|
[18 Mar 2009|10:35pm] |
"the way i see it, we're all on the hindenburg; no use fighting over the window seat." gerard fontaine found that things were much more heart-stopping tragic when meant to be something else. he learned it from richard geni, he learned it from darby crash. a direct intent interested no one. gerard nicholas fontaine was bred on the bended spines and dog-eared pages of robert frost and kurt vonnegut. in the hazy hot summer desert days of las vegas, nevada -- his mother had the first of her five children in the form of a blue-eyed baby boy named gerard. his screeching voice brought tears of joy to hannah and robert fontaine, two god-fearing catholics living on the outskirts of sin city. it wasn't uncommon for the fontaines to butt heads with their son, who grew up to be an artfully bedraggled teenager with messy hair and avante-garde poetry. time after time, they found him kissing boys in confessionals, smoking weed behind the catholic school, writing obscene poetry, denouncing god in the halls, talking about science and cunts and existentialism. the heavy choking temperatures of las vegas made him crazy and his only saving grace was in the form of a boy; a beautiful italian boy named joseph who sat behind him freshman year in biology. they would drive out to the middle of no where with the cacti and wild rabbits the only things to say hello to, filling up gerard's beat up old privia with smoke, choking on it until they had to roll down the windows: clouds of marijuana gray filling up the nevada blue. they would lay on top of the car at night, staring up at the stars you could only see far away from the lights of the city, until the morning, until they forgot who they were.
they ran away to california. they packed up gerard's van with the carcasses of their disheveled band and enough weed to carry them all the way to the ocean. they set up in a ratty, steel cold apartment in downtown los angeles. their terrible band consisted of bad guitar riffs, electronic synths, gerard's a-la-frost lyrics that burned down into the soul of the local scene kids. people loved them and then hated them and then forgot their existence. los angeles was a dangerous place . . . around every corner was a fucking photog, was a life ruiner or a friend stealer or a future-ex-return boyfriend that couldn't do well enough to hide his track marks. fucking la. his hands broke up the tiny pieces of friendship that he had acquired, growing up a little bit of the time and scattered them to sabotage. he had met the love of his life in a hotel lobby. it was fashion week, the city's center was milling with sky-high beauties with tilted up noses. march grew on the hills and well, okay, he had a weakness for italians. he walked face-lined alleys in million dollar clothes; he had perfect bone structure and beautiful hands. gerard fell in love with a facade. romeo was what every american expected italian men to be: passionate, beautiful, graceful, troubled, broody, and fucking charming. the rose-colored glasses of love clouded gerard vision, made it hazy around the edges. it tinted the dark purples of anger bursting from within romeo's pupils. gerard's innocent excited juxtaposed the satiric glare of romeo's haughtiness. . .
. . . and then, he had to escape again. los angeles got too heavy for him. he got too weighted with everything and anything. he couldn't look on a street corner, at a billboard, at a newspaper or bookstore without losing himself. he had to run. he got in that same, beat-up old fucking van with the upholstery still smelling like herb and he drove -- he drove until he ran out of gas and there on the side of the road as he waited for triple a: WELCOME TO LONGPORT, POPULATION 1,054. the ocean wind blurred his eyes, salt sea air, hair in his face. at least he was going to see the ocean.
-gerard nicholas fontaine was born in las vegas, nevada on august 12, 1989
-has a very crazy, upbeat personality that some people find over the top. he is always making jokes and will do almost anything to make someone laugh.
-grew up in a very strongly religious family
-is always trying to make everyone happy so has a hard time making decisions for himself. he is rarely ever sure of himself and depends on the opinions of other people for everything.
-has the most obnoxious laugh
-can come up with the best yo mama jokes, NO, REALLY, NO REALLY HE CAN.
-is hilariously incoherent when he gets too, too stoned
-thinks he has the most hilariously ridiculous old man name that he hates
-has a dog named moose who is bigger than he is (or it feels like it) that he stole from his exboyfriend.
-inexplicably hates dawson's creek.
-is addicted to foster's home for imaginary friends even if it's cancelled and all that.
-is actually really terrified of scary movies and if he is trying to impress a girl/boy/horse he will pretend like he isn't and stare at the space above the tv to pretend like he's watching.
-really likes putting himself into awkward situations because he thinks people's reactions are hilarious
-COULD PROBABLY DOMINATE A FUCKING POP CULTURE QUIZ
-takes off his pants in public. a lot.
|
|
let's play a game, ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) longport, it's called insincerity. |
[18 Mar 2009|10:30pm] |
|
|
|