Kiss, Kiss. Summertime.

Kiss, Kiss. Summertime is a collection of vignettes from the perspective of a person who does not really exist, and the people talked about are completely fictional. These are not personal

anecdotes of the author or anyone else.

All names and locations included in this collection of vignettes are fictional and should not be taken as real events. Any possible reference

this book makes to real events is merely a product of coincidence.

Act VI

When I first started writing in a journal, I found a text-stamp gun. I wanted to do something that captured the essence of everything I wrote. I was told when I was younger that every male spends his adulthood attempting to find his mother. As much I would love to bring up an incest joke, or even more, poke fun at Sir Sigmund Freud. An Oedipus complex is what this culminates too. You deem to find those binding characteristics that you grew up to love. Because your mother was your first love, and in the end will be your last.

I never built that affection with my mother. I only learned to long for the things I did not have, or more so could not have. Because the things I did have, never really wanted me anyway. I wanted to find something I never had in order to ask, whether it could make everything better. Could it replace the time I spent in a maelstrom of sorts.

This search ridiculous? It's either this, or become of deputy of vindication and make my mouth my holster for my loaded gun.

So what did I end up putting on my journal? That's simple. Where are you, dad!

This search has led me instead to find people who mimic my own inflections. My own disabilities. And my own doubts.

Sanity. I met after my arrival to the Haven. As queer as a Clockwork Orange he was.

Along this story of heartbreak and being forsaken by our household, Sanity knew a problem that only he knew within the Haven. actual sickness he did possess. Irrational he was, but an

Mania. An imbalance in chemicals within the brain. Leading you to either be slightly okay with the shit hole that becomes your

life, or wanting to take a Submachine gun to the ribcage of every bastard who's Mother packed their lunch with “lunch” or all the children who's mother takes them to school because it's too cold outside to wait for the bus. It

could be a split second, or the progression of an hour, either way, it was something that Sanity couldn't control. leads to me having disorganized thought. social deficiency I did. I suffer from a slight autism that Mania, I do not understand, but

Sanity quickly became one of my closes friends

within the Haven.

Loner and Sheltered. One woman, a hermit of sorts. Pushing herself away from others, and scared of social interaction. The trust you have to place in friends is vast, and so many people jump into the contractual agreement headfirst without processing the problematic outcomes. Something that is exhibited as a social game, can bring a heavier cost of thorns than any amount of roses can produce. Some would rather avoid this exhibition of heartbreak, and stick to the lonesome predictability that is solitude.

One woman, trapped behind a barricade. Fed, and protected by her caretakers. Provided an illusion of what the real world is. Loner and Sheltered were the only friends they knew. Well, that is until.

The Vatican became their friend. And this where I met them, as they became subjected to the Haven.

In this location allocated away from our crude parents, forgotten households, and our own developed frailties we began to rely on each other for support. We all had our problems but some of us had more to offer others in support than others.

A friend of mine before my entrance into the Haven. A companion of mine that stayed with me through the toughest times of my life.

The Pilot. I always think about his introduction to the Haven. Because he was the only person they I personally introduced to the Haven. I wanted him to see the extremes of the world that takes place outside of normal suburbia. I wanted him to see my second life of sorts, where the role I play is quite different than the one my normal life allowed. I feel as though he began to change as well, and build an identity that the reality he once lived didn't allow. As I dove further and further into the deeper caverns of the Haven, he became the only reasoning in order to console my moral compass. things Pilot was the glue that kept my structure intact. At the heart of

At the heart of things, I started surrounding myself with friends that encompassed traits I viewed as my own. As well, I find that my friends relied on me to show them how to fit the puzzle of life together.

In exchange for their loyalty and affection, I wanted to provide a life where they could exist as their inner selves, without fear of failure or punishment. I wanted to provided a new route hidden behind the cabinet in the kitchen.

I wanted to show them, their escape.

And this is how we all formed a family. This is how we became The HAVEN'S MISLED


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