Log in

No account? Create an account

Captured Somebodies&Noted Nobodies


i, you, he, she, her, him, us, them
Posting Access:
All Members , Moderated
The grand majority of human beings tend to blur together once you've seen enough of them. On sidewalks, in cars, we ignore the very people that may be everything we could ever hope to find, or those we could have been bitter rivals with had we been assigned the same school or workplace. Sometimes, people are special. Not that they are attractive; Not the pretty people, as they are noticed easily enough. Perhaps the woman in the bright fuschia sundress, counting tomatoes as she glares at the busboy. Perhaps not in flashiness or gaudiness, but rather in their mundaness so pure they can't be overlooked. Perhaps they are flashy, gaudy, loud, but for whatever reason, some human beings are noticed in great detail. Maybe it's us who is special in seeing them; It hardly matters. This community exists for the purpose of describing those people noticed, and making the minute details of their appearance, aura, manner apparent to a slightly larger world. In the sense that I may have overlooked someone you found fascinating, and you may have overlooked someone I could not part my eyes from, in this way we will extend these surface identities into eyes that never would have seen them. We are unearthing the beautifully invisible.


Walking into summer school on a day just way too cold for summer, she is the first familiar figure I see. Usually hunched over the industrial sheet-metal table listening to japanese tunes from a music device she has stored in a striped sock sock, Helen looks oddly well-placed. She's not in place. It's not her place, and I know it, and she knows it, but she looks fine there in those chilly moments every chilly morning. All of her clothes were purchased in a department store bargain frenzy. Again, something I know and the rest of the world doesn't. Somehow, however, she pulls them together. It's not stuff that's normally pulled together properly. I've seen the same T-shirts on different people, the type of people to belong anywhere, and the same clothes look simply wrong. Helen doesn't look out of place. I look out of place. I don't know why. My mingling skills are high, but even silent, she looks fine there. She's not the type to, she's just put-together. Funny, too, because her life is and will be anything but put together until the day she leaves her parents' house and control.

Before recently, Bridget had never set foot onto a colorful pink and blue dance pad, not even in an arcade conjoined to a cheap mini-golf course in the shape of a castle. I first introduced her to the blaring Japanese techno music in my living room, trying to overpower the Mexican music from next store. She decided that even though she had never played it before, she would go up to Light mode so she could choose a robot with a vacuum on his back as the dancer. From D's to C's to B's, she hops around like nobody's watching, bouncing higher than ever as "Bizarre Love Triangle" -- a personal favorite -- is sending a wave of arrows up the TV screen where an old Daddy-Long-Legs decided to make its grave behind the screen. Despite the endless jumping and slipping, her hair that has seen shades from brown to bright green never seems to be far out of place, or perhaps it was never in place to begin with.