Entry #1 - January 12, 2014Jana's journal, kept in her backpack, is private unless someone should happen to steal the backpack.
So, I finally splurged on a leather bound journal. My grandmother had one for years, used it as both a recipe book and a thought-holder. So I decided to use it for much the same objective. A place to store my thoughts, as well as a place to store my songs. I probably should have done this years ago, but oh well.
I'm living in a place many would consider Hell on Earth. It's called Harper Rock, and it's in Canada. Yep. Canada. Weird place for a San Jose native to move to, right? It's frigid, snowy, and not at all like San Jose. But it's where my grandmother met my grandfather and conceived my mother, and where my mom met my dad and I was conceived. I feel this weird connection, this link to this city. Especially to the stretch of the Algonquin River that forms the northern border of the quarantined Gambondale district.
I've been asking around about it. The quarantine. Everyone's confounded by the fact that there have been no survivors found. I know exactly why there haven't been any, but no one wants to listen to a non-native ramble about zombies like a crazy person. So I learned quick to keep my mouth shut. Doesn't stop me from keeping my Glock concealed under my backpack day in and day out.
A lot of businesses here cater specifically to the night life. More than even San Jose, and this place doesn't have that big of a community. But, hey, to each their own. I'm just an outsider.
Being an outsider...it's really strange, really interesting. I'm not used to it. I don't think I ever will be, either. Everyone thinks I'm crazy for some reason or another, and I still don't have a job. No one seems to be looking for someone with my sort of experience. A singer, a performer. I'm starting to consider just about any sort of work.
You see, I'm living on the streets. For now. Got a Glock and a ******* ancient sword I picked up in a crazy dungeon house thing to defend myself with (you can guarantee no one fucks with me) but I'm living on the streets. Sleeping in abandoned apartments when I feel like it. And, with the insurmountable evidence, I have to believe that there's a cult in the area. A blood-drinking cult. Not sure if they, like, worship the devil or think they're vampires.
And then there's ******* Tiamat. Woman's batshit nuts, but she gave me sone damn good advice back when I first hit town. Let me perform in her restaurant workplace, too. But now I think she thinks she's some supernatural being.
Ah, well. You get your crazies anywhere, right?
I'll write some more later. Probably tomorrow.
