh me oh my).

So girls, reply if you're interested in joining up, also if you have any conflicts with my suggest practise times, which follow.

Tuesdays, 2:45PM-3:00PM, and Fridays, same time. I know a chick at Cleveland High whose a fan of rugby, and I just sent her an email wondering if she could get a team together for matches. You know. So that we can have someone to play against. Which is sometimes nice. Whatever.


On a personal, no one really cares kind of note: This does make my Fridays a little on the busy side, being as that's game night for hockey as well, but that's not till 8:00 so everything should be well and good.

((Yet another Private entry. God he's getting good at these.))

#27 382 on the list of Very Stupid Things You Should Never Do Ever, But Nico Does Anyways:

Telling your boyfriend's (?) gay best friend that the two of you have been secretly dating the past four months-ish.

There is a party going on right now. Granted its Ron's and probably isn't exceptionally amazing, but its a party. People are there. Me? I'm at home. Alone. Again. What the fuck.

He's back he's back he's back he's back he's back... And Jesus fuck I have a lot to tell him. See, this is where I get confused. They always tell and say and make it look like if you're honest things'll be better in the end. But the thing is, if I tell him what I've done then he pretty much owes it to himself to ignore me the rest of his natural life. This is a given. If I lie to him about it all he never knows... but there's always the fact that I'm a complete fucktard and self-destructive, and I let things slip on purpose all the time. I fucking wait for people to pick up on things I've said or done but they never react the way I thought they would. Its stupid, to expect people to pay attention to the little details -- single words in conversations that I'm begging them to pick up on so I can kill myself a little more.


And honestly, it was old after the first time. If I hear one more fucking joke about marriage, divorce, and court I'm going to just...

Jesus fuck I don't wanna finish that sentence.

((Private. Very, very private.))

I can't believe I’m actually about to write this, but I guess it's just –

Thing is that the parents aren't coming up at all for Christmas. They've decided against it, over the original plan of me going there, or all of us celebrating here, or maybe going out to visit some of the rest of the family in the state. And Aunt Ana was out at midnight mass, so I was home all alone on Christmas fucking Eve.

It's pathetic. Lying in front of the fire, by yourself, just thinking about how maybe everyone just hates you and the Christmas tree looks mighty ironic, what with representing Christmas cheer and all that. And you find yourself just wishing beyond anything that Sinclair were there. Because then it wouldn't be so bad. It might be great, even, but maybe Sinclair doesn’t care about you. That's unfair, actually. Half of me is jealous of him, because he was taken away by people who care too much about him, and he's spending Christmas with probably loads of others who are the same, while I kind of have none of that.

And yeah. The time for bringing people together really just reminds you bitterly that, oh, awesome: Sinclair's left you, Tanne has left you, your family has rejected you… You’ve been distancing yourself from anyone else who may’ve cared. Merry Christmas!

"How does it feel knowing that you're going to die alone?" Thanks, Gabe. I can't even talk to you this time.


And I know that it is really, really stupid of me to get all worked up about it, and it all seems really sort of like any processed Christmas special, but when it happens to you it actually hurts.

So I guess it's just me and the rum and eggnog now.

Oh... Forgot the eggnog.

Being as, other than snowboarding a couple times a year, I really don't have a winter sport, I've joined up with the local hockey team. I'm a little late but it's mostly been exhibition games so far, not actual tournament stuff. I played on the team last year in Maine and was alright. The team here has some strong players -- unfortunately the girls' team has won more games than us so far. Hopefully we can catch up at least.

I think more than anything they just liked my aggression. I don't know what it is. Next thing to a pacifist day-to-day, but once I'm on the field or the ice or whatever -- taking no survivors.


We have a game on Wednesday night. You should come and watch. Yes, I mean you.



And additionally, as the year winds down, let's do a quick recap of the major events.

- Got my 3rd short article published in Time (that bitch is an easy one to manipulate)
- Also printed in Political Affairs Magazine, The Economist (twice), and New Politics (yes, this is my time to brag, now it's done, we can all shut up about it)
- Flunked out of school (again) and came to Eupheme
- Went to Italy
- Italy won the World Cup and that has nothing to do with me but all the same we won and you didn't
- Captain of the 1st place soccer team
- Spent a night in jail
- Wooed various people of various genders
- Failed at trying to end my life (too fresh to laugh at? I don't know)
- Cheated on various people of various genders
- Won Homecoming King (or half of it)
- Got married in Vegas
- Nearly died of metal poisoning or whatever other method we can explain certain Things and Places away with
- Got divorced
- Went to Denmark, and again to Italy (and was cured, I tell you, cured...)
- And was neglected by my parents approximately 360/365 days of the year. What a poor emo boy I am.


And there's still fourteen days left in the year. I hope I haven't assumed too much by doing this early.

I'm not sure if I'm home, but I'm back at least.

It's strange to be returning here, and by here I mean to my aunt's. She's as invisible as ever. She surfaces occassionally from her social life to make food. Other than that our paths rarely cross.

But I'd thought I'd be returning to Tanne's, with Tanne -- to the apartment. And from there to the edge of Icaria, where the Peter Pan Bistro used to be. But plans fail and people leave, and maybe Florence was more of a home than anything, even if we were staying in hotels. But to come back here and find my room practically unchanged, not quite gathering dust but definitely lacking in life... And then to have strange people sleeping in your house on the first night back...

None of this is important, relevent, or to any purpose.

Where. The fuck. Are the raging parties? 'Tis the season to get mercilessly drunk. Can I get a second on that one?