In Which, Enriched

Tyler Vance Mitchell Roleplayer.

[tylerbynine-blog]

Taken May 2015, Written on back of photograph ––– 

                                                                “At the touch of love, I am a poet, aren’t I?” 

[tylerbynine-blog]

Tyler watched Rani under the flickering street lamp. In between the light, he would see the amber of her cigarette, then it’d flick on again and he’d see the smoke rise in the air.  She was damn near the model and the lighting made that apparent.  

“You spend too much time on the sidewalk, Ty.”  She rested her head on the brick of her patio and her wrist on her knee.  Rani had the tendency to wear a gloss in her eyes because she was always dreaming of bigger and better things than her present.  Tyler always got lost in her copper irises.  If he were a painter, she’d definitely be a muse.  She was quite stimulating for him.  Rani was a dreamer, but so far away from reality that she did not realize she was a dream. 

But Tyler never physically communicated this.  Because something about her did not provoke anything romantic.  Her presence was just simply pleasing. For someone to exist like her made her good company.   

The past hour had been them talking on newer topics of human evolution. Such as the discovery of seven new planets. They discussed how the current issues of Earth’s immigration, though they all suggest traveling these new planets to escape the fears they live with here.  

“We destroy something perfectly good, then escape from the terror.  We escape, Tyler!”  She had thrown her hand on his knee and looked him straight into his eye. “We are running from problems to the same problem!  We would be refugees. Uninvited...refugees. There’s no way to escape this immigration “problem” but to escape that, well....you know we’re all human. I don’t have to explain that to you.” 

And after that discussion, they were quiet for minutes. Tyler lost track of time. He was a thousand words into his journal. Then she said it, full circle –– 

“You spend too much time on the sidewalk, Ty.”  And he looked up to her head on the brick wall and her wrist on her knee. Her sparkling eye shadow smudged in with her eyeliner.  She worked a long day at work.  She flicked the ashes off the third floor of the building. 

Tyler didn’t have a response. He only inhaled and returned to finishing his thought through his pen.  But as he sat on her words, he felt his emotions travel back in time.  His teeth clenched until they ached. Then just like her, he rested the back of his head on the brick wall of her building.  He released the heaviest sigh then went back to his dispassionate expression. 

[lennonsstarr]

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[tylerbynine-blog]

There’s a role I’d be stoked to have if anyone is interested.  The only major detail I’m hell bent on maintaining is her role to Tyler and how they’ve met.  I’d like to keep some minor details about her though, like her name and shit. 

[tylerbynine-blog]

Forgot to mention, hit me up on aim if you want to discuss the role or even form a connection, throw ideas for storylines. I just want to build up my creativity again. That's the point of roleplay for me. It'd be sick to do that with you guys.

[tylerbynine-blog]

There’s a role I’d be stoked to have if anyone is interested.  The only major detail I’m hell bent on maintaining is her role to Tyler and how they’ve met.  I’d like to keep some minor details about her though, like her name and shit. 

[1ibertine]

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[tylerbynine-blog]

[tylerbynine-blog]

Change it up.  Take 42nd instead of 39th.  Less sugar in your coffee, more cream. Change the background on your cell phone. Ask for time off.  I'm so tired of seeing the same people every day. Don't fall for routine.  Because you'll be like me watching you every day. I know you're going to stop for coffee at 6:45 AM before you work at 7 AM. I watch the barista who made that fucking latté for you open up shop at 5:30 AM –– a cycle. I know what stores you stop to window shop at after 5 PM and I know when it's your payday because sometimes you walk in.  My friends call you easy targets. They call you a bore.  They say you're not worth the crime.  They want an adrenaline because that's why they steal.  And they steal because they want the product best known for adrenaline –– cocaine, Adderall, hallucinogens, heroin, you name it.  

Their dogs lay next to their tip buckets.  I sit propped with my leg crossed and my ankle resting on my knee. I'm tuning them out because I know my routine is you. Because you, your friends and all the people in between you are the only steadiness I have.  Because I crave routine. I crave that luxury. Knowing where I'm going to sleep at night, who I'm going to sleep next to and the perk of privilege for that morning coffee.  I love you and I love every minute of your life. But for fuck's sake, change it up. 

[tylerbynine-blog]

If anyone wants to write, I'm down. I have aim: tylerbynine

[tylerbynine-blog]

OCTOBER 6 2016

Turned out he was wanted for armed robbery of a high-end, menswear store in Manhattan.  A man, that I shared a Yellowtail with.  Uncanny.  New York City really is full of surprises. 

Woke up on the stairs.  At the Library, go figure? Definitely a bit too much on my part. Even sharing with a grown, convict... I think I had too much for such an empty stomach.  Speaking of which, I wonder where I left the bag of food last night. 

I’m starving, but I’m trying not to think about it. 

Saw Violet again.  Interesting, like Rani.  Girls can hold stimulating conversations. Makes me wonder what love is like and where is the line drawn between that and friendship? I’m making a note of that to read into later.  Philosophers are fucking poets. They always dabble in this shit. They got something to say about it somewhere. 

Before anything, gotta try and find a job.  Got a pencil and a newspaper... might try a hand at convincing Violet to let me use the internet. Or at least give me some damn quarters.  We’ve all been here, I tell myself. 

I need a nap. 

TYLER

[violetrosewoods-blog]

It was half past eight, before her morning shift, when Violet wandered down the  New York streets. The gray skies reflected off the sidewalks below. Her headphones were nestled in her ears, and playing was ELO’s Sweet Talkin’ Woman.

Her day started off very, very okay. There was some camomile tea in her thermos and Jeff Lynne was perking her mood up.

She even wore a soft, silk flower dress she’d found from the thrift shop that she had convinced herself was imported from Paris during the early 20′s. That’s what she told herself, anyway, to justify the price tag on it that blew half her paycheck. But sometimes, she couldn’t resist. The one time logic escaped her.

It was all picturesque, covering up the lonely malaise of life, until she spotted a familiar shaggy head leaning against the statue before the library.

“Tyler?” she blurted out, unsure if he was awake, remembering him from yesterday with his talk of Plato and Aristotle and Nietzsche. She leaned over, gently grazing his shoulder to make sure he was okay and had heard her. 

Had he been here all night?

“Are you okay?”

[tylerbynine-blog]

Hours had gone by, Tyler spent them staring at the curtains.  His eyes never peeked around the splits of light. If they wandered, it was to the seventies poor imitation of a burgundy, victorian wallpaper.  An array of warm colors began to set until a line from the red sun highlighted the hallway.  Tyler looked back. Time disoriented itself. A mess mashed into a ball and he was ascending the stairs. Each room felt wrong. He was trying to find his own as the night was growing in. 

But the house was growing bigger and bigger.  The doors were locking. His blood was beginning to rise.  He was home alone, he began to learn.

Hours, again, cycled through the true evening.  Tyler slept through the dew, the noise, and the discomfort.   It was just another day in the life when his eyes glimpsed open to the twilight sky.  If the twilight sky were absent of airplane traffic and tall buildings.  

So he shut his eyes again. Not dreaming this time.  Nothing stimulated his brain but anxious thought processes. Ever since he was a kid, he would have these type of nights.  Disoriented reflecting had consumed him until he would jump awake and calm himself down again with reality. Just half thoughts, half sentences...

Half fantasies... 

He heard his name.  There was a graze on him somewhere. 

There was no doubt this time that he was awake.  It was Violet and it was not a bad sight to see.  Any day waking up to a woman was a better day than waking up to a toothless man, scooting you off of his bench. 

Tyler reached his arms out and let the tension stretch out through his muscles and blood. 

“Oh!” He yawned, arching his back against the steps.  He observed the surroundings around him, a much livelier setting than the one he had fallen asleep to. 

Violet looked down at him concerned. It felt like a lie in his heart. Tyler knew better, but he was flattered by getting a rise of emotion out of her. 

“Oh, yeah.” He adjusted his shirt and looked around in a panic for his backpack until he found it.  “Good morning, just a late night bender. Ended up here somehow.” 

Tyler zipped open his bag, examined for all of his belongings.  What a reckless way to fall asleep, he scorned himself. 

“And what about you? Are you okay?” 

[tylerbynine-blog]

[violetrosewoods-blog]

Violet had never met another who recited quotes as did she. She often thought it annoyed people that she could read books that she’d scanned into her mind. But here was a kindred spirit, one that had the same words inked into his mental notepad.

This was dangerous territory, though. She could be a walking encyclopedia –– literally –– if unchecked. She didn’t want to scare him, but her tongue was like a bullet, eager to be fired.

“They’re both lovely, aren’t they, Plato and Aristotle?” She grinned, realising how horrifically academic she sounded. It was all those books, surely. She wasn’t turning into a snob, was she?

That concerned her for a moment.

“I love that line. I love that whole section.” She prayed he wouldn’t take her as a smartass, but rather, as someone with an insatiable desire to hear the entire quote, like wanting to hear an entire verse of a song rather than just that final satisfying line. “Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.”

She then realized he had asked her a question she’d failed to respond to. “Violet.” She pointed at her nametag, where she’d written her name in cursive font. For no utter reason at all, she absentmindedly added, “Like the colour…., or the girl in Charlie & The Chocolate Factory who blows up into a bubble gum balloon,” as if he didn’t get it (but in truth, she was feeling a bit excited now from flexing her quoting muscles, she couldn’t help it).

[tylerbynine-blog]

Now, he could speak and further his expertise about his own philosophy. Or, Tyler could quote only the important highlights that imprinted on him. These were words that added up and he appreciated that she could recognize that.  Unfortunately,  his brain did not send signals in such a way. Sometimes, he grew jealous of other’s ability to remember such simple things or have passion. Most of the time, he was intrigued to revisit information he had lost. 

Tyler got lost in the cliches.  It could be that she was a woman. Also, it could be because she was a woman that was paying attention to him. The possibilities were endless, but Tyler liked to conclude that the flutter he felt was because someone could translate his language.  Maybe it was a second language that she picked up. But a conversation was being held in Tyler’s broken vocabulary. 

As she mentioned her name, he nodded his head as if he suddenly could recall. Tyler remembered that it was her nametag he read when he walked in. He remembered that she did not know that he knew that. Amazing, how things follow back full circle.  Just exactly how his brain worked...the grey area. 

“Tyler.” He held his index and middle finger together and gave his a casual salute.  With a wave of his book, he continued, “I don’t have much else to say, so I guess I’ll check this out.” 

[tylerbynine-blog]

[violetrosewoods-blog]

Violet wasn’t quite sure what to make of this guy, who waltzed in with fake proof of ID to get a library card, and was now fascinated by Thales of Miletus. Usually, people fit into tropes and stereotypes when they wandered into a library. The secretly sex-crazed girl with innocent glasses, the self-proclaimed lost soul who tattooed Sartre to their bicep, the depressed professor, whose life had left him for a foreign lover, and who read Shakespeare to forget about his own life….

Tyler did not fit in these categories. With his downturned eyes that still sparkled with keen interest, Violet was intrigued.

She’d read enough stories. Reality was what she thirsted for. And if only for a moment, he provided an interesting character study.

“You’re going ancient,” she joked. “Perhaps you might like…” Violet wandered a little down the hall to the A section. She pulled out Poetics by Aristotle, an all time classic, popular, but perhaps appealing to him nonetheless.

“This is one of my favourites.”

[tylerbynine-blog]

“That’s a good one!” Tyler’s voice may have reached a notch in volume than he had intended. His eyes searched around for any indication that she was irked. 

Aristotle was a classic. Like Edgar Allen Poe belonged to goth. Like Salinger belonged to high school introverts. Like Kerouac was still hard to pronounce, so Tyler never really knew who he belonged to. 

“Kero-wax. Cureowack. Cure-a-wacko.” He mumbled, looking through a book he had read a few years ago before giving back her hardcovered favorite. Tyler’s mind hummed with different ideas, which he wondered what exactly was it that he had actually wanted to read.  She offered great conversation, but there was nothing more stimulating, other than the company. 

“There are quite a few quotes of his that pop up in my mind throughout my life.  It’s like a theme.  But sometimes, I have to remind myself... It’s like when you learn a word and you see it everywhere.  But sometimes, you repeat the word and it loses meaning.  Does that make sense? I’m always living in that grey area.” 

There was a Voltaire book placed in an inappropriate place, so Tyler placed it where it belonged under his arm. It was one of the few that he had not yet explored.  Might as well start now, he figured. 

Tyler let his words begin to return to his favored mumble,” We can easily forgive a child afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”   He inhaled, searched around the ceiling like the other quotes would be written up there for him to remember.  It was like the index cards the teachers would allow on major tests and trying to fit every single thing in the smallest letters you could ever write. 

He even squinted his eyes to read his own handwriting up there.  “Better little which is well done, than a great deal imperfectly... At the touch of love,” He hesitated and looked back at her. 

“Everyone becomes a poet,” spit Tyler before he moved onto, “What’s your name again? 

[tylerbynine-blog]

OCTOBER 2016

I just know it’s the first week of October. 

So, the story begins... 

A charismatic, middle-aged man was found tonight lurking into the outskirts of Brooklyn. He was discovered by your’s truly. I happened to be passing by, on my way to a pretentious market that donated their food after they closed. It was a journey from my usual places of “residence” but it was worth the time and energy.  

The cashier is often there. I’m guessing she’s a diluted Middle Eastern. She dyes her hair different colors every time the first one begins to fade, which is usually within a couple weeks. It peeks out from underneath her scarf. Often, I’ll mention it with something along the lines of, “Feeling blue?” I have decided the only thing about her that isn’t spontaneous is that she is always counted on to be spontaneous. 

I like it. And I like that she likes me.  There’s not much more between us but our interests in small talks.  But sometimes, we get into discussions about deeper subjects. They don’t last too long since the store has to close up before she can go home. 

Don’t worry. This all ties together.  You see, Rani likes to slip a bottle of wine in or two during the week for me. It’s more than I ask for, but I appreciate it nonetheless.  

As I’m walking home with a Yellowtail under my arm, I’m chewing on a piece of bread still fresh from the morning. Darkness is beginning to own up to its name. It’s the city that never sleeps. I know that. I should have remembered that when a grown man came bustling down some apartment stairs. 

There’s a whirl of his khaki, designer raincoat that caught my attention before I even considered to look up to him. A beautiful man. Stereotypical, I didn’t know it existed.

“What do you have there, kid?” collapsed his flamboyant voice. I looked to the left. I looked to the right. I looked down and remembered that I am legal to vote, but not legal to buy what was under my arm. 

I held it up to the streetlight and shrugged, “Some cheap wine?” He gave a sturdy giggle like no man I have ever met.  Made me wonder out loud, “What? You got a corkscrew?” 

The answer was that he did not. Though, a little of his alcoholic side started to show. He takes his jacket off, wraps it around the bottle and starts beating it against the wall. At this point, I gotta admit. I was there just for the awe I felt at his insanity. I mean, come on. Where did this guy come from?

Much to my astonishment, the cork started pulling loose and he turned it back to its right side and popped it right out.  

I don’t know about anybody else, but I had to sit down and drink with him. 

Interesting guy. Never found out why he was on this side of town or who he was or what he was doing. We did have a great time, though. 

I made it back closer to the library. It’s better access for the morning, especially with a hangover. 

TYLER 

[tylerbynine-blog]

[violetrosewoods-blog]

Violet gazed up at him, playing with his library card. There was something coy about him. Writers of 20th century prose often used the word coquettish. Violet knew the word was often reserved for women, but she felt this man before her espoused it, without implying anything effeminate about him.

It was clear, he knew how to play. It was refreshing. Although it was a library, Violet mostly spent her days performing mindless tasks. She could use some stimulation. She’d already daydreamt an entire lifetime’s worth by morning.

“I did not know that.” She quickly stood up, happy to have an excuse to wander the magical book-lined halls. “But, yes. Let me show you, it’s easy to get lost in here.”

And I want to walk around. I’ve read Madame Bovary five times and have memorized it.

She didn’t say that part.

She headed towards the back and snaked through the shelves, peering over her shoulder to make sure he was following her.

“What kind of philosophy are you looking for? They’re all in this section, but there are millions of authors. If you’re interested in Nietzsche, for example, N is down there.” She pointed to a corner. “But, there are some great philosophy novels hiding in other sections, due to sorting purposes. What, specifically, are you looking for?”

Was she stalling to get away from work, or because she was curious what a kid with a fake paper for a library card and a thirst for philosophy could want?

Both was most likely.

[tylerbynine-blog]

iWhat a way for her to bop right up out of her chair.  Initially, Tyler was using his alternative plan -- which he always phrased it as, “always leave yourself an out.”  Now she was leading him into a galaxy of words and the worlds they created, the dimensions. Then, of course, the otherwise preserved trees which would have possibly rotted in the grown, man made forests. Which, of course, were built to manufacture paper. Thus, of course... 

Tyler wondered if there were plenty of books that read on the subject or even the irony of the subject.  And at last, the irony of the irony of the subject.  

Oh, how did he lose his train of thought again? 

She was speaking.  Violet, her name tag. Right? He made the assumption at a quick glance. It bothered him how he knew so much about her and she about him in just a few moments of time.  Maybe she did not know his favorite soda from his childhood nor did he know what she does the first thing she gets home... But Tyler was already growing fond of what was introduced to him so far. 

Her dirty blonde hair, stylish... What else? She was speaking, so maybe he could interest himself in that. 

“Oh?” Tyler swiveled his concentration at the stacks of books around him.  They were mostly written as reviews of the original books.  All authors trying to recreate their opinion and philosophy based on the greater philosophers. Tyler craved the originals. He loved Carl Jung’s own perception, while resourcing Nietzsche within his own work. It was stimulating. 

And sometimes, he was looking for things that caught his eye. Recently, a book he bought for three dollars, which summarized philosophy’s upbringing around the world and through it’s time. 

“Whatever catches my eye,” finished Tyler, looking her up and down.  He was not discrete about it, but his attention did turn away from her in a literal blink of the eye.  Because, as anyone would have guessed, there it was –– Thales of Miletus.  A book worth over a hundred dollars.  How could it be sitting so unprotected on the shelf before him? 

Tyler snatched it up and said, “Like this one. I got to get this one.” 

[tylerbynine-blog]

The New York City Public Library was spacious enough to handle a significant amount of noise.  It would be wise to take note of all the mixed bodies of people that it took to fill the room. Tyler found it inappropriate that a place so dedicated to silence took the liberty to make such a vast amount of space.  It could have been the irony of the building or it could have been the insecurity within himself that his footsteps were too loud and addressed his arrival more than he intended it to. 

Tyler walked without much concern or regret in his facial features. His hand held his backpack over his shoulder.  The journey to the desk felt like a long shot, but the journey was relatively short and he had made it without a scratch. He set the bag down at his feet and pulled out a list for the young girl that faced him on the other side of the counter. 

“I-” His voice startled him, forgetting about the silence. Tyler lowered his volume and leaned in, placing the paper down on the desk and tapping gently at it. It was false proof of citizenship to NYC. He had only just settled into the city an hour ago from Detroit. 

“I want to sign up for a library card,” whispered Tyler while he slid his fake ID towards the librarian. There was no particular way she could tell the ID was illegitimate.  She worked at a library, not a liquor store or anything of real importance.  

[violetrosewoods-blog]

It was her fifth time reading Madame Bovary. But what could one expect from a girl working in a library?

She loved the world he painted. Even if every novel in the universe, particularly Fitzgerald (another favourite, naturally) warned against the lavish life, Violet longed for it. And she couldn’t help but search for it everywhere she went.

Hence, the fifth time, to the point where Violet could already recite the words before her on page 54…

“At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white sail in the mists of the horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop or a three-decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the—”

“Library card…” Wait, no. That wasn’t… 

Violet looked up. She wasn’t used to people doing anything besides slap their books on the counter, waiting for her to aimlessly scan. She flipped the book over to save the page, even though she remembered it, of course, page 54.

“Oh, right.” She straightened herself at her seat and glanced up at the disheveled man and took his paper. “Okay, just give me a moment to input you in the system, read this, basically don’t steal our books, don’t write in them, er, just don’t abuse the system, frankly.” She slipped a piece of government paperwork about owning a card like Don’t Abuse Your Privilege to Read! Return your Books! or some crap.

Typing the words in, she noticed this font was different. Paper weight was also lighter, and the letter spacing was a little off from usual.

It was fake. It was quite clear, the longer she stared at it.

No matter, though.

It only took a few moments to input his name. Tyler Mitchell. Male. Blah, blah, blah. He had such sad eyes, she noted, when she gazed up at him. The printer went off, creating a card for him.

She slid over in her chair, and put the card in between her fingers, and as she handed it over to him, she lowered her voice and darted eye contact from him as she said, “By the way, I hope you didn’t pay the guy who made you this too much, cause the font is quite off.”

[tylerbynine-blog]

It worked. It really fucking worked! Tyler looked around the building for an excuse to smile at himself and his accomplishments. There was nothing but careful sounds of keys forming words behind him, occasional clicks and finally a printer.  That bothered his attention.  Tyler looked back over the counter, thrilled that a library card could be so personal.  Most of the time, they were under the counter, scanned to activate, “here you go, get out of my face now” cards.  

The process was thrilling, but the sudden tension through Tyler off by an inch. But this was Tyler.  It would take a lot more than that to damage him. 

“I’m quite flattered,” shrugged Tyler, giving her enough of a grin to entertain her discovery.    

“It took me all of ten minutes to make it good enough to pass your,” emphasis on “your” as he pointed her direction and continued on, “sorry excuse of a verification. One glance –– just long enough to get my,” he held up his new prize possession and mouthed, “library card” as he held a hushed finger up to his lips.  

Tyler whirled the card around with enthusiasm on the wooden counter as he brushed off the entire performance.  This girl caught his interest.  It made things difficult for him.  In a span of no more than five seconds, he rushed through a thought process.  Should I ask her what she’s reading? He looked down at the book he had torn her attention from.  What’s her name? Violet, says the lanyard. There was no room for conversation after their bizarre introduction. 

So he did his best trick and side stepped away from the conversation. 

“Did you know Friedrich Nietzsche believed he was Napoleon?” In an exhale, he took his card and slid it in his pocket. 

“Which direction should I go to find some philosophy?” 

[medullaoblong-deactivated202412]

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We can’t paint any pictures As the moon had all our brushes